The Billionaire Bargain

A mesmerizing kiss

Elizabeth had meant for a quick kiss. Only a taste. A taste to satisfy her curiosity, her need. A taste because she could not—could never—deny this man. But when he pulled her down and his mouth, strong and fierce and hungry, touched hers, there was no stopping the tide that crashed over her.

​They’d been panting and laughing; he’d been teasing her and had pulled her onto his lap. Pretending had been so easy, but now… now her mouth, this man, and the hand gripping the back of her head were too real. Rough. Raw. Devastating.

​She moaned helplessly as he slanted his head, murmuring something indiscernible, his hot tongue tangling with hers. His hard need grew more insistent against her, and the realization that he truly, desperately wanted her battered through her defenses.

​He began to take little nips, his lush, sure lips moving against hers until flutters erupted in her stomach and fireworks exploded in her mind.

​"Tu as le goût du miel," he whispered—an aroused rasp against her lips. She clung to his neck, trying to catch her breath as his warm air slid across her skin, heating her like a fever.

​"Je n'ai pas dormi de la nuit... je te veux tellement," he murmured, running his hands down the sides of her body. His fingers brushed the curves of her breasts, his chest heaving with the effort of restraint.

​She had no idea what he was saying, but the words pulsed through her in a wave of erotic pleasure. Her body felt heavy, sensitized; her n*****s ached with a sharp, sweet pain that made her press deeper into his chest. She opened her mouth to him, moving instinctively, knowing this was wrong—so wrong—and that it couldn't happen again. Surely that was why she was inciting it now.

​"What are you saying to me…" she whispered against him.

​His breath was hot and rapid. "I'm saying I want to make love to you. All evening. All night." He groaned, his tongue sweeping against hers as their lips locked again, the connection intense and driven.

​She sucked in a breath as his palm finally covered her, feeling his desire in every coiled muscle, in the rough way he kneaded her flesh, and in the ravenous thrust of his tongue.

​He groaned, appearing decidedly out of control for the first time since she’d known him. He stroked the undersides of her breasts with his thumb and trailed his lips along the curve of her jaw. She tilted her head, shuddering as he nipped at her ear.

​"Your gasps tear me to pieces," he choked out.

​Elizabeth was burning. He made a grinding motion with his hips, and her thighs splayed instinctively as he pressed his erection against her.

​"Stop me, Elizabeth." One determined hand slipped through the V of her dress, skin meeting skin. "Elizabeth. Stop me."

​He squeezed her possessively, and when his palm rubbed over her n****e, her eyes flew open in shock. The sensation was so delicious, so right, that she hid her face against his neck and almost choked on the sound caught in her throat. Sensation overpowered her, her mind struggling to comprehend that this was really happening with Henri Gagnon.

​"That's your hotel up ahead, sir."

​Swearing under his breath, Henri gathered her closer. His ragged breaths blasted her temple as he gave her one final, firm squeeze.

​"We'll finish this upstairs."

​Elizabeth pushed back her rumpled hair, her heart hammering against her ribs. Upstairs? God, what are we doing?

​Chuckling at her dazed expression, Henri brushed a kiss against her forehead. His hand stroked her nape, trembling slightly. "I should've known we'd be combustible," he murmured.

​The Mercedes pulled into a wide, palm-lined driveway. Elizabeth fumbled for her purse while Henri stepped out and moved to her side, reaching into the car to help her to her feet.

​His dark gaze didn't stray from her face for a second. We kissed, his eyes said. I touched you. I know you want me.

​And for an insane second, all she wanted was to forget why she was here, forget who she was, and be swept away by this one man, this one night, in this one city.

​As though discerning her thoughts, Henri cupped her face in his warm palm, his eyes holding something so wild it almost blinded her. "Upstairs," he repeated.

​The promise plunged into her like a knife. As he moved away to speak with the chauffeur, Elizabeth stood there like she was under a spell, watching his large, tanned hands. Hands she’d felt on her.

​She gritted her teeth, fighting the lingering arousal. He was playing with her. He was pretending. He was a man who’d do anything to win—and he wanted Gagnon Autos.

​Henri seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil when he returned. He reached behind her, his fingers splaying over the small of her back as he led her up the steps.

​She followed him, trying—and failing—not to imagine him naked, touching her exactly the way he’d just done. She focused on the beautiful hotel, the potted palms, and the glass doors. The lobby and its domed ceiling made her lightheaded. God, the way he’d touched her. As if her body belonged to him. How could he pretend so well? He’d been so hard, so unyielding...

​"Do you like it, Elizabeth?" he asked, smiling as he signaled toward the room.

​She gazed at the elegant, rustic decor. "The hotel? It’s beautiful."

​His eyes twinkled, but underneath it all, he wore the starved look of a man who had hungered for a very long time and intended to feast soon. He looked like a man who could do things to her she hadn't even imagined in her wildest fantasies. A man who would not be denied.

​"It’s very… charming," she continued, desperate to steer her mind away from his mouth.

​They wound deeper into the marbled lobby, passing a massive arrangement of lilies near the reception area. Elizabeth still couldn't fathom it. She was woefully inexperienced—her last boyfriend dated back to college—and here she was with Henri Gagnon. He had whispered words so naughty she could hardly stand the warmth they elicited. No matter how much resistance she tried to put up, he was the sexiest man she'd ever met, and she was dangerously close to a total meltdown.

​It was all pretend, anyway. Right?

​Right.

​Trying to compose herself, she watched his broad back as he strolled toward the desk. His shoulders strained against his black shirt as he leaned over the counter with effortless confidence. Elizabeth drew up to his side, her lips feeling raw and sensitive. She licked them once, twice.

​A lock of hair fell over Henri’s forehead as he signed the register and slid it back. "I requested a two-bedroom suite—I'll feel better knowing you’re safe nearby." He turned to her, tucking his pen into his pocket and watching her with calm, assessing eyes. "Will this be a problem?"

​She saw protectiveness there, and though her nerves twisted in protest, she managed to speak. "Not at all."

​"Good."

​In the elevator, as they rode up to the tenth floor, his presence felt massive and commanding in the small space. The silence whispered to her.

​We kissed.

​In her mind, her heart, and her fading logic, everything echoed the same rhythm: kiss, kiss, kiss.