Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels (118 page)

“It isn’t, and I’m not.” Hot blood bloomed in her cheeks. She was not flirting with Henry Medina.

“Soph,” Darren pleaded. “You saw that apartment! There’s no way we’re going to find something anywhere near as nice in our price range.
Please
. It’s just one dance!”

Just one dance with the gorgeous Henry Medina. In broad daylight, in a skirt, where her scars and faults would be on full display. Her mouth went dry. “Dar, I’m sorry. But you saw me yesterday, my knee is no good.” It wasn’t a total lie, she was nervous about collapsing in front of Henry the way she’d collapsed in front of her students and further exacerbating her injury. But she also didn’t want him to think she was the kind of girl who was easily swayed by money.  

Darren clutched her arm. “Soph—” But she pulled free and took the few steps back toward Henry. She heard Darren’s heavy sigh from behind her and winced.

“Henry,” she began. From the corner of her eye she caught Wayne rubbing a comforting hand up and down Darren’s back. She bit her lip. “We, don’t have any music.” She said, deciding that she could risk one dance for the sake of her best friend’s future.

Henry turned to Darren, a twinkle in his obsidian eyes. “You seem like a music lover. Have anything on your phone Ms. Becker and I can dance to?”

Her friend was already nodding and fishing around in his shoulder bag. He brandished his iPhone in triumph. Darren scrolled through his phone. He gave a soft ‘aha!’ and handed the iPhone to Henry.

“We’re not going to dance in the hallway, are we?” Sophie asked, hoping to minimize the humiliation.

“Of course not. We’re dancing on the roof,” Henry said. He hit the elevator button and ushered the group inside.

When they arrived at the building’s rooftop Henry swiftly plugged the iPod into a dock set up near the pool area, and Sophie scowled at Darren as the opening notes of the music came over the speakers. She turned to Henry, who was ready and waiting, his hand extended toward her. With a tremulous sigh she laid her hand in his.

He pulled her into his embrace, his arm curving low around her back. His eyes sparked like flint as she leaned into him. The beat was more up-tempo than it had been during their first dance, but Henry was clearly up to it.

The sun felt hot on her head, shining bright off the white umbrellas shielding the rooftop tables. Henry’s arm was hard against her back, his palm warm through the thin silk of her top. She couldn’t help it. Her hips were already swaying to the rollicking rhythm of the song. She fell effortlessly into the dance. Henry was an excellent leader, spinning them around the open expanse of the roof, feet gliding smoothly over the stone.

When he lifted her against his chest for a calesita, delight burst inside her belly like fireworks. She threw back her head and laughed up at the sky as he danced around her. Henry’s eyes twinkled as he gazed down at her. When her feet touched the ground again, she kicked up and hooked her leg high on his thigh.

They moved as one, steps in perfect time. She was panting, breathless, giddy at the playful brush of her skirt against her thighs, Henry’s big hand at her back, the press of his chest against her own. His foot stopped hers, pushing it along, pivoting her off her axis. His movements were strong, clean, and fast.

The dance in her half-lit studio had been deeply sensual, erotic. There was still an element of passion today. She could hardly be pressed so closely to such a gorgeous man, their bodies moving together, and not find it so. But whereas last time was serious, today was exuberant. The difference between the two dances was like the difference between a fall-into-bed-tearing-at-each-other’s-clothes voracious sexual encounter, and a light-hearted afternoon frolic between the sheets. Both sexy, but the mood was different.

She kicked out her left leg, twisting her torso the slightest bit, saucy and defiant as the singer crooned. Henry laughed, deep and low, as he pulled her back in, his hard thigh pressing between her legs. She gasped, eyes widening at the sensation. It was a dance move, she knew it was. Hell, she’d taught it a hundred times. But somehow, when he did it, it was so much more than that. As intimate as a kiss.

She bit her lip at the throb of her moistening sex, disappointed that the last few notes of the song faded. She stared up into his handsome face. His grin was wide, eyes sparkling, his dimples and straight, white teeth on display.

