A Billionaire's Proposal (Falling For A London Billionaire #3)

1. Liz

Chapter One

LIZ

There’s no better company than a glass of Pinot Noir at a company Christmas party.

Especially when there isn’t a single familiar face in this entire marble-floored lobby decked to the nines with holiday elegance.

But here I am, back at Bonnaire Enterprises in London after I received an unexpected, yet welcome, call from Kent Bonnaire.

Jazzy holiday music competes with the chatter of the conglomerate’s staff, who are surrounded by at least four sixteen-foot fake Douglas firs—each sparkling with warm, golden twinkle lights and shiny, red globe ornaments.

I make my way over to one of the only empty high-top tables, passing by men and women dressed in designer business while sipping crimson martinis in coconut-frosted glasses.

And still, I don’t spot the one man I’ve been looking forward to seeing.

When we spoke last week, Kent said he’d come find me because he could, quote—never forget my face.

Since my engagement ended earlier this year, I’ve kept my defenses high so as not to fall for any one-liners because I have zero interest in getting involved again.

But there’s something about that debonnaire British gentleman’s voice and striking smile that scales my walls and makes me blush.

Truthfully, I haven’t forgotten his face either since we met on the elevator a couple of months ago at Kate and Drew’s New York City wedding. It’s not only his face I remember but his other parts too. How can I forget his rounded shoulders, bulging biceps, and thick veins popping from his forearms?

Who knows why arm veins are so sexy on men? They just are. Besides, what’s not to love about a guy who can bench press you . . . among other things. After the wedding, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again. And if he doesn’t show up soon, I may be right.

Kent Bonnaire, whose family owns this entire enterprise tower, isn’t the only person I’m here to meet.

I pull out my phone. Still nothing from Jacqueline Parker, the venture capitalist who’s handling my ten-million-dollar venture capital deal here.

I tap the tip of my black stiletto pump, peering around the room again when a man to my right startles me.

He smiles proudly, displaying smoker-yellow coated teeth.

The top of his bald head is about as shiny as one of those red Christmas ornaments.

“Well, hello,” the man says in his English accent, inches closer—a little too close for my comfort.

I shoot him a strange look. “Hello,” I reply, sounding more like a question.

“Is that an American accent I hear?” He leans his mouth near my ear.

“It is.” I veer away. Aren’t the Brits all about propriety and maintaining a fair distance? What’s with this guy encroaching on a stranger’s personal space?

“I saw you from across the room. You look like a young Rita Hayworth.” The man gazes down my body as if handing out compliments gives him carte blanche to ogle my ass. If this is how my night’s going to be, then bottoms up. I take a swig of my wine.

“So, what brings you to London?” he asks, inching closer again and I step back—not that I’m hopeful he’ll take a hint.

How do I get out of this? Take a fake call?

Pretend I just got my period? Menstruation should spook a man his age.

I honestly wouldn’t mind talking with the old fellow if he had any sense of boundaries.

Then just as I’m drawing a line, another is crossed. A second stranger approaches and places his hand on my arm in a long-lost friend sort of way. “There you are, Darling!”

Who’s he calling Darling?

I look up at the second no-sense-of-boundaries guy who clearly has me mixed up with someone else.

I’m no one’s Darling. It only takes a second before I register that unforgettable dimpled chin, silky dark hair, and classic cologne.

He flashes a dazzling smile—the same one that got me on the elevator in New York.

A thrilling rush zips through me, and I beam at him.

Hello again, Mr. Hottie.

“Come with me. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Kent Bonnaire nods in the other direction.

Relieved to see him at this exact moment, I light up like a Christmas tree. “Great. Let’s go.”

He gestures ahead, and I give the old guy a quick too-da-loo wave as we walk away. When we’re out of earshot, I lean in, inhaling his expensive scent. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“That old goat’s been chatting up women all evening.” He leads me along, gently resting his hand on the small of my back.

“And you’ve been rescuing all of them?”

