Beauty in the Billionaire's Bed - Page 9

His throat clenched. She was also about as far from his ideal woman as it was possible to get—and that was putting it mildly.

He swung round to face her, his eyes snagging on her bare legs before he had a chance to stop himself. ‘Leave the keys.’

Breathing raggedly, she fumbled in the jacket pocket. As she pulled them out, they caught in the lining.

He swore softly. ‘Here, let me—’

His fingers brushed against hers as he reached to help and he felt a sharp snap of static.

‘Don’t touch me.’ Breathing out shakily, she jerked away from him.

He felt a stab of anger. He hadn’t meant to touch her. Only now, as his eyes jumped from the fierce expression on her face to her soft parted lips, he realised he wanted more than one brief moment of contact. What he wanted was to push her back onto the bed and slide his hands over every inch of that satin-smooth skin...

‘Nothing could be further from my mind,’ he lied. ‘Now, give me back the keys,’ he said tersely.

Drawing a jagged breath, she tossed them at him and stalked across the room. As she reache

d the door she turned, tilting her chin to look at him with over-bright eyes, and he felt something twist inside his chest.

‘You know, Johnny talks about you a lot. He thinks you’re going to save the world...that you’re a hero.’ Raising her chin, she held his gaze. ‘Some hero,’ she said, smiling coldly.

And then, without giving him a chance to reply, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and spun away into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

SHIFTING AGAINST HIS PILLOW, Arlo rolled over onto his side and opened his eyes reluctantly. There was a pale frame of light around the heavy curtains, so he knew it was morning. It just didn’t feel like it.

He stretched his arms over his head. As he did so, his lurcher, Nero, sat up in his basket and looked wishfully at the four-poster bed.

‘Stay,’ Arlo warned as he sat up groggily.

Frowning, he rubbed a hand over his face. He’d wanted more than anything to sleep, and normally he didn’t have any trouble—particularly during a storm. For some inexplicable reason he’d always found it oddly restful to lie in bed and listen to the weather rage like an impotent warlord against the house’s thick walls.

Only last night had been different. He had spent most of the early hours of the morning twitching restlessly beneath the sheets in time to the drumming rain.

But then not much had been normal about last night.

His pulse stumbled. For starters, it had been a long time since he’d come home to find a woman in his bed.

He felt his throat close up. As for a woman wearing next to nothing and brandishing a cricket bat... That would be never.

Reaching over, he picked up the bat, weighing it in his hand. He’d been hit by worse before. The last time had been six months ago, on a field trip to the Yamal Peninsula. He’d tried to break up a fight in a bar in Murmansk, between a couple of roughnecks celebrating payday, and had had his nose broken with a pool cue for his trouble.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had his nose broken, but it had still hurt—a lot. As had the cracked ribs. And yet if he had to choose, he’d almost rather be hit any number of times with a pool cue than have to remember Frankie Fox’s parting words.

Some hero.

His jaw tightened.

Maybe he wasn’t a hero to look at, but he had the medals and the scars to prove his heroism—scars that had come from bullets, not pool cues. Yet those words and the expression of disdain on Frankie Fox’s face were what had kept him from sleeping. Oh, and the faint scent of jasmine that still clung to his pillow.

Irritably, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, he ducked his head under the flow of cold water.

Why was he letting some ridiculous, utterly irrelevant ‘social media influencer’ make him question himself?

Straightening up, he stared at his reflection. She hardly knew Johnny and she knew nothing about him. He gritted his teeth. But Frankie Fox had been right about one thing. His little brother idolised him.

They had always been close. It hadn’t mattered that there was an eleven-year age gap or that they were very different people. Arlo was the difficult one. The brilliant high achiever with a double first from Cambridge and a doctorate in geology and earth science. Whereas Johnny...

Tags: Louise Fuller Billionaire Romance
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