Millionaire Playboys: Paying the Playboy's Price

“We’ve had a busy day.” Juliana’s quiet words forced him to look at her again—something he’d rather not do until she covered up from ears to ankles. “They should sleep well tonight.”

At the sight of all that creamy, curvaceous flesh on display, words failed him. He grunted an affirmative.

“Is something wrong? You’re supposed to be working.” She folded her arms across her middle, which should have helped his concentration since it covered a lot of skin, but the move pushed her breasts farther out of her suit, resulting in a negative effect on his brain function. It took him a few seconds to weed her question out of his testosterone-induced fog.

“Danny’s closing. I thought I’d take the girls out to dinner and then head back to my place. Tomorrow’s my day off, so I’ll keep ’em tonight and you can sleep in your own bed.” He glanced at Becky and Liza in time to see their faces fall.

Juliana waded toward the pool steps. “We’d planned to grill kebabs tonight, and we’ve made homemade ice cream. Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Bad idea. How could he get out of it? “Kebabs?”

“We stuck ’em,” Liza said in as bloodthirsty a tone as he’d ever heard from a three-year-old. He grabbed her upraised hands, lifted her from the pool and set her on the concrete.

Juliana bit her lip, but she couldn’t hide the smile twitching on her mouth. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes slammed the breath right out of him. “The girls helped me assemble the kebabs. We bought the ice-cream freezer when we bought the life jackets. Cooking together seemed like a good activity.”

“Right. Dinner sounds good.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Becky vaulted out and gave him a soggy hug. He ruffled her wet hair with a surprisingly unsteady hand.

Juliana rose from the pool like a nymph in a wet dream. Rivulets of water cascaded over the peaks and valleys of a truly lust-worthy body. His throat closed and his skin ignited. The little flirty skirt of her bathing suit bottom stopped an inch below her navel, and the wet fabric clung to her hips like a second skin.

He exhaled slowly and turned his back on what he couldn’t have to help the girls dry off. The week ahead yawned like an eternity.

“Wook.” Liza lifted her hands. He blinked away the sensual haze clouding his vision, knelt beside Liza and focused on her tiny, pale pink-tipped nails. “Oo-liana painted dem.”

“Pretty.”

Juliana stopped beside them. Her toenails bore the same shade of polish. Rex fought the urge to trace the long, lean line of her legs with his gaze and lost. From his kneeling position on the concrete, the sight of those perfect breasts at eye level wreaked no end of havoc below his belt. Frustration and futility rose inside him.

Surrender man and be done with it.

No way. Too much to lose.

He stood and met the gaze of the woman determined to bring him to his knees. Damned if she didn’t have him like a fish on the hook, and fighting the line wasn’t getting him anywhere but reeled in and too tired to care. Unless he wanted to be left on the dock gasping for air, then he had to do something fast.

But he had a feeling it was too late.

Six (#ulink_9a909c83-4188-5930-9d79-2c4940a06ca8)

Rex prowled around Juliana’s den like a caged animal. Examining an item here, looking out a window there, but never remaining still for more than a few seconds.

With her senses hyperaware of each shift of his muscular frame, Juliana sipped her favorite locally produced peach wine and tugged at the hem of the sundress she’d changed into after returning from the pool.

The fuchsia dress had hung in her closet unworn for years because the bodice dipped lower than she liked, and the hem was inches higher than comfortable. She’d bought it and the ridiculously high-heeled matching sandals for a cruise she, Andrea and Holly had scheduled to celebrate their twenty-seventh birthdays but had never taken due to Juliana’s emergency appendectomy.

“I’ll repay you for everything you’ve spent on Irma, the life jackets, the doll clothes, whatever. How much do I owe ya?” Rex’s gaze raked her exposed skin for the third time. He glanced away and looked again, convincing Juliana that her sexy dress was worth every penny she’d paid for it even if she never wore it again.

She crossed her legs and then smoothed her hem. Rex’s eyes tracked each movement. Hmm. Interesting. Leaning forward, she deposited her wineglass on the coffee table and hooked a finger beneath the thin gold chain at her neck. Rex’s dark eyes fastened on the stroke of her fingers inside the V-neck of her bodice. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

A sense of feminine power swelled inside her. He was attracted to her. What would it take to break through his restraint? C’mon, bad boy, corrupt me.

