Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club Book 10)

by Elise Faber

  She hadn’t.

  In fact, he’d fallen. Fallen further, deeper, more entrenched in that woman.

  Because then she’d asked about his family—had laughed when he’d described the group text chain he had with his siblings and parents, and how his younger brother, Brad, had left his phone on a table at a restaurant recently and they’d all been treated to a series of emoji-filled texts that took up the entire screen of his cell, courtesy of a rambunctious toddler from the next booth over.

  “You need to take lessons from him on emoji-etiquette.”

  “From the toddler?”

  She nodded.

  He laughed. “Is this a lesson of more is better?”

  A snort. “I take it back.” She smiled at him, the barrier still there, but hidden beneath brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Stick with your book.”

  Fun. Teasing. Sweet. Smile that fucking took his breath

  Actually listening to him when he talked. Touching him when she forgot she was supposed to be keeping her distance—a squeeze on his leg, a brush of fingers on his arm, his jaw.

  And now she’d sent him a text in the middle of the night.

  I’m sorry about Lori. You deserve someone who sees the wonderful man you are inside.

  Absently, he rubbed a hand over his chest, his heart aching.

  Sweet. See?

  But also, completely blind to the fact that she was wonderful on the inside as well, blind to the notion that a man wanted to wrap himself in the warmth of her, to capture the light in her soul and hold it captive.

  Because someone had made her believe she wasn’t worthy of that.

  Which circled back to his notion of Jaime being all in for this woman.

  First, he wanted to get her some fucking glasses so that when she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw how wonderful she was. Second, he wanted to hunt down the asshole or assholes that made her believe differently.

  But in reality, he couldn’t do either of those things until he managed to get through her shields.

  Well, luckily, he wasn’t an idiot.

  He recognized a good thing when he saw it, knew that she was worth the effort to gain her trust.

  Which was why he didn’t text her back.

  Instead, he got up and showered.

  Instead, he went down to the Farmer’s Market and picked up a bouquet of sunflowers, a half dozen pastries, and two coffees—a mocha for her, just black for him—then drove to her house, glad that they lived close enough that the early Saturday morning drive to her place made the drinks’ temperature drop to drinkable rather than cold and unappetizing.

  He parked in front of her house and felt the bottom drop out of his plan. Or hell, maybe it was the bottom dropping out of his world, him plummeting through the hole, falling and falling further.

  He’d been thinking he would text, and if that didn’t work, then he’d call her, and then if that didn’t work, he’d go up to her front door and knock or ring the bell.

  He’d even gone so far as to convince himself that she’d open the door and would be standing sleepily on the other side wearing fluffy pajamas, her hair askew, cozy sheep-shaped slippers on her feet.

  Yes, he had an overactive imagination.

  But even his overactive imagination had not imagined short-shorts and a hoodie. He hadn’t been able to picture Kate bending over a flowerpot on her front porch, her luscious ass and long, long legs on display. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to conjure up the unzipped hoodie, the thin and worn tank top beneath.

  Thankfully, he was already parked at the curb. Otherwise, the gorgeous flowers she had lining the walkway that led up to her house might have ended up under his tires.

  Straightening, she turned, that gorgeous ass disappearing. But he wasn’t disappointed, not when he got to meet those beautiful eyes through the windshield.

  He grabbed the sunflowers, the bag of pastries, and the coffees then popped open the driver’s side door.

  “Jaime?”

  The soft question greeted him before he closed the door behind him, and the sound of his name on her tongue sent heat arrowing toward his cock.

  But he wasn’t here to be led around by his cock.

  He was here with a plan to win over this smart, sweet, beautiful on the inside and out woman. To chip a hole through the concrete and make a place for himself in her heart.

  So, he kept his tone even and walked over to her, handing her the flowers. “Morning, Red.”

  Her voice was husky. “Morning, Jaime.” She bit at that bottom lip. “Thank you,” she murmured. “They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome.” His eyes dipped down, lingered on all that exposed skin. He was thanking whatever God had created short shorts when he let his gaze come back up, connect with hers. “Morning, my sexy Red.”

  Okay, so maybe not being led around by his cock by this woman was an impossible task, especially when all she had to do was breathe and he was hard.

  Pink painted itself across her cheeks, and her lips parted as she inhaled a shaky breath. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He held up the bag, the coffees. “Bringing you breakfast.” A beat. “Though, I didn’t expect to find you out of bed yet.”

  “Oh.”

  At the question in her eyes, he added. “You texted pretty late last night.”

  This time her cheeks didn’t go pink. Rather, they paled, and her eyes shifted to the side. “Oh, yeah. I-I—” She stammered for a moment then murmured, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “My cell is always on Do Not Disturb at night,” he said. “I learned my lesson after getting way too many calls from the clinic when it wasn’t my turn to be on call.”

  “Oh . . . good,” she murmured.

  “Is that your favorite word in the mornings?”

  Red brows drew together. “What?”

  “Oh,” he said, setting the coffees down on the porch railing. “Is it your favorite word in the mornings?”

