Married to the billionaire for revenge

log

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of my heels before

of voices and rolling suitcases. My carry-on kept slipping from my shoulder, my suitcase drag

ause I o

. not e

n. Words breathed so close they were more felt than heard. I'd falle

business. His business. Chicago, a meeting with one of the company's top marketing teams. Eve

me with the minutes I was running out of. I pic

ng my voice to sound steady. "Please tell me you

nicured nails tapped against the keyboard in an unhurried rhy

ded, leaning forward slightly. "I

and impersonal. "One seat lef

it was better than missing

curity, my bag bouncing against my hip. My phone buzzed from inside it, and I reached for the zipper.

se was al

itcase slipping from my grasp. The bitter scent of coffee hit me before the heat did. It

, clutching at

ice was deep, smooth, an

dressed in a navy suit that fit like it had been made for him. He stood there as if the termina

brushing at my soaked blouse. My skin stung, but my tempe

and assessing, before the faintest curl t

ing through a terminal like a bulldozer," he sai

ell open. "

wed, their eyes flicking between us like they were watching

e-slinging stranger who stands in the

amusement in his eyes. "You're the one who bounced off me like a tennis

ly what the terminal owed me w

e a probl

s, her sharp gaze moving from my soak

elf," he said, as if even explai

sure you standing in the middle of a

idn't

ening. "Ma'am, are you alright? We can get y

ng my voice to stay ev

he hum of the terminal washing over me.

followed, low enough to feel l

ll on me next ti

as a private joke, made my fingers tighten around my suitcase handle. I turned, but he w

bad luck,"

Airports are full of them. You'd be surprised

, trying to push him from my mind. I told