Seth,
Roman’s driver/bodyguard, waiting with the back passenger door open
for us. Roman let go of my hand, motioned for me to climb into the
back, and then bent down low, his mouth close to my ear. The warm
exhale of his breath ruffled my hair and for the second time
tonight, I clenched my thighs tightly together.
His murmur was so soft, I almost didn’t
catch it. “And Princess, for the record…I’m not a millionaire.”
My brows furrowed in surprise. “You’re
not?”
“ No,” he answered firmly.
Amusement twinkled in those inky blue eyes of his. “I’m a
billionaire.”
Chapter Eight
A freaking billionaire!
Whoa… The thought was both disconcerting and
mind-boggling. I mean, the guy was thirty-two—which wasn’t old by
any stretch of the imagination—so how in the hell does someone
relatively so young amass such a fortune? Was he born into it or
was he some kind of genius business savant?
An even more disconcerting thought filtered
across my mind: Roman Knight was the type of man who could have any
woman he wanted. He was unbelievably handsome, devilishly
charismatic, and clearly intelligent—so what in the hell was he
doing with a woman like me? The words sophisticated and worldly
would never be adjectives used when describing me. Although I
wasn’t some horribly disfigured ogre, I was relatively pretty;
however, a beautiful supermodel I most certainly was not. And a
worldly supermodel or some stunningly gorgeous sophisticated woman
was exactly the type of woman who I could picture on Roman Knight’s
arm.
My eyes drifted to Roman, who sat silently
beside me on the car’s plush leather backseat. The soft glow from
the street lights and passing vehicles partly illuminated his
handsome profile while simultaneously casted ominous shadows across
his features as his fingers flew over the keypad of his phone. I
watched, fascinated, as his brow furrowed; his eyes scanned back
and forth along the small-lit screen in concentration and
occasionally he darted his tongue out and ran it the length of his
bottom lip. Whatever he was reading on his phone at that moment had
his complete concentration and I found watching Roman work was
equally fascinating and mesmerizing. I guess being a billionaire
meant work was a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week obligation.
Not wishing to break his concentration, I
glanced away at the passing buildings, grateful for the opportunity
to consider what I was going to do once I reached Roman’s hotel
room. Would I choose to naively, futilely cling to the idea of a
purely platonic relationship with this enigmatic man or would I
throw all caution aside, give in to my desire and jump his bones
for the next forty-eight hours while we were in Paris together? The
idea was a tempting one.
By the time the sleek luxury vehicle slid
smoothly into the circular driveway of Roman’s hotel, I had come to
two major conclusions: First, I was going to sleep with Roman
Knight. You only live once, right? So why not go all the way? A
passionate, no-holds-barred, scorching hot fling in Paris was
certainly the way to do it. Besides, there was no use in denying to
myself any further—I was unequivocally attracted to the man. He
beguiled and enthralled me like no one I’d met before and I had a
feeling being seduced by Roman would be a once-in-a-lifetime
experience and one not to be missed. Therefore, I was going to
“carpe-freaking-diem” the hell out of the remaining forty-eight
hours I had left in France.
Secondly and probably more importantly, when
the next few days were over, I was going to boldly embrace the next
chapter in my life when I got home. Courtney and Jake’s lives were
changing as they moved forward into impending parenthood, and Uncle
Mike would most likely be on the road with the troupe for the next
year. I was metaphorically standing on the threshold of the rest of
my life.
Though I’d applied for teaching positions
outside of California, my effort was lackluster at
Roman’s driver/bodyguard, waiting with the back passenger door open
for us. Roman let go of my hand, motioned for me to climb into the
back, and then bent down low, his mouth close to my ear. The warm
exhale of his breath ruffled my hair and for the second time
tonight, I clenched my thighs tightly together.
His murmur was so soft, I almost didn’t
catch it. “And Princess, for the record…I’m not a millionaire.”
My brows furrowed in surprise. “You’re
not?”
“ No,” he answered firmly.
Amusement twinkled in those inky blue eyes of his. “I’m a
billionaire.”
Chapter Eight
A freaking billionaire!
Whoa… The thought was both disconcerting and
mind-boggling. I mean, the guy was thirty-two—which wasn’t old by
any stretch of the imagination—so how in the hell does someone
relatively so young amass such a fortune? Was he born into it or
was he some kind of genius business savant?
An even more disconcerting thought filtered
across my mind: Roman Knight was the type of man who could have any
woman he wanted. He was unbelievably handsome, devilishly
charismatic, and clearly intelligent—so what in the hell was he
doing with a woman like me? The words sophisticated and worldly
would never be adjectives used when describing me. Although I
wasn’t some horribly disfigured ogre, I was relatively pretty;
however, a beautiful supermodel I most certainly was not. And a
worldly supermodel or some stunningly gorgeous sophisticated woman
was exactly the type of woman who I could picture on Roman Knight’s
arm.
My eyes drifted to Roman, who sat silently
beside me on the car’s plush leather backseat. The soft glow from
the street lights and passing vehicles partly illuminated his
handsome profile while simultaneously casted ominous shadows across
his features as his fingers flew over the keypad of his phone. I
watched, fascinated, as his brow furrowed; his eyes scanned back
and forth along the small-lit screen in concentration and
occasionally he darted his tongue out and ran it the length of his
bottom lip. Whatever he was reading on his phone at that moment had
his complete concentration and I found watching Roman work was
equally fascinating and mesmerizing. I guess being a billionaire
meant work was a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week obligation.
Not wishing to break his concentration, I
glanced away at the passing buildings, grateful for the opportunity
to consider what I was going to do once I reached Roman’s hotel
room. Would I choose to naively, futilely cling to the idea of a
purely platonic relationship with this enigmatic man or would I
throw all caution aside, give in to my desire and jump his bones
for the next forty-eight hours while we were in Paris together? The
idea was a tempting one.
By the time the sleek luxury vehicle slid
smoothly into the circular driveway of Roman’s hotel, I had come to
two major conclusions: First, I was going to sleep with Roman
Knight. You only live once, right? So why not go all the way? A
passionate, no-holds-barred, scorching hot fling in Paris was
certainly the way to do it. Besides, there was no use in denying to
myself any further—I was unequivocally attracted to the man. He
beguiled and enthralled me like no one I’d met before and I had a
feeling being seduced by Roman would be a once-in-a-lifetime
experience and one not to be missed. Therefore, I was going to
“carpe-freaking-diem” the hell out of the remaining forty-eight
hours I had left in France.
Secondly and probably more importantly, when
the next few days were over, I was going to boldly embrace the next
chapter in my life when I got home. Courtney and Jake’s lives were
changing as they moved forward into impending parenthood, and Uncle
Mike would most likely be on the road with the troupe for the next
year. I was metaphorically standing on the threshold of the rest of
my life.
Though I’d applied for teaching positions
outside of California, my effort was lackluster at
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