Bound To A Billionaire. Michelle Smart

saying sorry for whatever mishap or argument she’d caused or contributed to, her tongue would stubbornly resist.

      Idly she wondered if Felipe’s authority extended to the bedroom. What sort of lover would he be? She’d seen hints of fire beneath the calm, authoritative exterior—that fire had been aimed firmly at herself—and imagining those strong hands touching her made her skin tingle. What would it be like to have those intense dark eyes staring into hers in the height of passion...? Her lower belly clenched just to imagine it, the intensity of it shocking her.

      She’d never had thoughts like these before.

      Once their desserts were cleared away she ordered them Irish coffees.

      She laughed at his arched eyebrow. ‘It’s not that late,’ she defended.

      ‘I’m more concerned about your head in the morning.’

      She waved a hand airily. ‘My head will be fine. I’ve not drunk that much.’

      He fixed her with a stare that made her laugh when it should have quelled her.

      ‘I might have drunk a little more than is good for me but I’m not drunk. And you’ve had as many as me.’

      ‘I’m twice your size and have a much greater tolerance.’

      ‘You are huge,’ she agreed, leaning over to put a hand on his bare forearm. ‘I bet you work out a lot.’

      ‘Whenever I can.’

      The dark hairs resting under her fingers were much finer than she’d expected, his skin smooth and warm.

      ‘Are you married?’ she asked impulsively.

      ‘No.’ Felipe moved his arm away from her touch and drained the last of his beer.

      Her touch had felt too good for comfort.

      ‘Have you ever been married?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Ever come close to getting married?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

      He sighed. His love life was not a discussion he wanted with Francesca.

      He should have gone to bed a long time ago.

      ‘No. There’s no room in my life for a relationship.’

      ‘No room in your life? What a strange thing to say.’

      Their Irish coffees were laid before them. Francesca popped two sugar cubes into hers and gave it a vigorous stir.

      ‘That spoils it,’ he reproached. ‘See? You’ve mixed the cream into it.’

      ‘I need the sweetness.’

      She would taste sweet. His weak-willed imagination that couldn’t stop picturing her in that damned bikini was certain of it.

      ‘Why is there no room for you to have a relationship? Do you need a bigger house?’

      He almost laughed at the wink she finished her question with. As the evening had progressed she’d relaxed, her antagonism towards him now but a memory. Francesca had proven to be fun company, far removed from the spoilt brat he’d assumed her to be.

      He had to keep reminding himself that she was his client—a grieving, vulnerable client—and that he needed to keep his guard up. This wasn’t a date. It wouldn’t end with a nightcap in one of their suites followed by...

      He refused to allow his mind to wander any further.

      ‘It’s my life as a whole. When my job with you is over I’m going back to the Middle East and then on to Russia. I run a business with three hundred employees. It takes a lot of management.’

      ‘Why does that stop you having a relationship?’

      ‘I doubt there’s a woman out there who would be happy with a man she went months at a time without seeing and weeks without any communication at all.’

      ‘Natasha and Pieta often went months without seeing each other,’ she pointed out. ‘It didn’t do them any harm and they were together for years.’

      That’s what she thought.

      But Felipe wouldn’t say anything negative about her brother when his coffin had only just been lowered into the ground. One day the truth he suspected—and he had no proof, only a gut instinct—about her brother would come out as the truth always did. He just hoped she was in the right mental space to cope with it when it did.

      ‘Pieta was a very different man to me and when I disappear it’s usually into danger. My business comes first. It has to. My men are deployed to the world’s most dangerous hotspots where situations are fluid. Every eventuality has to be catered for. A call can come in at any time for an evacuation.’

      ‘What if something were to go wrong with one of the jobs while you’re here dining with me?’ she asked reasonably.

      He held his phone up. ‘This is a satellite phone. It’s standard military issue. All my men have one. They allow us to communicate with each other wherever we are in the world and the encryption means no one can hack them.’

      ‘So if one of your clients or men were to get into trouble right now, you’d sort it all out sitting here with me?’

      ‘My headquarters are manned twenty-four seven. There are protocols in place for every eventuality. But if anything untoward were to happen I’d be kept informed throughout.’ Situations happened all the time. It was the nature of the job. People needed his protection for very good reasons and they hired his firm because they were guaranteed the best. In the ten years since he’d formed the firm, no client had ever come to harm.

      ‘But if anything were to happen right now, you wouldn’t personally be involved with solving it,’ she persisted. ‘So if you have the staff in place to keep everything running during your absences, there’s nothing to stop you having a relationship.’

      ‘I’m only ever absent from headquarters when I’m on a job. Being the boss means having all the responsibility if anything goes wrong.’ He would not allow anything to go wrong.

      Her eyes narrowed then began to dance. ‘You sound like a man making excuses. Has a woman broken your heart?’

      ‘No woman has ever got close.’ And no woman ever would. During his army career he’d been happy to play the field—many women loved a man in uniform. He’d watched friends and colleagues settle down and seen the pressure starting families had had on them, how it could affect their focus and priorities, and had decided to wait until he left the forces before finding someone to settle down with. Then his unit had been flown in to handle a hostage situation, his life had gone to hell and thoughts of a family destroyed with it. He was better off on his own. Solitude was what he’d grown up with, what he was used to. Safer.

      He thought of Sergio. He thought of Sergio’s wife and unborn child. He thought about the hostages they’d been trying to save, half of whom hadn’t made it out alive. Sergio hadn’t made it out alive either, a memory that still had the power to sear him. His child was now a healthy nine-year-old growing up with a father he would only see in photographs.

      Francesca didn’t say anything, just stared at him with those beguiling light brown eyes that seemed to drink him in...

      Without warning, she got to her feet, her face breaking into a beaming smile. ‘I love this song! Let’s dance.’

      The jazz band had finished their set and now a DJ was playing to the full crowd.

      ‘I don’t dance.’

      ‘Then I shall dance on my own.’ And with that she finished her coffee and glided to the dance floor, her shoulders and hips swaying to the music he vaguely recognised, her long ebony hair shimmering in the lights.

      Without an ounce of self-consciousness, Francesca