Welcome to Billionaire Bachelors Inc, where the sexiest men in the city are about to meet their match…
The first book in the all-new Billionaire Bachelors series by Lila Monroe is coming on 22 January 2018, and I have a sneak peek for you.
Excerpt
For the first few minutes, all I can do is inhale my food. It’s actually one of the best hamburgers I’ve ever had. One point to Wherever The Hell We Are, Virginia.
When I come up for air, Max is grinning at me.
“What? A girl’s gotta eat.”
“And you do know how to eat,” he says teasingly. “Don’t worry. I like a woman who isn’t afraid to satisfy herself.”
My eyebrows jump higher. “Interesting. Most men are intimidated by that. You know, afraid of not measuring up.”
Max’s grin grows. “I like a challenge.”
I flush. Suddenly all I want to do is grab him and haul him next door to that sketchy motel. As long as the door locks, I’m good.
I look around, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly. My eyes land on the pool table across the bar. “Want to play?” I blurt. “Pool, I mean,” I add quickly.
“Is that a challenge?” Max looks amused.
“Take it any way you want.”
And take me, too. Ahem.
We head across the room, and I shrug off Max’s jacket. When I turn around, Max’s eyes linger on my neckline for a moment before jerking back to my face. He reaches for a pool cue, the muscles in his arms flexing against his dress shirt.
Okay, forget hot. I’m outright scorching now.
I know I should call it a night before things get out of control, but that itch of curiosity is burning and I don’t want to back off yet. Every moment with Max has turned into a madcap adventure, the kind I’ll probably never have again.
I want him. He’s made it pretty damn clear he wants me. And way out here in the middle of nowhere, nobody has to know if maybe, just maybe, we let things go a little too far . . .
I reach for a pool cue, sliding my fingers up and down its length. “Cue up?”
“My pleasure,” Max says in a voice that sends a shiver up my spine.
I lean low over the table when I take my first shot. Lower than I really need to, let’s be honest. Even a modest tank top can show off plenty of cleavage if you know how to work it right.
“Clean break.” Max sounds impressed. “You’ve played before.”
“Just a little,” I lie. I hustled my way through college, but he doesn’t have to know. Yet.
Max approaches the table, rolling up his cuffs over his lean forearms and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. I’m not sure I’ve ever found anything more tempting than that V of sculpted tan chest.
Then he sinks three balls in quick succession, and I realize I need to pay attention to the table if I don’t want to crash out of this game.
I’m trying to line up a tricky shot when Max comes up beside me. He sets a hand on my waist, its heat seeping through the cotton, and leans close.
“Let me help you out with this one.”
I want to tell him I’m just fine on my own, thanks, but I want him to stay right there even more. “Please, go ahead.”
He slides his hand up my side and adjusts the position of my arm. My breath catches in my throat. He lets his fingers rest there on my bare shoulder, his thumb tracing a blazing line over my skin. “The right position is so important.”
“At least as much as the size of your stick?” I suggest sweetly.
He laughs. “Take the shot.”
God, how can I concentrate with him so there? I inhale and line up the cue. I shift my hips a little to the left so my ass grazes the fly of Max’s pants. This time it’s his breath that catches. I smile and smack the ball.
It sinks cleanly into the pocket.
“You’re a tough competitor,” Max says as we straighten up. If there was a spark in his eyes earlier, it’s spread into a full-out blaze.
“I play to win,” I say, chalking up my tip of my stick. “And winner takes all.”
“My kind of game.”
I run the table until I miss a tough angle, and then Max takes over, until there are just a couple of stripes left on the table. A sensible player would attack them each in turn, but I should have guessed, nothing about Max Carlisle is sensible. He lines up a shot to sink both of the remaining balls in one—and misses by a millimeter. Leaving the table in the perfect arrangement for me. I sent my last balls slamming into the pockets and then give him a smile.
He laughs. “So, winner. What are you going to take?”
Damn, is he trying to turn me on? My gaze travels down his body. Lust flips my stomach. And maybe it’s the pneumonia, or the three beers talking, or maybe it’s just the sexual tension between us finally at a boiling point, but I don’t care about the rules anymore.
“You,” I answer, meeting his eyes. “I’m taking you, over to that motel for the night.”
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