Page 37 of The Wrong Billionaire
“Oops,” he says, sliding his arms around me.
I place both hands on his chest. “That was sneaky.”
“You can expect a lot of that.”
“Oh no. Don’t start thinking there’s going to be kissing all the time.”
“Well, you see, it’s about desensitizing you.”
That makes me laugh. “Is it really?”
“Yeah. I’m a bit worried we’re going to get to the wedding night, and I’ll strip off your wedding dress, and you’ll faint like a Victorian governess. This way, you’ll get used to being intimate with me before the big day.”
Actually, that makes sense to me, but I’m not going to admit it.
“Because,” he continues, brushing lightly up my back, “let’s face it, once we’re married we need to make the most of every second of the fertile window. I don’t want to have to spend a week breaking you in.”
“Like a mare.”
“Yes, like a headstrong mare.” He chuckles.
“Bloody cheek.” I shiver as he lifts his hands to my face. He cups my cheeks, and he brushes them with his thumbs. “Your hands are very warm,” I whisper.
“I told you, I run hot.”
He’s looking into my eyes. An irresistible urge to giggle hysterically rises up inside me.
“Something funny?” he asks as I bite my lip.
“Not really. It’s nerves.”
He gives a puzzled frown and uses his thumb to pry my bottom lip free of my teeth. “Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs.
“That’s like asking me not to breathe.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a kiss.”
“To desensitize me.”
“That’s the only reason I’m doing it.” His eyes sparkle.
“It’s still you, Mars.”
He moves a little closer. “What do you mean?”
“You’re five years younger than me, and so handsome, and incredibly…”
He strokes my bottom lip. His body is now flush with mine. God knows what anyone watching is thinking. “Incredibly what?”
“Hypnotic,” I mumble. “Can you hear my heartbeat? It sounds like Keith Moon’s beating it with a pair of drumsticks.”
He takes my right hand, lifts it to his neck, and presses my fingers against his throat. “So’s mine.”
Oh, he’s right, I can feel his pulse racing against my fingertips.
I brush my thumb down his neck, over his Adam’s apple, to the hollow at the base. He lifts his chin a little to let me, then lowers his head to look at me again, a small smile on his lips.
I’m allowed to touch him because we’re getting married. The thought pops in my head like a bubble.
