Claimed By The Billionaire Husband

The moment I met his steel-blue eyes, I knew I wanted him. He inquired, "How much?" I grinned, conscious of coming across as sly, knowledgeable, and not-too-eager, but it was a sensual, deep voice that hinted at everything.

I wanted to make a move.

My friend Sarah interrupted me before I could respond. "A minute costs two dollars. One minute of reading for two dollars, with half going to charity and the other half to the author. However, you can bargain with the author, if you get what I mean.

The man looked me up and down, grinning and stroking his big lower lip with his thumb.

Sarah's black brows twitched as she laughed. "I named it Story Brothel because of this. "She clapped him on the shoulder." The reader and the writer are at odds. I adore this, God. I'm feeling quite ladylike. Similar to Florida fiction's Heidi Fleiss.

She leaned in to give me a light squeeze on my arm before lowering her voice. "Keep in mind: half goes to charity. Don't skim.

I gave an eye roll. "Like I'd do that." Sarah gave me a cheek kiss while standing on her tiptoes. He appears wealthy. She said, "Perhaps he'll give you more money so you can keep the bookstore open."

I frowned, unwilling to be reminded of my labor. This was a rare night out for me, when I wasn't preoccupied with writing, paperwork, or orders. That's when I changed from being a serious store owner to writing romance novels like a pulp fiction superheroine. Blood-red lipstick smearing every napkin and cocktail rim in my way; glasses off; wild, frizzy hair down.

And after a few minutes, this man's mouth, perhaps. I needed a man's attention long ago. As I observed his black suit, his immaculate white shirt, and the platinum gleam of a timepiece dial, I persuaded myself that, at least. It had been a while since I had been kissed, at least not well. And not from a man with such a striking appearance.

A strange tune with a hefty, powerful drumbeat and an Arabic lounge groove began playing. It was the sensation of my heart against my ribs. Sarah stepped into the throng. I continued to smile. He did as well. He said, "Story Brothel," in a voice so low I could hardly hear it. He was so tall that he had to stare down at me with his gunmetal-blue eyes and tilt his face.

I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and gave a dramatic shake of my head. "You don't seem like the type of man who'd come to an event like this."

"I don't. His eyes tempted and gleamed. They contrasted so beautifully with his long, black lashes. He exuded confidence and sensuality, but he wasn't the most attractive man I'd ever seen. His features-strong jaw, slightly large nose, and high cheekbones-wouldn't have been particularly noticeable on their own, but when combined, they were overwhelmingly masculine. Interesting. Fuckable.No,