The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids,(19)

*

Holy. Fuck.

This . . . could be a problem. Sebastian kept rubbing his mouth as his driver took him home that night. After the kiss, they’d agreed to get together again tomorrow to hash out a few more details and help her pack up her apartment. Then, they had returned to the party, where Chelsea had clung to his side, her hands wrapped around his arm.

It was pretty clear she’d felt absolutely nothing in their kiss. The delighted look she’d given him and the way she’d hopped up like she’d gotten a reprieve from prison? That told him everything he needed to know.

Unfortunately for him . . . he hadn’t felt “nothing.” He’d felt quite a bit, actually. The moment her full lips had brushed over his, he’d felt electrified. And then she’d glazed her tongue over his mouth.

And his cock had become instantly alert.

Sure, he was a guy. He was going to get erect when a gorgeous woman kissed him. When she pressed her body up against his and slowly, sensually tongued his mouth, he’d felt a massive jolt go through his system despite telling himself they were just friends.

But now he couldn’t stop thinking about . . . what if they weren’t just friends? What if they had a marriage with some benefits on the side? What if they crawled into bed together and had hot, nasty sex . . . with no strings attached? Just for fun? He imagined Chelsea’s plump lips curving around his cock and clenched the door handle.

It was clear she wanted this as friends only, though. He shook the thought out of his head.

Marriage of convenience. No more. No less. It was what he needed, and even he admitted that sex just f*cked things up. If he wanted an example, he just had to look at Lisa.

As the driver dropped him off in front of his building, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. He flicked his fingers over the screen even as he walked inside, nodding at the doorman.

Safety Date Chelsea: I forgot to mention something earlier. I’m going to need Tuesday nights, Thursday nights, and Saturdays to myself.

Sebastian: I’m sure that’s doable. Any particular reason why?

SDC: Yes.

Sebastian: Wanna share?

SDC: Nope.

Sebastian: Fair enough, see you tomorrow.

He put his phone away as he got to his penthouse, but Chelsea’s terse message was bothering him. She clearly had a schedule for something. And he thought about her black eye. If there had been a boyfriend, abusive or not, she wouldn’t have jumped on the marriage.

And she’d had zero reaction to his kiss. He was a pretty good kisser, wasn’t he?

So what the hell was going on?





Chapter Eight



Sebastian showed up at Chelsea’s apartment the next day at five in the morning. They’d decided on a super early hour to avoid any chance of paparazzi or harassment from his end. To his surprise, every light in her apartment was on. Chelsea was awake and in pajamas, but she looked sleepy and tousled. Her black eye from the night before was fading, the puffiness gone. A dark smear ringing her eye was the only memento of its existence.

“Hey,” she said, and yawned. She waved at him. “Come on in.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, taking in Chelsea’s apartment. He noticed two things: It was extremely bare and it was extremely well-lit. Track lighting in the ceiling was accompanied by lamps in the corners, and everywhere he turned, there were more lights. Other than the lamps, though, there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. An old beat-up papasan chair and an end table were all that was in the living room. The dining room had a few boxes. The walls were bare. “Did you spend last night packing?”

“Hm?” She rubbed her eyes, and for a moment she looked so adorably sleepy that he had to fight the urge to toss her over his shoulder and drag her back to her bed—wherever it was. Friend-zone, he reminded himself. She’s allowed to look sleepy, you horny fool. She moved forward and her breasts jiggled under her pajama top, clearly not confined by a bra. He had to turn around before his dick got carried away.

“Oh, the apartment. Nah, my last roommate moved out a week or two ago. I haven’t really fixed the place up since she took her stuff out of here.” She strolled into the kitchen. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re moving in together, right? You want a coffee or something?”

“Nope. I’m good. I’ll have coffee on the plane. Thank you, though.” He put his hands in his pockets and glanced around the small apartment. “Do you need help packing anything?”

“I’ve got it,” she said, and padded out of the kitchen a moment later with a spoon and a jar of instant coffee. She ate a spoonful of granules while he was staring, and grimaced.

“Doesn’t that taste horrible?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, making a face. “But it sure wakes me up.” She pointed down the hall, where he saw three doors. “I put all my soap-making stuff in the empty room, but I can pick it up later. Same with the furniture, I guess.” She squinted at him and crunched her dry instant coffee a bit more. “Where are we going to get married?”

“Vegas?”

“That’s kinda cliché.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

She blanched and swallowed hard, and then made a face. “Oh, god, that tasted awful. I’m really awake now, though.” She put the instant coffee down and headed for her bedroom. “Lemme think. Do people still get married at Niagara Falls?”