  Those brows stayed drawn. “No.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged, sat down on the top step. “So, you couldn’t sleep last night?”

  “I—well—”

  He pulled out an apple turnover, offered it to her. “Hungry?”

  She glanced down at her hands, and he saw they were covered in dirt. Then she bit her lip again. Fuck, but he thought that was sexy as hell, even as he recognized it was because she was unsure.

  Shoving the turnover back into the bag, he stood and set it alongside the coffees on the railing. Then he snagged her hand, drew her over to the hose spigot he’d spied on his walk up the house, and rinsed off her hands. The dirt disappeared, and he used the bottom of his shirt to dry her fingers, her palms.

  Maybe not the most sanitary, but it had given him an excuse to touch her, to bring her close.

  And now they could eat.

  “Come on.” He nudged her over to the porch and down onto the front step. Then he grabbed her coffee. “Mocha,” he said and handed it to her.

  Her brows lifted. “How’d—?”

  “I pay attention.” When those brows stayed lifted, he added, “I’ve seen you express your undying love for them on many an Insta post.”

  She smiled, shook her head. “Thank God I keep my profile private for everyone except for sexy vets.”

  Mock-glowering, he asked, “How many sexy vets?”

  “Hmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “That is an excellent question.”

  “Okay, questionee”—he plunked the bag of pastries on her lap—“the next question you must answer is which sweet treat do you want?”

  Her mouth curved. “I think the question is what sweet treat do you want?”

  And Jaime found he couldn’t resist the invitation.

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  Soft lips parted immediately, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, tangled it against hers. She tasted of mint and coffee, making his senses come alive, heat spreading out over
his skin. Never had a simple kiss aroused him more, but then again, this woman was more.

  She had the potential to be everything.

  So, when she set the coffee and the bag aside then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back, tried to pull him on top of her, Jaime forced himself to stop.

  To gentle the kiss, coaxing her down from the edge, pulling them back millimeter by millimeter until their lips separated. He stayed close, fingers in her ponytail, rapid breaths mixing. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

  A sharp inhale, her eyes closing for a heartbeat.

  Hope. Fear. Pain. Desire. They swirled in those whiskey-colored depths, and he wanted to magnify the first and last, needed to make the middle two disappear.

  He released her hair, had to physically force himself to straighten up, to not kiss that slightly swollen mouth and fill her with so much need and pleasure that she forgot all about the fear of the future, the pain of the past. She would be enveloped in desire, smothered in it, coating every inch as he gave her orgasm after orgasm.

  And maybe that was ego talking, but also . . . he didn’t think it was all ego.

  They had chemistry, and it was combustible. Dry tinder in the forest, just needing the slightest spark in order to burst into flames.

  Need coiled in his gut, fingers clenching, wanting to explore more.

  Patience, remember?

  Stifling a sigh, he nodded inwardly. That was the plan. Patience and winning her over.

  He picked up the bag. “Breakfast.”

  Kate clasped a hand to her chest and the sight of her parted lips, breaths coming in rapid inhalations and exhalations had Jaime locking his spine, clenching one hand into such a tight fist that his bones ached.

  “Breakfast,” he said again, starting to hand her the bag.

  She wrapped her fingers around his, halted the bag in mid-air. “What if I said I wasn’t interested in breakfast?” she asked quietly. “What if I said that I wanted to kiss you again instead?”

  His dick twitched. His fingers tightened on the brown paper, making it crinkle loudly in the quiet of the morning. His jaw clenched.

  She stretched up, kissed the ticking muscle. “So tense.”

  “Such a tease,” he murmured, covered her hand with his free one. “Wearing those sexy shorts.” He dropped his palm to her bare thigh, slid it up an inch, fingers tracing light circles when her breath caught. “Kissing me until I can’t think, can’t remember all the reasons I’d been promising myself to give you romance.”

  Her mouth curved. Her eyes went soft. “Were there a lot of reasons?”

  “I made a list.”

  She giggled, the tinkling sound sliding over his skin, helping him wrench himself back under control.

  Then she bit her lip again, her eyes taking on a slightly guilty expression.

  “What?” he rasped out.

  That gorgeous mouth parting, the shuddering exhale drifting over his skin. “I made a list, too,” she said, all soft. And close. She was close enough that the floral smell of her shampoo drifted over him, mixed with the damp earth scent of the garden, the humid perfume of the morning air.

  His hand clenched on her thigh, and she jumped.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, relaxing his hold, not wanting to ever hurt her.

  “No.” She placed her palm over his, squeezed lightly. “It felt good.”

  More heat. More dick twitching. More of his control fading. More of his plan disappearing into so much smoke.

  Jaime traced patterns on her silken skin, feeling goose bumps rise from the contact.

  “Aren’t you going to ask about my list?” she eventually asked.

  Her pupils were dilated, that tempting fucking mouth too close, but there was also mischief in her gaze, warming the brown of her irises, and he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to tease, to play, even if it meant tormenting him with all her sexy skin and lip-biting and a list he thought was going to put his control to the test.

