Reluctantly Alpha (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 8)

by Ruth Cardello

  Chapter Eleven

  Dressed conservatively in a navy sheath dress with matching jacket, Angelina felt out of place as soon as she was greeted by a young receptionist in oversized pants, a white T-shirt with a black vest. There was probably no more than a five-year age difference, but looking at the other woman made Angelina wish she’d worn her hair in a less severe style. She caught a reflection of herself in the glass of a large window. I look like a tax collector.

  Or a building inspector.

  What am I doing?

  “You must be Miss Kroll,” the receptionist said with a smile.

  “I am.”

  “Mr. Sutton told me to bring you right in. Isn’t he the best? When I heard he was making a calendar to raise money for local animal shelters, I considered asking him to marry me right then, but then he told us to watch for you. I’m sure there are other gorgeous, successful, socially conscious men out there.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know you, but I hate you a little bit. Follow me.”

  They walked through a door into a large open loft that was divided into monthly sets. One had sand and a beach chair. Another had a tree with bright yellow and orange leaves.

  “Looks like he’s still in the winter area. I’ll tell him you’re here,” the woman said.

  Giving into a burst of uncertainty, Angelina said, “No. I don’t want to interrupt. Would it be okay for me to watch for a few minutes, and I’ll just announce my presence when he takes a break?”

  “Whatever. He’s going to be so happy to see you. I hope they catch that moment on film.”

  Angelina’s stomach quivered at that. Everyone seemed to think Connor had feelings for her. They saw a softer side than he’d shown her. Which was the real him?

  Following instructions from the receptionist Angelina headed to January and froze when she saw Connor. He was in bright gold bathing trunks beside a fake snowman. The photographer asked him to pick up a snowball and throw it. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest and he seemed to move in slow motion, muscles bunching as he did. His smile was natural and Angelina knew which calendar every women would be buying for Christmas. God, the man was perfection.

  “Okay, release the puppy,” the photographer said. “Let’s see if we can get a shot of him catching that snowball.”

  The hundred pound or so Saint Bernard that bounded toward Connor from off set didn’t look much like a puppy. Connor called to it then tossed what looked like a white tennis ball into the air. The dog ignored the ball and launched himself up as if expecting Connor to be able to catch him.

  Angelina held her breath.

  Connor’s eyes widened and he shifted his weight. The sound of the large dog slamming into his chest was followed by exclamations from onlookers. “Easy boy,” Connor said with a laugh that boomed through the room.

  A handler came rushing in. “I’m so sorry. We’ve been working on his jumping. It’s why he was returned to the shelter. Jumping puppies are cute when they’re little. He doesn’t have a lick of aggression in him, but he scared his first family because they couldn’t control him.”

  Connor held the massive puppy away from his face to evade its enthusiastic tongue. “What’s his name?”

  “Button. He was the smallest in his litter. His family thought that meant he wouldn’t get that big, but he’s nowhere near done growing.”

  “Hi, Button. Who’s a big scary dog?” The puppy whined and squirmed, trying to lap at Connor’s face. “Not you. Are you going to be good if I put you down?”

  The wild whoosh of the puppy’s tail made no promises.

  “I can use this as well,” the photographer called out. “Get out of the shot, Martin.”

  The handler stepped off set.

  Gently, Connor lowered the puppy onto its feet. “Sit.” The pup’s behind approached, but didn’t touch the floor. Tongue hanging out, it seemed to be smiling up at Connor. Surprisingly, Connor was smiling right back.

  Connor crouched with his hands on his thighs. “Who wants to catch a tennis ball? Do you want to catch a tennis ball?”

  When the puppy launched upward, Connor laughed and stepped back. “Not me. A ball.” He picked another fake snowball off the ground and waved it in front of the dog. “See, this is a ball.”

