Bad Billionaire (Bad Billionaires #1) by Julie Kriss

Author:Julie Kriss [Kriss, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 32717157
Publisher: Five Doors Creative
Published: 2016-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Olivia

Twenty minutes later we were in the huge bathtub in the master bathroom, ensconced in hot water. Devon was sprawled against the porcelain, and I was between his legs, my back to his chest, my arms propped on his bent knees. I was so relaxed I was almost liquid.

I liked having his big body around me. I liked feeling the wet hair of his chest against my back, the sound of the steady rhythm of his breathing. I liked the feeling of his muscled arms cradling me, his legs bracing me. It felt, for the moment, like all of that leashed power was mine.

And Devon Wilder was all leashed power. I’d felt it.

He was also a puzzle, a paradox. An ex-con and a getaway driver, a man who lived life every day expecting to die. A man who now owned this beautiful house and God knew how much money. I’d grown up in Hollywood long enough to know that money changed people, and almost never for the better.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice a rumble against my back.

“I’m wondering if you’re going to turn into that Fifty Shades guy now,” I said.

He snorted. “That guy needed a therapist, not a girlfriend.”

I blinked. “You read it?”

“I had two years in prison and nothing to do except stare at the ugly faces of the guys in with me. Max kept lending me books. So I read them, And, yeah, he lent me that one.”

Max. That was his friend that took over Devon’s old apartment across from me, the hot guy with the beard. “Max has trashy taste.”

“Sometimes,” Devon agreed. “He followed that one with Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, though. I think he was just trying to piss me off.” He paused. “He worried that I was going to come out of there worse than when I went in. It happens to a lot of cons. Most of them.”

I shifted my weight between his legs. “I was about to say that I can imagine it, except the truth is I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” he said. “You’re not missing anything. So you know the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. You were there when it was happening.” He paused, and I knew we were both thinking of that night, of him devouring me in my bed. “Now tell me the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

It was an odd question, maybe, but I was realizing that one of the things I liked about Devon was that I never knew what he would say. “Well, my dad dying was bad,” I said, “but I was just little.”

“The worst thing you remember, then,” he said.

That was easy. “Failing art school.”

“You went to art school?”

“In San Diego. For a year. Before I moved here and got the job at Gratchen.”

“Why did you fail?”

I leaned my head back against his warm, hard shoulder, thinking back, as the water soothed my skin. “I couldn’t do anything right,” I said, trying to explain. “I’m just not an artist, not really.

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