Mistaking The Billionaire For A Gigolo

't m

ate soreness pulsed between her thighs. The tender flesh there felt swollen and oversensitive, and every slight shift o

rm was draped over her waist, pinning her against a che

f the Manhattan penthouse suite. Inches away lay a man with a razor-

nd impossibly long lashes. Beneath them were high cheekbones, a straight

like a man paid

of man who owned the hot

omach

her in the eye and told her she wasn't gentle enough, attentive enough, or feminine enough. Then he

betrayal had shattered her. She had stumbled into a noisy nightclub, drowned three years of devotion in whiskey, and

ointing at him and slurrin

relentless thrust of his hips as he drove her into the mattress. She remembered clawing at his shoulders, wrapping her

ic

ed into h

m to pry it off. His flesh felt like so

breastbone, terrified of waking him up. When he finally shifted onto his back a moment later, she slid out from under the sheet

lled them on. Turning back toward the king-sized bed, a wave of hot shame washed over her face. She

pulled out her wallet, and cou

led fifty-d

n she spotted a hotel notepad

t and wrote in larg

bad your technique doesn't match. All bra

illed he had been. But after being discarded for not being feminine

e glass water tumbler. After one final glance at the sleeping stranger's chiseled f

en, and bolted down the empty hallway toward the elevators. Sh

Dorsey Russo opene

cold, empty linen. His brows snapped together. Sitting up, his broad, bare ches

t trapped beneath his water glas

it up and re

l seconds, he

wn, no

er legs around his waist, and come apart twice while begging him no

man who commanded hundreds of billions in Wall Street capita

-blue eyes narrowed as he crushed the

woman had

blackout curtains open, flooding the room with blinding morning sunlight. He po

oom, a scuffed piece of plast

der the logo of an Apex Capital Group subsidiary was a photo

f his mouth. Now that he had found her, she

from me. And you're going to