Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1) (17 page)

T
he terrace door clicked shut as I answered Will’s call. “Hey, stranger, I’m surprised you’re awake right now.” Elbows resting on the banister, the sounds of an already popping Upper East Side hustled and bustled below me. “Rough call shift?”

“The ER was hopping last night.” Will’s raspy, exhausted voice filled my ear. “From the random text I got last night, it appears you had an interesting evening. Night on the town with Cass?”

“Huh?” I tilted my head to the side. How on Earth would my brother know about my night?

“Oh, come on, Gigi.” He chuckled softly in my ear. “Have you checked your text messages?”

My face twisted into utter bewilderment. “Text messages?”

“You sent me a text message. To which I did attempt to respond, but honestly, I didn’t have a clue what in the hell you were talking about.”

I tried to recount last night’s events, but my brain still had a residual Benadryl fog.

“Check your messages.”

I tapped the screen, putting Will on speaker, while I scrolled through my text conversations.

Me: WILL CAN AN OC GIVE A BENNY!*&

Will: I’d like to buy a vowel, Pat.

Will: Gigi? Hello????

Will: Your Masturbation Camp PTSD is flaring again, isn’t it?

Will: You’re going to be so fucking sick in the morning.

Will: Seriously, text me if you need anything. I’m pulling an all-nighter in the ER.

Masturbation Camp.
My adolescent nightmare that Will won’t let me forget about.

Since my mother was a sex therapist, my introduction to sexual health was not the norm. Three days after my thirteenth birthday, I got my period. While most mothers took their daughters to the drug store to buy pads or tampons, my mother signed me up for Camp Love Yourself.

Before your mind wanders to weird and disturbing places, I should explain that we weren’t sitting around naked, diddling ourselves to Justin Timberlake music videos.

It was a two-week summer camp focused around teaching teenage girls about sex education, as well as encouraging girls to explore their sexuality in a healthy and safe way. Which explained why my older brother called it “Masturbation Camp.”

My empowered and liberated mother was a strong advocate for Camp Love Yourself and their pro rub-yourself stance. “A few rounds of masturbation a day keeps the babies away, Georgia Rose. It’s proven that you’re less likely to give in to your teenage hormones if you’re exploring your sexuality through healthy, self-love methods.”

Needless to say, my experience at “Masturbation Camp” had been about as horrifying and awkward as you’d expect.

It had taken me a good three years to get past the emotional trauma from sitting around a campfire, singing
“Kumbaya” with counselor Feather (yes, that was her legal name), while she encouraged us to roast vagina-shaped marshmallows for s’mores. This was one of those life moments where, even ten or fifteen years down the road, I was still wondering if it had really happened.

“Seriously, Wilbur? How many years are you gonna hold on to the Masturbation Camp bit?”

“Forever,” he responded, laughing. “That shit will never get old.”

I sighed. “You’re the world’s worst older brother, you know that?”

The insult deflected off of him with ease.

“So, what in the hell were you up to last night?”

Glancing down at the text messages between Will and me, memories from last night hijacked my brain, taking it hostage.

The dance. That kiss. My lips. Benadryl. Kline’s bed.

My jaw hit the terrace, my eyes going wide in shock. The details were hazy, but the basics stood out enough to worry me.

Did I really get naked in his bed last night?

“Gigi? You still there?”

Moments and snapshots from twelve or so hours prior flooded my head.
“I’m sexy and naked and ready to fornicate.”

“Oh, no.” I covered my mouth with my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bye, Will.”

“Hey! Wha—”

I ended the call. I didn’t have time for his shenanigans or the hour-long physician’s lecture that would have occurred had I told him about my allergic reaction. No doubt, Will would’ve been furious I didn’t go to the emergency room last night.

This moment required an immediate call to Cassie. The line rang three times before she answered, her voice drugged with sleep. “It’s kind of early, Wheorgie.”

Forgoing pleasantries, I dove right into my current situation, highlighting the main points. My ramble lasted a good three minutes, only pausing to take a quick breath between run-on sentences.

“So, what you’re telling me is that your date with Kline started off great, until you had an allergic reaction and your face ballooned up like a blimp? And then you chugged a bottle of Benadryl, got naked in his bed, and attempted to hand him your lady flower, but you guys just ended up eating pizza instead?”

“It sounds even worse when you repeat it back to me,” I whined.

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m in his apartment, standing outside on the terrace so he can’t hear me freaking the fuck out.”

“And you stayed at his place last night?”

“Yeah, I woke up in his bed this morning.”

“Did he try to usher your ass out of his bed the second you woke up?”

I shook my head. She didn’t respond.

“See, the way phone conversations work, is that you actually have to say the words out loud.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” I retorted. “And no, he didn’t try to push me out of bed and send me packing. He was actually pretty sweet.”

“I’m not sure what the problem is, then.”

“Are you serious?” I shouted. “I’m mortified, Cass! I pretty much made a fool out of myself last night! I don’t even—”

“Hey,” she interrupted my rant.

“What?” I snapped back.

“Take a breath and think this over,” she coaxed, her voice cool and calm. “Sure, things didn’t go as planned,
but
…you’re still at his apartment. He’s not acting weird. He didn’t try to shove you out the door. Right?”

I nodded.

“I’m assuming you’re nodding your head, so I shall continue,” she said, amusement highlighting her voice. “You have two options here, Georgie. You can either grab your shit and make a beeline for the door and continue to stew in your mortification back at our apartment. Or you can get some tits and go in there and demand a re-do.”

“A re-do?”

“Demand you finish that amazing kiss. Or, you know, turn that sexy lip-lock into something else. Something more
orally
challenging.”

