Scoring the Billionaire(13)

"You guys' foreplay is so weird," Georgia announced.

Cassie was undeterred. "Or awesome."         

     



 

"No. Weird. It's almost creepy. I feel like I'm watching the porno version of the Saw movies."

"Have you been peeking in our bedroom windows at night, you little freak?" Cassie asked with a grin. "Because we just did-"

Georgia interrupted, holding up one hand in Cassie's face. "Nope. Stop  right there. I don't want to be disturbed by the weird shit you two get  off on."

Cassie just laughed and slapped her hand away. "Like you should talk. You and Big-dick have boxes full of sex toys."

"From my mother."

"And using sex toys your mother sends you isn't weird?"

"We don't use them!"

"Uh-huh … sure you don't."

"We don't." Georgia looked at Kline. "Right, baby?"

Kline smirked. "Am I supposed to lie or tell the truth here?"

Georgia groaned, and he immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close.

"I think it's awesome Big-dick was able to open Georgia's Pandora's box of freak."

Pandora.

The memory of Wes inside me on his desk hit me so hard, I nearly took a  step back. Looking around, I searched for him almost desperately while  the conversation of the fierce foursome continued all around me.

"Me too," Kline agreed.

"Kline!"

He grinned down at her. "What? You know I love it when you-"

Georgia slapped her hand over his mouth. "That's enough oversharing for one evening, thank you very much."

Everyone laughed at that, even Georgia.

"What do you want to drink, Winnie?" Thatch asked, but before I could answer, Wes finally made an appearance.

Always arriving last to the party, but never failing to look like sex-on-a-stick.

He gained the attention of many a woman as he stood in the entrance of  the room in a dashing black suit, crisp white shirt, no tie, and jacket  open, with aviators adorning his handsome face covered in a few days'  worth of lick-worthy scruff, surveying the room. And if I said I wasn't  one of them, I'd be lying. He was just so handsome.

When his eyes found mine, a smile curved the corner of his mouth-not a little one-fucking huge.

One point for Cassie's costume skills.

His strides were long and smooth as he wove his way over to us, his  piercing eyes shining like beacons directly at mine the whole time.

"Winnie?" Thatch called. I struggled, almost twitching with the effort,  but I finally broke the connection just as Wes made it to the group.

He could tell immediately that I needed saving.

"What's going on?"

"You're late."

He smiled and shrugged, and I got lost in his eyes all over again.

"I was trying to get Winnie's drink order," Thatch clarified as he wrapped a casual arm around his wife.

"She's a big fan of expensive Pinot Noir," Wes told him casually and winked in my direction.

But when his eyes met mine, they didn't leave. Time seemed to stand  still as he stood there looking at me like there was no one else  around-eyes roaming up and down my body, taking in every single little  inch of skin revealed-even though we were smack-dab in the middle of a  whole slew of other fucking people. Our group, the room, all of it faded  away as he used a tiny slip of his tongue across his bottom lip to talk  to me. It was so small, an inconsequential movement to anyone else, but  he might as well have taken a torch and lit my skin on fire.

Before I could give my actual drink order, Thatch started to sing  softly. "I wear my suuun-glasses at night." His head bobbed back and  forth, punctuating each word dramatically. I had to bite my lip to keep  from laughing.

Wes reached up to the top of his head to pat the aviators that sat there.

"Seriously, Whitney, what are you?" Thatch questioned once he finished  the chorus. "You know it's a Halloween party, right?" he continued,  looking Wes up and down. With a snap of his fingers, he pointed at Wes.  "Wait … let me guess … you're Wes Lancaster when he's out trolling for  pussy, right?"

"Robin Thicke," Wes corrected, shaking his head with a grin. He was just  amused by the rest of us, but I didn't miss the glance in my direction  at the mention of his "trolling."         

     



 

Thatch grinned. "‘Blurred Lines'?"

Wes nodded, and a sly, confident smirk kissed his perfect lips. "That's exactly the look I was going for."

