Page 45 of Forbidden Billionaire
The sudden silence—except for the hum of the air conditioner and Lila moving around the kitchen—is startling.
Now it’s only the three of us—me, Lila, and the man who’s turned my world inside once again.
I twist the cap off a bottle of water and take a sip. Lila joins us, picking through the petit fours and claiming a vanilla one.
Blackwell folds his arms and leans a hip against the brick wall like he owns the entire world. And I’m beginning to think that maybe he does.
He skims his appreciative gaze over me, then glances at Lila. “Any plans for dinner?”
Lila doesn’t miss a beat. She pops half a petit four into her mouth and talks around the bite. “Sera promised she’d take me out to eat to thank me for my help.” Unspoken words hang in the air. You weren’t invited. Her grin is all teeth.
“Sounds good.”
“Uhm.” My stomach lurches. “It’s not your type of place.” After all, I know exactly what his culinary tastes are.
“Not my type of place?” His brows twitch like I’ve just insulted him.
Lila practically purrs, drawing this out like she’s savoring a ripe piece of gossip. “It’s the Poison Girl in Montrose.” She lifts her water bottle as if she’s proposing a toast with it. “Total dive bar, tattooed bartenders, graffiti in the bathrooms. Definitely not billionaire vibes.” Then she gives a feral grin. “If anyone recognizes you, you’ll probably get kicked out. Not everyone likes your type.”
“Willing to take my chances.” He pushes off the wall. “Let’s go. My driver will take us.”
Lila’s mouth falls open.
My pulse flips. He can’t be serious. “Mr. Blackwell?—”
“Let’s go.”
Before we can, Lila has to take another opportunity to needle him. “You sure you’re ready to mingle with the plebes, Blackheart?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just slides his eyes to me, the corner of his mouth crooking up. “I don’t think you know who I really am.” Gaze cold, he looks at me. “Either of you.”
I think I do. Xavier Blackwell is a shark, no matter what the environment.
The car, with Vionna on duty, is waiting, nice and cool, when we arrive in the parking garage.
Lila piles in next to me, facing forward, which leaves Blackwell riding backward in his own vehicle.
Facing him is so much worse than sitting next to him. He sprawls in his seat like he’s lounging at home, eyes dark and steady, taking me in like I’m some puzzle he intends to break open piece by piece.
Every time I glance up, he’s staring—a slow, pointed sweep from my throat to where my T-shirt clings, then lower, lingering at the hem of my shorts. Picturing them on his bedroom floor? Or worse, imagining what the backs of my thighs might look like with his handprint burned into them?
Damn. How I wish I had changed out of these stupid shorts.
I shift in my seat, crossing my legs like it’ll help. It doesn’t. I’m so tangled up in my own skin that I don’t hear Lila laughs.
“You still with us?”
Heat explodes in my cheeks when I realize he’s grinning at me, all dark amusement and the smug certainty of a man who knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I open my mouth—and thank every god that ever existed when Lila leans forward. “Do you mind dropping us around the back? We like to dip in through the patio entrance.”
Blackwell turns to look in Vionna’s direction. “Do it.”
We pull into the quirky place that’s wedged between a tattoo parlor and a resale vintage shop. I’ve loved it since the first time Lila introduced me to it. Even when my budget improves, I’ll still want to come here for our happy-hour drinks.
The place is crowded but not packed yet; the fans rattle overhead, stirring up the heavy summer air.
Lila slides into the seat across from me, leaving Blackwell to sit next to me. And he edges uncomfortably close.
