The TROUBLE with BILLIONAIRES: Book 2 by Kristina Blake Page A

seat backward. And then it was just a matter of getting his clothes out of the way.
    The first time had never been so frantic. Or so perfect. There was always awkwardness with a new lover—that struggle to find the rhythm that works for both of you. But with Conrad…it was like our bodies just knew what to do.
    He slid inside of me, and it was like the world just disappeared. There was nothing but the connection of our bodies and the pleasure rushing through me with every movement. He guided me with a hand on my hip, but only for a moment. And then his fingers were searching out tender spots I never knew I had, like the place just beneath my bra strap that sang when he ran his fingers across it, or the place just above the last knot of my spine that made me arch my neck at a ridiculously impossible angle.
    I had never done anything like that. It felt so reckless, so insane. I’d had girlfriends, once upon a time, who talked about wild, spontaneous sex, and I had always scoffed at them behind their backs. No man would ever make me abandon my sense of self-respect, or cause me to bare my body in a public place. Yet, here I was, pressing my hand against the fogged up windows of his little car like some girl in a movie.
    And I was loving every minute of it.
    I almost regretted the moment he cried out, when I felt him swell inside of me. When the hard press of his final thrust set off a shockwave in my lower belly. I threw my head back and bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, as my orgasm washed through me, wiping away all ability to think or to reason. Then, I fell, like a puddle of water, into his arms, my breathing as rough as his, my heart pounding in time with his.
    If that was what the first time was like, I knew I had to know what seconds, thirds, and fourths would be like, too.

Chapter Eight
     
    The call I had been dreading came early the next morning. I nearly cried when I woke up, not to the bleating noise of my alarm, but to the quiet chimes of a preprogrammed call notification.
    “We need to talk,” a familiar voice muttered into my ear when I answered. “Twenty minutes. The corner diner.”
    I disliked being told what to do, but that was one command I had no intention of defying.
    I showered quickly, a little reluctant to wash off the scent of Conrad that still lingered on my skin. I couldn’t help but think about him as I touched the places he’d touched and felt the lingering ache of soreness our acrobatics in the car had created. He’d left me at the front door with a chaste little kiss. He would have offered more, but I insisted I couldn’t leave my grandmother alone much longer. And I couldn’t invite him in. It felt almost like the end of a teenager’s elicit night of debauchery than a lunch date between consenting adults. But I kind of liked the feeling…I never did bring a boy home for my uncle to meet.
    But now? That voice on the phone threatened exactly what I had been afraid of all along.
    The end of our time in Portland.
    I dressed quickly, sliding into jeans and a sweatshirt instead of the more professional outfit I’d set out for work the night before. Russell would just have to understand if I was a little late to work this morning. A quick peek to assure myself that my grandmother was still sleeping, and I slipped out the front door.
    There was a twenty-four hour diner down the block from our house that served the best pancakes in town. I tried to eat there most mornings because Russell and Einstein often had me hopping so constantly during the day that I didn’t have time for lunch. But it was also a convenient place to meet people better not seen near my house.
    He was in a booth next to the windows when I walked in.
    “Hey, missy!” one of the waitresses called. “How’s it going?”
    “Good, Deanna. How’s your son? Did he do well at his baseball game this weekend?”
    “They won, five to four.”
    “Great. Tell him I said congrats.”
    I fell onto the empty bench