I ran through my options. I could either let self-doubt rule my brain or walk back into his apartment and show him what a confident, self-assured woman looks like when she’s ready to take what she wants.

“You’re right,” I agreed, steadfast in my decision. “Embarrassment can go fuck itself. It’s time for a re-do.”

“That’s my girl.”

“I love you, Casshead.”

“Love you too,” she responded, a smile in her voice. “Now, stop wasting time and go in there and kiss the hell out of Big-dicked Brooks.”

“Okay, that’s my cue to end this call,” I teased. “Have fun snapping pics of muscly men.”

“Oh, the fun has already been had, my dear. I plan on having even more fun tonight,
without
a lens in front of my face.”

I smiled, my nerves finally at ease. “I miss your crazy ass.”

“Miss you too, sweet cheeks. Call me later and let me know how things went.”

“You got it.”

“But make sure it’s tomorrow because I’m about to be balls deep in my best impression of a rodeo queen. The Italian Stallion—”

“I’m hanging up now!”

Her laugh was the last thing I heard as I tapped end on the call.

Turning for the door, I stopped mid-step, my eyes meeting my reflection in the glass panes. I did a quick once-over, taking inventory of my current state. My hair was a little askew, pulled up in a messy bun. My legs peeked out from beneath Kline’s Harvard cotton tee. My ass was covered by a pair of white cotton boy shorts. It wasn’t my sexiest of days, but I didn’t look awful. And surprisingly, my lips had gone back to their normal size.

I sniffed the collar of his t-shirt, and despite the clean scent, remnants of his cologne managed to linger on the freshly laundered material.
God, he really did smell good
. Kline just might have been my very own aphrodisiac.

I wanted him. And I was hell-bent on taking what I wanted.

Walking through the doors, I left any inkling of self-doubt on the terrace, finding him shirtless, standing at the sink of his master bathroom. His perfect ass was clad in boxer briefs and nothing else, wide shoulders on display, muscles stretching as he brushed his teeth. His biceps flexed as he finished up, turning off the sink.

His body was perfect. Defined with just enough bulk. Smooth skin sweetened the deal, leading from his muscular shoulders to his defined pectorals. I wanted to trace the lines with my tongue. He didn’t shave or wax his chest like guys on magazine covers. No, Kline Brooks was a
man
. A beautiful, sexy man with a natural smattering of dark hair on his chest. His abdomen was defined with ridges and hard lines that led down into a glorious V, and a soft, just barely noticeable trail of hair paved a path from his belly button to territory I’d have had to remove his boxer briefs to see.

I wanted to lick that happy trail, spend some time there, make a fucking day out of it.

My body was getting way too excited over the possibilities.

Cool it, Georgia. Slow your horny roll.

I wanted a re-do of our first kiss, not the beginning of a porno flick.

Cornflower blue eyes, with the tiniest bit of yellow lining the contrasting black pupils, met mine in the mirror. “Everything okay?”

I nodded, moving toward the sink and plucking his just-used toothbrush from the holder. Without hesitation, I made myself at home, putting a glob of toothpaste on the bristles and going to town on cleaning my teeth.

Kline watched with amusement.

“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked after two circuits on my top teeth.

“Not at all,” he responded, smirking. That perfect ass of his found the edge of the sink as he continued to observe.

“I need a favor,” I stated, turning off the sink and wiping my face with the hand towel.

“Favor?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a mighty big favor, but there’s a possibility it will benefit you greatly.”

“I’m all ears, Benny girl.” He winked, amused with my new nickname. Though I was less impressed with his creativity than he was, I still felt a tingle.

“Do you have an iPod dock anywhere in the apartment?”

His gaze turned intrigued. “In my bedroom, on the dresser beside the terrace doors.”

“Perfect,” I said over my shoulder, walking that direction.

He followed me, sitting on the bed, while I set my phone in the dock and found the perfect re-do song.

The Drifters’ “Some Kind of Wonderful” filled the room.

“I know this wasn’t the song we heard after our dance,” I pointed out, shrugging, “but it’s my favorite ‘Some Kind of Wonderful.’”

“Hmm, I don’t know. The first version seemed pretty good to me.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I can relate to the lyrics.”

I put a hand on my hip. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “I think most men come to a point in their lives where the concept of one right woman above all other things seems logical—warranted, even.”

I swooned. Head, heart, stomach—my entire body was in on it.

“Well, this is
my
show, so this is our some kind of wonderful for right now.”

Kline grinned.

My bare feet moved across the soft carpet, stopping once my knees tapped his. “Stand up, please.” I gestured with my hand. “I want a re-do. I want to finish what we started,
before
you tried to kill me with lime juice.” A teasing smirk crested my lips.

“I did not try to kill you,” he said through a chuckle, getting to his feet. “But, I
am
saying yes to the favor.”

Blue-tinted tenderness gazed down at me, while strong hands slipped under cotton, finding the curve of my hips.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date last night,” I whispered.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

I cocked a disagreeing brow.

“Georgie, I had an amazing time.” He touched my cheek, warmth spreading across my skin. “And I’d do it all over again. Allergic reaction and Benny high, I’d still do it all over again. You’re pretty damn adorable when you’re buzzing on antihistamines.”

Good Lord, I can only imagine the kind of crazy things that were coming out of my mouth last night…

Self-doubt could be a real tricky bitch. Even when you thought you had her under control, she found a way to creep back in, making you analyze everything. Despite my earlier confidence, I had reached that moment.

“Please, don’t remind me of anything I said or did. I have enough embarrassment stocked up to last a lifetime.” I groaned, burying my face in his bare chest.