The Millionaire's Revenge Page 4

  “I…definitely no… I mean a real old-fashioned movie night…popcorn…maybe some beer.”

  He couldn’t help but smile as she stammered. “I needed to know your intentions so I’d be prepared.” If he was going to play this role, he was going for the Oscar-winning performance.

  “Why don’t you swing by about six?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He hung up, but his mind was already working through the angles on how to play this to his advantage.

  Chapter Five

  Grace was pretty sure she’d lost her mind. At noon on Wednesday, she couldn’t get a thing done since all she could think about was Luke and her alone in her townhome. Based on the near miss the other night, coupled with the fact the man kissed like he might scorch the clothes off her back, what possessed her to be that foolish? Must have been the weird lunch involving her father that got her to do something so stupid.

  Besides, she’d barely dipped her toe in the testing arena. Giving in before he passed at least a couple of tests wasn’t an option.

  She did the only thing she could to prevent the evening from turning into Naked Twister —or a real life example of Netflix and Chill. A marathon of chick lit films would surely bore him to death and kill the mood.

  No doubt he’d make an excuse to leave early, proving men were all about themselves and their needs. Finding a solution to her dilemma, instead of ending up naked and filled with regrets, relaxed her. Well, that and the glass of wine she’d thrown back to celebrate the notion of keeping her clothes on.

  That lasted until she opened the door. While his promptness was impressive, even more so was his attire. Wearing a worn-in pair of jeans and a dusty blue Henley-style shirt, which accentuated his biceps, he might be the female equivalent of a wet dream.

  He kissed her cheek, took off his coat, and hung it on the rack inside the door. “Don’t you look sexy tonight.”

  Wearing black leggings and a hip-length red sweater, she had purposely focused on downplaying sexy vibes. Either she was hotter than she thought, or he was hoping to get lucky. She was betting on the latter. What he didn’t know was TSD was her modis operandi for the evening.

  “I brought beer and tequila, in case you’re in the mood for shots. And ordered some Italian that will be delivered around eight-thirty.”

  What guy thought that far ahead? TGTBT—too good to be true—once again filtered through her mind.

  “I’ll get some glasses and meet you in the living room.” She sucked in a deep breath and willed a good old shot of willpower to go along with tonight. So far this had all the makings of crazy-nakedness-she’d-regret-by-morning kind of evening.

  When she came into the living room, he was looking out the window. “You have an amazing view of Central Park from here.”

  “My dad gave me the townhome when I graduated business school. It’s a little over-the-top and way too big for me, but every time I mention moving into a nice loft or something smaller, he has a fit and I acquiesce.”

  “Your dad sounds a bit controlling.”

  Understatement of the century, but airing her dirty laundry didn’t seem to be a great idea. As a business consultant with about twenty clients, her father’s company was by far the largest she managed. Most times she put up with his peculiarities and stubbornness because he was blood. Now that he’d acquired this building at her request, maybe his outlook on what was important was changing. If she could get him more active in her charities, he could do so much with his money to help the community. “He’s trying to make up for lost time and some battles just aren’t worth fighting.”

  He nodded. “What is it your dad does again?”

  “He’s a developer in Manhattan.” With hundreds of developers in New York, chances he would connect her to Cyrus Whitaker were remote. “But enough about him.” She plunked onto the couch and pulled up her Netflix account. “I was thinking maybe Ghost? Or Dirty Dancing? Or How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days? Or maybe Runaway Bride? Bridget Jones Diary? Juno?”

  He groaned. “You should give a guy a solid and throw in a flick that involves blowing up stuff at least.”

  “Do you have something against happy endings?” She felt her face flush when he threw back his head and laughed. She couldn’t help but join in. “Okay, not that kind of happy ending…I mean…oh hell…you know what I mean.”

  “That mind of yours is always in the gutter, isn’t it?” He struggled to keep a straight face as he continued. “Those movies are so unrealistic. Relationships don’t work that way in real life.”

