Page 65 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“Because I wanted to,” I simply state. “Do I need more of a reason than that?”

Olivia studies me for a moment before her lips soften into a smile. “No, I suppose not.”

After we finish lunch, I take her up to the room. It’s a suite on the top floor, and if the view was good from the lobby of the hotel, this is enough to knock her off her feet.

“This doesn’t even look real,” she says as she steps out onto the balcony. Her eyes are on the horizon, but when she glances down all thirty floors, she backs up, pressing right against me. “And it’s really high,” she laughs nervously.

“Are you afraid of heights?” I ask.

“No…kind of. Yes. It’s really high…” she says again, and I turn her around to face me. Then I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer.

“Is this better?” I ask, my voice low. Our bodies fit together perfectly, it seems. Her soft curves meld into my lean muscle.The height difference is just right, too. I’m tall, over six feet. But Olivia is neither tall nor short for a girl, and with her wedge shoes, it’s just right.

“I mean, it’s not terrible,” she says, and something in me stirs. She’s a flirt, whether she means to be or not. But who are we kidding? She’s being intentional right now. Which is why I am intentional in return.

“No? How about this?” I ask, clipping her chin between my fingers and planting a kiss on her lips. Olivia doesn’t respond. Not in words, anyways. But when her body softens against mine, that’s decidedly all the answer I need.

After a long moment of slowly getting reacquainted, I pull back a little. It’s safe to say that if I didn’t have my arms around her, she’d be in a puddle on the floor of the balcony.

“Alright. I have to go to work,” I tell her. “Boring meetings and such. So you explore, enjoy the beach, and when I get back, we are going out.”

“Out?” she asks.

“Dinner,” I tell her. “And for the record, this is date six,” I say, turning to leave.

“Which part? The trip? The dinner?” she asks, her voice still breathy from our little make-out session.

“All of it,” I say with a wink.

Chapter 22

Olivia

Date six.

I don’t remember the last time I went on six dates with a man. Other than when I was with Ross, but that was different. We met on a dating app of all things; all gas and no brakes. It has a lot to do with the reason I loathe online dating. We didn’t have individual dates. We met and almost immediately spent all our time together. Unfortunately, when you let yourself get love-bombed, red flags can easily be mistaken for Cupid’s heart-tipped arrows.

All that aside, this is new for me. And that’s a bit crazy considering the fact that I am not supposed to be dating Luca Laurent. I mean, yes, we are supposed to be going on dates, but not dating. And yet, right now, that’s not really at the forefront of my mind. The only thing living rent-free in that space right now is this hotel room with its oversized bed, walk-in shower, jetted soaking tub, and pool with a swim-up bar. I change into my swimsuit, a yellow bikini I bought as soon as he told me we were going to Miami.

I don the suit with an oversized floppy hat, a see-through swim cover, and strappy sandals. I slather coconut-scented suntan lotion all over my body. I don’t even care how obvious it is that I am a tourist. I have no idea how long this luxury is going to last, and I intend to take full advantage of it. Hell, I might even write any of my expenses off on my taxes because technically, since I am doing this for podcast content, it counts as a work trip.

Luca isn’t letting me pay for a single thing, including the trail mix I bought at the airport.

I smile. Being doted on doesn’t suck. Our “relationship” is kind of a reverse Kate Hudson slash Matthew McConaghy scenario.

I’m chuckling to myself as I set my things down on top of one of the lounge chairs by the pool. After that, I shed the hat, the shades, my sandals, and the suit cover before heading over to the pool.

The water feels amazing, cool enough to be refreshing, warm enough not to chill. I thank Maybelline for waterproof mascara before dipping under the water, popping up near the swim-up bar. I’m not sure you actually have to swim up to it; most people wade. Of course, most people have done this before. I have not. I’m taking advantage of every ounce of the experience.

After ordering some fruity, tiny umbrella-garnished drink that literally tastes like candy, I charge it to the room and make my way back to my things. Just as I sit down, my phone buzzes.

“Hey Sadie,” I smile as I take a sip.

“Hey! How’s it going?” There is enthusiasm in her tone, but it feels sugar-coated. I doubt she’s loving that the research part of this has me sitting by a pool in Florida.

“I am currently lounging by a pool in a bikini with a drink in my hand,” I tell her. “I can’t really complain.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” she mutters, but I just giggle.