Rush (Billionaire Bared: Rush) (Erotic Romance) Read Online Free Page A

damn year .
    I suddenly realized that if I spent as much time tanning here as I wanted to, everyone in the office would think I’d been laying on top of my apartment building – or that I’d been fake tanning. Ah, fake tanning - in this day and age, it was becoming more and more of a crime as people became more health-conscious. Those things give you cancer, did you know? Yes, we all know .
    The pool house itself was bigger than my aunt’s manse. It wouldn’t have been out of place in a real estate magazine listing million-dollar mansions. But as magnificent as it was, it didn’t hold a candle to the main house – which was like ten mansions put together.
     I supposed one mansion would suffice to house me.
    I put the key in the white wood door that I considered to be the front door, as it faced the pool. The keyhole clicked. It worked! Somehow, I thought that as soon as I put the key in, I’d realize that this whole thing had been a joke played on me. And I would have laughed along with my coworkers as they sprung up from the bushes, because what else could I do? It was funny – Ha ha . Why else would the billionaire bachelor Eric Gambit give me the reigns to his pool house?
    But somehow, the key worked, and the door silently nudged open. As I stepped inside, I realized I had not used the front door at all – merely the pool door. I was in a change room of sorts. Woops . I waddled past the rows of towels and changing stalls (this place was designed for parties, I noted) and into the main foyer.
    Then I saw the front door, a spectacular creature of white polished wood and glass, reaching all the way to the top of the rather high ceiling of the flat. Seashell inspired artwork filtered through the entire floor. An interior decorator had a field day with this nautical theme. I laughed; the place was beautiful, but the seashells were oddly tacky. I made a mental note to change them. Then I snapped back to my sense – you don’t get to change anything, Emma! You are a guest, not a permanent resident.
    The flat was beautiful otherwise. Richly-dyed antique rugs at the center of each room over a hard-wood floor. Attached to the living room was a boutique-styled reading room, dimly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. There were four bedrooms - each with a walk-in closet - four bathrooms, a spacious living room and kitchen, as well as a sliding panel in the wood that could be activated to access a special theatre room, in which it seemed Eric Gambit had collected every movie ever released on film reels. Or, at least every movie I could possibly imagine.
    I took a look at the kitchen, each appliance appeared to be sparkling new and unused; the fridge was fully stocked – it was prepared for me. A bowl of fresh fruits graced the wooden kitchen table. Letting go of my suitcase, I picked up a peach. It was soft and perfectly ripened. After taking a bite and letting the juices dribble down my chin, I noticed I was starving.
    I looked at my nemesis, the stove – there was a note.
    Careful. –Eric
    Cute.
    I unpacked my things and set up shop in the bedroom that I considered to be the master bedroom. I thought it was slightly larger and more prominently located than the others, but I could be wrong. My only experience with home-owning had been my apartment. And I burned that down, so.
    Mental note: don’t burn down Eric Gambit’s pool house.
    I wondered if placing me in the pool house was some kind of subtle jab. In case of fire, jump in the pool.
    “This place is a dream,” I said to no one in particular as I sprawled out on the bed, content with my lot in life.
    The next few days were as easy as Eric had promised. The driver waited for me each day to and from work, and life around the estate was both relaxing and fun. Work was great. Things continued to go well, although Lillian repeatedly asked where I was staying.
    “My cousin’s apartment. She has a spare bedroom.”
    “What street?”
    “It’s just a street