Page 68 of Billionaire Grump
Of course you do. Look at him. Standing there in his tux like a freaking Spartan or a god among men. He’s extraordinary.
I don’t feel even remotely ready for any of the decisions I need to make within the next day and a half. Which means I’m probably not remotely ready to say yes to any of them.
It’s not helping that Alexander is so damn gorgeous. Eyeing me sternly like all he wants to do is carry me back to the room and have his way with me again.
I’m in big trouble. For around ten different reasons.
Margot is saying something to Alexander and Blake, but the ruse we were putting on for her is inconsequential now. Within the intensity of our whirlwind fake-date-turned-wild-love-affair-on-steroids, Margot got cut loose. Alexander isn’t interested in humoring her or listening to what she’s saying at all. She lost him a long time ago, but now he’s aggressive about it, and cutting.
She retreats to her seat on the other side of the front row, looking dejected and hurt, but I can’t help feeling that she’s sort of asking for it at this point. There are only so many times a person can say no. Eventually you have to listen, no matter how badly you wish you could change their mind.
He’s mine now.
I don’t analyze the possessive flare burning inside me. It feels good there. It’s warming me with hope. It’s not an emotion I allow myself to indulge very often. I’m usually too focused on getting shit done to improve my brother’s life and my own.
Now, I let it simmer.
Alexander’s eyes find mine. My heart skips a beat as I see the way he lights up—a small but unmistakable happiness in him. Because of me.
It’s powerful.
He looks so damn hot and at the same time sort of spellbound by this connection we’re both feeling, it stirs something in me. Against this backdrop of romance and undying love, I let myself imagine for a split second what it might feel like. To fall in love with him. To trust him to be loyal and kind and faithful—things I have no experience with. My baggage is all about abandonment, infidelity and divorce.
But those things were never mine. They belonged to my parents, not me. And I don’t have to be defined by them. In fact, I refuse to be defined by them. I get to decide my own story.
A string quartet starts to play. Everyone turns to look at Leah and her four bridesmaids, who are all dressed in yellow silk.
Leah’s dress is classic and beautiful, with a long, lacy train that trails behind her. Her blond hair hangs over her shoulders. She looks absolutely radiant.
We all watch her walk down the aisle to where Blake is standing. As the ceremony begins, I only vaguely hear their vows. I’m too busy staring at my hot fake date.
Alexander is a head taller than the other men and his jacket clings tightly to his muscles.
The width of his shoulders is impressive, almost imposing. The squareness of his jaw reminds me of the scratchy feel of it on the sensitive skin of my thigh as he feasted on me so lustily. Licking into me. Drawing pleasure from my body with the greedy draws of his mouth.
Alexander’s watching me, like he can read my dirty mind.
I bite my bottom lip, imagining being back in our hotel room, undoing his belt, taking his massive length in my hands and gripping him with my fist. Kissing him.
Sucking on him.
I want to do it.
I blush, but Alexander holds my gaze, as if daring me to look away first.
He mouths a single word.
Mine.
Very subtly, I shake my head.
Very subtly, he nods, barely narrowing his eyes at me.
Maybe I could love him. Maybe I’m already falling just the tiniest bit.
Maybe sometimes you just click with someone and it happens in a wild rush that feels star-studded and full of optimism. Maybe it makes you believe that love at first sight could be real. That white-hot lust can bloom and grow into a lifetime.
As Leah says the words, “I do,” through tears of joy, I let myself, for a moment, feel him.