Winning the Billionaire (Seattle Bachelors Book 2) Read Online Free Page B
Author: JM Stewart
mind, or Christina if you prefer. I’m not ten years old anymore, either, and I know darn well you’re aware of that, because you just had your hands all over the proof. I’m staying. You can grump all you want, but don’t bother attempting to bully me. I’m not one of your employees or one of your groupies. In case you’ve forgotten, I graduated from MIT at the top of my class. That means I’m smart, and I’m used to men like you who think they can push me around. You’re stuck with me for the morning, Sebastian, so deal with it.”
Chapter Two
S ebastian stood at the edge of the kitchen, dumbfounded, watching Christina move about the space like she owned it. His irritation mixed with the lust that still burned through his blood. Before he could utter a word of protest, she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge, along with shredded cheese and orange juice. The efficiency with which she moved about his kitchen frankly surprised the hell out of him.
He’d been attempting to get her to leave. Of all the days for her to show up, today he actually needed her. He needed her softness, her strength, and God help him, he needed that irritating side of her that insisted on taking care of him. And there she was, making him breakfast. It didn’t help that she looked like she belonged in his kitchen.
He drew a calming breath and chose to focus on the mundane details or he’d be taking her back in his arms. He’d gone and done far too much already this morning. “How the hell do you even know how to cook? Don’t you have servants who do that?”
She’d grown up in a mansion, the same as he had, with servants who did everything for her, including making her meals and cleaning her room. Hell, if he didn’t have Lupe, he’d be eating takeout every night. Yet Christina opened another cabinet, pulled out a large glass bowl and began cracking eggs into it. One-handed.
She tossed a laugh over her shoulder, the sound so light and musical it lit up his insides. In seconds flat, the irritation he’d tried so hard to hold on to flitted from his grasp. He couldn’t get the taste of her out of his brain or forget the way she’d pushed herself into his arms.
Damn it all to hell. He dragged a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He shouldn’t have kissed her. She was Cade’s sister, for crying out loud. That had always made her off-limits. Never mind that he could never give her what she deserved—forever. Christina was important. She and Caden were the only family he had left now. Which meant whatever he felt for her had to be squashed.
Or so he’d always told himself. The problem was, Christina had done what she did best: She’d stood up to him. Damned if her spunk wasn’t the sexiest thing about her and he’d fucking caved to his desires like he had no self-control at all.
All kissing her had accomplished was to take his carefully erected walls, ones meant to keep her where he knew he could never lose her, and obliterated them.
Yet there she was, taking over his kitchen like she belonged in it. She had his head filling with visions. Of her , in his house, in his life, on a permanent basis. He wasn’t sure that life was meant for him. Hell, what he’d done to Jean had proven that. But right then? Christ, he wanted it.
“You’re a spoiled brat, Baz. Our cook, Mrs. Humphreys, taught me. You remember her, don’t you? She died a couple of years ago. Growing up, whenever I got bored, I’d go hang out in the kitchen with her.” As she ducked into a low cabinet to pull out a small frying pan—how she’d known Lupe kept the cookware there, he had no idea—she darted a glance over her shoulder. She arched a brow, that motherly look pinning him to his spot. “I’m assuming by your grouchiness that you haven’t eaten this morning? You get crabby when you’re tired or hungry.”
And aroused, which he was. He was hard enough to hammer nails, because he couldn’t forget the luscious press of
Chapter Two
S ebastian stood at the edge of the kitchen, dumbfounded, watching Christina move about the space like she owned it. His irritation mixed with the lust that still burned through his blood. Before he could utter a word of protest, she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge, along with shredded cheese and orange juice. The efficiency with which she moved about his kitchen frankly surprised the hell out of him.
He’d been attempting to get her to leave. Of all the days for her to show up, today he actually needed her. He needed her softness, her strength, and God help him, he needed that irritating side of her that insisted on taking care of him. And there she was, making him breakfast. It didn’t help that she looked like she belonged in his kitchen.
He drew a calming breath and chose to focus on the mundane details or he’d be taking her back in his arms. He’d gone and done far too much already this morning. “How the hell do you even know how to cook? Don’t you have servants who do that?”
She’d grown up in a mansion, the same as he had, with servants who did everything for her, including making her meals and cleaning her room. Hell, if he didn’t have Lupe, he’d be eating takeout every night. Yet Christina opened another cabinet, pulled out a large glass bowl and began cracking eggs into it. One-handed.
She tossed a laugh over her shoulder, the sound so light and musical it lit up his insides. In seconds flat, the irritation he’d tried so hard to hold on to flitted from his grasp. He couldn’t get the taste of her out of his brain or forget the way she’d pushed herself into his arms.
Damn it all to hell. He dragged a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He shouldn’t have kissed her. She was Cade’s sister, for crying out loud. That had always made her off-limits. Never mind that he could never give her what she deserved—forever. Christina was important. She and Caden were the only family he had left now. Which meant whatever he felt for her had to be squashed.
Or so he’d always told himself. The problem was, Christina had done what she did best: She’d stood up to him. Damned if her spunk wasn’t the sexiest thing about her and he’d fucking caved to his desires like he had no self-control at all.
All kissing her had accomplished was to take his carefully erected walls, ones meant to keep her where he knew he could never lose her, and obliterated them.
Yet there she was, taking over his kitchen like she belonged in it. She had his head filling with visions. Of her , in his house, in his life, on a permanent basis. He wasn’t sure that life was meant for him. Hell, what he’d done to Jean had proven that. But right then? Christ, he wanted it.
“You’re a spoiled brat, Baz. Our cook, Mrs. Humphreys, taught me. You remember her, don’t you? She died a couple of years ago. Growing up, whenever I got bored, I’d go hang out in the kitchen with her.” As she ducked into a low cabinet to pull out a small frying pan—how she’d known Lupe kept the cookware there, he had no idea—she darted a glance over her shoulder. She arched a brow, that motherly look pinning him to his spot. “I’m assuming by your grouchiness that you haven’t eaten this morning? You get crabby when you’re tired or hungry.”
And aroused, which he was. He was hard enough to hammer nails, because he couldn’t forget the luscious press of
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