Filthy Rich: The Billionaire's Baby (A Bad Boy Romance) Read Free Page A

telling hipster’s that he’ll buy the Starbucks they work at if they ever bump into him again.
    He cuts an intimidating figure, but I feel entirely safe with him. He’s like a tank: you don’t want to see him hurdling towards you, but you’d be nice and cozy if you were inside of him. Er, not the best analogy (maybe I’m the tank, and he should be inside of me?) but I’ve not been this giddy for a long time.
    “So, what now?” I ask as I spin towards him.
    Louis pulls his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and starts dialing.
    “Yeah, I’m waiting outside.” He says before hanging up.
    We share another moment. One of those moments where you stare at a guy’s face and hope he’s thinking and feeling what you’re thinking and feeling.
    “The car will be around in a few minutes, but if you don’t feel like waiting, we can call a cab.”
    Jeez, I’d prefer to walk. I’ve had nothing but bad experiences with New York cabbies, and I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that they wave hello with a middle finger.
    “We can wait, it gives us a chance to talk.”
    Crickets.
    We both just stare at each other. Confidence oozes out of Louis but he seems like he’s lost for words, and it’s certainly not nerves; his hands are steady, and his stare is piercing.
    I was just about to say something when the bar door opened, and a couple poured out onto the street. They swayed in the wind and leaned on each other for support—like a human teepee.
    Taking his hand, I dragged Louis towards the alley at the side of the bar.
    “We can wait here for your limo to arrive.”
    “How did you know it was a limo?” He smiled.
    I didn’t. I was just joking. Really, a limo? Last time I was in a limousine was prom; hope I don’t throw up this time.
    Louis stepped forward and pressed his body close to mine until there was nothing between us but sexual tension. He makes me feel like me again: that girl from California that wasn’t afraid to take a couple of risks. She wouldn’t run halfway across the country because of a guy. She wouldn’t sit in bed all day afraid that he might show up. She wouldn’t let a moment like this pass her by.
    “Where’s that damn car,” I whispered as I tipped my head back and pointed my lips at his chin.
    “Limo, remember?” He said as he leaned forward.
    My breath quickened and my heart pounded.
    Louis licked his dry lips as his eyes explored my body. He didn’t play coy or try to hide his desire. He didn’t try to play it cool or pretend that he was a perfect gentleman (even if he was dressed like one).
    Louis stared at my cleavage—which was looking quite nice, I must admit, in my pink strapless dress—and he made no apologies for his wondering eyes.
    His mouth hovered just above me, just high enough that his lips were out of reach. We stood there for New York minute, but it felt like an hour.
    The cold air crawled up my leg like a spider, but it didn’t cool my want or my need. My breath was as clear as a smoker’s first puff and, with only the street light’s and the moon to keep us company, I watched as my breath bounced against his cheek.
    He didn’t recoil in horror, so I don’t need a breath mint, but if he doesn’t kiss me soon, I think I might explode. Finally, he closed the last few inches of distance between us and pressed his saliva-wet lips against mine: my first kiss in the Empire State.
    His hands, which felt more like catcher’s mitts, gripped my shoulders, and I felt my core tighten. I’ve only ever kissed two men before tonight, one was TJ, and the other was my prom date that shall remain nameless (and trust me, that guy did recoil in horror when he kissed me goodnight after a night of teenage drinking and a topsy-turvy limo ride home).
    He tasted of peppermint and rum, but mostly peppermint. He must’ve slipped a breath mint before we got outside. His beard warmed my cheeks. I reached up and took a handful of his puppy-soft hair and pulled him