Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (13 page)

“I’d love to. Thanks, man,” he said, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

He wouldn’t leave Portia alone for a minute with this guy. It was time to show her they belonged together.

Chapter 13

B
ut love is blind, and lovers cannot see

The pretty follies that themselves commit . . .

William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice
, act 2, scene 6

Portia sat patiently in the second row of Jon’s Expedition while Dillon and Ryan fought over who’d sit in the third row, both attempting to play the gentleman card and allow the other the pleasure of sitting beside her. Dillon finally relented, but Ryan sat behind her, leaning over her shoulder for the entire twenty-minute drive to dinner.

Dillon seemed like a nice guy, and normally she’d have found his dark features and charm attractive, but she didn’t feel one iota of spark tonight. Then her gaze slid to Ryan, and her pussy woke up like she’d attached it to jumper cables and given it a jolt. She didn’t think it would’ve even mattered if Ryan had stayed home tonight. Those parts wanted him and him alone. No substitution would suffice.

They showed up for dinner with reservations for four and had to make room for Ryan at the round table, squashing Portia between him and Dillon.

She was on a double date all right. With Dillon and Ryan.

The restaurant itself was beautiful, decorated with pale yellow walls and black and white photographs of Italy. Jon even made sure to mention how difficult it was to get a reservation, and judging by the men in suits and women’s fancy dresses, Portia understood this was a place to see and be seen. She felt underdressed compared to the elegant women around her, an insecurity lingering from growing up poor and oftentimes attending schools with wealthy kids who didn’t worry about where their next meal came from. Her sister caught her eye and shook a finger at her. Portia didn’t have to say a word for Viola to know what was going through her mind. She put her negative thoughts behind her and focused on enjoying the present moment.

“How’s your fish?” Dillon asked her. “Would you mind if I tried a bite?”

Her fork fell to the plate with a
clang
.

Ryan shook his head. Viola covered her mouth with a hand, her shoulders shaking from quiet laughter. Jon continued eating his spaghetti, oblivious to the inappropriateness of his nephew’s request.

“No. Go ahead. I’m done.” She removed her napkin from her lap, dropped it on the table then stood. “Viola, would you join me in the ladies’ room?”

Both Ryan and Dillon also stood. What was this, the nineteen-fifties?

“I’m good,” her sister said, grinning.

Portia glowered at her and Viola got the message.

Viola placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Will you excuse us? We’ve got to flour our noses.”

“Powder. We’ve got to go powder our noses,” Portia corrected out of habit.

“Sure. Hurry back,” he replied.

She and her sister maneuvered around the tables and down a short hallway to the restroom.

As soon as they stumbled through the door, Viola burst out into hysterical laughter. “Seriously, it’s like watching two cats fight over a bone.”

Portia put her hands on her hips. “It’s dogs and I’m not a bone. I can’t believe how immature they both are and you’re no help. The least you can do is help me out of this mess since you’re the one who got me into it.”

“Oh, no, don’t blame me. How was I to know you’d bring Ryan or even that you’re dating? You haven’t said a word these days other than everything is fine and the house is coming along. I swear I knew more about your life when you lived two thousand miles away from me. I had planned on leaving Michigan, but I stuck around because you moved here. Now I wonder if I should have just left.”

Guilt swamped her. Since their first dinner together, she and her sister hadn’t spent any time together. She’d spent every spare moment trying to get the house in order and often passed out from exhaustion before she could call her sister. “No.” She hugged her. “I’m glad you stayed. I want us to be close again. That’s why I was excited when Alexander’s attorney called and invited me to Michigan. But even if he hadn’t, I would’ve come to you anyway. You’re not only my litter sister. You’re more like my twin. I don’t feel complete without you around. I’m sorry I haven’t said what’s going on with me and Ryan. We’re not dating.”

“Then what’s with the caveman act tonight? I thought he was going to hoist you over his shoulder at one point and carry you off.”