  The way he avoided eye contact made her suspect he hadn’t intended to reveal his feelings. She couldn’t help but wonder why he had such a grim outlook. Sensing he didn’t want to go there, she detoured to safer ground. “But Bruce Willis taking down a half dozen heavily armed bad guys all while being barefoot and negotiating through a crap-ton of shattered glass is realistic?”

  His left eyebrow rose as he nodded. “Ah yeah…he’s badass NYPD officer John McClane.” He grinned. “So I propose in order to solve this stalemate we have going on, we indulge in a drinking game to make things more interesting. Now if this was Die Hard, I would say that every time Bruce shoots a bad guy we do a shot, but since that’s off the table, how about if we have some different rules. Something like you do a shot every time a woman talks shit about a guy she’s dated.” He smirked.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be?”

  “You picked the movie, I pick the coping mechanism.”

  She laughed. “All right. And how about if you do two shots every time the guy lies?”

  “Sounds fair. How about every time the dude goes shirtless three shots for you?”

  “How about every time the woman is in her underwear you take three?”

  He high-fived her. “Now you’re talking. I might survive this marathon after all. But I wish I’d negotiated harder for strip poker instead of shots.”

  Somewhere in the middle of Ghost, he fell asleep beside her, and she was starving. Clearly, she didn’t think this through. Not that she blamed him. Even she felt drowsy watching this snooze fest, combined with the three shots she’d done. The characters were dull and boring, and she couldn’t remember why she thought this was a good plan. Somehow it didn’t work out like she’d figured. On the good side, he didn’t mention one word about leaving.

  Speaking of which… When she glanced in his direction, his hands were folded against his torso, his legs stretched in front of him, and his eyes firmly closed. He looked gorgeous. No doubt if she’d fallen asleep she’d be drooling or doing something equally as mortifying. Not him. He looked studly and comfortable with his Henley, Seven for Mankind jeans, and what looked like black plain toe Chelsea boots from Barneys.

  “Unchained Melody” began and he straightened in his seat. He turned his head to look at her. “Just so you know I was not sleeping. I only rested my eyes.”

  She laughed. “Do you always snore when you rest your eyes?”

  His gaze narrowed even while he smiled. “I was not snoring.”

  “What happened at the end then?”

  “They made pottery?” He leaned over and kissed her like he wanted her to forget the whole conversation. And he was doing a pretty good job of that until the doorbell rang.

  He broke away. “That’s probably the food.” He stretched and headed for the door. A few minutes later, he plunked the bag onto the coffee table. “I ordered some pasta and salad, calamari and mushrooms and bruschetta for appetizers, and a couple of bottles of wine.”

  “You thought of everything.”

  When was he going to trip up? Surely sooner or later he’d fail.

  …

  Damn it. Luke had to keep reminding himself Grace was part of the scumbag family that was trying to ruin him. Even as he watched her eat, he found it difficult to muster some animosity toward this woman.

  “Try the calamari,” he urged.

  “I don’t eat anything that resembles little octopuses, or is it octopi?
” She sipped her wine.

  “I didn’t take you for a chicken,” he teased with a smile.

  “I’m not falling for that trick.” She grabbed a bruschetta instead. “One bite of that slimy stuff, and I’ll be gagging. I don’t care how much frying and breading they do, nothing can disguise that slimy sensation.”

  “Squeamish, huh?” He leaned back on the couch and tried not to think about how she looked the last time he’d been here—ready and willing.

  “I have a wicked gag reflex.”

  He glanced at his lap and smiled. “Hmm…that might be a problem at some point.”

  Laughter bubbled through her lips. “Okay, not in all circumstances.” Her cheeks went bright red, whether it was from the wine or the thoughts he’d planted that no doubt were circling through her brain. He wanted her to think he was seducing her, even though he wasn’t. Right? If he lost sight of his objective, he just had to remember hot wax on the balls.

  This wasn’t a date. Serious seduction could not be on the agenda. He needed to stop that shit and get with the program. This was not about getting laid, or anything closely related to it.

