Royal Heir (Westerly Billionaire #3)(12)

She sat back and turned her face toward the screen again. He could practically see the wheels spinning in her head.

“If you want me to help you, don’t kiss me again.”

“I don’t require your help,” he said, more because he wanted to get a rise out of her than because it was true.

She gasped again and glared at him. “You are impossible. Sleep with you? I don’t even like you.”

“Liar. I’m the man you wish had been your first and every fuck since.”

Her chest puffed so much her breasts practically burst out of her dress. He’d have to remember that dress. She would wear it for him again. Her mouth opened and closed a few times—as if she almost said something, then decided against it, chose something else to say, then decided against that as well.

“A man who brags about himself knows that no one else will,” she said with authority.

“‘It’s not bragging if you can back it up’—Muhammad Ali,” he answered without missing a step.

She huffed again, but not before he saw her almost smile. She turned away and fumbled with her phone before turning back and saying, “‘Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful’—Ann Landers.”

Ah, the culture of shared, uploaded searchable knowledge. How would it fare against an impeccable education? “‘Be not afraid of greatness’—Shakespeare.”

“How appropriate. I do see some Malvolio in you,” she snapped back.

“Touché, my little American.” Magnus laughed, to the consternation of those around them. Her reference to the man who had been the brunt of a joke that had included the greatness quote revealed she was also well schooled. Yes, here was a woman who would not bore him.

“Stop. We’re being rude.”

Magnus shrugged. “No, whoever decided your seat was not beside your brother tonight was rude. We are merely not entertained by an insect superhero.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m enjoying the movie immensely.”

“Really? Then tell me where the alien creature went who was attacking the city a moment ago. Was he killed? Did he flee? Do you know what his rationale was for attacking? Amid the gratuitous explosions, I doubt there is a plot to be followed at all.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Now you’re just being a jerk.”

When several moments passed without her speaking, he relented. It was not his intention to offend her. “Are you honestly enjoying the movie?”

“I’m trying to,” she said.

“Which part, outside of that your brother is in it, pleases you?”

“No. I’m not having this conversation. You don’t get to mock something I care about and then ask me what I think of it. You want to please me? Stop talking.”

Magnus felt like a young child holding in mischief during a ceremony. Part of him acknowledged that he should allow her to view the film without interruption. However, it was not as if a film were a once-in-a-lifetime event. Ridiculous as the plot was, Westerly’s movies would have a global tour at the theaters and then likely dominate on television after that. This electricity might have a significantly shorter shelf life and was therefore of more importance. “I don’t believe anyone has ever told me to be silent.”

“Well, then I’m honored to be the first, and I’ll gladly be the next.”

He laughed again, and she swatted his arm.

“I’m serious. Stop.”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I like you, Rachelle Westerly. For that reason, and that reason alone, I will be silent.” He placed her hand beneath his on his thigh and laced his fingers through hers.

“Thank you,” she said tersely, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

He turned back to the screen and smiled. He hadn’t expected to enjoy any part of his trip to London. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet a woman who could excite him as easily as she did.

Would she be in his bed that night?

Not knowing made their exchanges even sweeter. He half hoped she turned him away, because he had not had this much fun with a woman in a very long time.

When a man is offered a fine brandy, he does not gulp it down. He rolls it on his tongue, savoring the burn.





Chapter Five

“What do you mean, he left?” Rachelle asked Eric’s publicist as soon as the audience began to file out. “Isn’t he going to the after-party?”

“He never does. He even makes sure it’s in his contract that he isn’t required to. You’re welcome to attend it, though.”

“Where is he now?” Rachelle asked, looking around, clinging to the hope that he hadn’t actually left.

“I have no idea,” the publicist said.

“Coward,” Magnus said from beside her. She didn’t know if he was referring to the publicist or her brother.

She took out her phone and sent Eric a text. Are you still here? I have a question for you.

When no answer came back, a lump of emotion clogged her throat, and her eyes blurred with tears she refused to shed. I came even though he didn’t invite me, and instead of showing him how proud of him I am, I sat with a man who mocked him. He’s probably furious with me.