Her delicate nostrils flared. He clenched his jaw to contain a satisfied grin.
“Next one. I asked you how old you were, when you had your first job.”
A triumphant sheen reflected in her eyes. “No way you could know this.” She unwrapped her second wad of paper, while he did the same. “I was thirteen.”
“Oh, look.” Liam showed her his answer. “Thirteen.”
She looked on the verge of falling into shock. Soon, red-faced frustration took its place.
For show, he maintained his arrogance. “Guess I’m better than you know. Aren’t I?”
Heat simmered in her narrowed eyes. It turned them a bright, molten copper. He wanted to see her look at him that way again—because he would be seducing her, not duping her. Which he was, no mistake. He’d intended to throw her off. He was succeeding.
“I see,” he said smoothly. “So open your final answer.”
She did, with stern fingers. Black.
Finally, he relaxed. He’d earned it, because he knew enough about her to predict that final answer. “Hey. That’s what I wrote down, too. You’d wear a black dress to my formal occasion.”
“How?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “What?”
Her eyes bored into him with steel-like force. “How did you do that?”
“Don’t you believe in me now? I’m a mentalist.”
“I know you,” she said, “enough to know that was all fake.” She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing attention to the beautiful mounds that rose above. How did she not know she had a dynamite body that would draw any living, breathing man within a hundred yards?
If she did, she downplayed her gorgeous attributes, likely based on Las Vegas standards. On a weekly basis, hundreds of women flooded into Vegas to become showgirls, onstage. Those women were average-pretty. Girls who’d won a beauty pageant in their hometown, and were told to pursue their dreams. Some wound up in Hollywood, the rest, with any kind of dance skill, wound up in Vegas.
They were all the same. Average-pretty.
Sophia underestimated herself. She was stand-out. Knock-out. Stunning.
In a city that rewarded average-pretty, she might’ve grow up believing she wasn’t up to par. She was so wrong. He wished he could tell her that, tell her she caught his attention—and his intention—the instant he’d laid eyes on her. But she probably wouldn’t believe him.
That made her even more special. Rare. Worth admiring. Worth pursuing.
Judging by her infuriated, calculating expression at the moment, she didn’t find his impressions worth admiring.
Once he explained it all, she might. He’d planned to from the start.
“See this?” He held up the slip of paper that read Black. “I know you. I knew you’d say you’d wear black to a formal gathering I invited you to. The rest,” he said, shoving the slips toward her, “were false. Based on your own answers.”
She drew back. “How?”
“I told you to read them to me, aloud. Knowing what I know about you, the first one I wrote down was black. You’re a classy girl, just the way I like them.” He winked. “While you were writing Matt, I wrote black. While you were writing thirteen, I wrote Matt. While you were writing black, I wrote thirteen.”
He watched the light dawn in her eyes.
“See? Clever. But not so complicated.”
She reached out and gripped his hand. “Oh, my god, that’s genius. I had no idea!”
Yes, he wanted to say, but it wasn’t. The genius lay in her moment of realization, when she understood his trick. He wished he could’ve captured it on camera. Her eyes, alight with knowledge. She was rarer than she knew.
He didn’t respond to her grip.
If he did, he’d haul her against him, and hold her face still while he sucked on her lips, held her tongue captive in his mouth.
Not an option.
Noticing his lack of response, she drew her hand away. She tucked her joined palms together and placing them between her thighs. He stifled a groan. He’d give anything to have his face right there, right now.
She had no idea what she did to him.
The jet’s wheels touched down, shaking them both. She gripped the armrests. He wished she was gripping his arms instead.
Fuck.
He shook his head, hard, and returned to the morally decent guy he was, by the time the plane rolled onto Denver tarmac.
He was in Denver now. Headquarters of his company.
He was a businessman, first and foremost. He wasn’t sure when he’d made that transition, exactly, but it had everything to do with Trey and Cade. And he owed them. He owed them everything.
His own desires meant nothing, compared to what he could do for the business as a whole. Hired by Alex Atlas, he’d single-handedly established a precedent. The ramifications would be far-reaching, and change the landscape of their company. He might not know how, but Trey would. And Trey would use it to their utmost advantage.
Liam just had to decide—how loyal he was to his family, versus how loyal he’d be to Sophia. If there was a medium between the two, he couldn’t see it.
CHAPTER FIVE
The humiliating sound of her bank card getting declined—for the second time, at another hotel chain—left Sophia stunned. And in a state of hot-cheeked humiliation.
“Are you sure?” she demanded to the front desk clerk.
“Yes, ma’am. I ran it three times.” He handed her card back to her. “Sorry.”
Mortified, she couldn’t believe it.
Declined? How? Why? She always maintained a balance of at least a thousand dollars. Even when that ran out, she’d arranged for her savings account to kick in.
Something was horribly wrong.
The banks were closed. She couldn’t take it up with them.
In the past, she’d found personal interaction and a stern, take-no-prisoners manner far more useful than calling a 1-800 number, to reach a call center operator who couldn’t actually help. She should’ve brought her emergency credit card with her, just in case. She always had a backup plan. But she’d left in a hurry, and hadn’t dreamed of needing it.
