The Billionaire Gets His Way by Elizabeth Bevarly

Author:Elizabeth Bevarly
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2011-06-12T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

Gavin watched Violet sleep, his mind completely at odds with the peaceful picture that she was. Now she lay on her stomach in a shaft of ambient city light spilling from the window on the other side of the room. One hand rested on the pillow near her face, her fingers curled loosely as if she were holding on to something invisible and precious. Which, of course, she was, but Gavin didn’t want to think about that right now.

The luscious, creamy expanse of her back looked silvery and otherworldly in the near-darkness, bared as it was by the sheet dipping low above her delectable derriere. A sheet, he noted, not for the first time, that was decorated with cartoon cats. Never in his life had he dated a woman who put sheets on her bed that were decorated with cartoon cats. The rest of Violet’s bedroom was as quirky, a collection of flowers and fringe, beads and bangles, whorls and whimsy.

He did his best not to wake Violet as he rose, retrieving his shorts and trousers from the floor and silently pulling on both. He shrugged into his shirt, too, but didn’t bother buttoning it, then, with another glance at a still-sleeping Violet, made his way to the bedroom door. Sex always made him ravenous—especially when it was as vigorous as it had been with Violet, and especially when he’d missed a meal beforehand.

When he flicked the wall switch in her kitchen, he muttered irritably at the light that filled the minuscule room. He poked through the cabinets until he found a modest cache of sweets, which were in no way appealing. The refrigerator was a little better stocked, though the bulk of it was staples of the feminine diet—yogurt, fruit, salad stuff. He finally hit pay dirt—sort of—with a trio of cheeses in the dairy compartment. Grabbing a couple of pears, he sliced those along with the Brie, Edam and whatever the hell the other one was and placed all on an oversize plate. A basket on the counter yielded a reasonably fresh baguette for him to slice, and he found a surprisingly good, if inexpensive, pinot noir tucked behind a potted plant near the sink.

Not bad for an impromptu feast, he thought after opening that last. He gathered two wineglasses—neither of which matched the other—from one of the cabinets, then he assembled everything on a tray and headed out. His plan was to serve Violet in bed, but as he passed through the living room, his gaze lit on a candle in a ruby-red votive anchoring a stack of papers on the end table and decided it would add nicely to the arrangement on the tray.

Smiling at his own bit of whimsy, he went to retrieve it, but his hand halted just shy of closing around it. Because the papers it was sitting on were glossy pages that had been torn from a magazine, and the top one featured photographs of a very familiar sight. From a photo spread of the same that had appeared in Chicago Homes magazine a year and a half ago.

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