Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 2(10)

“Can I give you a ride?”

The familiar male voice, deep and sexy, purred in my ear as I tightened my fingers around my clutch. I spun around and gawked. It was him! Jaime Zander! What was he doing at the hotel…again? Was he really stalking me? Or was it just a coincidence?

My eyes drank him in. He was wearing another sexy black biker jacket, black tight-ass jeans, a V-neck white tee, and alligator loafers with no socks. Damn! I loved the way he was dressed. My skin prickled and my pulse quickened. Take a deep breath, Gloria. Breathe!

“Is that a yes or no, Ms. Long?” He shot me a crooked smile that was daring me to take him up on his offer.

I silently debated if I should. The long cab line hadn’t budged an inch. I had little choice. “Fine.” I stabbed the word at him like a dart just as his shiny black Range Rover pulled up to the curb. He shuffled me toward the car as his driver opened the back passenger door. I tingled at his warm touch.

“After you.” Jaime followed behind me as I gracefully slid into the plush SUV. I sat as far away from him as I could, but he sidled up right next to me. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and smell his heavenly cologne—again our spicy made-for-him fragrance. I suddenly felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the way it mixed with the scent of his skin and the leather of his jacket.

“What were you doing at the fashion show?” I spluttered.

“Research.”

“How did you get invited?”

“I have connections.”

Vivien?

His denim blue eyes gave me a long once-over. “You look hot.”

All at once, I felt hot—make that near the melting point. I crossed one leg over the other, trying to calm the sudden pulsing sensation between them.

“You got a big date tonight?” He brushed the tip of my braid under my chin, coaxing a response.

I squirmed. “I’m going to a Gloria’s Secret party at Touch.”

That cocky grin curled on his lips. “Then we’ll arrive together.”

I flinched. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on the A-List.”

I mentally grimaced. I bet Vivien had invited him. The little vixen wants to get into his pants. I was going to have to watch her like a hawk tonight. I took a deep calming breath and shot my companion a challenging look.

“Shouldn’t you be home or at your office working on the Gloria’s Secret pitch? You know, I expect to see it on Friday with my team. That’s less than forty-eight hours away.”

He let out a deep, sexy laugh. “Oh, I’ve nailed that already.”

“Really?” My voice registered genuine surprise.

“Yeah, you inspire me.”

“What else do I do to you?”

“You make me hard.”

His words made me jolt. I glanced down at his crotch and my eyes widened. Holy shit! He wasn’t kidding. There was a substantial bulge between his legs that was straining against his jeans.

I was still in shock when he grabbed my right hand and placed it on the bump. A hot, rock-hard mound met my palm. Before I could move a finger, he cupped his warm hand over mine, pressing it against his arousal. My pulse was in overdrive, and I was bristling all over.

“Gloria, look at me.”

Hesitantly, I turned his way. I met his penetrating gaze.

“I’m not a bullshitter. I want your account. What do I have to do to win it?”

“First, let go of my hand.” I spit out the words.

He slowly lifted his hand. My fingers flew off his cock.

He shot me a saucy smile. “What else?”

“Come up with something I love.”

“I’ve got something you’ll love, and it’s right here in this car.”

For a New York minute, I froze, positive he was going to zip down his fly. I didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or cry out in frustration when he swung open the door of a built-in cabinet and pulled out a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket along with two flutes. After uncorking the bubbly, he poured us each a glass and proposed a toast.

“To our relationship.” He clinked his glass against mine. Normally, I drank very little, but I was in mighty need of a drink. This man was getting under my skin. And I more than liked it.





Chapter 4

There was already a major scene outside when we pulled up to Touch on West Fifty-Second Street. Wannabes were clamoring to get past the bouncers and the red velvet rope, and paparazzi were stepping over each other to get shots of the arriving celebrities and supermodels. Jaime clasped my hand as we elbowed our way through the crowd. His grip was firm, warm, and powerful.

“Gloria!” shouted out several paparazzi, blinding me with their flashes as they snapped my photo. I plastered a big fake smile on my face. God, did I hate this part of the job. Only Kevin knew I was actually rather shy. And that I harbored deep insecurities—leftovers from my past—beneath my powerhouse façade.