Beside her, Liam shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to stay with me after all.”
Tugging him away from the front desk, she gripped his sleeve. “I’ll reimburse you. I’m good for it. My paycheck gets electronically deposited tomorrow.”
“It’s not about getting paid back.”
She frowned. “A true gentleman would offer to pay for my room.”
Unfazed, he said, “I never claimed to be a gentleman. What of that little I have in me, you used up when you refused to let me kiss you. My quota has been reached.”
A hiss sailed through her teeth. “Do you have to talk so loud?”
He peered at her through his lashes. “Do you have to keep insisting on staying in a hotel, when I have four perfectly respectable guest bedrooms in my house? Free of charge?”
She scowled in frustration. He was going to win this debate, and he knew it.
“We’re going to the same place, early in the morning,” he reminded. “You’ll have your own room with an attached bath. Just stay with me.”
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “God, you’re stubborn.”
“Hey pot, it’s kettle calling.”
With an exhausted sigh, she surrendered. “Alright. I’ll stay at your place.”
A slight grin of triumph tucked into the corners of his mouth. He nodded. “Good.”
He strolled toward the sliding glass doors, her suitcase in his hand. She had little choice but to follow.
The events of today had run her ragged. She felt thin, on edge, grumpy and a little defensive. Now she had to deal with banking issues. Lovely.
“I don’t live far,” he said. His car gave a high-pitched, bloop-bleep when he unlocked it remotely.
She stood next to his mode of transportation in frank admiration, the way she had the first time he’d walked her to
his car, parked in a special spot near the airport’s private jet entrance. Its immaculate beauty sang to her. He drove one damned fine Audi. She had no idea such vehicles existed.
All high-end luxury, low-riding precision, pristine gray leather interior, and flawless black exterior. It even maintained that new-car, expensive, leathery smell. Spectacular by anyone’s standards. The thing had to cost two or probably three times her annual salary. And she made decent money.
Oh, yes. Liam’s status hovered closer to Alex Atlas’s than she’d imagined.
Lacking her usual grace, she practically fell down into the passenger seat, which embraced her like a silky hug. He placed her luggage and her laptop in the backseat—if the small area could be called that—shut the door, and slid into the driver’s side.
“Hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he said.
“Not usually. Why?”
“We have to take some steep, winding roads to get to my place. But the views are dynamite.”
Twenty minutes later, she understood the warning.
He wasn’t kidding.
Shifting gears, he coaxed the stunning machine up a series of roads edging sharp cliffs, hemmed by guardrails that wouldn’t do a thing to prevent a car from sailing off the blacktop into oblivion.
And the views were dynamite.
The car rode so low, she propped herself up on her elbows to glimpse the twinkling city below. Downtown Denver sprawled beneath them as if the night sky had descended to blanket the earth with darkness dotted by constellations of light.
An awed smile touched her lips.
Liam hugged the curves like a professional racecar driver, shifting when needed to power them upward. If they climbed any higher, they might wind up on Mount Olympus.
Which was pretty much what she discovered when he turned into his gated community. Not at all like the gates of her condominium complex, these just might usher them into heaven.
Slowing down, he waited for a laser that shot out to scan his license plate. He sailed through the gates as they swung inward. Talk about high tech. The guard on duty waved from the window of a small, cobblestone-faced structure that could’ve sprung from a fairytale storybook. Liam waved back.
She swallowed. So this was how the other half lived.
Half? The description was laughable. More like the top one-percent of the one-percent.
The homes they passed looked like individual compounds—brick, stone and wood behemoths carved out of the hillsides. The exteriors were lit like elite showcases, surrounded by immaculate grounds. Her hand fluttered to her throat.
Dear God. Liam lives here?
Not what she’d expected. Not at all in line with the guy who’d rather be chillin’ on a dirt road instead of driving through the congested streets of downtown Vegas.
Why had he bought a house here? To solidify his entré into a world so far removed from his boyhood nightmares, it proved those memories couldn’t touch him? Made sense.
Still, that train of thought saddened her, for reasons she couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t belong here. That might explain why he’d chosen it.
“Here we are.” He veered into a driveway. “Home sweet home.”
Though the drive sloped downward, his mansion was anything but understated. A modern structure of glass and stone, with high-peaked rooflines and extended beams to encompass an outdoor oasis, it resembled an extravagant lodge meant to house a dozen people sharing a place on vacation, not one man.
“Yeah, I know,” he said in a self-deprecating tone. “Not one of my better investments. It had all the shine, and some of the substance. Didn’t figure it out at the time, but I see that now.”
Startled by his statement, she shot a glance at him. She wondered if he really was a mentalist, since he seemed to have read her thoughts.
“It’s spectacular,” she assured him.
“Don’t patronize me, honey. We’re beyond that.”
“I wouldn’t.” She wasn’t sure what to say, other than the truth. “It’s stunning.”
He slid her an ironic look. “I know what you’re thinking. Doesn’t jive with the cowboy boots, does it?”
She stared at her lap. “Not really.”