Sophie was breathing quickly, chest heaving, the hard buds of her nipples pressing through her bra and blouse to rub exquisitely against his chest. The entire length of her body was pressed to him. Her right leg was hooked around his hip while her left arm was wrapped around his neck, fingers curled in the thick silk of his dark hair. Only her pointed left foot anchored her to the ground.

All her weight, the portion of it that Henry wasn’t bearing, rested on her left leg. Her
bad
leg. And she hadn’t felt a thing but exultation. She could feel the smile stretching her own cheeks, the flush of blood in them as her heart pounded. Slowly, the rest of the world came back to her.

Darren was hooting and whistling. Wayne was clapping enthusiastically and even Cindy was grinning.

Sophie blinked up at Henry. “Who are you?”

His dark eyes bore into her. “A man who enjoys dancing with you.”

She shook her head at his mystery. He could cut the price of a luxury New York City apartment in half with a word to the leasing agent and wore Hugo Boss and Ferragamo casually. Maybe he hadn’t been propositioning her. Maybe he had offered her all that money for private lessons because money was no object to him. A trivial thing to get in the way of what he wanted. She lowered her leg, moving to step away from him, but he tightened his arm around her waist slightly as she did so.

“Wait.”

She paused, raising her brows. “Yes?”

“Reconsider the lessons.” His voice was low but fervent.

She’d known he was going to ask again, the minute he’d made a dance the condition of his generosity. Then, she was going to renew her refusal. But now? With the hum of the dance in her veins, and the zing of triumph in her heart? Was she really willing to give up the chance for another dance like today’s out of fear that she might fall?

“No,” she said, the word out of her mouth before she’d realized she was forming it. A shutter fell over Henry’s eyes.
What the hell am I doing,
she thought. “I mean yes.” Her stomach flipped. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

His expression turned. “Thank you,” he said.  He looked up to Darren and Wayne. “Let’s get your lease sorted, shall we?”

Was he just a generous man, happy to help Darren and Wayne, or just a ruthless negotiator? Sophie watched him as they walked back to their recent audience. Either way, she was going to find out.

Chapter Six

Sophie stared up at the apartment building in shock. She checked the address Henry had given her for a third time. Just like the last two times, it matched. West 56th Street. The massive grey stone and glass building rose an impressive seventy-five stories into the air. And, according to the directions he’d given her, Henry’s apartment was at the very top. The top
three floors
, to be exact. The penthouse.

He didn’t just have money. Henry Medina
was
money. She wondered again what he did for a living. Darren had urged her to Google the sultry businessman, but Sophie found that somehow seedy and dishonest. Whatever happened to learning about someone for yourself? Still, looking up at the imposing structure, she did wish she’d had some advance knowledge of what to expect.

She felt suddenly frumpy in her soft, stretchy black yoga pants and a loose, white V-neck t-shirt. She’d considered wearing one of the many kicky hemmed, flirty skirts that languished in the back of her closet, like the one she’d worn to apartment hunt. But that had been a rare instance, and she didn’t want to give Henry the wrong idea. Her only concession to typical dance attire was the black heels strapped to her feet. Dancing with Henry, alone, in his apartment could lead to who knows what. Especially given the sexual tension that arose between them each time they danced.

She hoped her outfit sent the message that she was not at all interested in doing anything other than dancing with him. Really hoped. Because if it came down to it, Sophie was pretty sure she wouldn’t actually be able to voice those words. Her body wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t even in the stupid building yet and already her nipples had tightened into sensitive points and her blood was beginning to heat. Just at the thought of being in his arms again.

Sophie took a deep, slow breath and forced her feet toward the building’s wide, glass front doors. A doorman stepped up to open them for her, and she blinked at him in surprise. She didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked down to her outfit and the skin around his mouth tightened fractionally. She plastered on a smile and nodded in thanks, ducking quickly inside.

The lobby was cool and quiet, the sound of her high heels on the marble floor loud. She glanced around, self-conscious, but she was alone. She hurried toward the elevator, clutching the code that Henry had given her.

“You have to hit the button for seventy-five, and then enter the code quickly, or it will lock you out. If that happens, just call my cell.”

