The Bad Boy Billionaire: What a Girl Wants by Maya Rodale Read Free Book Online Page B

into the wall. He didn’t even flinch, he was angry at the situation. I knew that. Seeing such a display of violence didn’t exact soothe my nerves or calm my racing heart.
    “You scared me,” I said in between gulps of air. “When you came in. And when you grabbed me. And when you nearly punched a hole in the wall.”
    “I’m sorry. I just hate that I wasn’t there to protect you and I hate I haven’t been able to give him the beating he deserves.”
    “You might get the chance,” I said. “I’m pretty sure he’s somewhere in Manhattan.”
    The truth of that made me shudder
    “You’re safe here,” Duke said firmly. “You’re safe here with candles and tons of junk food and candy bars.”
    “You found a store?”
    “Yeah. I didn’t have much cash and of course credit cards and ATM machines aren’t working, so I had to promise some stock in Project-TK. Some bodega guy just got real lucky. And now we have tons of supplies and prepared for the storm.”
    “Some good news,” I whispered.
    “I told you, I have enough good luck to spare,” Duke said.
    “Unless my bad luck rubs off on you.”
    “Nah,” Duke said easily. “Come on, let’s open a bottle of wine and eat all this crap while you tell me what people in days of yore did to amuse themselves without TV and the Internet.”
    We did just that—sipped lukewarm white wine and dined on potato chips, pretzels, and candy bars.
    “In Regency times, people often played cards after dinner,” I said as I indulged in a bar of Green & Black’s organic dark chocolate.
    “Strip poker?”
    “No,” I said laughing and rolling my eyes. “They played whist. Or vignt-et-un which is basically the same as Blackjack.”
    “Do you fancy a game of strip vignt-et-un?”
    “You and the stripping! It’s too cold in here for that,” I said, shuddering for emphasis as a Regency heroine might have done. Without heat or even sunlight to warm the place up, the chill had seeped into my bones and I began to have a new appreciation for laments about drafty ancestral estates.
    “I’ll warm you up,” Duke murmured, sliding his hand around my waist and pressing a kiss against my lips.
    “Or they danced,” I whispered. “But we don’t have any music.”
    “We don’t need music,” Duke whispered. He stood, and clasping my hand, pulled me to my feet.
    With one hand around my waist and the other clasping mine, at his lead we began to dance. Neither of us knew the steps to a quadrille or a reel or any other days-of-yore dances. I tried to teach him how to waltz but in the end, we relied on instinct and somehow just knew how move together in the same rhythm, at the same time.
    For some moments I wanted to rest my head against his chest, close my eyes and forget everything except the beat of his heart and our bodies moving in time together. But the moment was always ruined by the recollection of Sam . . .
    I tried hard to breathe. I closed my eyes, hoping to shut out the memories of Sam’s assault . . . the way he grabbed me . . . holding my arms . . . holding me close . . . his body pressed against mine . . .
    I wanted to enjoy this moment. But it was hard.
    Breathing. It was difficult at the moment.
    But I didn’t want to lose my future to one dark chapter of my past. So I opened my eyes and gazed up at Duke. He looked at me with affection and lust, with kindness and promises. Perhaps even love. With all sorts of good things.
    My heart was pounding. This could be the moment that I panicked, ran away and let walls go up between a really good man and me.
    Or this could be the moment that I choose love instead of fear.
    So Duke and I danced around his kitchen, banging into the countertops and tables because the candles didn’t provide much light.
    I let him lead me down the hall to the bedroom, dancing all the while.
    After crossing the threshold, we both paused. It was unspoken, but understood: I wasn’t sure I was ready to make love or let myself go