Distracting the Billionaire's Son Read Online Free Page A

better than sitting in my bed alone thinking
about the past.
    “What would you like me to call you then, little girl ?”
    “Most people call me Jessica . You could start there.”
    “I don’t think so.” He took another drink and when I glanced
at him, surprised at his answer, I saw something new in the intensity of his
eyes. Be bold, Jessica, I thought, and reached for his glass. He let me
take it and our fingers brushed, the first intentional contact I’d made with
anyone today. He didn’t startle like I would have, but his eyes opened a
fraction and I thought I could detect a change in his breathing, too.
    I finished his drink for him. It was warm and a little
sweet, but burned as it went down my throat. I’d never tasted whiskey straight
like this before, and it wasn’t something I’d choose to drink on my own, but at
that moment it was exactly what I wanted.
    He reached for my face, settled his fingertips against my
hairline and stroked his thumb along the contour of my cheek. I pulled away
automatically, but his fingertips tugged at my jawline, held me in his thrall.
    “I’ve had a very bad night,” he mumbled. His thumb trailed
to my lips and traced them, first the top then the bottom. “Open,” he
commanded. Be brave, Jessica , and I parted my lips just enough. “Perhaps
you could help improve it.”
    Perhaps . It wasn’t a question, but a taunt. A
challenge. What was it about this dark, brooding man whose voice brought out
the fight in me? Maybe he knew from my behavior at dinner I couldn’t resist a
challenge from such an arrogant person.
    I turned over onto my knees so I was closer, close enough
for the palm of his hand to flatten across my cheek. He pushed his thumb
between my lips, an invitation and another challenge. Nervously I touched the
warm, salt-water skin with the tip of my tongue. His eyes opened a little wider
then narrowed again. He pushed his thumb further into my mouth and I closed my
lips around it. I drug the tip of my tongue up the flat of his thumb slowly.
Briefly he closed his eyes, opened his mouth as if to say something, then
closed it quickly. Jonah pulled his hand away, steeled himself.
    “Come closer,” he said and made room for me between his knees.
“On your hands and knees. Crawl to me.”
    I did, oh god, I had no idea what was happening and why I
wanted to behave this way for him. I did want to help him make his night
better, maybe as much as I wanted my own painful thoughts pushed away. I
crawled between his knees the few steps, just like he asked. As soon as I was
within his space, both of his hands were on me, pushing my hair back, stroking
my neck, my shoulders, pushing my jacket back until it was sliding off into the
sand. While I was still wearing my oversized pink night shirt and shorts, I
felt completely naked the way his eyes roamed down my body where his hands
traveled. They stopped to cup my breasts, to consider them beneath his judging
stare. They were larger than his palms, bigger than most of the skinny,
beautiful girls I went to school with, but he lingered touching them, stroking
across the cotton fabric over my nipples. They were hard, he had to have
noticed.
    I wondered, for the first time with any boy, what it would
feel like for him to touch them without the fabric between us. I’d been with a
few boys, but none of them were very impressed when I wouldn’t take my shirt off
for them. If anyone saw the scars, they’d stop anyway. I couldn’t take that
kind of rejection then, I certainly couldn’t take it from him now. He’d say
something terrible and I’d have to hate him for it. I didn’t want that to
happen, not now on this private beach under this moon with the waves at our
back and a sleepless night stretching out in front of us.
    “Take it off,” he commanded. “I want to see your body.”
    There it was. I jerked back from his hands and closed my
palm across my stomach so he couldn’t lift my shirt if he didn’t like my
answer.