  The puppy continued bouncing in place. When Connor tossed the ball up in the air, the pup launched itself forward and used Connor’s chest as a springboard to jump higher. Taken unaware, Connor stumbled backward and landed on his back in a pile of snow. Tennis ball in mouth, the puppy pounced him.

  There was a real joy to Connor’s laughter that made it impossible to not laugh along. The dog was utterly ridiculous and Connor was loving it. If Angelina had thought Connor was attractive before, he was now jaw-dropping off-the-charts her type.

  “Good boy,” Connor said as he sat up and took the dog by the face. “You caught it. Good dog.”

  The puppy whined again and gave a full body wiggle.

  “No more,” Connor said firmly as he pushed the pup off his lap. “Sit.”

  Unbelievably, ball in mouth, the puppy did as Connor asked.

  Connor stood, brushed the fake snowflakes off him and smiled at the puppy. “I’m the alpha in this relationship. I know, I know, it’s not fair, but I have opposable thumbs and you probably still shit on the rug. I stopped doing that years ago, which puts me at an advantage here.”

  “He likes you,” Martin said as he stepped onto the set again.

  So do I.

  “I grew up with a Newfoundland. I still miss her. What is a dog like Button doing in the city?”

  Martin shrugged. “People don’t think decisions through sometimes. I bet he was cute at eight weeks old.”

  Connor gave the pup a pat on the head. “He’s cute now, just big.” He bent again to pet the pup. Button rolled onto his back and Connor gave it a hearty rub. When he stood, Button leapt to his feet, but before he jumped Connor told him to sit again then praised him when he did. “Tell me if he doesn’t find a good home. I know people who would love him.”

  Angelina looked around the room. The men were smiling. The women were practically swooning. He could probably go home with any of them, regardless of their sex. And he wants me?

  The one who can’t even remember what cutting loose and having fun feels like?

  What would I be to him? An indulgence in curiosity?

  A meaningless fling?

  Would that be enough for me?

  And then what? Could we adult and continue to work together?

  “Did you get the shot you needed?” he asked the photographer.

  “Sure did. Go change into the trunks with hearts on them and meet me in February.”

  He nodded then looked in Angelina’s direction. She dropped her purse then scrambled to pick it up as he walked toward her. By the time she straightened he was right in front of her.

  “You’re here,” he said, those blue eyes of his giving none of his feelings away.

  She cleared her throat. “I am.”

  Despite the others in the room, it was just the two of them . . . nothing and no one else mattered in that moment. A smile spread across his face. “You do like me.”

  Her face warmed, but she smiled back. “I guess I do.”

  “I’m glad.” He lifted her by her waist and swung her around. It was exhilarating. She laughed in surprised delight. When he came to a stop, he lowered her slowly, letting her slide down his bare chest and come to a rest against the evidence of his excitement. “I like you too.”

  Apparently and with impressive size.

  Wow.

  She steadied herself by holding on to his muscular, bare arms. She had to remind herself that they weren’t alone. “Don’t let me interrupt your photo shoot.”

  “What photo shoot?” he asked playfully.

  She ran a hand up his chest and breathed in the clean, masculine scent of him. “I can’t be the reason animal shelters don’t get funded. Get your ass into that heart bathing suit.”


  His eyes lit with challenge. “I will on one condition.”

  Oh, Lord, is it wrong that my answer is already yes? “Which is?”

  He bent and whispered into her ear, “Lose the jacket.”

  When he raised his head, their eyes met, and she knew one yes would lead to more. Without breaking eye contact, she stepped back and placed her purse on a nearby chair then slid her jacket off and dropped it on top of her purse. The way his gaze roved over her one would have thought her modest, sleeveless dress was a whole lot more revealing.

  “Beautiful,” he said in a guttural tone.

  After licking her bottom lip, she said, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  A smile returned to his eyes. “Wait until you see my best part.”

  Her eyes rounded at his innuendo.

  Then he winked. “I have an adorable tattoo on my left butt cheek. What did you think I was referring to?”

