Page 25 of The Wrong Billionaire
She’s staring at my throat. But slowly, she raises her gaze to mine.
I lower my head a fraction and pause again.
She exhales, maybe understanding that I need her to move the final inch, and lifts her face.
I close the gap and press my lips to hers.
I hold them there for six seconds, then move back a fraction. Her eyelids had fluttered shut, but they open now, and she blinks slowly.
So I kiss her again. And then a third time before moving back reluctantly.
“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. I let my fingers brush her cheek for a moment before lowering them.
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are like saucers.
“I have to go,” I say, “I’m so sorry, but I have an appointment at seven.”
“You’re working tonight?”
“The world of business never stops.” I get to my feet and finish off my wine glass. “I’ll be in touch on Boxing Day.”
She nods. “Have a good Christmas.”
“You too.”
I make my way out of the bar and head back along the high street toward where Julian is waiting for me in the Bentley. My heart lifts, despite the fact that Wren wants time to think about it.
She thought she was negotiating terms. What she hasn’t realized is that I’ve already won. Because the moment she started negotiating, she stopped saying no.
It doesn’t matter that she’s determined to remain aloof, convinced I’ll abandon her after I’ve grown bored with her. She has no idea what my feelings are for her. And now I’ve found the gap in the links of the chains she erected around her heart, I can work my way inside at my leisure.
Chapter Six
Wren
“What’s up with you?” My sister, Clare, waves to attract my attention. “I’ve asked you three times if I could have some more wine. You’re in another world today.”
It’s Boxing Day, and she and her five-year-old son, Ben, are staying at my place tonight before they fly back to Wellington tomorrow. We’re in the living room, and I’m sitting on the floor playing LEGO with Ben, helping him make the kit he got for Christmas.
“I’m sorry.” I lift the bottle and pour some into Clare’s glass. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.”
It’s not a lie, but it is a misdirection. I do have a headache, mainly because I had trouble getting to sleep last night. That’s not what’s bothering me, though. I’m distracted because of Mars Ashford’s proposal. And his kisses. I can’t get them out of my head.
“You were like this yesterday as well.” Clare watches me as she sips her Sauvignon. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I study the bottle, thinking about the Dog Point Section 94 that Marcus bought on Christmas Eve. God knows what he’d think of this brand. If Clare doesn’t finish it, I might use it to finish stripping the paint off the door. Serves me right for buying it because it had two dollars off.
“I’m fine,” I declare. “Just got a lot on my mind.” I try to put the lid back on the bottle, fumble, and drop it.
I spent practically all of Christmas Day arguing with myself about what my decision was going to be. And now I’m all fingers and thumbs because Marcus said he was going to contact me today for an answer. I don’t know what time he’ll do it, orwhether he’ll text or call, but it’s four thirty, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to let me get away with it for another day.
“Auntie Wren!” My nephew taps the instruction booklet. “I need the green bit for his collar, and you’re sitting on it.”
“Oh, sorry.” I shift off and pick it up for him, and he takes it and fits it to the model.
“What movie are we watching tonight?” Clare asks.
“Elf!” Ben declares.
