Betting the Billionaire (3 page)

Keisha didn’t bother to slow her pace as she led the way through the dim auto shop. “Not everyone in the world lives in a penthouse, you know.”

He didn’t need the light to imagine the dirty look she was probably giving him. Fuck. Why did he always say the wrong thing around her? It happened on the phone, too. He just couldn’t stop himself. So much for being Mr. Smooth. If the tabloids could see him now, they’d be eating this shit up.

“That’s not how I meant it. It just…” He struggled for the right words. “…seems a little odd for you to live above an auto body shop.”

She jerked to a stop and whirled around, her hand planted on her round hip, and shot him a glare, made even more intimidating by the way the narrow light from her flashlight played off her high cheekbones. “Why? Because I’m a girl?”

Damn
. He had sisters. He knew what that look meant. He gulped.

“That’s not—“

“What you meant.” She snorted. “Of course not, because that would be totally sexist bullshit.”

He opened his mouth but clamped it shut before he could say anything else that would get him in even more shit.

Keisha quirked one eyebrow, the look on her face daring him to say something. Anything.

Fuck, the whole badass chic vibe she threw was hot.

What is wrong with you, Campos? She’s just another girl. You’ve charmed the pants off more of those than you can count.

Gabe took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up from where they’d slipped down his nose. “Can we start over?”

“Why?” She jutted her hip out, accentuating her generous, hourglass curves.

He almost swallowed his tongue.

“Because I have a serious medical condition.” Gabe shook his head ruefully. “It’s called foot-in-mouth disease. I’ve donated half my fortune to finding a cure, but until the scientists do, I will continue to say stupid things when it’s really the last thing in the world I want to do.”

She arched one eyebrow and pursed her cherry-stained lips. “Does that line ever actually work?”

“I’ll let you know in a minute.” He held his breath, waiting on the outcome, trying to ignore the little voice telling him he cared too much about her next words.

Keisha shook her head, and her afro did a shimmy wave, echoing the movement. “You’re crazy.”

Relief whooshed through him. “That’s what they told me when I wanted to invest in Tesla, but after I got to drive an early test model, I couldn’t not sink some money into it.”

“You got to drive a Tesla? I heard it performs like a dream.” Her voice vibrated with excitement, and she took a step closer.

Shit. A car girl. Of course, it was the one thing he knew jack shit about. He racked his brain for something to say. “It was pretty cool taking it around the track. It has this crazy thing where the car is speeding around the raceway, but it’s totally silent. It’ll be the electric car that will really get American drivers on the gas-free road.” Oh yeah, that sounded like something a semi-intelligent fifth grader would mumble.

She flipped around and started up a set of stairs. “You know a lot about cars?”

Fuck, no.

“Only enough to know where the key goes in the ignition.” Following behind her on the narrow staircase, he couldn’t help but admire the view illuminated by his single-bulb flashlight. Some parts of his anatomy were definitely defrosting faster than others. “But I know a good thing when I see it.”

Her footsteps paused.

His stomach sank. “So I take it you like cars?” The words rushed out of his mouth before she could lock him back out in the cold.

“What gave it away? The fact that I live above a garage or the grease on my overalls?”

Damn, the woman did not give an inch. He liked that almost as much as how her loose-fitting coveralls gave the barest outline of her high, round ass with each step she took up the stairs. “My brilliant powers of deduction?”

“Uh-huh.” She halted and opened a door at the top of the small landing. “Come on in. Welcome to the Fix ‘Er Up penthouse.”

He stood in the doorway as her flashlight beam traveled around the room, shining on brightly colored knickknacks and pillows before landing on a brick hearth.

“We’re lucky this building was a house before Hud’s family bought it and converted it into an auto shop, otherwise we’d be stuck shivering in the break room.”

He followed her voice until they were both within the combined glow of their flashlights. A small stack of logs formed a pyramid inside the fireplace. They both grabbed for the pile of newspapers at the same time, each ending up with one end of the front page. The light played off her mocha-colored skin, making it seem like it shimmered. She looked up, and he nearly fell into the depths of her big brown eyes. The sense of excitement that crawled up his spine whenever he was about to close a big deal hit him with full force.

