Free Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace by Elizabeth Bevarly Page A

didn’t want to say it out loud.
    â€œSweet tooth, huh?” he asked as she licked a bit of frosting from the pad of her thumb.
    â€œJust a little,” she agreed. Balancing both the plate and cup, she moved to the bed and set them on the nightstand beside it. Then she climbed into bed.
    Well, that was certainly promising.
    Marcus filled the other plate with eggs, bacon and a bagel, then retrieved his coffee and joined her, placing his breakfast on the opposite nightstand. Where she had seated herself with her legs crossed pretzel-fashion facing him, he leaned against the headboard with his legs extended before him. Noting the way her robe gaped open enough to reveal the upper swells of her breasts, it occurred to him that neither of them had a stitch of clothing to wear except for last night’s evening attire, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing a person wanted to wear during the day when a person was trying to make him-or herself comfortable.
    Oh, well.
    He watched her nibble a strawberry and wondered how he could find such an innocent action so arousing. Then he wondered why he was even asking himself that. Della could make changing a tire arousing.
    â€œWell, since you won’t tell me why home is so fluid,” he said, “will you at least tell me where you’re making it at the moment?”
    â€œNo,” she replied immediately.
    He thought about pressing her on the matter, then decided to try a different tack. “Then will you tell me what brings you to Chicago?”
    â€œNo,” she responded as quickly.
    He tried again. “Will you tell me where you’re from originally?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow long you’re going to be here?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhere you’re going next?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow old you are?”
    â€œCertainly not.”
    â€œDo you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain?”
    He wasn’t sure, but he thought she may have smiled at that. “Not particularly.”
    â€œHow about fuzzy gray kittens, volunteering for public television, long walks on the beach, cuddling by firelight and the novels of Philip Roth?”
    At that, she only arrowed her eyebrows down in confusion.
    â€œOh, right. Sorry. That was Miss November. My bad.”
    Her expression cleared, but she said nothing.
    â€œWhat’s your sign?” Marcus tried again.
    That, finally, did make her smile. It wasn’t a big smile, but it wasn’t bad. It was something they could work on.
    â€œSagittarius,” she told him.
    Now that said a lot about her, Marcus thought. Or, at least, it would. If he knew a damned thing about astrology. Still, it was something. Sagittariuses were born in June, weren’t they? Or was it October? March?
    All right, all right. So he knew as much about her now as he had when he started his interrogation. Which was nothing. Hell, he didn’t even know if she was telling the truth about being a Sagittarius or not liking piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.
    Immediately, however, he knew she was telling the truth about those things. He had no idea why, but he was confident Della wasn’t a liar. She was just a woman who wouldn’t reveal anything meaningful about herself and who was sneaking around on a lover. Had she been a liar, she would have had a phony answer for every question he asked, and she would have painted herselfas someone she wasn’t. Instead, he was left with a blank slate of a woman who could be anyone.
    But that, too, wasn’t right, he thought. There were a lot of things he knew about Della. He knew she loved an esoteric art form that most people her age had never even tried to expose themselves to. He knew she cried at all the sad parts of an opera, and that she was awed by the intricacies of the music. He’d seen all those reactions on her face when he’d watched her last night instead of La Bohème. He knew she liked