Free Bartered Bride: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 3 by Ava Lore Page B

him.
    My ardor cooled somewhat and I sighed, settling for looking out the window, though I didn't really see the buildings pass by until the car slowed and I found we were somewhere in Manhattan—NoLita, if I had to guess—outside a little boutique called, simply, Anna's. The display in the windows were tasteful and minimal, meaning I'd probably have to work for a year at the bar before I could afford to even spit on the sidewalk out front.
    Beside me, Waters snapped his iPad closed and slid out of the car. I put my hand on my door, but I was surprised to see him come around and open it for me. I'd thought he let his servants do that sort of thing.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Dare,” he said, formally. “I apologize for my preoccupation.” And he held a hand out to assist me.
    I hated the way my heart leaped in my chest when I put my hand in his. The moment his skin touched mine, a frisson of desire shimmied down my spine, causing my back to arch and my pussy to warm. The sudden catching of breath in my throat thrust my breasts out, and I couldn't help the blush staining my cheeks.
    “That's, uh, okay,” I assured him, my mouth and my manners running on automatic. Silently I kicked myself as I let him help me from the back seat and onto the pavement. “I know you're busy.”
    He raised an eyebrow, as though inviting me to expand, and, stupidly, I did. Maybe it was the way those green eyes seemed to look right into my brain. I'd never seen anyone with such clarity in his gaze...
    Or maybe it was my dumb clit making the decisions. Either way I started to babble. “My dad was always busy, too. He always had to be reading something for work, even at the breakfast table. Well, when he was around. I mean, it wasn't often, but it was enough, and he always had the paper out and got mad if I interrupted him...”
    Shut. Up, I told myself fiercely. The last person I wanted to think about while semi-aroused was my fucking father. See? He always ruined things, even when he wasn't actually there.
    “So... yeah. Whatever. You're busy. I'm not going to bother you,” I finished lamely.
    He didn't even smile that faint little knowing smile this time. He just studied me.
    Oh god. Why did he have to be so self-assured? Like he didn't care how awkward it made things: if he didn't have anything to say he wouldn't say anything at all. I hated him so much. Determined that I wasn't going to be the first one to say anything, I stared back at him. The other people on the street parted and flowed around us. I could feel them staring, mostly at Waters.
    Who was I kidding? I broke first. “It's a good thing you're marrying me,” I said, “because I'll probably never find anyone else willing to put up with my blather for better or worse.”
    At that, the smile flickered across his face and he reached out, drawing my hand into the crook of his elbow, like some kind of Victorian gentleman. One of my many weaknesses. Dammit.
    “Miss Dare,” he said, guiding me toward the boutique, “you are going to be my wife. I want you to know that no business report is more important than whatever you have to say.”
    Shocked, and a little gratified, I followed him into the shop. “I have some pretty inane shit to say,” I told him. “Are you sure you don't want to take that back before it's too late.”
    He laughed, a rich, warm sound, and dropped my hand, only to slip his arm around my shoulders, as if we were a real couple. I hated that his laugh danced on my skin like falling rain. I loved it, too. “I promise I will listen to whatever you have to say,” he told me.
    That sounded like a challenge, but curiously, I found I didn't really want to rise to it. Instead, I could only say, “Thanks.” Hesitantly, I slipped my own arm around his waist and felt the rock hard body beneath the crazy expensive suit he wore. In fact, it was the first time I had really touched him so intimately. He, of course, had been nose-deep in my pussy already, and yet I