Billionaires Dollar Series

“Are you that against opera?”

“Can you even be against the opera? It’s not a cause you can champion.”

“Of course it is. That’s what Cole’s doing tonight,” I protest. My brother had donated generously to the Seattle Opera and was now rewarded with a private box on opening night. Although, knowing him, it had probably been for networking or business and not so much for a genuine love of the art.

“You blue bloods,” Nick says dryly. “I should never have gotten involved with you.”

I straighten the collar of his tux and enjoy the feel of his large body against mine, the touch casual and reassuring. My heart does a double-take when he presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

“Aren’t you happy you gave me a chance? I’m not so awful when you get to know me.”Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

He leans back against the couch and watches me through half-lidded eyes, large hands gripping my bare waist. My skin is still damp from the shower, dressed only in underwear.

“No,” he says. “You’re so much worse.”

I laugh. “Yes, I am. And you spent years disliking me in vain.”

“You thought I didn’t like you?”

I raise an eyebrow. “In eight years, you’ve never once responded to any of my attempts at friendship. None of my invitations to events. No attempts at conversation.”

Nick is quiet for a beat. His hands move instead, sending shivers across my skin as they trail my waist, my breasts, my shoulders. “It was simple self-preservation,” he says quietly. “Not dislike at all.”

My heart skips a beat.

The words hover on my tongue. You know that crush I said was over? Well, I am over it-it’s now full-blown infatuation.

But I can’t imagine anything that would make Nick run away from me faster. His lack of commitment is legendary.

“Self-preservation, huh.”

“Yes.” He leans forward and kisses my collarbone. “Which you should cultivate. If you want to make it to the opera in time, and if you are too tender, you should go get dressed before my self-restraint snaps completely.”

“I’m too tender?”

His fingers smooth up my inner thigh. “We did a lot of practicing yesterday. Aren’t you?”

I am, in fact, but admitting that… “Yes.”

“Then up you go. Put on a dress.”

But I don’t. My heart swells instead and I press my lips to the strong column of his throat. His skin is warm and I speak the thought aloud. “How come you’re always so warm?”

Big hands smooth over my back. “Go get dressed.”

“Come on.” I kiss my way up to his ear. “Tell me.”

“Why I’m warm?” There’s quiet amusement in his voice.

“Yes. I demand an explanation.”

His hands skate down the length of my arms with the lightest of touches. “Why are you so soft? It makes no sense. Skin shouldn’t be that soft. Can you answer me that?”

I shake my head, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Some things have no answer.”

“Exactly.”

I feel the faint scarring on the inside of his palm. Taking his hand in both of mine, I turn it gently palm-side up, looking at the faint raised marks.

Nick doesn’t say anything.

“How did you get these scars?” I ask the question lightly, like the answer isn’t important. Like I haven’t been curious for eight years straight.

Nick’s hand curls in mine. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry for asking. I know you don’t want to talk about… anything relating to yourself, really. But I figured, you saw me looking and it was probably clear that I wondered, and it felt ruder to not ask when you already know I’m thinking about it. You know?”

A faint curl to his lip. Damn man for smiling so rarely that when he does, it completely takes my breath away. “You don’t talk this way to everyone.”

“I don’t?”

“Oh, you’re forward with most people, I’ll give you that. And chatty and breezy and all that. But this nervous sort of rambling? Only with me.”

I put his hand back in my hair and, obediently, he runs his fingers through it. It buys me time, but only a little. We’re closer to some truths that would be better left untouched.

“Perhaps I’m more nervous with you.”

His hand stops only for a moment, before it continues its slow, sensual movement. “I see.”

That’s all he says. I focus on the buttons of his shirt instead, undoing them one at a time, rewarded by the sight of his chest. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m getting more and more used to you each time.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

I force lightness into my voice. “Isn’t it? Where do you see this going, Nick?”

His hands continue down to grip my waist tightly. Despite the strong hold, I feel like I’m floating, waiting for the answer, for the words I know will come. Have I made myself too vulnerable? I know he’s not a man I’ll get to keep.

“I have no idea,” he says finally. The bleakness in his voice brings out my own.

“Me neither,” I murmur. “The only thing we know for certain is that it’s supposed to stay a secret.”

“Oh, yes.” Nick’s hands brace on either side of my waist. “And that we still have a lot of practicing to do.”

I roll my hips over the clear evidence of what we need to practice on, and he groans. “Don’t. I already said-we have to leave soon, you’re sore, and there’s not nearly enough time for a proper training session.”

“I know.” I press my lips to his cheek. He’s not a man to easily accept tenderness, and now that he is, I’m having a very hard to time tearing myself away. “Help me choose a dress?”

“No,” he says. “If I have to watch you zip and unzip, there is no way you’re coming out of your closet unravished.”