She stuck her hands under the warm water of the sink. “There’s
something
between us. I just don’t know what to call it. Chemistry or lust, maybe.”

“So nothing’s happened between the two of you?”

She could lie, but her sister could tell from her blush. Or her fidgeting. Or from whatever bond tied the two of them together. “I wouldn’t say that. We’ve kissed. But, it wasn’t a good idea and I told him that. But then . . .”

“Then?”

She shut off the water and dried her hands. “I had the strangest dream last night. I was in Greece, wearing a wedding dress, and dancing with my husband at our reception.”

Surprisingly, her sister’s face remained expressionless. “What’s strange about that?”

“Well, for one thing, my husband was Ryan.”

A small smile tugged at the sides of Viola’s lips. “Hmm. That doesn’t sound strange.”

“I don’t know how to explain it. I’d swear it was a memory of a past-life. But that’s insane, right?”

Viola shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d say you’re insane. I mean, you’re not claiming to be his Muse or anything like Mom would.” She almost phrased it as a question and paused as if waiting for Portia to deny the comment.

Portia didn’t hear the earth sing, so the chances she was a Muse were slim to none.

Her sister waved her hand. “I’m sure it’s only your subconscious helping you process your feelings about Ryan. And I think it’s telling you to go for it.”

“But we both want different things. He wants me to sell the house—”

“Who cares? This is a fling, right? You’re not thinking of a relationship with him?”

“No. Of course not,” she said quickly.

Viola gave her a knowing smile and placed her hand on Portia’s shoulder. “You don’t have to listen to me, after all, I’m just your little sister, but I think you should seize the opportunity.” She pointed a finger at her. “Just use a condom, young lady.”

Her cheeks heated. Time to change the subject. “What about you? Are things serious between you and Jon?” He didn’t seem her type at all. He was a restaurant owner and . . . old.

“No, we’re just friends. I like spending time with him. He’s stable. Dependable.”

Portia wondered if her sister was using Jon in some way, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what her beautiful, eccentric musician of a sister would need from a man like Jon. “I would’ve thought you’d like Braden. He’s sexy, confident—”

“Infuriating. Domineering. He’s too much work. Besides, I’m not sticking around much longer. Why start something if it’s not going somewhere?”

Portia couldn’t help but laugh at her sister’s reaction. “You just told me to have a fling. Why can’t you?”

Viola crossed her arms and gave her a pointed stare which said not to push the matter any further. “Different circumstances. Now, are you ready for your double date? I believe it’s time to go dancing.” She winked and swung out the door.

Right, her double date.

She couldn’t wait.

The pounding bass of the music drowned out all conversation, allowing Portia the luxury of focusing on her body’s movement to the beat rather than Dillon and Ryan. They hadn’t let up on their pissing match over her. If it weren’t for the fact she hadn’t seen her sister in a while and she loved to go clubbing, she would’ve called it a night after dinner. As it was, they only had a short time before she and Ryan had to return to the mansion to make curfew. She shook her head and laughed to herself. Her entire life, she’d never had a curfew. Tonight, she was glad Alexander had made it a condition of the Will.

She closed her eyes, still seeing the red laser lights flashing behind her lids. The voices of flirtatious young women and eager young men and the scents of cologne and sweat disappeared, leaving only her and the music. It was the same as when she danced on stage. A contentment which bordered on bliss filled her, erasing all her worries and doubts.

Pressure against her hipbones alerted her to a change. The beat had slowed to a four-four tempo as the male singer lamented over lost love. Since when did they play slow songs at a club? Add it to one of the many differences between New York and Michigan. The cloying scent of musk assaulted her.

Dillon.

She reluctantly opened her eyes and stumbled, her equilibrium thrown off by the lights. Dillon’s arm banded around her waist to steady her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, uncomfortable by his audacity to use the opportunity to pull her closer. How long did she have to dance with him before she excused herself? The whole song?

“I’m glad I got the chance to meet you. I’d like to see you again. You know, without your other date.” He smiled, his eyes dipping to her lips.

