The Billionaire's Wife by Ava Lore Read Free Book Online

bar
built into the seats in front of me. Look at me, it seemed to say. I'm
classy and made of real wood.
    "Is the bar free, or do I have
to pay a surcharge?" I asked the driver as we pulled away from my
apartment.
    "Mr. Waters said you were
welcome to anything you wish, ma'am." Unlike Katy and Arthur, Zachary
seemed more standoffish, but that was probably my outfit talking. He was the
soul of politeness otherwise, but I could practically feel him replaying the
plot of Pretty Woman in his head and trying to figure out which scene he
was in.
    Well, I might as well give myself a
little liquid courage. I popped open the bar and grabbed a bottle at random.
Scotch. Of course.
    Yuck.
    Trying to act cool, I replaced
itand looked out the window. "So where are we going?" I asked.
    "To lunch, ma'am,"
Zachary said.
    My mouth twisted. "Did Mr.
Waters give you instructions not to tell me where exactly we'll be going for
lunch?"
    "Oh, no, ma'am," he said.
"I've never spoken with Mr. Waters directly. But..." In the rear view
mirror he looked faintly embarrassed. "I am supposed to, er, drive around
a bit before dropping you off.”
    He looked worried.
    “Don't fret,” I told him. “I won't
tattle.”
    I settled back and watched the city
glide by me, hoping to calm my jangling nerves, but I must have been more tired
than I'd realized. The cumulative effect of the car's momentum and last night's
ill-considered bender combined to send me into a doze. I was startled awake by
the door opening.
    “Hrble?” I said intelligently. I
glanced around, disoriented.
    “Here we are, ma'am,” the driver
said, and when I looked up at him, I saw the slightest bit of sympathy in his
eyes. I felt pathetically grateful for it.
    “Thank you,” I said. He helped me
out of the car, and I pretended to fix my clothes—an impossible task as they
were designed to be unfixable—and tried to figure out where I had ended up.
Story of my life.
    To my surprise, I discovered that I
had been delivered to a small Mom and Pop place called The Villa. This didn't
really tell me anything, because there are a thousand Mom and Pop Italian
places called The Villa, but at least most of them were good. That I had not
been deposited in front of a high-end sushi bar or a sexy French bistro
surprised me, but only for a moment. I gathered my courage and went in.
    Anton Waters was waiting for me
just inside the door. Even though I was semi-prepared to see him, he still
stopped me in my tracks.
    Dammit. I'd forgotten just how
arresting he was. He sported a light dusting of dark stubble today, accenting
the squareness of his jaw. His stupid full lips quirked in that faint smile of
his when he saw me, and I felt like those vivid green eyes, muted in the gloom
of the intimate little restaurant, were staring right through me.
    “Miss Dare,” he said.
    I tried to toss my hair back arrogantly,
but I wasn't used to wearing such high heels and the gesture made me stagger.
    One large, warm hand caught me
before I fell on my ass, and then Waters was pulling me close to him. His lean,
hard body fairly hummed with energy, and he stared down at me.
    “Watch your step,” he said. Then,
gently, he let me go.
    I swallowed hard. “Mr. Waters,” I
said.
    He held out a hand. “Please. Let's
be seated.”
    I gripped my purse, holding the
strap in front of me like a talisman that could ward him off, and glared at
him. He dropped his hand, somehow making the gesture elegant rather than
awkward, and turned into the dining room. I followed him.
    We wove through the other diners. A
few stopped chewing and stared at him as he passed them by, but most of them
ignored him. I, in my hooker-on-a-holiday getup, attracted far more attention.
I didn't like that one bit. Mercifully, we were seated at the back of the
dining room in an intimate little booth. I took one side and put my purse next
to me to deter him from sharing my bench, but he didn't even try. Instead he
slid in across from me, poured two