Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(92)

I laughed. “Door number one, honey.”

“Holy shit. This place must be legendary for you. Do you store all the bras in your trunk? There’s a shrine, isn’t there?” she asked, rapid fire.

“I’ll have you know I’ve only been here with five women.” She raised an eyebrow, and I pretended to think it over. “Okay, six.” She rolled her eyes. I threw my hands in the air. “Fifteen, max.”

“Quit now while you’re not even remotely ahead.”

“Good idea,” I agreed as I pulled to a stop and dumped us into immediate silence with one turn of the key.

“Come on,” I called when she didn’t move or say anything. I pulled myself up and out of the car and watched as she did the same, gesturing for her to follow me to the trunk with the crook of a finger.

Mentally, she didn’t come willingly, but her body wouldn’t let her say no.

God, I loved the idea that I affected her that strongly.

“Is this where I have to volunteer my bra as tribute? Because I’ve got bad news.”

“I know. You’re not wearing one.” We both smiled. “And that’s not even remotely bad news.”

“Does this mean I have to donate something creepy to your collection? Like teeth?”

I barked a startled burst of laughter. “There’s no collection,” I told her. “Pinkie swear.”

“Oh, man,” she muttered as she linked her smallest finger with mine. Mine was double the size of hers. “Now I know you’re serious. Breaking out rule number nine.”

Rule number nine: No pinkie swears unless you mean it. Of course, I’m paraphrasing here.

She huffed adorably at the sight of my wink. I ignored the mock frost and popped open the trunk to find all the good stuff still there.

“A blanket?” she asked as I pulled it out and reached deeper into the dark opening. “And a CD player? Wow. Welcome back to the 90s.”

The corners of my eyes crinkled as I slammed the heavy metal trunk shut. “Come on.”

“Oh, I’m coming. Tell me you’ve got some 90s CDs in the car to play on that sucker.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s the radio or silence.”

“Or you could serenade me?” she offered.

“I get it. How you’d think I’d have the voice of an angel, what with my obvious good looks and all-around above-average talent, but trust me, my voice isn’t performance worthy.”

“Are you actually admitting to being bad at something? Do you feel okay?” she teased.

“It took fifteen years and several video recordings for Kline, Frankie, and Wes to convince me that I was anything less than superior. I mean, it’s so unlike me.”

“You’re also not top-notch at being modest. Just saying.”

“Pshh,” I said as I spread the blanket on the ground close to the edge of the water. “Who needs modesty?”

“Um, most people. Public figures. Polite society.”

“Girls in cotillion?” I added with a skeptical eye. “Those rules are archaic. The only people who need to be modest are those who feel genetically inclined.”

“So, not me or you, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

“And what am I supposed to be?” she asked as I sat down on the blanket and leaned back onto my elbows. It was a completely different perspective to see her from below rather than towering above. I took advantage by surveying the line of her jaw and the curve of her creamy cheek to see which angle I liked better.

“That’s easy.” She put her hands on her hips and waited for my revolutionary answer. “You. All you’re supposed to be is you.”

“Am I supposed to be sexy?” she asked with a smirk as she leaned down to turn the radio on. The simple beats of Chris Stapleton’s “Tennessee Whiskey” were just starting to build on the very first station, and she left it to play softly into the night.

Subtle but sure, she started a sway of her hips, back and forth like a form of hypnosis.

“Oh, yeah,” I agreed as I watched them move. “Sexy is definitely you.”

Her eyes lit, a reflection of moonlight making them shine bright across the distance to mine. Like a tree in the breeze, she moved with ease, just barely mimicking the beat of the music but leaving no doubt that she’d fully embraced it.

She started to move in my direction, up from the outstretched location of my feet to the side of my hip and back again. Her eyes followed mine the whole time, and my heartbeat seemed to build in intensity.

Her back became my focus as she turned away with a flick of her hair and a wave of her arm, before bending at the hip like a hinge. Excited eyes sought mine from the gap between her legs, but the sight of her ass in the air made compliance a struggle.

“You okay, Thatcher?” she asked, her voice a tease.

My answer came out in a hearty rasp. “Yeah, baby. I’m real f*cking good.”

Back up to standing, she moved quickly, spinning her way to my head and dropping to her knees directly behind it. I dropped flat to my back, pushing my elbows down into the blanket roughly.

She leaned over my face, her tits swinging the front of her dress with every sweet movement. I was f*cking spellbound.

Her dance was more sensual than overtly sexual, but my dick obviously didn’t know the difference.