by Ivy Layne
"Isn't it a little early for whiskey?"
The voice was smooth, dark and luscious with a husky bite. At first I thought it was the whiskey talking. Then I looked up.
Shit. Standing on the other side of the fence was my neighbor, the one Maggie and I called Lawnmower Hottie. The name was silly, but apt. At first I'd only seen him mowing his yard, always shirtless, his chiseled body on full display. He was tall, taller than my brothers and cousins. At least 6' 6". And solid. Broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs. All of him covered in muscle and what seemed like acres of tattoos.
He should have scared me. My cousin Vance was big, had muscles and a bunch of tattoos. But not like this guy. Lawnmower Hottie was dark. Olive skin, black shaggy hair, apple green eyes. I'd never seen him smile. And I'd looked. I'm not going to admit how often I'd spied on him. I was Pavlov's dog. I heard that lawnmower start up, and I went straight to the window.
"How much of that have you had to drink?" he asked, nodding at the decanter beside me.
I looked from him to my half empty glass before I answered. We'd never spoken, never exchanged more than a vague half wave, but now was as good a time as any to get to know my new neighbor. For once, I was feeling reckless, my anger and the whiskey mixing in my blood, tugging at my memories of another time, when I'd been another girl.
"This is my second," I said, holding my glass up to the light. "Do you want some? I don't have another glass. You'll have to share with me."
Lawnmower Hottie was over the fence in one fluid leap, landing on the balls of his feet, moving far too quietly for his size. This man was a predator. Dangerous. Before I could regret my invitation, he was sitting beside me, his spicy male scent blending with the whiskey, going straight to my head.
Had I said I was feeling reckless? The heat of his body warming my side, he took the glass from my fingers, his skin brushing mine, electric sparks shooting down my nerve endings at the brief contact. My breath caught in my throat. His green eyes were as clear as glass as they studied the whiskey before he raised the tumbler and took a sip.
Up close, he was a study in contradictions - the clarity of his green eyes gemlike, the line of his jaw aggressive, a perfect match for those bladed cheekbones. And his mouth. Lush and full, it was the mouth of a lover, a mouth made for kissing.
I found myself leaning into him, his lips a magnet. I started to pull back, to get myself under control. I was Charlotte Winters. Perfect Charlotte Winters. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect job. Always perfect.
Not anymore. That Charlotte was gone. I was left with Charlie, and Charlie was unemployed, sitting on her back porch in the middle of the day drinking whiskey and thinking bad thoughts about kissing her neighbor. Charlotte would get up, politely excuse herself, wash out the glass and set it to dry beside the sink before she went off and did something sensible. But Charlotte wasn't here. And Charlie knew exactly what she wanted.
I didn't care if it was the whiskey, the crappy day, or just good old fashioned lust. I knew what I wanted. Maybe not in the big picture. My life was in a shambles and I had no clue what to do about that. But right there, whiskey and desire fizzing in my veins, Lawnmower Hottie close enough to touch, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Before I could think twice, I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his. Fireworks exploded behind my eyelids. He let out a grunt of surprise before his hands closed over my shoulders. For a brief moment I was afraid he was going to push me away and disappointment stabbed through me.
Then I opened my mouth to his, my tongue stroking across his lower lip, and he pulled me closer, my breasts pressing to his broad chest, his mouth slanting over mine, taking control of the kiss. My blood sang and my body was molten. He tasted of whiskey and pleasure. Of danger and sex. I had to have more.
I was a mess, lost and without direction. I had no idea what I was doing with my life, but I knew one thing.
I wanted more of this man. And I'd do whatever I had to do to get him.
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ABOUT IVY LAYNE
Ivy Layne has had her nose stuck in a book since she first learned to decipher the English language. Sometime in her early teens, she stumbled across her first Romance, and the die was cast. Though she pretended to pay attention to her creative writing professors, she dreamed of writing steamy romance instead of literary fiction. These days, she’s neck deep in alpha heroes and the smart, sexy women who love them.
Married to her very own alpha hero (who rubs her back after a long day of typing, but also leaves his socks on the floor). Ivy lives in the mountains of North Carolina where she and her other half are having a blast raising two energetic little boys. Aside from her family, Ivy’s greatest loves are coffee and chocolate, preferably together.
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The Billionaire’s Promise
Copyright © 2016 by Ivy Layne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Valorie Clifton
Cover by Jacqueline Sweet
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.ivylayne.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
About
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
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