Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) Elise Faber (most read books of all time txt) 📖

A grin. “Yup. You heard that right. I tripped going up the stairs, right in front of school my sophomore year.” She rolled her eyes. “I actually tore it so badly that I had to have surgery. Don’t laugh!” she accused when he attempted to bite back a smile.

Fingers brushing over her cheek, her jaw. God, her skin was like silk. But he also loved the look in her eyes, the teasing expression on her face. “I still can’t believe you tripped up the stairs.”

“I told you not to laugh.”

“I’m not.” But he was chuckling now, his chest vibrating with the sound, even as he kept taking this opportunity to touch her.

He might not be smooth, but he wasn’t dumb.

He’d ended up in bed with the woman he wanted, and he wasn’t going to squander this opportunity.

Now, to get her as addicted to his presence as he was to hers. Cue evil laughter, plotting-to-take-over-the-world hand rubbing.

“Like I said,” she muttered. “I’m klutzy, and it has nothing to do with you.”

“Well, next time, I’ll make sure to not frighten you near inclines.” Or declines either, he supposed.

“Cora always says I’m likely to kill myself just walking down the street to 7-Eleven to get a slushie.”

“Remind me to never let you out of my sight,” he said, half-joking.

Only half, because he was half-serious, too. Broken bones and torn ligaments and twisted ankles. Burns and stab wounds. God, he shuddered to think of what might go wrong in that top secret lab of hers.

She could blow up herself and the world right with her.

“The only place I’m somehow not clumsy—” A smile before she relaxed back down on his chest. “No, it’s two places. One at work—and mostly because I have computers to do the dirty work, assistants to handle any of the finicky work, and anything I have to do is usually stationary, so there is significantly less chance of my klutz skills to factor in.”

He smoothed a hand down her hair. “And the other?”

Her chest rose and fell on a long exhale. “The other place is . . . ice skating.”

“Ice skating?” he asked incredulously.

“Yup.” A laugh. “And I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Nope. She couldn’t. Because he was wondering how many stab wounds he might end up with if blades were strapped to her feet. He assumed it would be a great many.

“You’re thinking that with my amazing clumsy skills, that someone is going to end up bleeding out on the ice.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“See?”

“See what?” he asked.

“See, that I am—” A yawn. “Exceptionally smart. Even if I do watch”—another yawn—“horrible TV as you accused.”

“Well, I don’t understand the appeal of watching people who don’t even like each other stumble their way to the altar.”

She gasped, sitting up and the fatigue slipping out of her pretty hazel eyes. “They like each other. They love each other. They’ve moved across the planet to see if they’re compatible—”

“Or for a green card.”

Heidi paused, considered that. “Yes,” she agreed. “I do think that sometimes that’s the case.”

“I’ll add very smart to your list of positive attributes, right along with talented at work, ice skater extraordinaire, and—oh, how did you learn how to skate? Didn’t you tell me once that you grew up in California?”

A smile. “All of last night,” she said. “I did tell you that.”

“So, Cali girl somehow learns to do a popular low-temperature activity?”

She shuddered, settled back down on his chest. “Okay, first rule for my new Californian. Don’t call it Cali.”

“No Cali.” He nodded. “Got it.”

“The second rule—or I guess less rule and more . . . general knowledge that you can put to good use is that hockey is big in California. It is especially big in Northern California, and because of that, there are plenty of opportunities for skating in the area.”

“Noted,” he said. “So, does this mean you’ll go ice skating with me?”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Are you going to say yes?”

“Isn’t ice skating a little pedantic of a date for you?”

He smiled. “I don’t know.” A shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On whether or not you say yes.”

She laughed, arms tightening around him. “I’d say yes.”

Joy bubbled in him. “Okay then, will you go ice skating with me, Heidi Greene?”

“No.”

His jaw dropped open.

“But I will go on a date with you.” A beat. “Even if it’s ice skating.”

He blinked, trying to keep up with the circles this woman was spinning around him and understanding that he probably never would be able to. Then he shrugged, began tracing light circles on her back again, and decided he didn’t care.

Not when it meant that he’d just scored a date with this woman.

Fourteen

Heidi

He didn’t take her ice skating.

But he did take her to prison.

To Alcatraz, that was.

“It’s funny,” she said as they leaned against the railing of the ferry, wind blowing through their hair, The Rock, coming into view in the distance.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“I grew up here, and I’ve never done any of the touristy things. No Alcatraz, no cable cars or Lombard Street. Hell, I’ve only ever done Ghirardelli Square and Pier 39 when relatives visited and wanted to hit the tourist traps.”

“Well, there are far more exciting things to see in California besides the stuff that makes it on the postcards.”

“That’s true.” She turned to look at him. “So, why bring me here?”

“You only agreed to one date,” he said, eyes twinkling. “This is my backup plan in case you don’t agree to a second.”

She laughed. “Backup plan because you’ll lock me up until I agree to it?”

“Precisely,” he said. “Either that, or I hope that you’ll be so bored with the history that you’ll fall asleep, and then I can have my way with you.”

“So romantic,” she muttered dryly.

A swathe of pink exploded on his cheeks. “I—shit—I didn’t mean it that way. I wouldn’t take advantage of you—”

She touched his hand. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“I just meant in