  Laughing, she shook her head. No way was she going to say.

  His grin said she didn’t have to—he knew.

  “A tattoo, I didn’t see one—”

  It was his turn to look surprised.

  She finished quickly. “In the movie. The one time I watched it.” She flushed all over as his grin widened.

  “Concealer,” he said with laughter in his eyes. “It’s just a tiny thing. My tattoo, that is.”

  She swallowed hard. “I knew what you were referring to. An ass tattoo, sounds like a drunken mistake.”

  “Worse. It’s a small yellow rose in memory of my mother. Any mention of her used to make my father sad, so I remember thinking my ass cheek sounded like the perfect place to conceal it. Over the years, though, explaining to women why I chose to honor my deceased mother with a flower on my ass has been—entertaining to say the least.”

  A laugh bubbled out of Angelina. “I can see how it would be. That’s sweet, though. I’m sure your mother understands.”

  “I like to think she does. Hey, life is tough. You can either laugh or cry your way through it. I choose to laugh.”

  Angelina searched his face. “You’re not at all the way I thought you were. You’re so—”

  He interrupted. “Don’t say nice. Women fuck nice men once . . . three times tops. Say I’m mysterious. Intimidating. I’d rather you call me an asshole.”

  She cocked her head to one side and trusted her instincts. “Who have you been with? I don’t think there’s anything sexier than a kind man.”

  His face transformed with pleasure that sent warmth shooting through her. “I do have to finish the calendar. Can you wait for me?”

  It would be a real chore, but . . . “I have to pick Whitney up at five, but I have until then.”

  “Good.” He erased the question from her mind by cupping her face between his hands and giving her a sweetest kiss that had her toes curling in her high heels. When he raised his head, he was breathing as heavily as she was. “This may take a while.”

  “That’s okay,” she whispered.

  Only when he stepped away did she realize all eyes had been on the two of them. She smiled awkwardly and gave everyone a quick wave.

  The receptionist appeared at her side again with a steaming cup of coffee. “I’m having a chair brought out for you. And I thought you might want this. You two look good together, but I still don’t like you. He was supposed to be mine.”

  Angelina accepted the coffee and waited for the younger woman to give some sign that she was joking. When she didn’t, Angelina thanked her for the drink but ditched it as soon as she’d left the room. I’m not taking any chances.

  The chair, though, was high backed and comfortable. According to the man who brought it to her, it was also light enough to move around the studio as Connor switched to other sets.

  Connor was back almost before she’d settled into the chair. He scanned the room, then headed over to her as soon as he spotted her. Barefoot, bare-chested, in the tackiest Valentine’s Day swimming trunks Angelina had ever seen . . . he was still mouth wateringly gorgeous. “Don’t you dare laugh,” he growled near her ear.

  Laugh? Or squirm my way to an orgasm just watching you? “It’s not that bad.”

  “I have a problem.”

  “You do?”

  “Before I start, I need one more taste . . .” His mouth closed over hers again. This time, his tongue slipped between her lips and his hand cupped the back of her head. She opened her mouth wider for him, swirling her tongue around his, meeting his passion with her own. He raised his head. “Now I have a second problem, but I’m hoping the photographer doesn’t notice.”

  Her eyes fell to his tented bathing suit and then rose to meet his gaze again. “I can’t help you with that.”

  “Not here anyway,” he said, his sexy grin returning. He gave her a quick kiss then shook his head. “No more. I need to focus.”

  The way he looked at her made her feel ten years younger and free. “Or just one last one.”

  His nostrils flared and he bent in for another kiss, murmuring, “I like the way you think.”

  At the photographer’s prompting Connor straightened and trotted away. Angelina raised a shaking hand to her lips, let out a sigh, and smiled. Holy shit.

  Connor Sutton wasn’t the man she’d thought he was—he was a million, trillion times more irresistible. The man who turned while posing with a kitten to smile at her—well, that man might just break her heart—or renew her faith in men.