  Revenge was the only game in town.

  “You mentioned you had lunch with your dad the other day. How did that go?” Finally he came up with a question that was semi-relevant and had nothing to do with getting naked.

  She sighed. “I love him, but he can be such a pain sometimes—he wants this, I want that, and the tug-of-war is on. I’m sure you know how family drama can be.”

  “Not really. Haven’t seen my parents since I was eighteen. I barely talk to my twin brother, so no drama at all.” The fact that Rafe and he had lived in the same city for years and didn’t communicate was weird enough. Once in a while they’d run into each other on the street or at a function, and they’d ignore each other or were uncomfortably cordial. The idea that Rafe contacted Luke out-of-the-blue a couple of months ago about his upcoming nuptials in Iowa next spring seemed even stranger. While Luke hadn’t sent in his decline response card yet, his brother had to know he wouldn’t show.

  “A twin. That’s so cool.” Based on the look on her face, she had the same reaction most people had when he revealed the information. “I always thought that would be fun. Somebody who thinks and looks like you has to be awesome.”

  Why the hell was he telling her all this personal information? He should be getting the dirt on her, not the other way around. But her smile was so genuine, like she really cared what he said. And that made him feel good. Too good. Had to be a ploy, soften him up to get something from him. “We’re not close.” He cleared his throat. “How about you? Any siblings?”

  “I have a half brother I’ve never met who I think lives somewhere in Ireland. My father stopped talking to him years ago. So, lucky me, my father can obsess about me alone. My mom got married and moved to Paris when I graduated college, and I only see her a couple of times a year.”

  “You work with your father?” He had to ingratiate himself into her inner network, without having an up close and personal with her father.

  “In a manner of speaking.” She chewed her lip.

  He thought about reconsidering his tactic, as she seemed reluctant to respond or divulge anything but the bare minimum about Cyrus. It was as if she weighed her response like she was testifying before the Supreme Court.

  “Some people believe us partners in crime. But I’m his business consultant, nothing more.”

  With that kind of response, the top was closing quickly on the lid of his investigation. She’d all but admitted her complicity in the plan to screw him over—even if she didn’t know he was LRM. It didn’t matter. She was obviously as guilty as her underhanded father.

  Now he had to prove it and see the end of Whitaker Development. Then he’d get back the building. The one they’d stolen right out from under him.

  Damn, he was pissed. But it didn’t explain why once the movie started, he again brought out the Tequila for shots. Treading on dangerous ground with this gorgeous, if duplicitous, woman.

  No, he was doing this to loosen her enough so she talked more about business. Maybe she’d even mention Gage or Prentiss, the names he’d found in her address book. He needed to step up his game if he expected to uncover dirty little secrets.

  “If I’m going to endure Runaway Bride, I’m going to need something to look forward to. And body shots might be the key to not embarrassing myself and falling asleep again.”

  “Body shots?” Her face paled for a second before she recovered. “No problem. I can hold my liquor.”

  “Body shots make things more interesting, don’t you think? Or is it your virtue you’re worried about?”

  “Have we been transported to the nineteenth century or something?” She hit the play button. “I can play hard with the big boys. No worries about that.”

  The movie had been on for less than five minutes when he spoke. “Looks like you’ll have to go first.” He paused the movie, stripped his shirt over his head, and placed a full shot glass on his navel, some salt right below, and stuck a wedge of lime in his mouth.

  She licked her lips before hovering over his torso. Her tongue snaked out and licked the salt. When her breath warmed his skin, his dick noticed. The situation got worse when she cupped her mouth around the shot glass and sucked it down. By the time she captured the lime wedge from his mouth, he’d come perilously close to the point of no return.

  Ah hell…and the movie had just started.

  It was his turn next. She lifted her sweater to beneath her rib cage and placed the shot and salt like he’d done. The smell of her skin tickled his nose as he inched closer. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to not do something really stupid. Even though taking her to bed wasn’t the reason he was here, right now it felt like a great idea, especially when he kissed her, and the taste of lime, tequila, and her mixed inside his mouth.

