Page 8 of The Billionaire's Distraction

Naomi studied him, tilting her head, her ponytail slipping forward over her shoulder.He was so…solid.So unmovable.He stood like a wall between her and everything else, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt unexpectedly safer with him there—even if she didn’t know who or what he really was.

She tried again, her voice lighter, almost conversational.“Do you have kids?”

His expression didn’t change.“No.”

“Brothers?Sisters?”

“Yeah.”One word.Nothing more.

She bit back a sigh.“Do you always give answers in single syllables?”

That almost-smile returned, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth.“Depends who’s asking.”

Naomi crossed her arms, mirroring his pose.“And what if I keep asking?”

“Then I keep answering.”He glanced down at her again, and Naomi could have sworn he was laughing.Not at her.But not exactly with her, either.

Challenged, she tried again.Her mouth opened, then shut, catching the gleam in his eyes.Half-annoyed, half…thrilled, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel this alive with nothing more than a handful of words.

“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin.“Favorite color?”

“Black.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered under her breath.“Where were you born?”

“Chicago.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-six.”

Her eyebrows shot up.“You don’t look thirty-six.”

He shrugged, unbothered.

Naomi pressed on.“Favorite food?”

“Steak.”

She gave a little laugh, shaking her head.“So predictable.”

His eyes flicked to her then, dark and unreadable, but something about the tilt of his mouth said he didn’t mind her teasing.

“All right then, Mr.Security.You’re thirty-six, you like steak, you were born in Chicago, and black is your favorite color.I’m practically writing your biography.”

Still, he said nothing.

Naomi narrowed her eyes.“Favorite season?”

“Winter.”

She frowned, surprised.“Really?Not summer?”

“No.”

Another tiny thrill darted through her chest.He was still playing along.“Okay.Favorite sport?”

“Basketball.”