I stare at the message on my phone.The jerkhole messaged me?And after I got the impression, he didn’t want anything to do with me? I have his number in my phone because Lila insisted, I keep it on hand so I can touch base with him directly about the wedding.As if!I protested, but she looked at me with a hurt look that made me feel like a heel. She admitted that she understands Liam is a difficult man to like, but begged me to try, for her sake. Of course, I shut up and keyed his number into my phone. I told myself there would be no cause for me to use it. And I haven’t.
What I hadn’t anticipated was him getting in touch. Why would he do that? It’s so out of character with him.
I glance around my living room. I remember coming home around 8:30 pm. I was so exhausted. I zapped a frozen dinner and sat in front of the television. I must have fallen asleep.
I take in the remnants of my dinner on the coffee table. The television screen is blank. I tuned into a romantic comedy while eating dinner. Guess I switched it off at some point?
I glance at the time on the phone. 10:30 p.m. Why is Liam texting me at this time? I glance around the living room again. This doesn't make sense, especially coming from a groom. Is he a secret Groomzilla? Whatever the case, I can't ignore him, so I shoot back my one-word reply:
Me: Why?
Instantly, the answer comes back, like he was waiting for me to ask the question.
Liam m’f’ing Kincaid: Not going to deign that with an answer. Be here
What the—!My jaw drops. How rude! This guy really needs to work on his people skills. I press my lips together. What an arse. I have a good mind to say 'no.'
I begin to type it out, then stop myself. If I do this, I risk pissing him off, and he holds the purse strings.Heis the client. No matter that it’s Lila who’s been involved in the details, so far.
I dial her number, but it goes to voicemail. Guess I’ll have to take this meeting alone. I flatten my lips. I’m going to have to suck it up and do as he says.Grrr.He’s forcing me to leave the warmth of my apartment and make the trip through the cold night to his place.Bastard.
I carefully push my hair off my forehead, take a breath, and let it out. I try to find my inner confidence, which seems to have deserted me since I met Liam-douchebag-Kincaid.
I’ve overcome much bigger issues in my life. Surely, I can get through this encounter with a douchebag of a billionaire whose ego needs to be taken down a few pegs.And if I’m being honest, I'm overcome with curiosity about what this wanker’s place looks like.
I order myself to let out any anger or resentment I hold against Liam-stick-up-his-arse-Kincaid. I curve my lips in what I hope is a smile. Then I grab my purse and leave.
As I take the elevator to his penthouse, I wonder, again, why he called me here. He couldn’t have called me to his office like last time? Maybe, it’s because he doesn’t want us to be disturbed? Not that anyone would dare interrupt him while he was in a meeting. So, why here?
I stand in front of the door leading to the penthouse and compose myself. Shake out my hands, then roll my shoulders. "I can do this. I can—" The door opens as I’m midway through rolling my neck. I slowly straighten my head. Pretend I don’t blush deeply at being caught midway through what was a personal moment. Pretend he didn’t arch an eyebrow and twist his mouth, knowing exactly what he saw me do. Pretend I don’t notice the way his white button-down clings to his broad shoulders, or the way his chest muscles stretch the front of his shirt, or his biceps threaten to tear through his sleeves. My gaze lowers to where he’s rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms with corded muscles and veins that stand out against hair-roughened skin. Heat sluices through my bloodstream. I’m going to have an orgasm right here.
Something makes me jerk my chin up to find his eyes glinting with humor.Wanker!He’s basking in the effect he has on me. I flatten my lips.
"Mr. Kincaid," I manage to say without snapping.
In reply, he steps back, leaving just enough space for me to squeeze past. Bergamot and mint, and something musky—the scent of him—envelopes me. I’m instantly wet. And my nipples are so erect, I’m sure he can make out their shape through my bra, my blouseandthe jacket I’m wearing. I hope my face does not give that away, and I hurry to put distance between us.This is the man my friend is going to marry.The friend whose wedding I’m planning. And I need this project to grow my business.
I walk into the living room and take in the chrome and steel, clean lines and sharp angles, and glass. There’s lots of glass—from the tables to the shelves, to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the atrium where I’m standing. On the far end of the living room are floor-to-ceiling windows which frame a view of the Thames as it snakes its way through London. It’s like something out of a picture taken by a drone. It's exactly the way I imagined it. And don't askwhyI was curious about where this grumphole lives.
"Wow," I breathe out. As if pulled by a magnet, I head toward the picture windows and stare out. "This is gorgeous."
The hair on the back of my neck rises. A shiver spirals up my spine. I’m aware he’s standing behind me, even though I didn’t hear him approach. Man walks as silently as a predator and is, likely, as dangerous. My thigh muscles quiver.Damn, why do I have this reaction to him?When he’s…out of reach. He’s marrying someone else. And I’m here, salivating over him instead of doing my job. My brain tells me to put space between us. My body, though, hasn’t gotten the memo. It insists I stay there for just a second longer. Just enough for the heat from his body to wrap around me. My throat dries. My scalp tingles.
Oh no, this is a bad idea. I tighten my grip on my purse, then shuffle aside until I’m clear of him. I walk to the other side of the room, as far away from him as I can, and as close to the door as possible. I look up to find he’s watching me with a smirk. Does he have to look so pleased? Anger squeezes my guts, but I bat it aside and fix what I hope is a pleasant expression on my features.
"Why did you ask me here?"
5
Isla
"To discuss some details of the wedding, of course." He turns and heads in the direction of the wet bar tucked away in the corner of the living room.
"Champagne?"
I blink.Champagne?He’s being hospitable?
"I’d rather not," I say, sounding churlish, even to myself.
