The Billionaire's Claim_Possession Page 2

  “I thought you liked Ryder.”

  “A girl’s gotta have a backup plan.”

  Marcella doesn’t seem to notice, but Vanessa looks like she wants to bloody her lips.

  “Come on,” Marcella whines. “Let’s go.”

  No, don’t go. Stay.

  Women always come and go in groups. If Marcella and Vanessa leave, so will Elizabeth.

  “Not me,” Elizabeth says. “I’m getting another martini.” She signals me, then points at the empty glass.

  Great. The more she drinks, the longer she stays.

  “Come on, Elizabeth. Don’t you want to see Justin?”

  Say no.

  “Why? He’s not my type, and we aren’t that close.”

  Yes! The next martini’s on me.

  “Fine. But what if Nate’s there?” Marcella says.

  Who the hell is Nate? Elizabeth’s crush? The notion that she might be into another guy burns my insides like a dribble of acid.

  Damn it. Am I…jealous?

  Yes. Yes, I am. I want her to look only at me, reserve her smile only for me.

  It’s stupidly primitive—probably totally inappropriate, too—but I don’t give a damn. I feel what I feel.

  Elizabeth snorts, then picks up the fresh martini I placed on the counter in front of her. “I’m going to finish my drink, enjoy a lazy evening, and go home. You girls have a wild night with the Sterling boys.”

  “No!” Marcella grabs Elizabeth’s arm, almost causing her to spill her drink. “Come with us! You have to!”

  Chapter Three

  Elizabeth

  “I have to?” Marcella can be so annoying. “Says who?”

  “Well, everyone! Everyone knows he’s the one for you, and—”

  “Not everyone. And don’t make me spill my drink.” I transfer my martini to the other hand and start sipping it. “Nate can be your backup-backup plan.”

  If only Nate knew what we’re saying about him. He’d clutch his chest, then collapse dramatically. And then he’d promptly tell Marcella to fuck off.

  Marcella pouts.

  “Better hurry. Justin might get tired of waiting,” I say.

  “Fine.” Marcella spins around and leaves with Vanessa.

  Finally. I smile inwardly. Now I can observe the bartender without having to split my attention. As much as I love my cousin and friend, I want to take the time to watch Mr. Absurd.

  He moves with ease behind the counter, serving beers and making cocktails. I love competence in guys. It’s sexy. And in Mr. Absurd, it’s even more so.

  Then there’s his voice. It isn’t even trying to be seductive—I know when a guy is trying. His voice doesn’t change from one moment to next, depending on who he’s talking to. It’s just naturally deep, resonant and calm.

  And he gives the evil eye to some drunken guys heading my way, for which I’m grateful. Intoxicated male egos are the worst.

  I ask for another martini.

  “That all you’re drinking?” Mr. Absurd asks.

  “It’s classic and doesn’t disappoint.” I cock my head. “Why? You have something better?”

  “How about an apple mojito?”

  “Apple?” I consider, a slight smile on my lips. I like the way he grins at me as he tosses out the suggestion. “Don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

  “It’s not really a classic…but still good. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay.”

  My smile widens. He knows how to seal a deal. “Okay.”

  He makes the mojito and places it in front of me. I take a sip. It’s as great as the mojitos my cousin Mark made, but the crisp flavor of apple really enhances it. “It’s excellent.”

  “Told ya.”

  “Your own recipe?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “It’s not on the menu.” I quirk my eyebrow at the blackboard full of funky drink names in colorful chalks behind him. “Or the specials.”

  A dimple appears on his right cheek. I have a weakness for dimples.

  “How long have you been working here?”

  “About seven months. Since I turned twenty-one.” He dries some wine glasses, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he runs the clean white rag over the crystal surfaces. “I haven’t seen you in here before,” he says, sounding a bit too casual.

  What—and how much—should I say? Getting busted now would suck. My ID says I live in Orange County, but I doubt he noticed. Most bartenders only check the birthday. “I don’t live around here.”

  “Not attending UCLA?”

