“I have,” he says. “Not so much anymore. My brothers and I completed a luxury tri-tower residency complex six months ago. Along with the house we each own, we own a penthouse suite in the new residencies. We reserved the top two floors of each of the three buildings and never released them to the market. A König heir or one of our cousins occupies those coveted suites. Each top floor has two large penthouse suites. Irish twins Slate and Wilder share a floor in the same building. Roman and I live in separate buildings. For now, neither of us has a neighbor. The suites on the floor right below ours are an exact replica of our suites, but we don’t call them penthouses.”
“It’s good to be Phoenix König. Heck, it’s good to be a König, period.”
I thought I had seen it all in New York. I was wrong. There’s money and then there’s König money. I’m a bit intimidated by Phoenix’s wealth.
Can I pull this off?
Can I handle playing the role of wife to a multibillionaire tycoon who sits at the helm of a multinational conglomerate?
“Most days it’s good to be me.” His response jolts me back to the moment.
“You’re sitting on top of the world.” I extend my arms in my attempt to encompass his universe. “What would a guy like you have to worry about?”
“Sometimes my name feels like a heavy weight I have to carry. Every day, I’m reminded I’m responsible for a legacy… and the livelihood of thousands of people who count on me. The implications of screwing up have a ripple effect.”
His words hit me at the core.
Although our family hotel doesn’t employ as many people as Phoenix’s, I get it.
I offer him a sad smile. “I understand. After all, that’s why I’m standing here.”
Chapter 8
Phoenix
Even if we’re docked, nothing beats spending time on the yacht. The sun, the open air and the lull of the water against the boat help me forget everything else––even if it’s for a brief moment. Suggesting this meeting place isn’t only about seeking privacy, it’s a refuge where I can leave my COO-slash-CEO hat at the door.
After a satisfying meal, an assortment of delectable desserts and the finest wine money can buy, Michaela sits across from me at the small dining table, her back facing the window, and the sun washing over her. She radiates.
I take another sip of the red Bordeaux, examining her over the rim of my glass. She’s watching me watching her. We’ve been sizing each other up since we sat down.
A penny for her thoughts…
Mine aren’t virtuous. She’s fuckable.
My cock hardens for what seems like the thirtieth time since she stepped out of the Bentley as my gaze falls to her pretty lips.
They’re as tempting as the rest of her.
Her nude lipstick is long gone, revealing soft pink flesh.
What I would do to that mouth…
With my cock between her lips, she wouldn’t be able to spit fire.
I stifle an evil laugh.
There’s no shortage of gorgeous and willing women in LA. Until Dad’s recent health scare, I made sure to take full advantage of the plethora of beauties the city has to offer. But I’ve never met anyone quite like the woman sitting across from me.
Michaela Knight is in a league of her own.
I’m not sure I’d say I have a type. However, I’ve never been with a woman with short hair. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never met a woman as striking as Michaela. There’s nothing detracting from her exquisite beauty.
And then there’s the knockout body that gets my blood pumping like the turbines of a fucking submarine—breasts that would fit perfectly in the palms of my hands, a slim waist, curvy hips, and that perky ass I want to bite.
She looks delectable and utterly feminine in a bright yellow dress that accentuates her best assets. The dress from earlier screamed business. This one sends a more subtle message. One I like a lot.
The V-neck isn’t pronounced, but that does little to rein in my less than holy thoughts. The bottom part of the dress hits below the knee like a fucking tease.
