Free The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5) by Bec Linder Page B

me amend that statement. Nobody would ever doubt your masculine prowess, Beth.”
    “You’re making fun of me,” she said.
    “Absolutely,” I said. “It’s fun. You make the most delightful faces.” I touched her chin, very gently, waiting until she smiled. “Beth. I missed you very much.”
    She turned her face aside, her mouth twisting. “You shouldn’t have left me, then.”
    “I didn’t want to,” I said. “There were circumstances.” I slid my hand along her jaw and behind her neck, cupping her head. “Beth. Don’t look away from me.”
    “I don’t want to look at you. I’m so mad at you. Still. I was—I loved you. I wanted—I wanted to—”
    “I know,” I said. “I wanted that, too. But life rarely cooperates with our plans. But we have a second chance, now. I know you’re angry with me. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me. I don’t want to let you go again.”
    “Oh, Max,” she said, her voice shaky. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t get my head all turned around and then walk out on me again.”
    “I’m not going to,” I said. I turned toward her and set my other hand on her hip. “Our story isn’t over. Whatever mistakes we’ve made, we still have time to rewrite them.”
    “It’s not that easy,” she said, pulling away from me again.
    I groaned, frustrated. This wasn’t working. I would never be able to talk her into trusting me. Beth didn’t operate like that. She was too logical, and giving me another chance wasn’t the logical choice. I understood that. It was the opposite of logic. I needed to appeal to her baser instincts: sex, intimacy, nostalgia.
    I needed her to give me a second chance.
    I tightened my hand on her hip. She was soft and yielding, all lush curves, all woman. “Beth,” I said, hearing my own voice strung out with longing, and then I leaned in and kissed her.
    She melted against me with a breathy sigh. She lifted her hands to my chest and rested them there, not pushing me away, her palms flat against my shirt, two scorching brands. I started with slow, shallow kisses, teasing her lips with mine, rousing her to sensation. When I deepened the kiss, using the hand cupping her head to tilt her chin toward me, her soft mouth opened willingly beneath mine. She tasted like the wine we had drunk, rich and sweet.
    Lust surged through me. I wanted to press her back against the sofa and unzip her dress, kiss her shoulders and collarbones, take her nipples into my mouth. I could take her right here, our bodies tangling together in the lamplight, with the full moon shining down on us from outside. I wouldn’t actually do it, of course, but the desire was there. I wanted to feel every part of her, every inch of her bare skin pressed against mine. It had been too long.
    “Christ, Beth,” I groaned, pulling her even closer. My cock was taking an interest in the proceedings. I didn’t want to behave myself. I wanted to have her.
    She turned her head aside, panting, and I took the opportunity to kiss her neck, deliberately scraping my stubble against her skin. I felt her shiver, and then she said, “Max, no.”
    That word. I sighed, and with a last kiss to her jaw, I released her.
    She tidied her hair, avoiding eye contact. “I should go.”
    “You should stay,” I said, “but I know you won’t. I’ll call you a cab.”
    “Thanks,” she said. She stood up and brushed a wrinkle out of her dress. “This isn’t going to happen again.”
    I leaned back against the sofa, stretching my arms along the back, letting my thighs splay. Beth’s gaze darted down to my crotch for a moment before she looked away. Through some heroic effort, I managed not to smirk. I knew Beth, and—more generally—I knew women, and whenever a woman used that tone of voice and then looked at your dick, it meant she was trying to talk herself out of it.
    Poor Beth. My job was to talk her into it, and I’d been told I was pretty persuasive.
    She didn’t stand a