Billionaire Novelist 3 : The Wicked Redhead and the Billionaire Novelist(24)

"No." He sipped his coffee. "Sometimes I like to watch."

I hid my dirty smile behind my cup. Talking to a stranger about sex was waking me up more than the caffeine. 

"Women are my inspiration," he said. "Of course I watch."

I said, "If you loved someone, would you allow another man to make love to her?"

"Make love, no." He made a fist. "Fuck? Yes. Not every day, but …  maybe. Maybe sometimes." His expression grew serious and he pushed back from the bistro table. "No, that is a lie. If I loved this woman, I would not share her with anyone." He grinned. "I would lock her away at the top of a castle. Like Rapunzel. With the long hair."

I grabbed my damp, red hair and twirled it into a rope. This man, Remi, was having a powerful effect on me that was both emotional and physical. My body tingled, and he made the rest of the world disappear when he looked into my eyes.

"You could be my Rapunzel," he said.

I was fidgeting with a sugar packet on the table top, and he grabbed my fingertips in his and stroked the top of my thumb. His touch on my hand was magnetic, drawing my energy into him.

I gazed up into his eyes, and he said something in French. I had no idea what the words meant, but I liked them. He kept talking, spinning a melodic tale, with the occasional word that sounded familiar, all the while stroking my hand. He had such a gift, and I felt like he was hypnotizing me, touching my body with his words.

Something slammed, a noisy commotion, and the table was suddenly tipping over. My coffee sprayed down my front, and I jumped up and back, tipping the bistro chair and nearly toppling myself. Remi had both hands up, palms facing his attacker, and he was gushing what sounded like apologies.

His attacker had short, silver-shot blond hair, and a strong-jawed face that currently bore the expression of a bulldog. A bulldog who just caught another dog gnawing his favorite bone.

"Fucking Smith!" I yelled, slapping him on the shoulders to let go of the younger man.

Remi had a manic expression, a howling mix of horror and laughter. As soon as Smith let go of his shirt, the man puffed up his chest and bounced from foot to foot, fists up like a boxer.

I let out a few more choice swear words, grabbed Smith Fucking Wittingham by the wrist, and yanked him away. Some people had gathered to watch the fight, and flashes went off as people took photos. Flashes?

As we walked back up the street, in the direction of the hotel, the flashes continued, and it seemed people were following us.

I stopped and turned to yell at the people,"What's your problem?"

More flashes went off in my face, and then finally my smarter brain cells sent the stupider ones the message. This just in: A famous billionaire novelist was just in an altercation with an up-and-coming rock star and maybe, just maybe, gossip rags might find that interesting.

We hurried back to the Hotel Le St. James, neither of us turning to look back. The photographers, or paparazzi I guess, didn't pursue us past the burly doorman.

I couldn't gauge Smith's mood, but it didn't seem great. I could understand how it must have upset him to see another man holding my hand and gazing into my eyes, but it wasn't like the man was na**d and plowing me from behind while I cried out in ecstasy, you know?

We got back into the penthouse, and Smith barked at the housekeepers to leave immediately.

"They're not done yet," I said, a tremor in my voice.

He started removing his belt. "Out!" he yelled, and they scurried out the door.

We were alone, and he snapped the belt in his hands.

I put my hands on my hips. "Is that supposed to scare me? Are you going to spank me?"

He lowered his chin and stared at me through his eyebrows menacingly.

A tremor of fright shook through me, and I ran. I ran for the exit, but he was between me and it, so I ran for the second bedroom, the one he'd been sleeping in.




 

 

I shut the door behind me and tried to lock it, but my hand was shaking, and it took me forever. Smith didn't even try the handle. He tapped on the door politely.

"Tori? I didn't mean to scare you. Open up."

A nervous laugh escaped my lips. I didn't know what I was feeling, what to call the emotion that was making me cover my mouth with one hand while the other hand rubbed between my legs. The rock star. The running. His jealousy. I was so unbelievably turned on.

"I have an idea," he said softly. "How about you open the door, and I give you the spanking you so richly deserve. We'll f**k each other's brains out. Then we'll go out and see some of the sights. Sun and fresh air will be good for both of us."

I kept rubbing that spot between my legs.

He tapped again. "Please? I don't want to kick this door down, but I will."