One Night with A British Billionaire

Chapter Three

Landon's POV

I'm staring.

I don't seem to be able to help it. I just can't keep my eyes off her. I shouldn't be staring. It's not a good idea. It'll probably give her the wrong idea.

I've never seen anyone quite like her though.

She's captivating.

Hypnotic even.

She's wearing a pair of skinny black jeans – designer, I can tell by the fit. If I had to guess, I'd say, Ralph Lauren – with a cobalt blue silk top that flows over her skin. It's cut in a low v with spaghetti straps that cross over her back.

I can imagine that top and those jeans on my bedroom floor.

One glance down to her feet tell me that her stiletto shoes match her top. They'd stay on...

She's smiling at her friend and I can't imagine her any other way. She's perfect.

I wonder if she even knows how to frown or look sad. I can't imagine it. Her hair is like chocolate rolling in curls down her back.

From this distance, I can't tell the colour of her eyes, but I know they will be impressive.

I feel drawn towards her. And yes, I realise I sound like a complete sap.

Just as I'm about to get up and make my way over to introduce myself, she looks down at her empty drink before looking straight at me.

I don't look away.

I can't. She's caught me staring but I don't care. I just need a second to come up with a plan, a way to get to know her... an excuse.

She looks back to her friend for a moment and I'm afraid that I've missed my moment. Then she looks back, just a shy glance but it's enough to tell me she's interested.

I have no control over the wide grin that covers my face.

I steal back control of my facial muscles; poker face back in place I'm focused solely on her. There's nothing else in the room but her. Then she's saying something to her friend and getting to her feet. I'm worried she's leaving.

Maybe I really did miss my chance.

Fuck!

I don't have time to wonder at the way I care that I might have missed out on her. There are hundreds of girls here tonight and any of them would technically do but I want her.

But she isn't turning towards the door and her friend isn't following her and hope settles in my stomach. Maybe I haven't missed my chance, after all.

Considering how much she's had to drink, she's very steady in those heels; those heels that accentuate her legs and the curve of her hips in the most intoxicating way.

I wait for her to say something when she reaches the bar but she doesn't. She doesn't even look at me and I'm disappointed. Perhaps I read her wrong... Maybe she wasn't interested after all.

That doesn't seem likely.

There's a reason why I'm so successful at what I do; I'm bloody brilliant at reading people. I know when I've won them over. I know when they are a lost cause. I know when they are interested and I know when they want to fuck me.

She's making me doubt myself and I never doubt myself.

What the fuck is she doing to me? I've not even spoken to her yet and she's making me ask questions I just don't ask. I don't doubt myself!