The Billionaire's Longshot: Betting on You Series: Book Three by Jeannette Winters Read Free Book Online

nature of her goose bumps, however. “A bit.”
    She expected he would request the driver to turn the heat on. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. Tipping her face to look at him, he said, “I can fix that.”
    His lips came down onto hers, a light caress, soft like the first, yet he didn’t pull away this time. Instead his kiss deepened, his tongue traced her lips tenderly, prodding her to open to him. A moan escaped as her lips parted, giving him access to his desire. Overcome by her own need to taste him, she entwined her tongue with his, exploring him as eagerly as he did her. He stroked her jaw, then neck, tracing his fingers lower until his thumb brushed her cleavage. Instantly her body tensed. Fear? Excitement? More likely a combination of both. Please don’t stop.
    Ross didn’t further his exploration, yet he also didn’t remove his hand. His thumb continued to trace the peak of one breast then the other. She could feel her nipples harden and heat flood between her legs. Ever so slowly he let his hand drop from her. Then his kisses lightened. “Is that better?” he asked, only inches from her mouth.
    Is that better? That man can kiss. She couldn’t remember a time she’d been kissed with such finesse and fire. She knew she couldn’t read him, but everything about that kiss was unexpected. She was shaking, and her skin tingled in every spot he had touched. She failed at gaining her composure; her voice was shaky when she answered, “Much.”
    He sat back but didn’t release his hold on her. If this is how the date starts, how is it going to end? Forcing the thought from her mind, she tried to concentrate on the present.
    The car stopped, and she noticed they were in front of what looked like an old fire station, converted into a restaurant. It looked warm and inviting. As they entered, the phrase you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover came to mind.
    The restaurant was elegant and formal. The dark, worn wooden floors complemented the aged brick walls, giving an authentic and classy feel to the building. Tall arched windows lined the outer walls, and Jill could only imagine how beautiful the natural light would have been if they’d come for lunch. Instead, the room was lit by a tiered brass chandelier with faux candles, hanging from the black ceiling. The staircase was on the only wall that was drywalled, painted a chestnut brown to accentuate the room. The stairs led to an open loft, which was a private party room. Antique paintings of historical figures and still lifes hung on the walls between sconces, each topped with its own tiny lampshade.
    She had spent several years waitressing and never had to dress as formally as the staff here; they wore tuxedos. Jill stopped in her tracks, feeling as though everyone was staring at her.
    “Something wrong?” Ross asked.
    She had worn a nice outfit, yet at this moment she felt underdressed. As she scanned the attire of the other women, one thing came to mind. D esigner labels. She noticed Ross fit right in. How had she not realized this before? “I didn’t know you were taking me somewhere so . . . fancy. I’m not dressed for this.”
    Smiling at her, he put a hand on the small of her back and whispered close to her ear, “You look amazing, but would you rather go back to your place?” he asked suggestively.
    Jill wasn’t ready for that either. “This will be fine.”
    The maître d’ took a quick look at Ross and said, “Your table is this way, Mr. Whitman.”
    The man led them to a more secluded table in a separate room. She could hear the other dinner guests chatting and could see them through the door, so she let herself relax. She sat down across the table from the chair Ross pulled out before she realized he had pulled it out for her. He smiled and took the chair for himself in stride.
    “So private,” she said, giving Ross a questioning look.
    Ross said, “I thought we could continue the conversation