  Her breath whooshed out between her lips. “I…I…”

  She couldn’t seem to get the words out and neither could he. Instead, she hit the play button.

  High on raging testosterone, it was soon his turn again.

  “Oh no.” He pushed her hands away from only revealing her rib cage. “It’s time to go big or go home.”

  “What do you mean?” The gulp eased down her throat as she looked at him.

  Instead of verbalizing the wayward trajectory of his thoughts, he pulled the sweater over her head, revealing a red lacy bra that didn’t hide a damn thing. Taut nipples poked through like a siren’s call to his overcharged hormones.

  Because he wanted to up the ante for no other reason than he’d lost his damn mind, he made the whole situation even more difficult for himself. “This time we’re doing it properly—between your breasts.”

  Her eyes drew wide as she lay down. A mixture of trepidation and sexual attraction reflected in her expression. She pulled in a breath as he placed the shot glass and sprinkled the salt on the swell of her right breast. He handed her the slice of lime, and her fingers shook as she placed it in her mouth.

  Before he knew what was happening, he’d unhooked her bra.

  He’d gone over the deep end.

  But he had no way of stopping himself. He swore his brain said a big hell no, but the opposite words came out of his mouth. “Holy hell.”

  And here he was. Doing something he’d sworn not to do.

  Damn, her breasts were amazing. Deep-red nipples called to him, begging for attention. He had no recourse but to comply. Drawing the tip into his mouth, he felt the contours and fullness with his fingertips. Her entire body quivered like it was the first time a man had ever sucked on her. Even though the concept was inconceivable, it gave him a thrill to imagine the idea. A weird kind of obsession took over when he ran his fingertips over her breasts. But hell if he could figure out why. He had to have seen thousands of women’s breasts since puberty, so why he found hers so fascinating remained to be seen.

  A tight, firm torso led to an
equally tight abdomen and hips. Leggings were a barrier to any forward progress. Which might save him from himself. If she’d been wearing that short skirt she had on the other night, he’d be inside her by now. Self-control seemed to be leaking from his pores.

  He needed a wake-up call to stop his own slip into insanity. She ran her hand up his thighs and her fingertips stair-stepped up his fly to the zipper. As she grasped the toggle and began inching it down, he sucked in a breath. This is not how the night should play out, but he felt powerless to do anything to stop.

  They were consenting adults doing what came naturally. Would he have regrets? Probably. But right now he didn’t care.

  She moaned and unzipped his fly. He wrapped his arms around her ass and brought her closer. Any thoughts of behaving rationally and focusing on the prize were buried.

  “Maybe we should go to the bedroom.”

  Before he could respond to her words, there was a sharp knock on the front door. “Grace, honey, are you still awake?”

  She sighed and whispered into his ear. “It’s my neighbor. Maybe she’ll go away.”

  The knock sounded again. “I’m so sorry, Gracie, but I can’t seem to get my TV to work, and my favorite show is coming on. Grace, are you there?”

  Torn between being happy for the stay of execution or wanting to seal the deal, Luke put her bra back on, followed by her sweater. He zipped his jeans and slipped on his shirt.

  “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Harrington.” She gave him a soft kiss that was sweet and tangible and as enticing as hell. “This shouldn’t take very long.”

  Everything inside him wanted to carry her to the bedroom and do something incredibly stupid. Saved by the old woman next door. He hated that woman even while appreciated her timely visit. “I should get going.”

  Her eyes went wide. “It will only take a minute. Mrs. Harrington is over eighty and sweet as pie, however, technology isn’t her thing. Last time this happened, she had it set on TV instead of cable.” Grace put her finger to his lips, her gaze begging him to stay.

  “I’ve got a big project due tomorrow, so I better get going.” He kissed her cheek and drank in the scent of her that aroused him way more than it should. “Maybe we can do something Saturday.” Surrounded by a crowd would be the way to go.