The unexpectedness of it all coldcocked him.

“Sorry,” he croaked and released the paper as if it were on fire.

The newspaper fluttered to the floor between them. Keisha’s expressive eyes darkened, and she gulped.

“No worries.” All the brass in her tone had softened into a breathy half sigh.

Expectation hung in the air between them.

In the chill of her tiny, dark apartment it seemed as if all the months of back and forth on the phone had been building up to this moment. She parted her full, red lips slightly, and her teeth grazed the juicy bottom lip. The need to kiss her barreled through him like a living, breathing thing. The reaction surprised him so much he dropped his flashlight.

The plastic tube banged against her floor and rolled until it thunked against something hard and came to rest a few feet away. Keisha blinked and straightened before setting her flashlight on the hearth. “Here, you make the kindling. I’ll grab some candles.” She hustled out of their circle of light.

And that fast, he was sitting alone in the dark wondering for the first time in years what it would be like to kiss a girl. Not about a no-strings fuck between friends. Not about a blow job in the limo. Not about a quickie after a night at the clubs.

Just what it would be like to
kiss
her.

The logs in the hearth crackled as the blaze grew, casting waving shadows across Keisha’s tiny living-slash-dining room. The apartment above the garage wasn’t spacious or modern, but it had a big brick fireplace that threw out enough heat to keep the cold at bay. Not that Keisha needed any help in that department with Gabe nearby.

The man had her running hotter than an engine without oil. If she didn’t watch it, pretty soon she’d combust. Standing in the kitchen doorway, holding two steaming drinks, she barely felt the heat on her palms.

Gabe sat in front of the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. The firelight highlighted the warm brown of his hair and reflected off his glasses, blocking her from seeing the brilliant blue of his eyes. Her stomach flip-flopped. He’d almost kissed her earlier, she was sure of it. And she’d wanted him to.

Badly.

Anticipation and trepidation at the thought of standing next to him again went skipping through her, leaving her body confused and wanting. He was an arrogant, cocky billionaire too used to getting his way and the last person who should get her this hot and bothered. Still, her brain knowing that and her body accepting it were two very different things.

Oh God, what if Ellen was right? Had she been spending too much time with muscle cars instead of muscled men?

Fact was she couldn’t unsee his hard abs. Some things stuck with a girl and made her remember that battery operated boyfriends were good…but not the same.

Get your big girl panties on, K. You can make it through an evening of chit-chat with a hot, rich dude without embarrassing yourself.

Pep talk had, she raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. “I made you a hot toddy.” As she walked out of the kitchen into the living room, steam wafted up from the mason jar filled three-fourths full of warm, amber liquid.

A deep V formed in the middle of his forehead. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

She crossed over to him and sat down on the opposite side of the four-feet-wide area rug. “Don’t worry, my granny taught me to mellow out the bourbon with ginger ale and a lemon slice.”

“How can I say no to your granny?” The grin that curled his lips managed to be both sweetly charming and panty-melting at the same time. The man was a one-thousand-horse-power, V-8, twin turbo engine of trouble.

“You wouldn’t say no, at least not to her face.” She giggled, picturing her five-foot-nothing granny, who ruled her house with an iron grip and cooked nearly everything in bacon grease, much to the delight of the mangy mutts in the neighborhood. She wrapped the mason jar in a hand-stitched, flour-sack hand towel so he wouldn’t burn his still defrosting fingers, then handed it to him.

Never losing eye contact with her, he took a hardy drink. Keisha waited a beat. As expected, his eyes widened enough that she could almost see the whites all around his spectacular blue irises. A flush bloomed in his tan cheeks. A series of sputtering coughs wracked his broad shoulders and had him nearly doubled over.

“Whoa,” he croaked once he’d gotten his breath back. “That’s the mellow version?”

“Don’t ever take one my dad made.” She winked. “He doubles the bourbon.”

“I’ll remember that.” He sat down on the hand-tufted wool rug, the blue of its medallions almost matching the color of his eyes, and took a cautious sip of the hot toddy.