  I shake my head. “I was studying in…Europe.”

  “Your friends, too?”

  That makes me blink. “Oh. You mean…Vanessa and Marcella. No. They didn’t. We…”

  He probably heard us speaking German, and thankfully didn’t understand it. Lots of people in SoCal speak at least some Spanish, but not German.

  “We weren’t speaking in English because, you know”—I make a circle with my index finger—“secrets.”

  “You aren’t a mafia princess or anything, are you?”

  I snort, biting back a grin at the teasing smile he adds at the end. He’s probing, and I hate men who probe, but somehow with him it’s okay. As a matter of fact, I want him to get to know me—just me—and like what he discovers. “No. Definitely not. Besides, we were speaking German. Have you ever heard of a German mafia?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  I finish the mojito. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not a mafia princess with big, burly men ready to break your legs for talking to me.”

  He laughs.

  I tap the rim of my now empty glass. “Is this your favorite?”

  “Nope. I prefer vodka.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugs. “Strong. Neat. No smell. What’s not to like?”

  I’ve had a lot of liquor before, but never vodka. “Give me a shot.”

  A small frown on his handsome face, he studies me. I feel his gaze like a caress, and I suck in a breath.

  Get a grip. You’re leaving the States in less than forty-eight hours.

  Still… A girl can have fun with a sexy stranger, right?

  Resting my chin in my hand, I grin at him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to pass out and make you carry me home. I have the infamous Pry—um, a prime metabolism.”

  Mr. Absurd’s going to cut me off. I’ve had seven drinks. And he doesn’t know about the notorious Pryce metabolism, which allows the people in my family to drink alcohol almost like water.

  The gracious thing for me to do would be to pay and get out before he has to make the decision. Because it’s obvious he wants to cut me off in a nice way, mistakenly believing it’s for my own good.

  But if I leave…I may never see him again. I’m returning to Italy to study with Grandpa Thomas in two days.

  The idea of never seeing Mr. Absurd again does funny things to my insides. I don’t recognize the feeling, and I don’t like it.

  On the other hand, I should leave now before making a fool out of myself. Just look at him. He probably has a girlfriend. Or a harem of girlfriends.

  I bite my lower lip, not liking that notion one bit. I’ve never fought over a man. There are plenty of pretty boys to go around, but somehow…this one is different.

  Definitely time to get up and go. I must be more buzzed than expected if I’m getting jealous over a guy I just met.

  Before I can get up, Mr. Absurd places a shot glass in front of me.

  Wordlessly, I pick it up, wanting to know what he considers strong and neat, then knock it back. The liquid goes down silky smooth without any noticeable burn.

  I give him a sweet smile to match the lovely aftertaste of the vodka lingering in my mouth. “Another one.”

  This time, he doesn’t study me. He merely pours another shot.

  I knock it back with my eyes on the bartender, forming a vague plan.

  Stay until his shift ends.

&n
bsp; Leave my Maserati in the parking lot.

  Seduce him.

  I’ve never seduced anybody, but how hard can it be? Even if things don’t go the way I want, there won’t be any “we might run into each other in an awkward way” consequences.

  After all, I’m leaving in two days.

  Chapter Four

  Dominic

  Elizabeth wasn’t lying about her metabolism. I keep a close eye on her throughout my shift, but she’s fine—speaking clearly, tracking conversations without any problem, laughing softly and generally being a good customer.

  When I clock out at eleven, she gets up from her stool, tipping well over a hundred percent. I start to tell her it’s too much, but she shakes her head.

  “I’d give more, but that’s all the cash I have. You were great company. I would’ve been bored out of my mind otherwise, and I didn’t feel like going home. And don’t forget—you introduced me to vodka.” She smiles, but there’s a stubborn set to her jaw.

  Being gracious and grateful is the only option. Besides, she isn’t so drunk that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. If I thought she was drunk, I wouldn’t let her tip this way. “Thanks.”

  We walk out together. The lot has a few of usual yuppie college kid cars, and, very unusually, a shiny Maserati that I can’t help but notice. It’s too flashy, too out of place.

