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The Billionaire’s Gamble
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
He wants more than a one night stand…
This is a standalone novella with a HEA and NO cheating!
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I’m ready to stab my fork into my date’s eyeball.
Or his crotch, if it comes down to it.
The guy sitting across from me might look okay, but his attitude is rancid. Gerard the Fourth—he made sure I knew he was a fourth—is the type who breathes slime. He clearly thinks his smile is charming, and that if he keeps spending money on me, I’ll have to sleep with him.
I didn’t even want to go out to a restaurant. I’d suggested coffee, just to get to know each other…and because my sister keeps insisting I get to know anyone. What’s wrong with being single?
Gerard makes me want to be single. Very, very single.
Why did I ever think this was a good idea? I’ve asked myself that several times since I first met this man. I ask it again as he waxes on and on about himself, like he has the whole date.
“Oh yes,” he chuckles, leaning closer towards me. I subtly lean backwards. “I’m only here in Vegas because of a work conference. Do you know who the Silver Lions are?”
I don’t. “Not a clue.” But it sounds pompous as fuck.
Under the table, he rubs his shoe up my ankle, and my goosebumps start marching in sync. “They’re the cream of the crop. They control the biggest banks and the biggest branches. I hear the guys bleed diamonds. And I’m one of the few lawyers who gets to work with those rich assholes.” He laughs and I wonder if I could slip away before he looks down and realizes.
“Oh,” I say, poking at my third glass of water. “How nice.”
He eyeballs my drink, pushing his wine my way. He’s been trying to get me drunk all night, but I know better. “Loosen up,” he says, and it comes out like a demand. Gross. “You seem like the kind of girl that needs alcohol to get her ready for fun.”
Don’t wink don’t wink—Gerard winks, and I groan inside. “Listen,” I begin to stand. “I’m kind of tired, and this was…” I grimace, “fun, but…”
I expect him to look disappointed. I don’t expect him to snatch my wrist and hold me in place. His fingers are grinding into my skin with way too much force. His voice is quiet, menacing. “Hey, no. You’re not leaving.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What?” Looking around, I see if anyone else is watching this happen. Nobody looks our way. The restaurant is in the middle of a casino and everyone is focused on their own business.
Gerard yanks me closer. “I paid for you, Dani. You don’t get to walk away after what I’ve spent.”
I give him my best death glare. “That’s not how this works. I didn’t ask you to spend anything—”
“Don’t care. No one gold digs me.”
Gold dig? Me? I’d never, and I’m pissed off at the suggestion. I try to rip free but his fingers are solid. “Let go,” I hiss. “We’re done here.”
“We’re not done until I say we are.”
Panic rises to mix with my righteous anger. Is this seriously happening? I glance at my glass of water, it’s mostly ice, but…
“Come on, sweet-cheeks,” he growls, forcing me into his lap. I’m wearing a tight dress that goes to my knees; he peels it up, not caring who sees. “I have a real fancy hotel room here, let’s go take care of your bill.”
Grimacing, I grab the water before he can stop me, hurling it into his face. Both of us go stiff with shock. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never had to.
Gerard’s eyes go black, a storm ready to swallow me up. “You bitch. Now you’re really mine.”
I want to scream but my heart is swelling in my mouth. I swear to myself that after this, no more online dating. No more any dating. It’s not worth this, it’s just not.
“Hey.” It’s a new voice, solid as a mountain. “What are you doing to her?” Then I see him, and his voice makes sense. This stranger coming our way is dressed in a long sleeved, dark silver button down and a black vest. It’s clothing meant for GQ models, but he’s so broad all I can think about are fitness magazines instead.
Gerard doesn’t release me. “Fuck you, pal. Mind your own business.”
Mountain-Man looms over us and I swear, he could have thrown the table with one hand. He speaks low, hot—it tickles my core. “Do you want some help?” he asks me.
I want a lot of things, so I nod slowly. Holy hell.
“I said fuck off—” Gerard never finishes his lame insult. My hero—because what else do I call him?—covers his mouth with one giant palm. Then he rips Gerard’s arms off me, allowing me to jump away. Then Mountain-Hero-Sexy-Pants lifts my failed date with ease into the air.
He says, “Get the hell out of here. Understand? If I catch you manhandling another woman who doesn’t want it, I won’t be as nice.” When he drops Gerard to the floor, the sad excuse for a man scrambles off into the casino, never looking back.