“I came to peace with it.” As he pulled into the garage, he shrugged. “This is home now.”
“A far cry from a Las Vegas trailer park.”
“Exactly.”
She nodded when he affirmed her assumptions. Regardless if this place seemed all wrong for him, he’d found peace. That’s what anyone could hope for, at the end of the day.
In the wide bay of his four-car garage, she noticed a vintage red pickup truck parked next to them. Refurbished, but definitely vintage, something she’d seen in movies set in the fifties, on a farm. She smiled. The country boy wasn’t so far away after all.
Beside the truck sat an impressive motorcycle, a beast somehow held upright by a slim kickstand, the chrome gleaming in the overhead lights. The rebel wasn’t too far away, either.
She relaxed. He was still Liam.
How she knew that, she couldn’t decipher. Just like on the jet. She recognized she knew him, and he knew her. Rare. A profound, unexplainable connection with another human being that transcended the physical. Like what her grandparents had shared, according to her mother.
A person should be so lucky.
But she couldn’t translate that into anything deeper. Not now. Not yet. He was too new, and she was too scared about her situation to rely on emotion over logic.
Grabbing her suitcase from the backseat, he led her into the side door, which opened into a mudroom with laundry to the left, practically a walk-in coat-closet straight ahead, and beautiful bluestone tile that stretched into the kitchen on the right.
Oh, his kitchen. She sighed. A chef’s dream. The front half of her condo could fit inside his kitchen. An enviable six-burner gas stove was tucked into the nearest wall, surrounded by white subway tile, a wide vent hovering above. An island bigger than her couch commanded the center of the space, topped by a white coriander slab that matched the rest of the countertops. White counters, gigantic stainless-steel appliances, pendant lighting, sheik tile and a wide farm sink with beautiful fixtures finished the room.
Stopping in her tracks, she gasped. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Glad you think so.” Pleasure infused his words. In that moment, she understood precisely why he’d chosen this home. To make it his own, something worthy of the pleasure in his tone. Worthy of the hard-won pride in his noble heart.
“Let’s head upstairs. Get you settled.”
The rest of the space was hidden in shadow. No doubt it offered similar, transcendent luxury. Wow. Just…wow.
The staircase was illuminated by strategically angled lights from above. She relied on the elaborate, wrought-iron railing—hand-crafted, no doubt—to support her ascent. He paused on the first landing, before the stairs angled to the right.
“This is where I’d put your illustrations,” he said, wafting his hand across the blank space on the wall.
She offered a tired smile. “Well, maybe we can come to an arrangement.”
His stare captured her with its intensity. “I’d like that.”
A silent moment drew out between them. Was he talking about her pictures, or something else?
He continued up the second half of the steps. She followed, her movements sluggish.
At the top landing, where he’d set up a comfortable family-room-type atmosphere, with fluffy couches centered on a huge TV, the space divided into a distinct separation. Left and right.
“You’ll stay in one of the guest rooms. If you need anything, I’m at the other end of the hall. Anything at all. Just ask. It’s no trouble. I’m a light sleeper.”
She yawned. “All I need is a bed. I’ll be out before my head hits the pillow.”
When he flicked on the light, she found herself surrounded by the gray walls of a vast room. This was a guest bedroom? One of four?
Not that she’d ever see it. At the moment, all she wanted to see was the back of her heavy eyelids.
“I have to go to sleep,” she whispered, pulling back the shiny silver-gray comforter with a puffed, wind-blown dandelion pattern woven onto the surface. She didn’t bother to undress. She pulled the covers over her.
The last thing she saw was Liam setting her suitcase near the bed. He tilted his head, and said something. Then darkness.
*
“Sweet dreams,” Liam whispered to his sleeping beauty.
He felt like a lousy host, since his guest had fallen asleep in the clothes she’d worn all day. He wasn’t used to guests.
As much as he’d like to, he wasn’t about to undress her. Though he could remove her heels.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he moved the comforter aside with the back of his hand and reached for her high heels. He glanced at her. Sweet thing, she was out cold. Her dark hair spread around her like a halo across the silk pillow. Her long eyelashes fluttered as if a dream had already snared her in its web.
If only he was a true mind-reader. He wanted to know what she dreamed about, or if he’d appear in her subconscious.
Carefully he removed her heels, one at a time, trailing his fingertips along her arches. When she rocked her head on the pillow, he withdrew his hands. Still, the intimacy of touching her feet sent his pulse racing. He wanted to explore every curve, every nuance, all the secret places on her body that might give her pleasure—with his mouth.
That arousing image weighing on his thoughts, causing a hard ridge to form along the zipper of his pants, he dropped her shoes to the floor and swiftly left her room, closing the door behind him. He let out a breath. He had no business allowing his mind to travel down that path.
But his thoughts went there, to that forbidden destination. Again and again. In spite of his best intentions.
Now he had to go to the opposite side of his house, where he’d sleep alone, in his big empty bed, wishing he could pull her close and fall asleep with her in his arms.
*
Sophia shot upright, gasping for breath. Her lungs hurt.
The Billionaire's Seduction (Billionaire Bodyguards Book 5) Page 9