  She smacks her forehead with the heel of her palm. “Aw, crap. I forgot I didn’t drive here.”

  “Were your friends your ride home?”

  She frowns, then nods slowly. “Yeah.”

  Damn. I can’t believe they left without offering to drive her back first. Who needs enemies when you have friends like those?

  As though she’s read my mind, Elizabeth adds, “They probably assumed I’d call one of my brothers, except they’re all out of town. I should probably call a taxi…or…” She cants her head. “Can I ask you for a ride?”

  She lives in Orange County, which is way too far for a round trip, but if I say no, the evening’s over. I feel oddly like Cinderella, except in this fairytale, she controls when the clock strikes midnight. “Sure.”

  Amusement sparkles in her bright gray eyes. “You should’ve at least asked where I live. What if it’s the opposite end of the city?”

  My turn to score a point. “You live in Orange County.”

  “Ooh, observant. I like that in a man. So, you still offering?”

  “Sure. Besides, even if you had your car here, I wouldn’t let you drive.”

  She shoots me a cocky smile. “I’m totally sober.”

  “Maybe enough to talk. Not enough to get behind the wheel,” I say.

  I open the passenger-side door and let her into my four-year-old Accord, making a mental note to thank Kristen for nagging until I vacuumed and washed the car last week. First impressions matter, and I don’t want to give Elizabeth any reason to think less of me.

  Once we’re both in, she props her elbow on the bottom of the window and rests the side of her head against the back of her fingers. Her gaze runs over my face, then her expression firms as though she’s come to a decision. “So…where do you live?”

  My blood thickens at her tone—an exciting mixture of coy and flirty. Kristen’s sleeping over with her best friend tonight. Thank God. It’s like the stars have aligned perfectly.

  Elizabeth reaches over and runs her fingers along my thigh. Her scent—vanilla and lavender—tickles my nose. An electric charge sizzles at the base of my spine, and heated blood pumps hard through my veins. “You going to start the car or what?” She smiles, her cheeks flushed.

  Logic and good intentions grow fuzzy. I don’t hook up with women I meet at the bar. I want to set a good example for Kristen so she knows to look for a guy who’ll take her seriously and treat her well. And I’m usually just too busy with life—college courses, taking care of my sister and working two jobs.

  But with Elizabeth, none of that matters. The only thing is her being with me…and the undercurrent of instinctive knowledge that if I end this now, she’s going to slip away, never to be seen again.

  My mouth dry, I speed toward my place, half an hour from the bar. I don’t run any red lights, but it’s pretty close a couple of times.

  She laughs softly. “Love it that you’re impatient.”

  “Do you?”

  “You want me.”

  “What man wouldn’t?”

  She grows wistful. “Not everyone wants me.”

  “You’ve been with the wrong men.”

  She opens her mouth, then instead of saying anything, drags her teeth along her lower lip.

  I reach the duplex in record time. And thank God my sister and I are both on the tidy side, because bringing a girl to a pigsty?

  Just no.

  Elizabeth takes a quick glance at the place. It’s all inexpensive functionality topped with neat. Most of furniture came secondhand or from IKEA. The large high-definition TV is a prize from last year’s Black Friday sale, where I beat a rabid crowd to the only sub-five-hundred-dollar unit in the store. A few photos of my family are lined up on the mantel of a small gas fireplace, which had to have been put in just so the landlord could claim the unit had a fireplace.

  “Got anything to drink?” she asks.

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  “What do you have? Other than water, tea or coffee.”

  “Vodka good?”

  She nods. I pour two glasses of Stoli—I’m off the clock now—and take them to the couch. We sit and clink before taking a sip.

  “Do you really go by Elizabeth with everyone?” I ask, enjoying the smooth taste of the vodka. “No nickname?”

  “Yeah. Everyone calls me that, except this one cousin who calls me Eliza. I think he felt rebellious when he was younger, you know? And it stuck. With him, anyway.”