How could she explain and let him down easy? “Ryan’s not my—”

“Can I cut in?” Ryan asked, suddenly appearing next to them. His tone sounded casual, but the darkness in his eyes suggested anything but.

Dillon released his grip and gave a little laugh. “You were saying?” He nodded at Ryan as if to say ‘it’s not over,’ and swaggered over to the bar.

At that moment, Portia wanted to stomp off the dance floor and take a cab home. She was tired of the tug-o-war. “What the hell, Ryan?”

He didn’t give her a chance to get away before he splayed his hand on the small of her back and yanked her tight to him, her breasts smashing against the planes of his chest, his knee between her thighs, hitting that spot which most men couldn’t find with a flashlight and a roadmap.

“What the hell? What do you think you’re doing with that loser?” he hissed, his other hand moving to support the nape of her neck. “Do I need to remind you where you’ll be sleeping tonight?”

“You don’t need to remind me of anything. I’m not going to sleep with Dillon. I hardly know him!” That look in his eyes, the one which proclaimed her as his possession, set her heart racing. She should demand he unhand her. She should tell him off. Instead, her hips were automatically grinding against his thigh.
What was she doing?

“I know you’re not going to sleep with Dillon. Because you’re already sleeping with me. And there’s no room for anyone else in our bed.” His hand swept from her nape down the side of her neck. His finger brushed across her collarbone, making her acutely aware of him in a way she had never experienced. She clenched her hand into a fist to keep from exploring the erection pressed against her thigh.

“I . . .” Climax just out of reach, she couldn’t speak. Desperate, she pressed her swollen clit into the hard muscles of his leg.

“That’s it. Let me take you there,” he coaxed, his voice like a gentle breeze in the blistering desert.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she once again drowned out the crowd. Only this time, she brought Ryan along on her journey. He consumed her senses. His fresh scent, his ragged breathing, his newly calloused fingers dipping between her breasts then sliding over the fabric of her blouse. He gently pinched her nipple and she flew, her orgasm crashing into her. Waves of pleasurable contractions shot outward from her core, and her body shook from the intensity.

“You’re gorgeous when you come,” he mumbled against her neck, nibbling on her skin. “Why do you have to be so fucking beautiful? I can’t resist you.”

Reality slammed back in as the music’s tempo changed to an electronic dance beat. She forced her eyes open, relieved the club-goers seemed oblivious to her powerful orgasm in the middle of the dance floor. As difficult as it was, she pushed Ryan away. “Slow song’s over.”

He shook his head and stalked closer, lowering his head to speak in her ear. Even so, she could barely hear him above the music. “It doesn’t have to be. We can dance slowly all night long.”

God, if he could play her body this well with their clothes on, what would it be like naked in that gigantic bed with hours of privacy? They’d burn the mansion down and go up in flames, oblivious to the destruction.

“I want to,” she admitted, stopping him with her hand when he victoriously leaned in to take command of her lips. “But nothing’s changed. I won’t sell the house. Unless . . .”

He stared at her mouth. “Unless?”

“Unless you tell me why the money is so important to you.”

He flinched as if she had slapped him and his entire demeanor changed, his body growing tense, his jaw rigid with defensiveness. “Money is important to most people.”

“Not to me.”

“That’s not true. Without it, you can’t buy the house you so desperately want. The house you want more . . .” He took a step back and shook his head. “You’re right. You and me? We’re a bad idea. I’m going to take a cab home and have a cold shower. Have fun with Dillon. Just make sure you’re home before curfew.” With his fists clenched at his sides, he left her on the dance floor and headed for the exit.

In her experience, people only became defensive when they had reason to defend themselves. A nagging suspicion soured in her gut, its presence too strong to ignore. Had he intended to seduce her in the hopes it would convince her to sell the house? Although the room was warm and humid, she shivered, her blood chilled at the thought she’d considered making love with him tonight.

But, even worse, she realized that even knowing he might be using her, she wasn’t sure she’d have the power to refuse him if he touched her again.