The Billionaire Gets His Way(23)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

She pulled the door open wider behind herself. “Now you can go home with a clear conscience. Which will come in handy while you probably change your mind about suing me.”

He really did wish she would quit carping on that.

“Good night, Gavin.”

Conceding defeat, he retraced his steps until he stood framed by the door beside her. When she lifted her hand and turned it palm up, he obediently dropped her keys into it. Then he watched her fingers close over them, wondering at the spiral of disappointment that wound through him when she did.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he told her. “I know I didn’t give you much choice, but…” He lifted one shoulder and let it drop, then repeated simply, “Thank you.”

She met his gaze levelly for a moment, saying nothing, and in that moment, Gavin noted a tiny scar high on her cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. It should have marred the flawlessness of her beauty, but somehow, it only made her that much more stunning. Even something that should have been a defect couldn’t detract from the perfection of her features.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was tracing the pad of his thumb over the blemish and asking, “What happened here?”

Her eyes went wide in panic, and her hand shot up to cover his and move it back down to his side. Then she placed her own hand completely over her cheek, as if wanting to hide the scar that was barely even noticeable. “Nothing major,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “When I was eight, one of my sisters and I were doing the dishes. She was washing, I was drying. She dropped a glass as she was handing it to me, and it shattered on the counter. A piece of glass flew up and cut me. It probably could have gotten a stitch or two, but—” she halted abruptly, then quickly finished “—but it didn’t.”

It hadn’t occurred to Gavin before now that Violet might have a family somewhere. Parents and siblings and all the baggage that came with them. She’d said one of my sisters, so she obviously had more than one. What had happened to estrange her from her family? Because, surely, she must be estranged. Women didn’t become call girls if they had close ties to their families. Did they?

“How many sisters do you have?” Gavin asked.

She did the wide-eyed thing again, then dropped her gaze and busied herself with something in her purse. “Well, none, actually. Not biologically.”

“But—”

“Look, it’s late,” she said, glancing up again. “You really should be going.”

No need to tell me twice, Gavin thought. Even if, you know, she’d already told him twice. Maybe even three times.

He suddenly felt awkward for some reason, like a teenager bringing the girl he liked home from their first date. Unsure what to say, he finally stammered, “Well. Good night then. Violet. And thanks. Again.”

He cursed himself for sounding like an idiot and started to turn away. Then, again without thinking, he found himself leaning down and brushing his lips lightly across the scar on her cheek. He had no idea what made him do it. Not only were they supposed to still be adversaries—in spite of the relatively peaceful way they’d spent the evening—but he’d never kissed a woman on the cheek in his life. Even on the playground in fifth grade, when he’d swooped in on Mary Jane Pulaski for the first kiss of his life, he’d aimed for her mouth. So what if he’d missed and kissed her ear? The point was that he’d been aiming for her mouth. And he hadn’t kissed her cheek.

Violet gasped as his lips skimmed over her warm flesh, but she didn’t push him away the way Mary Jane Pulaski had. She didn’t throw a dirt clod at him the way Mary Jane had, either, which was a nice bonus. She did, however, splay her hand open over the center of his chest in a manner that said, Don’t, and when Gavin pulled back to gaze at her face, he saw that she was blushing. Again.

He had no idea why he did what he did next. Maybe it was sparked by the challenge presented in her hand on his chest, or maybe he was driven by something else he shouldn’t think too much about. But he lowered his head to hers again, this time aiming for—and capturing—her mouth, and this time he did a lot more than brush his lips lightly over hers.

He held his breath as he kissed her, waiting to see what she would do, something else he’d never done before. Never had he been uncertain when kissing a woman. Never had he doubted how she would react. It was that doubt, he thought, that made the kiss feel like more than it should. That could be the only reason why a shudder of heat shook him upon contact, why every nerve in his body surged to life, why the earth beneath his feet began to spin.

Why he felt like a kid kissing a girl for the very first time.

It was that realization, and not any resistance on Violet’s part, that made Gavin pull away. But when he looked at her and saw how her eyes had closed and the way her lips were still parted, as if she expected him to continue, he immediately covered her mouth with his again. And this time…

This time, nothing else mattered at all.

Vaguely, he noted how the fingers that had been splayed open against his chest curled into the fabric of his shirt and clutched it tight. He registered the warmth of her mouth against his, welcoming him, rubbing lightly against his own. He felt the swell of her h*ps beneath his palms and knew he must have moved his hands there. She was so soft—all of her—so soft. So warm. So supple. He had never taken the time to notice before how erotic it could be to simply trace a woman’s curves, how electric it could be to savor a woman’s mouth against his own. So many firsts tonight. All because of Violet.

When he moved his hand up to cradle her breast in the deep V of his thumb and index finger, she gasped again. This time, when she opened her hand over his chest she did push him away. Then she took a step backward. Then another. And another. Her eyes wide with confusion, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, as if that might negate what had happened.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

All Gavin could do was shake his head. Not just because he didn’t know the answer to that question, but because a million other questions were ricocheting through his head. And he didn’t know the answer to any of those, either.

She moved her hand to her hair—he was astonished to see that her fingers were trembling—and tucked behind her ear a long strand that had come free from the graceful twist. Had he done that? He couldn’t remember. Then she crossed her hands tightly over her chest in a way he could only liken to defensive.