The Billionaire I Can’t Deny (The Brodys of Whiskey Run #3)

Chapter 1

LINDSEY

I’m packing up my gear, fumbling the whole time.

I do this every day. Sometimes even more than once. But today, nothing is going like it should.

I don’t even have to look up to feel his eyes on me.

It was supposed to be a quick photo. As a matter of fact, I was told he demanded that it not take up more than three minutes of his time.

Well, his photo shoot was at ten a.m. this morning, and he’s still here at five o’clock.

Miller Brody is known for being aloof. He’s a lone wolf, and word on the street is he’s close to no one except his family.

Of course, there are other rumors. I heard a few more today.

Some of the women I photographed made no effort to hide how much they wanted him.

One even hinted—boldly—at just how good he is in bed.

Just hearing that made my heart rate pick up. Jealousy. Pure and simple.

It’s crazy. I don’t know this man. I’ve only seen him in pictures until today. But there’s something about him that brings out a possessiveness in me that I didn’t know I had.

The man that has watched me all day rises from his seat in the corner. Sometime during the day, he’d uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them up, baring strong forearms covered in ink.

He removed the tie and undid a few buttons, and there are more intricate black lines on his neck. Everything in me wanted to point my camera at him, but I withheld.

As soon as he rises, the staff approaches him, seeing what he needs. It’s like everyone is attuned to him, wanting to please him, and when a young blond woman with perky breasts licks her lips and asks him if she can get him anything, I know exactly what’s on her mind.

I lower my gaze to my camera. Just pack up and get out of here, Lindsey. There’s no reason to stick around and see which woman he chooses to take home with him today.

I try to ignore the whole situation… until those tattooed forearms I’d been drooling over are right there in front of me. “Lindsey.”

His voice is gruff, and I swear I feel a rumble in my lower belly.

I look up. His large fingers are stroking his beard as his gaze pierces me. I lower my eyes. “How can I help you, Mr. Brody? Were you not happy with the pictures?”

He takes a step toward me. “I didn’t see them.”

I look around for my assistant that was hired for the day, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Probably left as soon as he packed up my gear.

Everything is stacked up, and I realize I’m going to have to lug it all out to my truck.

Oh my God, this day is never going to end.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brody. My assistant was supposed to—”

Miller pops his shoulders. “He tried. I didn’t want him to show me. I want you to show me.”

My mouth falls open. Is this some kind of rich thing? You don’t let the help near? My lips purse in anger. I have thought a lot of things today, but I didn’t expect Miller Brody to be a stuck-up snob. “Right, well, let me show you.”

He points at my mouth. “What are you thinking right now?”

I hold my camera between us. “Excuse me?”

He lifts his hand and smooths my cheek softly. I should pull back from his touch, but I’m too surprised to move. “You’re mad… Why?”

I shake my head. “I’m not mad.”

He smiles softly. “Lindsey, I’ve watched you all day.

When you’re pleased with a photo, your eyes sparkle.

When someone annoys you, you get a line between your eyes.

When you’re jealous, your face flushes and you look away.

” He smiles as he says that one and then strokes my cheek again.

“And when you’re mad, your mouth tightens. ”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I knew he was watching me today, but I wasn’t prepared for this. I thought for sure I was imagining things and he was here for someone else.

He continues. “That’s why I want you to show me my pictures. When you looked at them through your camera, there was no response, no emotion. Did you not like the pictures of me?”

I let out a breath. That’s what this is? He’s an arrogant billionaire. Of course, he wants to make sure I captured that. But I won’t lie to him. “They’re fine.”

“Fine?”he asks, perplexed.

I shrug. “Yes. I mean, very dignified. Stoic.” I lift the camera, find the shots of him, and hold it up for him to see. “Screams billionaire.”

He briefly looks at the image and then back at me. “You don’t like them?”

I tilt my head at him. “It doesn’t matter if I like them. This is what you want to portray to the world, and I think it does you justice.”

He frowns, not liking my answer. I wait for him to berate me or to tell me it’s my fault he looks like a stuffy billionaire, but he surprises me when he says, “Go out with me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a demand, and I’m pretty sure most women would trip over their own feet for the opportunity. But not me. I know what a rich man like him is capable of, and I don’t want any part of it. “No, thank you.”

I go back to packing up my lenses.

He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “Can you tell me why you won’t go out with me?”

I blow out a breath and decide to be honest. “Because I don’t want to end up on the news tomorrow as your latest hookup, or whatever people are calling it these days.”

His whole body tenses. “I can’t control what people say about me. But how about if you want to know something about me, then you ask.”

I laugh. “Okay. fine. If I were to go to dinner with you tonight, what number would I be?”

He just stares at me.

I put a hand on my hip. “How many other women have you dated this month, Mr. Brody?”

His hand closes over mine, warm and possessive as it settles on my hip. He’s close enough that I can smell his aftershave, and it does dangerous things to me. I don’t know if it’s his touch or his scent, but my body is already responding to him in ways I can’t hide.

His voice is gruff. “I’ve had dinner with one woman this month.”

My lips purse, and I can feel that little line between my eyes form because I am totally annoyed.

His smile gets bigger. “The jealous type. I like that. But the woman I had dinner with was my little sister. She’s pregnant and was craving the Blaze apple cinnamon cake at Red’s Diner in Whiskey Run.”

Before I can say anything, he continues. “And just so you know, I’ve had two dates in the last five years, and that’s all they were. Dates. As in one date with each of them. Nothing came of it.”

My mind starts whirling with that new information. “So uh…” Don’t ask, Lindsey. Don’t you dare ask a question you may not want the answer to. “So uh, I guess you don’t take your one-night stands out to dinner then.”

His hand flexes over my hip, and he pulls me toward him. I go willingly, even though I know it’s a bad idea. His voice is low, like a whisper. “No booty calls. No one-night stands. No sex with a woman in five years, Lindsey.”

It’s like I forget how to breathe, the words coming from his mouth catching somewhere in my throat. I lean back to look at him, and the truth is right there in his eyes. The idea that this man could have anyone he wants yet has been alone only makes me more curious about him.

My throat is dry. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

He smiles as if I just challenged him or something. “I’m asking you to go to dinner with me.”

I huff out a breath. The way he’s looking at me makes me believe he wants more than just dinner, and my body responds like a hussy.

My breasts are heavy, and my pussy is practically vibrating.

I clear my throat. “You want to go to dinner with me knowing that this”—I gesture between the two of us—“will end after dinner. I’m not having sex with you. ”

He just stares at me.

I nod. “Fine. I’ll go to dinner with you, on one condition.”

His hand slides around to my lower back, pulling me against him. I can feel all eyes on us, and insecurity sets in. I know most people are trying to figure out why Miller Brody would be touching me right now.

I look into his eyes and then gesture around the room. “Can you get rid of these people?”

His eyebrows lift, but all he has to do is look at the man that’s been standing in the corner all day. He gives him a gesture, and soon the man has ushered everyone out, and we’re alone.

“Wow. You know how to clear a room.”

His eyes are boring into me. “Why did you want to be alone, Lindsey? What’s your one condition?”

I step back from his hold. He doesn’t want to let me go, but he does, and I hold the camera up between us. “Let me take your picture.” I gesture to him. “Like this.”

He looks down at himself, sans jacket and tie, sleeves rolled up. He doesn’t look like a stuffy billionaire now. He laughs. “You want to take my picture. And then you’ll go to dinner with me?”