Wife Wanted (A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance)(94)

 

Lately, he had begun to question himself, making little stupid errors he knew better than to make. He had to be careful because Zia was already on him, noticing the little things he did wrong. It was weird how a girl he just met could make him lose control so quickly. He got up and kept walking.

 

As he strolled past a winding stream, he took off his shoes and waded into the water. It was beautiful and warm in the afternoon sun, just like he remembered Sara's face. He tried to imagine how she’d look at the party but couldn’t imagine her in anything other than the waitress outfit she made look so sexy. The thought of her body clad in that outfit aroused him. He needed to strip a couple of layers of clothes to cool off. He looked around to make sure no one was following him and took off his shirt; he wasn’t expecting anyone since no one came to that part of his property except him and his family. The staff never asked questions; they just knew not to venture to this part of the estate. If anyone ever wondered what they did in those forests, no one ever asked.

 

The beauty of being a billionaire is that you can buy privacy, as well as get a girl you really like to come to a party without speaking to her. He chuckled at the anticipation of seeing Sara's face again, staring into her eyes like he had the last time he had seen her, touching her, even if it was just a hug, and smelling her essence if she would let him. He sounded like a creepy stalker, and that was not what he wanted to project. He had to be careful he didn’t come across as an asshole or a weirdo.

 

The sun was blazing and he got even hotter. He decided to go for a swim to cool off. "Fuck it," he said aloud as he stripped to the skin and plunged into the pool. Once he hit the water, his animalistic instincts took over, and he started making powerful strides, swimming uphill against the current. The faster he swam, the more his body begged for more. It was as if the physical exhaustion was what he needed to get control of his thoughts of Sara.

 

While he was under the water, he heard someone calling his name from a distance. Zia was on the other side of the river where he had left his clothes. She had probably guessed he was off swimming to release tension. This was the first time he had done this right before an event with so little time to spare.

 

He surfaced and looked up in the clouds. He had gotten so carried away being in nature that he had totally lost track of time. He should have been dressed and awaiting the guests rather than naked and swimming in a stream, totally unaware of the rest of civilization.

 

"Coming, Zia!" he called to her from the distance.

 

"You're going to make us late!" she called back to him. "You know what time it is?”

 

Nick didn't have to get close to her to know she was seething mad at him. Her voice told him all he needed to know. "I'll be there in a few!" Nick called back.

 

"Five minutes, brother! And put some damn clothes on."

 

Nick heard her footsteps retreat to the house. He swam back to his clothes and was dressed and on his way back to the house quickly.

 

The guests hadn't started arriving when he emerged, but his staff were ready to start the party. He disappeared into his room and took a quick shower. He had picked out a sensible dinner suit for the evening - a white suit tailored for him, but on second thought, he went for a dark suit. He had a sense that Sara would find him more appealing in a darker color.

 

As he dressed, he cursed himself. When did everything he do start depending on Sara's opinion? He hadn't even kissed her, for crying out loud, and he was rearranging his life for her.

 

Looking out his window as he dressed, he watched the cars pull up the long driveway and let the guests out.

 

The first person to arrive was Mr. Harris, a man in his fifties, with his fourth or fifth wife. He had lost count. Nick watched them alight from the limo after it parked in his expansive driveway – the man, clad in an expensive, custom-made suit, alligator shoes, and a pin-stripe white shirt; his wife was dressed in a long, black, tight dress that was probably from a limited collection of some overpriced designer line, her shoes at least five inches high, and her hair, blonde, cropped, and silky. They came every year, or rather, he came every year with a different wife, Nick thought, a smile on his face. He didn't care so much about his wives because he contributed to his cause. To Nick’s amusement, Mr. Harris hurried out of the car when the chauffeur opened the door like he couldn’t wait to get away from his spouse, who was right beside him, speaking to him. Nick saw her touch his hand gently and quickly kiss him on the lips. He didn’t let the kiss linger; he slyly pulled away from her. Nick could tell what sort of relationship they had. Another divorce was on the way.