Wealth has a price. Everyone wants something from you. For one woman, that something was my DNA. One minute, she was kissing me like we were going to strip it down and go
at it. And the next, she was ripping out my hair for a paternity test—and threatening to torpedo my latest deal. I don’t play these kind of games. And that damnably sexy woman with the alluring eyes and mistaken agenda is about to learn that the hard way…
Millionaire scion Jagger Hamilton didn’t father Kennedy Price’s nephew. That doesn’t mean he can’t use the situation to his advantage. She wants him to take a paternity test. He wants her in his bed.
She’s blackmailing him, and she’s playing dirty. He could try to use the famous Hamilton charm to turn her into a powerful ally… But she makes him feel… Way. Too. Much.
Kennedy Price isn’t asking much. Just for the powerful, sinfully hot, and notorious playboy to be a decent human being. But he’s used to using that filthy, sensual mouth for getting what he wants.
And he wants her.
She’s determined not to fall for him. But there’s no avoiding his charisma, or his bed, where she threatens to lose more than the standoff between them. She just might lose her heart.
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She and Jagger were as close as two people could be with clothes between them, but fluid. With one hand on her hip and the other cradling the small of her back, he wasn’t doing anything to draw her in, but her body clamored anyway. It was all too easy to imagine this going horizontal, his sensual lips touching every forbidden place they could find. He was unmistakably dangerous, wickedly sexy, and she was in way too deep.
Time to get out.
In lieu of an answer, she wound her fingers through his hair and kissed him hard. Hard enough to distract from her attempt to steal his DNA. For a split second, she felt like she had regained control, but then he recovered from whatever shock she’d dealt him by dragging him into an openmouthed kiss, and he retaliated.
His touch was every bit as soft as she’d imagined, and tender. But commanding. He immediately took charge, and he annihilated her with a seductive dance she felt from her mouth to her toes.
It hit her, stupidly, belatedly, that by comparison, she’d never been kissed before him. Not like that. Especially not after that. He devoured her, leaving her hungry and achy and…distracted. Shit. She wound her fingers tighter, managing to isolate a few strands of hair despite her spinning head, and yanked.
The kiss halted. She expected as much, but the sudden shift left her dazed. She blinked, finding his slate-gray gaze full of questions.
“Sorry,” she said, entirely too breathlessly. “Must have caught you with my ring. Thanks for the, uh, dance.” Five more minutes and she would have been thanking him for an orgasm, right there on the dance floor. She took a few backward steps, nearly running into another waitress. She swiped a full glass from the tray and nodded her thanks, then turned and headed for the elevator. She realized belatedly that the creepy guy from the casino was standing nearby, watching. Hopefully he’d seen her with Jagger and would consider her taken.
She hit the up button with her elbow, managing to balance the hair she had pinched between her fingers and her glass—club soda, she guessed by the strange fizzy flavor of nothing—without dropping anything. She angled her back toward Jagger and peered at her prize, attempting to see if there was a root attached, but someone jostled her. Hard. She looked up to see creepy guy right next to her, wearing an insincerely apologetic smile.
“Sorry,” he said, without the slightest hint of remorse.
“No problem.” She jammed the button again, but the elevator didn’t budge. Worse, Jagger was on his way toward her, looking fierce. Not just fiercely hot but stupendously angry. She highly doubted he’d jumped to any kind of DNA test conclusion, so she wasn’t worried, exactly, but the elevator doors weren’t opening, so she threw back the rest of her drink and handed the empty glass to creepy guy, whose leer shifted toward surprise. Jagger didn’t have her name or room number, so all she had to do was dodge him and whatever his problem was, and she’d be golden.
Holding tight to what she hoped would lead to proof that Jagger Hamilton fathered her nephew, she slipped around the corner and hoped like hell there was a flight of stairs nearby.
Because Jagger didn’t look like he was slowing down. Not for anything.