Excerpt from The Billionaire's Hope
My eyes swept across the blue and one word came to mind: whoa.
Clearly, I wasn't one of the people in charge of copy at Whitmore and Creighton. If I was, I would have had something epic to say, something lyrical to describe what this felt like. What it felt like to have Jacob Whitmore look at me like I was magic.
What it felt like to know that I'd get to see that look for the rest of my life.
I reached for the sunscreen in the wicker basket, perched in the sand beside the most comfortable beach chair ever created. Heck, calling it a 'beach chair' didn't even fit. Beach chairs were the aluminum and plastic things that I used to drag from the trunk, preparing myself for the workout ahead. Without fail, I'd be sweaty and overheated before I even popped the thing open, dropping everything in a pile. I'd wipe my brow, settling in for my hard fought square on the beach.
My fingertips stopped just short of the tube as I left the memory in the past, drinking in the awesome now. If you would have told me that someday I'd have a beach and Jacob Whitmore all to myself, I wouldn't have believed you.
But this wasn't a dream. Wasn't a fantasy that would be ripped away when my eyes sprang open.
I was wide awake.
And this chair felt freaking delicious.
I caressed the smooth fabric that covered the mahogany wood. Sighed as I ground my bottom, still tender from a twilight spanking from Jacob, into the ruby red cushion.
A dull ache from tweaking the spot flitted over me. The lashes of pain didn't compare to the ecstasy that made me call out to God I don't know how many times. I remembered how just as I was gearing up to say the word that would end the session, I whispered his name and he'd scooped me into my arms. Kissed it better in a way that had made me press my thighs together, an erotic flutter dancing through my core.
Just to be safe, I pinched myself.
The sting reminded me that this fairytale wasn't fiction. Fantasy tasted like reality. At any moment, animated bluebirds would start flitting about. Music would spring out of nowhere at all. My swimsuit would be traded for some sparkly number and glass slippers. But unlike the storybook, there would be no clock that would chime at midnight and it would all go poof.
This was my life now.
I had a new last name.
I shielded my eyes from the sun, gazing out into the crystal blue water. Last night we swam beneath the stars together, but this morning, I just wanted to watch him. To commit every inch of him to memory. My Jacob, giving Michael Phelps a run for his money, bobbing in the water like a mirage.
Screw this watching crap.
I slid from the chair, a Cheshire smile curving my lips as I tossed my hat behind me. I reached around and unhooked my bikini top, only pausing long enough to shimmy out of my bikini bottoms.
I waded into the water, my eyes locked on the bluest ones I'd ever seen. Blue flames that razed every doubt that this was real to the ground.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, a moan sounding deep inside me as my breasts brushed against the steel of his sunkissed chest.
I wanted to say something romantic, but I was at a loss for words so close to heaven.
Jacob's fingers threaded through my locks and swept them over one shoulder as he brought me close. His lips brushed against my ear.
"How did I get so damn lucky?"