She tucked a stray hair back into her ponytail, and studied the button panel. The floor buttons for seventy-three to seventy-five were separate from the others, and beside them was a smaller keypad that looked like a more hi-tech version of the one the alarm company had installed in her place. Sophie pressed the “75”, which made the keypad chime and light up red. She hastily entered the seven digit code, which she’d been so nervous about losing that she’d actually memorized it.

The keypad went green and the elevator doors slid closed. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the metal box’s rich wood paneled walls. Her hands trembled. She flexed them, smoothing the t-shirt over her belly. The muscles there twitched.

Sophie closed her eyes, hoping to calm her nerves—and hormones. But the minute she did, the darkness behind her lids filled with images of Henry Medina tugging her shirt over her head.

She snapped her eyes open, staring instead at the electronic panel that ticked off the floor numbers in amber. She focused on the classical music straining softly out of the speakers and forced her shoulders to relax. Though she barely felt movement, the numbers flipped quickly by on the display. There was a faint click and hum as it switched from seventy-two to seventy-three and continued upward.

The elevator drew to such a smooth stop at seventy-five that Sophie didn’t even sway. The doors glided soundlessly open. Henry was waiting for her. All the calm she’d managed to gather about her on the elevator ride fled, along with her breath, at the sight of the man. And the apartment behind him. He was dressed in charcoal grey slacks and a white button-down that was open at the throat, revealing a dusting of dark, wiry hair on his chest. His normally immaculate hair was slightly rumpled, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“Sophie. I’m glad you came.”

She nodded, looking past him to the penthouse beyond as she stepped out of the elevator. To her left was what could best be described as a gallery, the muted gold of the walls adorned with what looked like very expensive artwork. Given where she was, she had no doubt that’s exactly what it was.

Henry motioned her to the right, toward a sliding glass door that led out onto a terrace, and a truly amazing view of the city. She could see all the way to the river and the lights of the boats there as the evening dimmed. “Henry, my goodness. It’s lovely.”

“It’s one of my favorite things about this apartment.” His smile was deep as he looked out over the New York skyline. She could see the genuine admiration shining in his ebony eyes as he looked out at the city.

“I can see why.” Views like this, with all the lights glittering like stars below them, were partially responsible for making Sophie fall in love with New York City.

He placed a light hand on the small of her back, ushering her around the corner with gentle pressure. Sophie shivered slightly as the warmth of his hand seeped through her shirt. She should have worn layers.

As they rounded the next corner, Sophie gasped. She knew where she was, and yet, the view was still breathtaking. All of Central Park was laid out in the near distance, more lights flickering there like fireflies. On a small cafe table near the terrace wall, Henry had arranged a carafe of wine, two glasses, and a plate of fruit and cheese. He motioned her to have a seat. “Please. Let’s have a glass of wine before we begin.”

She nodded, folding herself into the wrought iron chair with its plush velvet cushion. Henry poured them each a glass and handed her one. “I hope you like Malbecs.”

He toasted her. Sophie returned the toast, sipping delicately at the rich wine. Flavors of blackberry and cocoa unfolded on her tongue and warmth trickled down her throat. “Mmm,” Sophie murmured.

“Not the finest vintage, but it reminds me of Argentina.” Henry sat opposite her, popping a raspberry into his mouth before taking a sip of his own wine.

Sophie tilted her head, studying his features. “Are you from there?”

He chewed the fruit slowly, shaking his head. “I was born here, but my parents are both from Buenos Aires. They moved here a couple years before I was born.”

She plucked a piece of crumbly cheese from the plate on the table before them and nibbled it, enjoying the contrast of the tangy creaminess of the cheese with the intense flavor of the wine. “Did you ever think about moving there? Argentina, I mean.”

Henry rolled the stem of the wine glass between his blunt tipped fingers. “My father has a house there. I suppose I could, if I wanted to. But no, this is my city.”

Sophie smiled. “I know what you mean. I’m from upstate but, more than anywhere else, this feels like home.”

She sucked the last of the sweet juice of a strawberry from her thumb, slowly becoming aware that Henry’s eyes were intent on her mouth as she did so. Intent and scorching. She licked away a smear of sticky juice on her lower lip and saw the muscle in his jaw jump. He slowly raised his gaze back to hers, taking a deep draught from his wine glass. “Where upstate?” he asked, voice husky.