“No. Just you.” He lets out a charming chuckle as we come to a clearing. “You were the only one he got that close to. Not that I can blame him.”

I finally take in his black suit, crisp white shirt, and merlot-colored tie with a glass of red to match. I purse my mouth with a hint of a smile. “So, how are you, Kent?”

“Better now that you’re here.” He holds my gaze as if I’m the only woman at this lively party, and all I can do is smile, speechless. “Are we still on for our date tomorrow night?”

During our call where Kent invited me back to London to meet with Bonnaire Capital about working together, he also invited me to share a 1986 bottle of Belvoir Winery’s Cabernet Sauvignon.

My favorite California vineyard and an incredible year for Sonoma Valley production.

We connected over our love of wine when we met in New York, and his rare collection made the intriguing man even more so.

I figured there was nothing wrong with mixing business with a little pleasure, so I agreed.

I tug at the side of my lower lip with the edge of my teeth, praying that my cheeks are not as pink as they feel and that my lips are not as purple as they typically are after one glass. With my fair complexion, I tend to stain easily. “Of course. Your place, right?”

“Absolutely.” He clinks his glass to mine.

For a moment, I imagine what it would be like to clink our bodies together.

I blush at the thought. He takes a sip, keeping his bright blue eyes steady on me.

I stare at the brown freckle in his left eye.

Another feature I can’t forget. Would it be terrible if he kept me warm under the covers in this cold city?

I haven’t been under the sheets with a man since my ex-fiancé. I tried to ignore it at the time, but our last time together was pretty chilly. It all makes sense in hindsight. After that fiasco, I doubt I’ll ever get engaged again. It’s too much trouble. And not the good kind.

Kent, on the other hand, might be the perfect kind of trouble.

Perhaps we have a little London fling, ending my dry spell, and I go back to my life in San Francisco in a better mood with a ten-million-dollar influx of cash for my clothing business—SOLIDS.

Kent’s handsome charm pulls me closer to him. Compelled like a magnet.

All I want to do is grab his slightly bearded face and kiss his gorgeous mouth.

At the very least, I want to tap the dimple in his chin.

If we continue flirting like this, I might just do it.

So I take a breath and redirect the conversation away from us.

“Have you seen Jacqueline? She was supposed to meet me here about thirty minutes ago.”

His dark brow knits while he glances about the party. “No, I haven’t. She must be around here somewhere. I’ll give her a call.”

I finish off what’s left in my glass and watch him make the call. After about fifteen seconds, he hangs up. “No answer. I suppose this means I’ll have to keep you company until she arrives.”

Okay, I know I said a glass of Pinot Noir is the best company, but I’m beginning to reconsider. His gaze falls from my eyes to my lips. With a full glass of wine in my system, if he kisses me right now, I’ll be okay with that. More than okay.

“Can I get you another?” Kent asks, eyeing the empty glass in my hand.

“Sure,” I say, placing it on the ledge next to me and practically batting my lashes.

“I’ll return in a moment.”

Kent walks away, and I keep my gaze glued to his sexy strut. Even with his tailored suit jacket, I can tell he’s been doing hip thrusts at the gym. I’m sure he’s a very, very good thruster. He makes it to one of the open bars and glances at his phone while he waits. I check mine too.

Not a damn thing from Jacqueline. I text her again. We haven’t worked together much or for very long, but zero communication doesn’t seem like her. I can’t imagine she’s changed her mind about the deal. Especially after I’ve come all the way to London.

The notion brings me back to the stomach-churning scandal my company faced with my last venture capitalist. What a nightmare. And right on the heels of my ended engagement. I need this deal to go through. My company’s survival depends on it. I can’t have any more disasters.

I remind myself that this VC is completely different from the last. Jacqueline probably just got tied up with something, and I’ll hear from her soon.

I’m sure I’ll see her at the office tomorrow as planned.

Besides, it’s a party. And I’m with Kent.

Or, am I? I took my eyes off him for a second and now I don’t see him anywhere.

Where is he?