Torn (Billionaire Bachelors Club #2)(3)

Gage

I CAN’T PLACE her, but I swear I’ve heard of her before. Maybe even met her though I can’t recall where. Archer’s hotel opening, maybe? I don’t know. I met an endless stream of people at that specific event, though they weren’t overly friendly. Most everyone in the Napa Valley still treats me like an outsider.

Marina Knight . . . it’s her first name that’s tripping me up. I don’t know many Marinas. Or even one aside from her. Who does? But this one . . . she’s beautiful. And not what I expected—though really? What the hell could I expect? I don’t know her.

At least I don’t think I do. And damn it, I’m too distracted by her pretty face. I think she’s screwing with my brain.

All that calm, contained elegance she wears so eloquently is seductive. Honey-blonde hair that falls in gentle waves to the middle of her back. Cool, assessing blue eyes that seem to see right through me and are amused with what they find. Her mouth is slicked with a deep, ruby red lipstick and she presses her lips together before she flashes a mysterious little smile. Just looking at the gentle curve of them sets my blood on fire.

Not a good sign.

She’s of average height, hitting me at about my shoulder, and she’s wearing a simple black dress that covers her completely yet clings to every delicious curve. She screams both ice queen and touch me—an alluring combination I’m finding harder to resist the longer I’m in her company.

Lately, I’ve sworn off women completely. I enjoy spending time with them. I appreciate them like any other man. But they’re a total distraction when I don’t need one, always wanting more than I can give. Focusing on my business is the ultimate goal at the moment. Starting up a relationship with the potential for it to turn serious?

I don’t think so.

Truly, that is the absolute last thing I want. Especially after witnessing my best friend Archer Bancroft fall hopelessly in love—with my little sister Ivy, for God’s sake. I know that’s not the path I’m ready to take.

Plus, there’s a hell of a lot of money on the line. The ass**le friend of ours who came up with the million-dollar bet, Matt DeLuca, is laughing hysterically at me right now. I can feel it; I can always feel it. I think he’s here somewhere, probably spying on me as I talk to this woman I don’t even know. All the while he’s got that new assistant of his following him everywhere, sending him longing glances while he’s an oblivious idiot.

She’s got the hots for him, the poor thing.

We were at a friend’s wedding when the three of us declared we never wanted to get married. We must’ve been drunk when we did it, but we all bet each other we’d never let ourselves get tied down to a woman. And the last single man wins one million dollars.

Fucking crazy.

If I have my way, Matt definitely won’t win. Smug bastard. He thinks this situation we’ve all found ourselves in is hilarious. He believes he’s got winning our stupid bet covered. Mister Lone Wolf has thrown himself completely into the renovation of the winery he recently bought. Women don’t interest him, he told me just the other day. Maybe for a quick romp between the sheets, but nothing that could last. Nothing serious.

All the while, his very attractive assistant is sitting not ten feet away from us, her body stiff. I swear to God, her head tilted toward us so she could totally listen in on our conversation.

I’m with him one hundred percent in that regard. Let Archer take the fall—alone. He’s thrilled to be playing house with my sister, which still blows my mind. Ivy’s just as enamored with him. Funny, considering how not that long ago they argued all the damn time. I figured they hated each other.

Now . . . hell, they’re getting married in a couple of months. I’m going to be Archer’s best man. Just thinking of wearing the imaginary noose that Archer’s willingly walking into has me tugging at my suddenly too-tight shirt collar.

“So what brings you here tonight, Gage Emerson?” Marina repeats the question I asked her earlier, that same little mysterious smile curving her lips. There’s a natural sultriness to this woman that calls to me. I can’t explain it. I want to lean in closer to her and inhale her scent. Touch her soft cheek, take her hand and press my palm to hers. Something, anything to make that instant connection between us I’m suddenly looking for. Her lips drive me to distraction; they’re such a lush, seductive red.

I bet she tastes f**king amazing.

Keep your head straight, ass**le.

“Business,” I answer firmly, sipping from my bottle of beer. It’s from a local microbrewery that’s become a recent favorite. That’s why I came, that and—as always—to make business connections. Archer got me the invite. The more properties I buy in the area, the more inclined I am to stay here.

I like it. The countryside is beautiful, the people seemingly friendly until you want to take over their turf, and it’s not too far from San Francisco, my home base.

I keep my eyes trained on Marina the entire time I drink, noticing how she jerks her gaze away from mine, her chest turning the faintest shade of pink, as if I might’ve made her uncomfortable.

Yep, I’m such a goner. And when I know I shouldn’t be. I’m completely entranced. The women I’m normally drawn to are sophisticated, confident. My equals in age, status, and earning capability. I appreciate more of a powerhouse couple ethic. I sound like a complete jackass in my own damn brain, but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to intelligent, confident women.