  “Yes.”

  Her brows rose expectantly.

  He grinned. “What’s on your list, Red?”

  Pink on her cheeks, even though she was the one who’d pressed the issue, but the mischief was also still there as she glanced up at him with dancing eyes and put it right out there. “It’s a list of all the places I’ve imagined you kissing me.”

  There was no tempering his reaction, no holding on to his control.

  Her soft mix of shy and not had obliterated any hope he had of pulling back.

  He dropped the much-abused bag, knew the pastries inside were probably already reduced to crumbs and not giving one damn. Her thigh that was under his palm tightened, and he groaned, continued massaging the strong muscle that was covered in silk. His other hand went to her cheek, thumb shifting to rub against her bottom lip.

  “Did you imagine me kissing you here?” he asked, voice filled with gravel.

  She nodded, eyes hot, huskiness invading her words. “Yes.”

  He dipped his head and slanted his lips across hers, taking her mouth in a kiss that was pure desire, fanning the flames of his need until he was almost surprised to not find himself reduced to ash.

  Only when he felt like his lungs would explode did he release Kate’s mouth.

  Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, her fingers clenching the fabric of his T-shirt. Her body so close and so fucking tempting.

  He ran his knuckles along the column of her throat. “What about here?”

  She nodded.

  Jaime bent and pressed his lips to the side of her neck, nipping lightly then soothing the slight sting with his tongue.

  She gasped, threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged. “Oh!”

  “Fuck, I love the way you say that,” he murmured, stealing a quick hard kiss from her mouth just because he could, but also because he couldn’t resist those lips. He stroked a finger lower, dipped it into the front of her tank top. “What about here?”

  “No.” She grabbed his hand, brought it to her breast. “I imagined you kissing me here.”

  The edges of his vision went hazy.

  “Kate—”

  Her fingers twitched, which meant that his fingers twitched, and holy hell the feel of her beneath his hand, soft and squeezable and damned near overfilling his hold was. So. Freaking. Glorious.

  “Will you?” she murmured, shifting slightly, and he felt the hard bud of her nipple brush against his palm. “Will you kiss me here, Jaime?”

  Fuck the pastries.

  Fuck the coffee.

  Fuck the plan.

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her into the house.

  Twelve

  Kate

  That was perhaps the boldest request she had ever made.

  But damn, had it paid off.

  Because now she was in Jaime’s arms, pressed against the chest she’d admired in so many of his pictures, held close as he stood and pushed through the front door of her house.

  A moment of her weight shifting, but before she could do more than grip his shoulders a little tighter, the lock clicked, and she was pulled even closer.

  She expected him to ask her where her bedroom was, to dump her down onto the mattress, to cover her body with his own and strip her naked. She expected him to take advantage of the opening she gave him, to take everything she had freely offered to him.

  And that would have been fine.

  Because it had been freely offered.

  Because she wanted that, too.

  Had dreamed about it, had fantasized and imagined and hoped and prayed it would come about, and in this moment, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.

  But then he spun and pressed her to the door, pinning her against the hard wood.

  His lips curved up at the corners. His eyes went hot.

  And then he said, “Where else can I kiss you, Red?”

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, lurched up so her mouth was a hairsbreadth from his. “Everywhere.”


  Lips curving further. Fingers sliding into her hair, knocking the ponytail askew, his hips holding her in place against the wood, and his free hand slipping under the hem of her tank top, his palm scalding where it met her bare skin. “Yeah?”

  Kate nodded. “Yeah.”

  He dropped to his knees so fast that she shrieked.

  But he only stayed there for a moment, long enough to unhook her legs, to help her find her feet, and then he was rising up, and his lips were on hers.

  Long and slow and deep, he kissed her as though she were the tastiest dessert on the planet, and he intended to savor every bite. His tongue licked across her lips, slipped inside, and caressed hers, coaxing her into a rhythm that made her thighs clench, her knees tremble.

  And all the while, his hands were moving, combing through her unbound hair, stroking up and down her side, over her stomach in delicate circles. A gentle pattern with slightly roughened skin that threatened to melt her into a puddle of goo.

  His hand slid up, stopping an inch beneath her bra, and her breasts swelled, her nipples hard little points that ached for his mouth.

  “Jaime,” she breathed.

  “Red.” He touched her cheek and crouched again, hunkering down in front of her. He was so much taller than her and when he went down to his knees for a second time, his mouth was positioned exactly where she wanted.

  He leaned in, sucked the hard bud of her nipple into his mouth.

  She still wore her tank top, her bra. Together they made up several layers of fabric. So, him touching her that way shouldn’t have felt good, shouldn’t have sent desire spiraling through her body like his touch was a live wire directly to her pussy. But this was Jaime.

  And the fact that he held such a power over her wasn’t scary.

  Because she knew deep down in the depths of her soul that he wouldn’t take advantage of that power, that he wouldn’t hold it over her, that she would be safe with him.

  Because she also knew that somehow, she held the same power over him.

  Flick.

  She jumped.