The Billionaire's Favourite Mistake(15)

When he rounded the corner and saw Greer's stony face, he thought maybe  not. That was the look of a pissed woman if there ever was one.

"You look nice," he told her as he approached. She did, actually.  Despite the heat, she was wearing a buttoned-up pale green cardigan that  made her dusky skin seem luminescent and a pair of khaki capris with  wedges. For some reason, that demure outfit got him all hot and bothered  to the point that he felt the urge to stick his hands in his slacks  pockets and furtively adjust himself. What was it about Greer's modest  clothing that made him want to touch her even more? Was it because he  was the only one who knew what was under those layers?

Whatever it was, he might have been the only man in Vegas to get an  erection at the sight of a cardigan. He didn't care. She was beautiful,  and she'd be his again if he had anything to say about it.

"We need to talk," Greer said stiffly. She pushed her big glasses up on  her nose and then gestured at one of the nearby benches lining the  walk. "Sit. I have a lot to say."

He sat. He might have also sprawled his legs a little and put his arm  on the back of the bench so it'd force her to be closer in proximity to  him. A dick move, but he couldn't resist. She was just . . . delicious.

How had he been blind for so long?

She tucked a tendril of stray hair back behind her ear and frowned at  him. "Don't look so pleased to be here. I still hate you."

"I don't hate you," he countered. "And just seeing you convinces me that I need to figure out how to make you like me again."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't flirt with me. I know where that ends up, and it's not a place I ever want to be again."

Where that ends up? Her words baffled him but he'd play along. "Go on."

"My father wants to pull off a ridiculous wedding in the next month,"  she said bluntly. "A normal wedding takes a year to coordinate, and he  wants this one done in weeks. It's going to take all of my time and my  resources just to try and stay on track, provided my health holds up."  Her hand touched her lightly rounded stomach.

His own stomach felt as if it dropped into his shoes. "Your health? Is there something wrong with the baby?"

"You needn't look so worried," Greer said dryly. "I was just referring  to morning sickness. It was brutal for the first few weeks but it seems  to have passed. Don't pretend to be concerned for my sake."

For some reason, that pissed him off. "Just because I was a drunk  fuckhead doesn't mean I don't care what happens to you or the baby.  Jesus, Greer. Give a man some credit."

Her eyes went wide and owl-like behind her glasses. She fidgeted and  straightened them nervously, then nodded. "You're right. That was  unfeeling of me. I'm sorry." Her mouth curved into an awkward smile. "My  example of fatherhood has been Stijn, so you'll have to forgive me if I  don't have much faith in men."

No wonder she was quick to assume the worst. Stijn was a cold bastard,  and he couldn't imagine the man in any sort of fatherly role. "Forgiven.  Go on."

She clasped her hands in her lap, looking for all the world as if she  were about to beg. "What I brought you here to say is that I think you  should back out of the wedding."

"No."

She looked crestfallen. "Please, Asher? For me?"

It killed him to have to turn her down. Killed him. Seeing the  pleading, unhappy look in her eyes was tearing him apart. "Why do you  want me out of the wedding?" It wouldn't happen, of course, since the  wedding was occurring simply because he needed a way to spend time  around Greer for the next month, but he was curious to hear her reasons  anyhow.         

     



 

Her hands twisted in her lap. "I can't work around you. I need all of  my concentration to pull this off-to give my father and his bride-to-be  their fairy tale." Her expression softened. "I want this to be a  wonderful wedding. Weddings are the start of a new life together, and  it's more than just organizing caterers. It's launching a couple into  their happy ever after." Her pointed face glowed.

It dawned on him that Greer-quiet, studious Greer with the dickwad  titty-mag-mogul father-was a romantic. No wonder she'd been so  devastated over their interlude in the gardens. He mentally filed that  information away. "So why am I a problem?"

"Because I hate you and I can't be around you without being angry." Her  jaw clenched. "Because I need to focus and the wedding needs to be my  focus, not how much I want to punch your face."

He grinned and reached for one of her dainty hands. "You wouldn't do much damage with one of these-"

She jerked out of his grasp and jumped to her feet. "Don't touch me! You lost that privilege the night you were a sperm donor."

"You mean the night we had sex," he said flatly. Her constant insults  were starting to nick at his temper. "Call it what it was."

"I am calling it what it was," Greer corrected. "It wasn't sex. Or if  it was, it was sex in the very loosest interpretation of the term. I  don't mean to hurt your feelings, Asher, but . . . you're terrible at  it."

That . . . was unexpected. Greer the virgin chiding him on how bad he was at sex? "I'm terrible?"

She gave him a pained little grimace. "I'm sure no man wants to hear  that, but I figure I'm doing the world a service by correcting you." She  stepped forward and patted his shoulder. "It really was not good,  Asher. I'm sorry."

He was torn between amusement and irritation. "What part?"

"All of it." She gave an emphatic nod. "I'm afraid that whatever you  think your technique is, you're going to have to go back to the drawing  board."

Her cheeks looked flushed, and she was starting to fidget. He was  intrigued at her reaction despite himself. Asher crossed his arms over  his chest and did his best to look insulted. "Let's break this down so I  know what I need to work on, then. Kissing?"

"Dreadful."

"Dreadful?"

"There was entirely too much slobber and tongue. I felt like you were looking for my tonsils."

Well, damn. No matter how amused he was at the conversation, some  things stung. There went his ego, deflating like a popped balloon. He'd  never had anyone complain about his kissing before. He'd been drunk but  he'd never thought being drunk destroyed his "technique" that badly. "I  see. So, less tongue."

"Probably a good idea."

"What about my foreplay? I'm pretty good at that."

"What foreplay? You groped me once and then pulled my panties off."

Okay, he must have been really, really drunk to neglect his partner  like that. He'd always made sure Donna came more than once before he  ever got his. If ever there was an incentive to remain sober for the  rest of his life, there it was. "Point taken."

"Don't ask me to critique the rest," she said, and she looked embarrassed. "It wasn't pleasant."

"Would you believe me if I promised you that it was all the alcohol and I swear I'm much better at sex than you think I am?"

"Oh, Asher," she said softly. She gave him a pitying look. "No, I don't believe you."

He barked with laughter. Fair enough. He'd deserved that. He was just  about to ask her to critique his package when she wove unsteadily on her  feet and her face went white. "Greer?"

Her hand went to her forehead, and he saw it was shaking like a leaf. "I . . . I don't-"

He shot up from the bench and grabbed her before she could collapse.  "Greer!" Her body felt fragile against his, and he cradled her against  his chest. Her face was beaded with sweat, and her lips were pale, mouth  parted. Her glasses were askew and he pulled them off her face, gently  tapping her cheek.         

     



 

Asher's heart pounded in his chest. "Greer. Talk to me, baby. Let me know you're okay."

Her eyes fluttered after a moment. "I'm fine," she breathed. "I just need a moment."

"You're not fine," he growled, and picked her up in his arms. She was  so light, her body so damn fragile. He sat her down on one of the  benches and ripped off his blazer. "You nearly passed out."

She sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he told her, wadding up his jacket to act as a  pillow, and guided her to lie down on the bench. It was so damned hot  out-why had she asked to meet out in a garden in the desert in summer?  "Tell me what I can do."

"Just give me a moment," she said, pressing a hand to her forehead and closing her eyes. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Oh yeah, everyone faints all the time. They drop like flies at my  office," he said sarcastically. "I'm constantly catching women in the  elevator."

He was pleased that her mouth moved in a half smile. "I didn't eat  breakfast today. Too stressed. Probably just catching up with me."