Instead of a coughing fit, this time he sighed and relaxed against the base of her lemon yellow, overstuffed chaise lounge. The auburn streaks in his nearly dried, dark brown hair shined in the firelight, and the spare mechanic’s coveralls fit like they’d been tailored just for him. Her mouth went dry, and she shot back a gulp of her hot toddy. Even though she’d been raised on the stuff, it still burned its way down her throat. The pain helped bring her back from the edge of late-night-pay-per-view-movie fantasyland.

“I like your place.”

“Thanks.” She glanced around the studio apartment with the critical eye of a stranger. Aubergine colored walls. Art deco lamps and crisp, modern end tables. Stacks of books about interior decorating and architecture filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. It may not be as fancy as Gabe’s house probably was, but it was home, and she loved it. “I hate to be leaving it.”

“You’re moving?”

“Maybe.” She pressed the heel of her hand against her stomach in an attempt to squelch her nerves. “I’m waiting to hear back about a job.”

He leaned forward. “What kind?”

Only her dream job. “An interior design position at Epson and Callahan Interior Design in Harbor City.”

As soon as the formal offer came in, fingers crossed, she’d leave Salvation for the big city. It would be the first time in a decade she wouldn’t be responsible for anyone but herself. She’d helped her mother take care of her father after his stroke, helped run his furniture business, and been the responsible party of the Jacobs family since before she’d graduated high school.

No more arguing with her dad about non-budgeted purchases. No more pulling him off the manufacturing floor and back behind the desk where he belonged, according to Dr. Sorenson. No more building furniture when all she wanted to do was put the finished product in the perfect spot. In three days, her cousin, Tyrell, would finish up his probationary employment at Jacobs Fine Furnishings and become the unofficial heir to the business her father had started, keeping it all in the family just like her father wanted. She was so close to freedom, she could taste it in the air.

The rest of her life was about to begin, and she couldn’t wait.

Gabe held up his mason jar. “For good luck.”

“Thanks.” They clinked glasses. “I need it.”

“I doubt that.”

His words couldn’t be more innocuous, but something in the low rumble of his voice and the look in his aquamarine eyes made her stomach float up like she was speeding down a curvy mountain road with her Thunderbird’s top down.

She needed space STAT. “I’m gonna make some sandwiches.” The words poured out as she scrambled up. “Hud will be here in the morning and can tow your car back to the shop and get you set to rights.” Proud her voice shook just the littlest bit while her insides were a jumbled mess, she backed into the galley kitchen.

“The snow won’t keep him from coming in?” Gabe asked from the living room a moment later.

“He drove the tow truck home tonight. I don’t think it will be a problem.” She glanced out the window over the sink. “Anyway, it looks like it’s slowing down.”

Which was a good thing—she sucked in a deep breath—even though it didn’t feel like one.

Chapter Four

Two hours later, Gabe couldn’t blame the second hot toddy or his near brush with becoming a human popsicle for the fact he couldn’t stop staring at Keisha’s mouth as she told funny stories about her grandma and gave him shit for his lousy card-playing skills. Too entranced by her soft, full lips to pay attention to the cards in his hand, he was five hundred in the hole on the score sheet. And, for once, he didn’t care that he was getting his ass handed to him.

Her mouth was
that
unbelievably sexy. When she talked. When she smiled. When she nibbled on her bottom lip before taking a drink from the amber liquid in her mason jar. Maybe he had frostbite of the brain, or maybe it was the intimacy of playing cards by firelight with a warm, bourbon-flavored buzz vibrating through his system, but he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Or imagining how the hot toddy would taste on her pink tongue. Or speculating if her shimmery skin was as soft as he imagined.

Frostbite of the brain. Had to be.

Gabe tossed back a gulp of his hot toddy, the burn dulled by what he’d already drank and the fire ignited by the woman before him.

His Good Samaritan.

The one who’d saved him from the storm.

His enemy’s daughter.

The last person he should be thinking very unpure thoughts about.

He’d stop. He would. Soon.