  She’s probably wrong about her cousin. Elizabeth is too formal a name for this woman. She’s too vivacious, too open and too sexy. She needs a shorter, snappier name.

  “But…” She knocks back the second shot of vodka. “You can call me Liza. Nobody calls me that, and I think it suits me better than Elizabeth or Eliza, don’t you?”

  I nod, ridiculously pleased I’m going to get my own name for her.

  “So what’s your name?” she asks.

  “Dominic.”

  “Nice. I like it.” She smiles and runs a fingertip along my lips as she leans forward. “Can I call you something else, though?”

  I feel the touch like an electric shock. My heart thuds. If she keeps this up, she can call me Idiot. “Like what?”

  “Mine.”

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth

  Dominic’s eyes flare with heat, and I can’t help but smile. I’m not the only one feeling the pull.

  Unable to help myself, I lean forward and kiss him. His mouth is as soft as I imagined, but also slightly firm with a sweet aftertaste of the vodka. I pull back and run my tongue over my lower lip. His gaze darkens, and this time it’s Dominic who leans forward and slants his mouth over mine.

  He doesn’t push with his tongue, but uses his lips, coaxing and seducing me. We fit perfectly, our rhythm heated without being hurried.

  Then he nips me, the sharp bite of his teeth sending a hot, pulsing streak to the flesh between my legs, making me ache. I open my mouth, and our tongues glide past each other, then tangle—tasting, teasing, playing and making each other feel so damn good. Heat flushes my cheeks, and lust knots in my belly.

  This…this is true desire. The kind that makes you forget logic, intellect, common sense…everything.

  Dominic pushes at my shirt, and I pull back long enough to help him get rid of it. Before he can reach for my belt, I undo it and push the skirt down my legs, leaving me in nothing but matching red lace underwear and silver heels. I ought to thank Vanessa for dragging me to a lingerie store last week. She has a great eye for stuff like this.

  Dominic stops, then a breath rushes out between his teeth. “G
od, you’re hot.” It’s like a prayer. He runs a callused palm down my side, caressing my waist, then tracing the curve of my hips. My heart hammers as his breathing grows shallow.

  Impatient, I tug his shirt up. “Take off your clothes, then bedroom. No…bedroom, then take off your clothes.”

  His strong hands cupping my ass, he picks me up and carries me to the bedroom. It doesn’t take more than a few steps, since the whole place is rather cozy.

  The room is decorated in green and gray—very masculine and single guy-ish. He deposits me on the mattress, then strips in the blink of an eye, his clothes landing in a heap behind him.

  I appreciate the hard beauty of his body, not an ounce of fat on the sharply honed planes. Dark hair sprinkles his chest. His ridged abs have a happy trail that travels below to a deliciously erect cock. I smack my lips at the sight. The thick, hard shaft is covered with veins that stand out, and it ends in a plum-shaped head glistening with a drop of clear liquid. It’s fascinating and intriguing.

  I lift my gaze. “I like every inch of you,” I say with a small smile.

  “Likewise.”

  I reach behind and undo the hooks holding my bra together. It falls, whisper soft, and I toss it over one of his broad shoulders, so it can join his clothes.

  He comes forward on the bed, his mouth on mine.

  Unlike what I expected, he’s surprisingly patient, stroking the sensitive skin behind my ears, at my nape and around my collarbones. His lips follow where his fingers have been, making me tingle all over.

  He cups my breast, his thumb brushing over a hard, pointed nipple. I gasp at the sensation. It’s totally different from when I touch it myself. His hand is callused, rougher and hotter. And his mouth…

  My God.

  It’s the first time I’ve had my nipple sucked, and it is sensational, the wet heat of his mouth making my spine arch with bliss. His teeth nip me a little, and it feels like my entire body’s on fire.

  My fingers tangle in the sheet as he does the same thing to my other breast. I’m so wet, I’m pretty certain I’m making a mess of his bed already.

  “So responsive, so fucking hot,” he whispers over the nipple. His soft breath sends delicious shivers that end between my legs.