Enticing You (How to Marry a Billionaire #1)

Episode 4

EPISODE 4

A NOT-SO-PROPER ENGLISH ROSE

Sebastian

When I offer her a choice between an answer to her question and fucking her against the wall, she gulps. I actually see her throat move, but I believe in being honest when I’m attracted to a woman.

“I’m not one of your groupies, Sebastian,” she finally replies, her tone stiff.

God, I love the way she says my name in that polite voice of hers. Seb- ah -stian.

“Definitely not.” I tug on a lock of her ash-blond hair. “If you were a groupie, I’d be inside you by now.”

Her cheeks flush a gorgeous rose. A proper English rose. That’s what I thought when I read her bio. How I’d love to bring a proper English rose to her knees.

“This is a mixer, isn’t it?” she asks. “A way for us to get to know each other?”

“Is there any better way to get to know each other?” I slide a finger over her bare shoulder. Her skin is like the softest silk. She’s wearing a light-blue strapless number that makes her blue eyes look bright as the noon sky on a sunny day. Her breasts are pushed up, rosy and creamy, and her nipples—are they pink? Light brown?—are protruding against the clingy fabric.

My groin tightens.

Damn, I want to see those proper English tits, suck on those proper English nipples.

“My question…” she says on a sigh.

Right. Her question. She wants to know why River, Brett, Alex, and I hired a matchmaker to drag eight eligible women who might someday be our wives to a remote island for this unusual pre-coital meet-and-greet. It’s a valid inquiry, but I wasn’t yanking her chain when I said there was no easy answer.

There isn’t, and even if there were, I couldn’t tell her. Maybe I could spill a bit here or there, but never the whole truth. Our story began twenty years ago, and we made a blood pact—an agreement among four fifteen-year-olds—to never breathe a word of it. I mean that literally. We sliced our palms open and mixed our blood together, making us blood brothers.

And blood brothers never break their word.

Silly to some, maybe. But each one of us takes it seriously to this day. Our lives depend on our oath.

I nip her earlobe. “I’m offering you a choice. Your question…or a fuck.”

“We’re not supposed to…”

I trace the outer shell of her ear with my tongue. “Getting hot yet?”

“Oh!” she gasps and then lowers her voice. “We’ve been through this. I’m already hot and you bloody well know it.”

“Then you’ve made your choice?”

She pulls away from me, steadying herself. “I’d like a beverage, please.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Absolutely. What would you like?”

“More champagne.” She jiggles her empty flute at me. “Please.”

“Of course.” I take her flute. The bar is closer than the nearest server, so I head there. “Two of these, please.” I set the flute down on the bar.

“Coming right up.”

“Hi there, Sebastian Tate.”

I turn to see Heather Hill—a hair stylist, twenty-six years old—standing at the bar.

She’s beautiful, of course. All these women are. Her black hair with royal-blue highlights and dark-blue eyes are striking. I don’t normally like brightly colored hair, but it works for her. So does the viper tattoo on the back of her shoulder. “Good evening.”

“I have to tell you,” she gushes. “I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you.” I take the two flutes of champagne from the bartender. No need to tip here. Everyone is already very well paid.

“I’ve seen you in concert ten times,” Heather continues, her breath catching. “My friend Sally and I followed you around Europe four years ago. We couldn’t get enough.”

“You realize I played the same concert at each venue.”

“So? Each time was better than the last. In Brussels we snagged front-row seats. It was the best night ever.”

A groupie? I specifically asked Evangeline not to have any groupies in the mix.

One was bound to sneak through.

“I appreciate your support, Heather.”

“It’s nothing. I rarely go to concerts anymore. I don’t have the time these days. I own my own salon in Pasadena.”

Not a groupie after all. A former groupie.

“You’re still one of my favorite artists, though. Where do you come up with the ideas for your lyrics? You rock so hard, yet your songs are so full of emotion.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I know. I mean… I’m sorry. I swore I wouldn’t babble. I actually do know how to talk to men. It’s just… God, I dreamed about you every night that year. And now, here you are.”