  Did she really want to give any man that power over her?

  “That’s it,” the photographer said. “That’s the look I was asking you for earlier. If you looked at me that way, I’d have sex with you, and I don’t even like men.”

  Connor’s smile twitched with humor, but he kept his attention on Angelina. There was a possessive need in his gaze so intense Angelina was finding it difficult to think of much else beyond getting him alone.

  She told herself his expression was the result of his skill as an actor, but he still looked pretty damn excited for a man who was acting. He likes me.

  Really likes me.

  This could go somewhere.

  She blinked back tears as hope and fear warred within her.

  Slow down.

  I barely know him.

  There’s no reason to think what I’m feeling now is anything more than lust . . . or that it will last.

  But it sure feels real.

  Ten photo shoot months later, Connor shimmied out of candy cane patterned swim trunks and reached for his own clothing. As he stepped into his boxers he read the quote on the front of them and smiled. Since his brother Dylan had left for Iceland, he’d started sending gifts back to Connor. Dylan’s latest one had been a set of boxers with motivational quotes on them.

  He’d probably intended them as a joke, but wearing them had actually lifted Connor’s spirits over the past week. To give him confidence running his first meeting with Landon Foundation he’d worn the ones that said: Want hard. Work hard.

  When negotiating the cost of the new building they were acquiring, he’d worn: No matter how you start, finish unforgettable.

  The day he’d met families the Landon Foundation was helping he wore: Do it with passion or don’t do it at all.

  Today’s boxers were meant to keep him motivated through what had sounded like a long day: I don’t quit before I’m done.

  Standing there looking in the mirror, he imagined what Angelina would think of them. Wait, she was standing right outside the door of the changing room. He didn’t have to imagine. He opened the door and called her over.

  Eyes wide she approached his changing room. “Yes?”

  “Read my boxers. My brother sent me a bunch like this. I thought they were motivational messages, but now I think he’s ragging on me because I always joke I have more sex than he does.”

  Angelina’s mouth rounded but no sound came out. Her eyebrows came together and her cheeks flushed as her gaze dropped.

  Beneath her attention, his cock sprang to
attention, tenting his boxers. Connor looked down, then met her eyes and smiled. “Sorry. I can’t control that around you.”

  Still she didn’t say anything, she just nodded.

  The air was thick with a sexual tension that he didn’t feel right about acting on there. His body was hyperaware of every inch of hers—the catch in her breath, the way she bit her bottom lip as her gaze roamed over him. She was as excited as he was. He would have kissed her, but she wasn’t someone he wanted to fuck in a changing room and their attraction was like a racehorse rearing and ready. Exciting, but he wanted what happened between them to matter. He’d slept with a fair share of women he hadn’t expected to see again. Angelina was different. He didn’t understand why . . . she simply was. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you. I didn’t want you to see them later and think . . .” An image of her gloriously naked and riding him, those amazing breasts of hers jiggling against his chest temporarily distracted him.

  Didn’t I just tell myself that’s not where this is going today?

  “They’re fine,” she said in a husky voice.

  He decided to ease the tension with a joke. “I should have caught the sexual connotations when I wore the pair that said. ‘I’m not here to be average.’ I thought they were meant to bolster my confidence. Oh, I will find the perfect gift for payback.”

  Her lips curved in a smile. “I’d love to help you choose something. I used to enjoy tormenting my brothers.” Her smile faded almost as soon as she mentioned her family.

  If Connor wasn’t sporting an awkwardly impressive boner, he would have pulled her in for a hug. She was strong and independent, but she was also a little broken. He’d realized that the day they’d met at Reemsly. Now he saw her pain ran deeper than her job.

  “I should get dressed.” His dick was apparently unable to pick up on mood changes and it was impossible to pretend it wasn’t dancing in the air between them, begging for her to notice it. He checked the time on his watch. “It’s only two o’clock. Are you hungry?”