Bound To A Billionaire - Michelle Smart Mills & Boon M&B

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immediately dancing and singing together as if they’d known each other for years.

      He should leave her on the dance floor and go to bed. He wasn’t her babysitter. His protection of her did not involve making sure she was safely tucked up at night. Judging by the animation on her face and in her body she’d found her second wind and wouldn’t be going to bed any time soon.

      Felipe sighed and signalled to a passing waiter for another beer.

      He couldn’t leave her.

      And neither could he take his eyes from her.

      He accepted his beer with a nod of thanks.

      He sipped it slowly, watching her dance.

      How could someone be so uninhibited? Did it come naturally to her or was it something she’d forced herself to be? He suspected it was the former, that this woman on the dance floor was the closest to the real Francesca he’d seen in their short time together.

      It felt as if he’d been in her company for weeks.

      She kept glancing at him, sometimes overtly, beckoning him with a finger to join her, to which he always shook his head.

      Hell would freeze over before he’d dance with anyone, let alone Francesca Pellegrini. Watching her move and imagining her body flush against his own was enough torture to inflict on himself.

      And sometimes her glances were fleeting, as if she couldn’t help but look. Just as he couldn’t help but look at her.

      He shifted in his seat then smiled sardonically when a waiter brought the three dancing ladies a cocktail each. So much for his keen attention to detail—he’d no idea how or when she’d ordered them but seeing as they were Tequila Sunrises, he knew damn well they’d come from Francesca.

      She met his eye again and winked, then drank her cocktail and returned to dancing with gusto.

      The bubble of laughter swelling inside him died on his lips when one of her straps fell down her slender arm. She giggled and pulled it up, only for it to fall straight back down again.

      The attraction Felipe had been trying to contain all night seemed to burst through him, the pulsing music dimming to a background noise as blood roared through his ears.

      Shoving his chair back, he got to his feet.

      It was time to call it a night before he did something he regretted, like joining Francesca on the dance floor and holding her so close she’d be able to feel his desire for herself.

       CHAPTER SIX

      FELIPE MADE IT out of the restaurant and was halfway across the atrium when he heard light footsteps behind him.

      ‘You left without me!’ she accused.

      He closed his eyes tightly and prayed for strength.

      When he opened them he found Francesca’s beautiful face gazing up at him, her skin glowing from her exertion on the dance floor. She didn’t look upset at him leaving. If anything, she looked far too knowing.

      ‘We weren’t on a date and it’s late,’ he felt compelled to remind her. And remind himself. When she looked at him like that...

      ‘Have I annoyed you again?’

      He could laugh at her lack of guile. How many times had he heard his colleagues complain that women never made it easy for them, always expecting them to read their minds and know when something was wrong rather than just coming out and saying it? There was none of that with Francesca. Her emotions were always on the surface.

      ‘No, you haven’t annoyed me.’

      ‘Good.’ She tucked her arm through his. ‘Then you can walk me back to my room.’

      If she didn’t look so unsteady on her feet he would shake her off.

      He was annoyed enough with himself for allowing their meal drag on so long and for hanging around to watch her dance when he should have taken the earliest opportunity to escape.

      His heart sinking in rhythm with his warming skin, Felipe took a deep breath and led the way.

      ‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ she said. ‘Thank you for keeping me company.’

      ‘No problem.’

      ‘And you?’ When he didn’t answer, she prompted, ‘Have you had a nice evening?’

      That was a question he was not prepared to answer with anything more than a noncommittal grunt.

      Thankfully they’d reached her door, allowing him to remove his arm from her hold and step back.

      She rummaged in her bag and found her key card and immediately dropped it.

      ‘Oops.’

      ‘I’ll get it,’ he muttered.

      He scooped it up and swiped the lock for her, then opened the door.

      ‘Do you want to come in?’

      He shook his head.

      ‘The bar’s got beer in it,’ she said temptingly.

      ‘I’ve had enough to drink.’ He’d drunk only half of what she had but, as he’d reminded himself a dozen times throughout their meal, he was working. All that dancing had probably worked a lot of the alcohol out of her system but she was by no means sober. And she’d had the extra cocktail on the dance floor...

      Yes, there was no way she was sober. Felipe was used to drinking with hardened men, not slender—but curvy, Dios, he could not get those curves out of his mind—women.

      She bit her lip then tilted her head. ‘Don’t you find me attractive?’

      God give him strength.

      ‘I need to get some sleep.’

      ‘You haven’t answered my question. You didn’t answer my last question either.’

      The strap of her dress fell down again. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I’m not going to answer it.’

      Heavy footsteps trod towards them. He turned to see a man around his own age heading their way.

      ‘Get into your room.’ Felipe took hold of her wrist and walked her in. He didn’t want to advertise the fact she would be alone in her suite.

      The door closed quietly behind them.

      Resolutely, he kept his back pressed against it. He would count to ten and then leave.

      One. Two. Three.

      ‘You do find me attractive,’ she whispered, eyes shining as she stood before him.

      Four. Five. Six.

      She raised herself onto her toes and palmed his cheeks with hands as soft as anything he’d ever felt. ‘I find you attractive too,’ she breathed.

      Seven. Eight...

      He lost the count when her breath danced over his lips and her mouth found his.

      Holding his breath, he clenched his hands into fists and willed himself not to respond.

      He couldn’t. He mustn’t.

      Francesca’s lips didn’t move. Not for a long time. He felt her breathe him in and fought not to inhale. Then she did move. Just a little. A turn of her head to cover his mouth better, a gentle, tentative exploration of his lips while her fingers made a gentle, tentative exploration of his cheeks and jaw, rubbing against his beard and up to trace the contours of his ears.

      He fought to hold on, fought to deny the sensation burning through him.

      He might have won had he not opened his mouth to let in air and her tongue darted through his parted lips. In an instant he was filled with the sweet

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