The Billionaire Takes All (The Sinclairs #5)

They were interrupted as their drinks arrived, and Julian asked the flight attendant to bring them a light meal.


“I’m not hungry,” Kristin said, smiling at the gorgeous woman who gave her an ice-cold ginger ale in a fancy crystal glass and a napkin.

“Bring it to her anyway,” Julian demanded. He shot Kristin a pointed look not to argue as the woman left to go get the meals.

“I said I’m not hungry,” she whispered to him angrily.

He lifted a hand to cut her off. “Dr. Sarah’s orders. She said you needed small meals to keep the nausea away.”

“You talked to Sarah?” Kristin asked, surprised.

“You were sick. Who else would I call? I’d think that you trust her medical advice. You work with her.”

Caught!

What could she say to that comment? Not only was Sarah her boss, but Kristin trusted her more than any other doctor she knew. “If I didn’t think she was a great physician, I wouldn’t be working with her,” she confessed. “Why did you call her? I was just motion sick.”

She knew she was being difficult, but Julian was making her crazy. Even when he was being high-handed, he didn’t seem to think he was.

“I was worried,” he confessed without hesitation.

Kristin toyed with her glass, swiping at the condensation with her napkin. Nobody worried about her except occasionally her parents or Mara. And for quite some time, her mom and dad had been too consumed with other things to fret over their only child. They knew she was capable of taking care of herself. She took care of them now.

Although she couldn’t tell Julian, he’d totally disarmed her with three simple words. If he’d come back with a smartass comment, she could handle that. But when a friend did something out of concern for her well-being, it was a little . . . disconcerting, maybe even touching.

She’d suffered a simple incident of motion sickness, something she’d had all her life, a difficulty that rarely popped up. But he’d called her boss and friend, a doctor, who could confirm he was doing everything right.

“Thanks. But I told you I’d be fine,” she reminded him.

“I was still worried,” he answered honestly. “You were pale, and you were sick. How could you be sure it wasn’t something else?”

She smiled, unable to hold it back. He had been concerned because she’d gotten sick, and it was a novelty for her, something she wasn’t quite accustomed to, but it was . . . nice. “Believe me, I know the feeling of motion sickness. I’ve experienced it enough over the years, but I’ve learned to avoid situations where I actually get that sick.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was angry. I assumed what you were doing was all a joke. And I didn’t want it to go on any longer. Maybe I thought you were just making fun of me. I just wanted to get back to the bar. Honestly, I didn’t even think of my little problem until we were almost to the airport.”

He took a slug of beer from a frosted mug before answering. “No joke,” he rasped. “Why in the hell would you ever think that?”

“Because rich, amazing superstars that look as hot as you do don’t kidnap women like me.” She glanced at him over her glass as she sipped her soda.

“You think I’m hot?” He raised a brow with a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

Kristin rolled her eyes, irritated that he was trying to embarrass her. She decided to retaliate, using his irritating sexual references by slinging them back at him. “Yes, Julian. I have fantasies every night about you. My vibrator needs new batteries at least every other day, and I nearly swoon every time I see your picture,” she told him sarcastically as she fanned herself with her napkin.

He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous smile on his handsome face. “Good . . . because I’ve been having the same problem lately. I think about kissing every freckle on your beautiful face, and I dream about making you smile. I want to see if you have those adorable freckles everywhere on your body. And if you do, I want my mouth on them, too. I stroke myself off in the shower just thinking about burying my face between your thighs and feasting until you come so hard that you can’t say anything except my name. But it isn’t enough. I want you desperate. Begging me to fuck you. I want to see that beautiful, curly, sexy red hair on my pillow while I bury myself so deep inside you that you never want me to leave.” He took another large gulp of his beer before he finished, “So I guess we have the same thoughts.”

She squirmed in the plush leather seat, her core clenching with need and her nipples as hard as precious gems. Jesus! She couldn’t play sexual games with this man, because he had no problem and felt absolutely no embarrassment at blurting out whatever he wanted to say.

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