"I see … I see … " Thatch added with a nod. "So … you're hoping women will just rip their tops off and dance around you?"

Wes slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "A man can dream,  right?" he responded nonchalantly, but his eyes held mine as he spoke,  each word driving into me like a perfectly placed spank.

Holy hell, I needed a fan. Or maybe I was coming down with a fever.

The truth?

I didn't feel sick. But I sure as hell felt like reenacting another night of marathon sex with Wes Lancaster.




A few hours-and drinks-later I found myself in a place I never, ever  thought I would be: sitting at a table with a pregnant, naughty nun and a  hooker, discussing our favorite Golden Girls.

"Blanche!" Cassie exclaimed enthusiastically, her fervor entirely thanks  to personality rather than alcohol. That made one of us.

Georgia and I laughed … and laughed … and laughed. Way more than was  necessary or expected, but hey, that's tequila for you. We'd at least  moved on to straight wine.

"What? Why is that so funny?" Cassie demanded, her amusement with the two of us running just as dry as her cups.

"It's not funny, it's fucking predictable," Georgia responded on a  hiccupping giggle, snorting so hard at the end that she choked on her  own spit.



Oh, yeah. We're pretty right now.



"You're drunk, you bitch!" Cassie railed until it trailed into a whine.  She wanted alcohol like I wanted the D. We were both sad little sacks  while we struggled through the wait.

Georgia just nodded and held up her glass of wine. "Cheers, honey."

Cassie flipped her off.

As the music switched over to Beyoncé's "Drunk in Love," I decided that  Harley Quinn needed to enjoy the night. She needed to let the fuck loose  and dance her little booty-short and fishnet-wearing ass off.

And that she … was me.

So, that's exactly what I did without saying another word to anyone.

Because sometimes, you just didn't need anyone else. You just needed to  feel the music and let it consume you. Sometimes, you just needed to  forget about what people thought and not worry about whether you looked  like an idiot out on the dance floor.

Sometimes, you just had to let go.

As I walked toward the dance floor, I heard Cassie ask, "Win? Where are you going?" but I didn't slow down.

I just turned around and grinned at her, and then made my way to the  center of the dance floor. The beat moved through me like a wave, and as  I finally caught it, I shook my hips and raised my hands in the air.

I was just loose enough that I didn't need to look around the room,  wasn't waiting for someone to join me-all I needed was myself and the  music. Two songs in, as irony would have it, the catchy opening beat of  "Blurred Lines" started to play. I laughed to myself and shook my hips  even harder, the cool kiss of the air-conditioned-thanks to an early  roasting room packed full of bodies-space touching skin that rarely even  saw my bedroom.

But I put that out of my mind and made eye contact with an older  gentleman across the dance floor, and he seemed amused by my dance moves  enough to bolster my confidence. If he'd done it differently, in a  creepy way, I probably would have wilted. But it wasn't like that at  all. His eyes were kind, and his body language said he could tell I was  having fun.

And then, as my eyes moved across the crowd, Robin Thicke himself seemed to appear from nothing.

It actually took me a minute, thanks to the impairments of alcohol, but  eventually, I figured out it was really just Wes Lancaster dressed as  Robin Thicke.

And that was even better.

He moved toward me slowly, with a sexy little smirk on his lips.  Transported by the music and the moment, I couldn't do anything but keep  dancing and watch him get closer.

It took both forever and no time at all, but as the wait burned inside  me, the heated connection of our gaze became too much. I'd barely turned  away before his chest was to my back and his hands were on my hips, his  body following my movements, and I could feel my body moving as it  sought contact with each surface inch of his.         

     



 

His warm breath near my ear, I swore I heard him take a deep inhale as if he was savoring the smell of me.

I doubt he smells so much like peaches, he'd said.

On instinct, I leaned my head against his shoulder and let him take the  lead. His hands skated easily down to my hips, and then back up again,  skimming the sides of my belly. I sucked in a breath involuntarily.