What had he said again? Oh, yes. “Your sister is covering Irma’s salary. The rest…” She shrugged and gestured to where Becky and Liza played dress-up with their dolls in the corner. “It’s my pleasure. The girls and I are having fun.”

“I insist.”

“Your sister said you would. The answer’s still no, Rex.” She kicked her ankle just a little, dangling the sandal from her toes just to see if he’d watch. He did. She bit the inside of her lip to stop a pleased smile.

His fists clenched and unclenched. “Kelly called this morning. Mike made it through surgery and he’s stable. Now it’s a wait-and-see game, but the doctors are optimistic.”

She uncrossed her legs and shifted on the sofa. The move inched her hem higher—a bonus she hadn’t anticipated. “For Kelly and the girls’ sake I hope he pulls through.”

“Yeah.” The word was little more than a grunt. His gaze never left her legs.

“Are you sure you don’t want some wine? I’m sorry I don’t have beer.” She leaned forward to retrieve her glass and savored the shift of his eyes to her cleavage. Her nipples tightened.

A femme fatale is born. The incongruity of the statement nearly made her laugh out loud. She loved the way Rex’s hot glances made her feel all restless and warm. Parts of her body tingled that had never tingled before.

“No thanks.”

Sometimes an account investigation led her in a surprising direction. She’d learned to trust her instincts and go with it. “Then could you stop pacing and sit down?” She patted the cushion beside her. “You’re making the girls nervous.”

A lie. The girls had quit watching him circle the room ten minutes ago, but each pass of those lean hips through her line of vision pushed her closer to sensory overload. My gosh, she was ogling him and his um…parts, and she really wanted to know if he lived up to the promise in those jeans. Her bold thoughts made her cheeks burn.

He lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the coffee table, rested his elbows on his knees and then propped his head in his hands. Juliana studied his thick hair, the tense line of his shoulders and tightened her fingers around the stem of her wineglass instead of reaching across the distance to touch him the way she wanted. She’d never considered herself a sensual or tactile person, but the better she got to know Rex, the harder it was to resist the urge to touch him. His sleek hair. His rough jaw. His hard muscles.

She didn’t lack initiative in her professional life, but in her personal life she’d definitely be classified as a slow-starter. In light of Rex’s reaction tonight, she almost looked forward to making a move. Almost.

He lifted his head suddenly and his coffee-colored eyes pinned her in place. “Why me? The truth this time.”

The wine in her glass sloshed over her fingers. Stalling, she dabbed at the liquid with a tissue. He wouldn’t accept an evasive answer this time, she’d bet, and she wasn’t a gambling person. Her gaze flicked to the girls in the corner. How much did she dare explain? “Because I have a nice life.”

“What?” He sounded as if he thought she’d lost her mind.

“I’m thirty years old. I have a nice car, a nice home and a nice job. Nice is bland and boring. Like me. I hoped your auction package might jar me out of my ‘nice’ rut. There has to be more to life than nice, and if there is I don’t want to miss out.”

Wary understanding softened his eyes and then he leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands over his flat belly—a relaxed pose, but the intense look in his eyes was anything but relaxed. “I used to want more, too. And then I realized that more wasn’t as great as it sounded.”

She savored the tiny insight into his thoughts. “Your music career?”

Seconds ticked past as he studied his knotted fingers. “Yeah. I couldn’t wait to get off that ranch and be somebody besides Reed Tanner’s boy. Then I was. And everybody wanted me to be somebody else.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The record execs, my manager and my publicist signed me because I was different. And then they tried to turn me into a carbon copy of every other guy on the charts.”

“But you made it to the top without sounding like everyone else.” She wasn’t a country music fan, so her comparison wasn’t firsthand, but she’d read the online articles touting Rex’s unique sound and fresh way with words, and she enjoyed his music.

“I made it because I fought ’em every step of the way. The point is, you don’t have to try to be somebody you’re not.”