The Billionaire's Disgraced Virgin (Billionaire Knights Book 2) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Nic Saint
groaning and rattling as it staggered up the ten floors to her flat. It was known to break down from time to time, compelling tenants to take the stairs.
As they rose in absolute silence she caught a whiff of Mike’s cologne, something expensive and wholly masculine, mingled with the scent of his skin, and as she chanced a peek at his face she marveled at his chiseled features, the olive-toned skin drawn taut over sharp and forbidding bone. No one pulled a fast one on Mike Knight, she imagined. Not the way life had pulled a fast one on her, at least. She tucked a straying strand of hair behind her ear, quickly looking at her feet when Mike’s gaze swept down and briefly clashed with hers. God, she was totally checking him out! Not the kind of impression she wanted to give. She’d made it a habit never to look a man in the eye, for she knew how easily this kind of behavior could be interpreted as a come-on and lead to flirtation.
Finally the elevator jerked to a stop and she reached for the door. In her haste to get out she hadn’t taken into account the fact he’d want to hold the door for her and she collided with his large frame in the narrow doorway, her hand inadvertently striking his chest. The clean, crisp cotton of his shirt barely concealed the muscular wall it covered, nor the light smattering of body hair. The heat emanating from his body took her by surprise, and a slight tremor fluttered through her belly as she glanced up to meet his sardonic smile.
“After you,” he grunted, and she jerked her hand back as if stung.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered.
“Whatever for?” he asked smoothly.
She quickly let her gaze drop and hurried along the corridor, keys rattling in her shaking fingers as she made her way to the end, where her apartment was.
Mike strode after her, letting his eyes roam across the peeling paint of the walls, the stains on the carpeted floor, the flickering lights—the ones that worked, anyway—and the blooms of mold. This place was a health hazard, he thought grimly, as was the elevator that had only barely managed to drag them up to this floor. Why did she live like this? It wasn’t as if they didn’t pay her enough. Knight Enterprises prided itself in its competitive remuneration, figuring that if you wanted to attract the best you paid them accordingly.
The wood-paneled door bore the number 1013 and he watched as Chloe’s fingers trembled so much she was unable to turn the key the first two times she tried. His frown deepened. She was clearly extremely ill at ease in his company, which confirmed his suspicions. Finally he plucked the keys from her grasp. “Allow me,” he rumbled, and opened the door with a swift flick of the wrist.
The door swung open onto a small hallway, Oxfam furniture on obvious display, and he strode in without awaiting her invitation. What he saw told him all he needed to know: here lived a person who either took frugality to a new level, or who was living just above the poverty line. His lips thinned into a harsh line as he surveyed the small living room with its IKEA table and chairs, the kitchenette a sad excuse for a kitchen, and the sitting area where an old clunky tube TV stood at attention. This was no way for one of his staff to live, he swiftly decided as he turned to the woman who’d snuck in behind him, quiet as a mouse. Her face was pale, her shoulders stooped, and her hands nervously clasped in front of her. All the hallmarks of a woman fully expecting a rebuke.
Chapter 4
C hloe was mortified . The home she considered her own private sanctuary, the place where she came to lick her wounds after being confronted with the cruel world outside, was being scrutinized by this overbearing male—this intruder in the sanctity of her private space. And what was more, it was quite obvious from the way he was gazing around, subjecting her modest living arrangement to a disdainful sweep of his eyes, that he found them wanting.
She felt
As they rose in absolute silence she caught a whiff of Mike’s cologne, something expensive and wholly masculine, mingled with the scent of his skin, and as she chanced a peek at his face she marveled at his chiseled features, the olive-toned skin drawn taut over sharp and forbidding bone. No one pulled a fast one on Mike Knight, she imagined. Not the way life had pulled a fast one on her, at least. She tucked a straying strand of hair behind her ear, quickly looking at her feet when Mike’s gaze swept down and briefly clashed with hers. God, she was totally checking him out! Not the kind of impression she wanted to give. She’d made it a habit never to look a man in the eye, for she knew how easily this kind of behavior could be interpreted as a come-on and lead to flirtation.
Finally the elevator jerked to a stop and she reached for the door. In her haste to get out she hadn’t taken into account the fact he’d want to hold the door for her and she collided with his large frame in the narrow doorway, her hand inadvertently striking his chest. The clean, crisp cotton of his shirt barely concealed the muscular wall it covered, nor the light smattering of body hair. The heat emanating from his body took her by surprise, and a slight tremor fluttered through her belly as she glanced up to meet his sardonic smile.
“After you,” he grunted, and she jerked her hand back as if stung.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered.
“Whatever for?” he asked smoothly.
She quickly let her gaze drop and hurried along the corridor, keys rattling in her shaking fingers as she made her way to the end, where her apartment was.
Mike strode after her, letting his eyes roam across the peeling paint of the walls, the stains on the carpeted floor, the flickering lights—the ones that worked, anyway—and the blooms of mold. This place was a health hazard, he thought grimly, as was the elevator that had only barely managed to drag them up to this floor. Why did she live like this? It wasn’t as if they didn’t pay her enough. Knight Enterprises prided itself in its competitive remuneration, figuring that if you wanted to attract the best you paid them accordingly.
The wood-paneled door bore the number 1013 and he watched as Chloe’s fingers trembled so much she was unable to turn the key the first two times she tried. His frown deepened. She was clearly extremely ill at ease in his company, which confirmed his suspicions. Finally he plucked the keys from her grasp. “Allow me,” he rumbled, and opened the door with a swift flick of the wrist.
The door swung open onto a small hallway, Oxfam furniture on obvious display, and he strode in without awaiting her invitation. What he saw told him all he needed to know: here lived a person who either took frugality to a new level, or who was living just above the poverty line. His lips thinned into a harsh line as he surveyed the small living room with its IKEA table and chairs, the kitchenette a sad excuse for a kitchen, and the sitting area where an old clunky tube TV stood at attention. This was no way for one of his staff to live, he swiftly decided as he turned to the woman who’d snuck in behind him, quiet as a mouse. Her face was pale, her shoulders stooped, and her hands nervously clasped in front of her. All the hallmarks of a woman fully expecting a rebuke.
Chapter 4
C hloe was mortified . The home she considered her own private sanctuary, the place where she came to lick her wounds after being confronted with the cruel world outside, was being scrutinized by this overbearing male—this intruder in the sanctity of her private space. And what was more, it was quite obvious from the way he was gazing around, subjecting her modest living arrangement to a disdainful sweep of his eyes, that he found them wanting.
She felt
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