Chapter Three
Stupid jawline.
Stupid bedroom eyes.
Stupid sexy mouth.
I run my finger over my bottom lip. I can’t believe he sucked on it—in a church.
I slide my gaze over my shoulder, to the other side of the car.
He’s watching me, smirking.
Heat creeps up my neck.
I snatch my finger away and look out the window.
Stupid hormones.
It’s just a reaction to the kiss. He’s not even my type.
I sneak a look at him again—tight jaw, broad shoulders, muscles that seem to fill out the suit jacket. He looks capable of lifting me onto the kitchen counter or holding me up as I wrap my legs around his waist.
Get your naive, virgin mind out of the bedroom, Charlotte. He’s your brother-in-law. Kind of.
The car pulls into a tree-lined drive that opens up to a resort. It looks like a tourist hot spot where I’d expect a billionaire to stay. It’s the last place I’d want to spend my honeymoon.
Good thing this isn’t a real honeymoon.
Instead of pulling up to the circular driveway, the car continues down a sand-covered drive and stops at the door of a beachside villa. It’s cute, with cottage-style gardens and rustic painted wood.
“Are we staying here?” I ask in surprise.
“Would you rather a room in the resort?”
I shake my head.
It looks homey, just like the BB my parents used to run.
Nostalgia claws at my chest, but I push it aside.
Owen opens the car door, and reaches for my had.
I focus on the sound of waves crashing on the shore as the car door opens. I do not pay attention to the way my heart flutters as our skin touches or to the single stroke of his thumb on the top of my hand as he guides me out of the car.
His smile is pleased and teasing, as if he can see every butterfly scattering my nerves.
He steps to the side and releases my hand so that I can walk ahead of him to the door.
I’m too conscious of the tight fit of Eloise’s clothes on my hips. If I’d had more notice, I could have packed my own clothes, but then vintage isn’t Eloise’s style, so I’m stuck with whatever she packed.
Lingerie?
Nope. Not going there.
He’s practically a stranger, and I don’t sleep with strangers.
You don’t sleep with anyone because you’re a virgin, remember??
I need a drink.
I step toward the door, but Owen’s arms sweep around my waist and beneath my knees, scooping me up. He holds me tight against his chest, biceps flexing and fingers tucked beneath my arm.
Oh my gosh, did he just brush the outside of my breast? My nipples think so.
I fold my arms over my chest to hide the points. “What do you think you are doing?”
He looks down at me and grins, his smile wicked and playful all at once. “Carrying my bride over the threshold.”
Oh, he is smooth, like every romantic hero I’ve read about.
His gaze locks with mine, then drops to my lips.
My belly flutters.
Is he trying to seduce me?
I need to be on my guard.
He clears his throat and looks at the closed door.
His confident, cocky smirk slips.
I grin. “You didn’t think this part through, did you?”
His gaze drops to mine again, and his lips turn up on one side “Or maybe I did. Front right pocket.”
My heart beats an extrahard thump. What would Eloise do?
Not blush. She’d match his stare, seductively slide her hand down his body, and slowly pull the key out of his pocket.
I push my arm between us, trying to be confident and sexy like my sister would be.
Instead, I knock my nose into his collarbone.
He presses his lips between his teeth, obviously trying not to grin.
I let out a huff of annoyance. “Are you enjoying this?”
I find the entrance to his pocket and push my hand inside.
His teeth loosen their bite on his lips, and his grin widens. “Quite a lot, actually.”
I blush, quickly realizing it’s not just the key I can feel.
I curl my fingers around the key and yank my hand out.
He lets out a soft, surprised grunt.
I ignore it—and the heat rushing through my veins—as I fumble with the lock and open the door.
His chest rumbles with a muffled laugh as he carries me across the threshold into a quaint cottage.
White walls and soft pastel accents give the living room a homey feel. It’s too dark to see the ocean, but I can hear the waves crashing against the beach outside of the French doors. Is there a deck I can sit on and sketch the sandy shore?
Excitement hums through me until I remember Eloise has my sketchbook.
I expect Owen to put me down; instead, he walks me through the living room, past the kitchen, to the lone bedroom and its king-size canopied bed.
He gently lowers me to the mattress, but instead of moving away, he towers over me, the mattress dipping beneath the hands he’s placed on either side of my head.
Woodsy cologne mixes with salty sea air and does so many wonderful things to my body it’s wrong.
I look up and catch Owen’s gaze on me, that sexy, confident smirk playing on his lips. Again.
“Thinking about where else I’m going to kiss you?”
Can your heart actually beat in your throat? Because it feels like my entire body is vibrating. “No.”
His blue eyes sparkle with amusement.
He knows exactly what he is doing to me, and I’m pretty sure if he told me to open my legs right now, I’d do it.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
I hold my breath and part my lips automatically, my body wanting the kiss even if my brain is shouting danger.
He pushes himself to his feet. “Sweet dreams, Mrs. Phillips.” He walks out the door, closing it behind him.
I sit there, catching my breath, then reach for my phone and open a search bar. Who is Owen Phillips?
There are pictures of him with women all over the place.
Oh, wow. He’s the heir to Phillips Industries.
That makes me even madder.
He’s a billionaire who decided to mess with my sister’s life instead of picking a wife from the hundreds of women he’s been pictured with.
The spike of jealousy is unexpected.
And definitely unwanted.
I flick to the next search result and see an article about him funding several low-income housing projects.
I throw my phone onto the bed.
Ugh.
I was prepared for an old and wrinkly jerk who couldn’t get it up.
Instead, I get a billionaire who builds houses and gives them away.
It’s like my body has been drawing in one straight line without lifting the pencil, but has now switched to a mess of charcoal and ink lines screaming across the page in every direction, then slowing down and contouring very vivid details that go with very naughty thoughts.
I fan my flushed face.
OK, so it’s pretty clear I am not equipped to handle a flirty billionaire. I need to stay on my guard so I don’t lose my virgin mind and sleep with my Eloise’s husband.
My nipples harden at the thought.
Now I just need to figure out how to get my traitorous body on board.