Billionaires Dollar Series

“A first?”

“I’ve never had a woman thank me for sleeping with her.” A grin. “It’s not bad.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, too late. I’ll be expecting this from now on. Next time, I want you to send me a personalized thank-you note.”

Maddie turns on her side. “Next time? Who’s being presumptuous now?”Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

My heart speeds up at the implication of her words, of mine, but I just hold up my hands. “Now I know what you look like when you come, and if you don’t think I’ll be working hard to see that again, you don’t know me at all.”

She reaches for one of the pillows and lobs it at me. It bounces off my shoulders and crashes into the bedside table, a lamp tumbling to the floor.

Glass shatters.

“Shit!”

Laughing, I grip her around the waist. “That’s the girl I remember from when I was a kid.” I bring my lips close to her ear. “Let’s go ride our dirt bikes after this and steal apples from the tree down the street.”

She jabs an elbow into my side. “I can’t believe I vandalized your employer’s hotel.”

“They’ll just add it to my tab.” I pull off of her, getting off the bed. Faint sunlight streams in from the draped windows.

I pause with a hand on the bathroom door, ready to shower. Maddie watches me from the bed, her dark hair spread out on one of the white cotton pillows.

“Join me?”

Her mouth curls, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes. Shyness?

Where did that come from?

“All right,” she says, tossing the covers back.

We waste a lot of soap, and a ton of water, but damn if it’s not a shower for the ages. Running my hands over the wet curves of her body pushes out the insistent thought that I’ve overslept.

It’s often said that a man only has enough blood to keep one thing working at a time-his brain or his cock-and for the time being I’d given authority over to the latter.

Maddie surprises me when she puts a hand on my arm as I’m stepping out of the shower. The kiss she presses against my lips is achingly sweet, laden with meaning I don’t understand.

“What was that for?”

She shrugs. “I just felt like it.”

I raise an eyebrow, but she says nothing, reaching for one of the fluffy hotel towels.

In one solid wrap, the gorgeous curves of her body-the firm tits, the flared hips, the treasure beneath-are all gone from view.

I wrap a towel around my waist and head into the hotel room in search of my clothes. “Are you working today?”

“Yes, and tonight I’m cooking the meals again, the ones you tasted.”

I pull on my pants. “Again? How often are you doing that?”

“This’ll be my fourth time.”

“Fourth?”

“Yes. I do it as often as I can. Don’t professional athletes train? Don’t painters practice? It’s the same thing here.”

I glance over to see her pulling up the tight red dress, and pause with my hands on the buttons of my shirt.

It doesn’t look as good going on as it did coming off, but it’s still a fucking sight.

Maddie catches me watching. Her hair is wet and straight around her face, her skin clean and flushed. She looks delicious.

“Good dress,” she says, patting it.

“The best dress,” I confirm.

She turns around and gestures for me to do up her zipper. I oblige, my fingers trailing across her skin. “The test will be at the culinary institute, in one of their classrooms.”

“Yes. Together with the other finalists.”

My fingers pause. “You’re all cooking at the same time? In front of judges?”

Which meant her ex would be in that room, too. The ex she’d enlisted me to make jealous. My stomach tightens at the thought, and it’s not pleasurable.

“I was thinking…” Maddie says, not turning back around. “Would you mind being there?”

“Being there?”

“Each finalist can bring a guest or two, you see. They’ll be there to watch the final test. A few other chefs are often there too, sometimes food bloggers and culinary critics…”

I rest my hands on her shoulders, thumbs right at the nape of her neck. “Send me the details.”

The muscles relax under my touch. “Will do.”

Fifteen minutes later we check out of the Skye Hotel, standing side by side in the giant bookstore-turned-lobby with wet hair. Our clothes are very clearly not daytime attire.

Maddie wraps her arms around herself beside me, not looking at the concierge.

I hand over my card. “We broke a lamp,” I add, unable to stop my lips from twisting into a smirk.

The hotel staffer nods with professional courtesy. “Not a problem, sir. We will-”

“Yes, go ahead and charge the cost to the card.”

“Thank you, sir.”