“And here you are.”

She smiles, showcasing perfect teeth and those plump red lips. Any other time, I’d be all over that, but in this moment I’m mesmerized by an English rose.

I nod to the two flutes I’m holding. “I’d love to tell you more about my process, but someone’s waiting for me to deliver these drinks.”

“Of course.” She nibbles on her plump lower lip. “I hope we get to spend some time together.”

“We have all the time in the world.” I smile as I leave the bar and walk toward Emily.

She’s sitting at one of the glass-topped tables now, staring at the beach and the ocean in the distance. A soft breeze is blowing her long hair, and she pushes a few strands out of her eyes.

“Miss me?” I hand her a glass of champagne but I don't sit down.

“It’s so beautiful here.” She sighs. “I grew up in London, and now I live in New York. I’d go on tropical vacations now and then, but I swear I’ve never seen a place as lovely as this.”

“Would you like to take a walk on the beach?”

“What?” She widens her eyes. “I thought you wanted to fuck me against a wall.”

My God, she’s making me insane. I take a sip of my champagne, wishing it were something stronger. “I gave you the choice.”

Emily takes a drink and drops her gaze to the table. “Seems Heather has her eye on you.”

So Emily was watching me. Good. “She’s a fan.”

“Ah. I see. Did you autograph her napkin?”

“She didn’t ask me to.”

Emily takes another sip. “This is delicious. So crisp.”

The champagne is indeed tasty, but right now I’d like to taste the treasures between Emily’s shapely legs.

“Tell me, Emily. Are you a fan too? Like Heather?”

“I’ve heard your music. You’re talented.”

“Thank you. You’re talented too. I’ve seen your designs. Did you know I’m performing later this week?”

“Oh, yes. Evangeline gave us a detailed itinerary of the festivities…except for tomorrow.”

“I want you in the front row at my show.”

She lets out a soft scoff. “There will only be one row, Sebastian. There are only twelve of us, and you’ll be on stage, so that makes it eleven. No, twelve with Evangeline, I suppose.”

“Then I want you to be front and center. I’ll be singing to you , Emily.”

“You’d better not tell Heather that.” She glances downward. “Or anyone else here, for that matter.”

I reach down and tip her chin up so she’s meeting my gaze. “Why? Did you think we wouldn’t choose our favorites tonight?”

“How can I be your favorite? You haven’t talked to anyone else. Other than Heather, of course.”

“Heather is sweet.”

“She’s a lovely girl, and quite talented. I didn’t like the trim Evangeline’s stylist gave me, so Heather touched it up. Don’t tell Evangeline.” She brings a finger to her gorgeous full lips.

“My lips are sealed.”

Emily takes another sip of champagne and then licks her lips as she trails her fingers around the stem of the flute. She rises, her blue eyes blazing. “Are they now? That’s a shame.”

My cock is on fire. Proper English rose? Or naughty English vixen? Emily seems to be both, and I want her so much I fucking ache.

“I’m happy to open my lips for you,” I tell her.

She laughs then, shaking her head. “You’re a tease.”

“Who says I’m teasing?”

“Because you and I both know you’re supposed to talk to all the women this evening. We can pair off later, but tonight is for mixing.”

I trace her lower lip with my finger. “Tonight is for whatever we want.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She drains her champagne flute and sets it down. “Let’s get on with it then.”

“Get on with what?” I ask, my brows raised innocently.

“You know very well what. But we’d better make it quick. If Evangeline sees one of you missing?—”

“You’re forgetting who pays Evangeline.”

“Oh. Right. Brilliant.”

“Brilliant?”

“Excellent. Outstanding.” She leans in closer to me, brushes her lips lightly against my earlobe. “Come with me, Sebastian Tate, before I pull that cock out of your bloody trousers right here.”