The Billionaire's Touch Is My Antidote

ed thud of the bass vibrating through the wood and into her bones. She leaned

mmered against her chest, making it hard to breathe. The air was thick

tax season preparations sharpened into a piercing throb. She had spent three straight days staring at spreadsheets, the numbers blurring into a meanin

, damp brick of the corridor wall to steady herself. She took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the wave of nausea that churned in her stomach. She j

him. Or, she thought she did. At the far end of the corridor, in a secluded VIP booth, sat a man with his back to her. The custom-tailored bl

washed over her. He wa

towards the booth. Each step was a precarious balancing act. The exhaustion, the tequil

t want to break the spell. She just

e man's waist, pressing her cheek against the hard muscle of his back. The fa

g cologne. This was something else entirely. Cold, sharp, and clean, like ceda

ds went rigid. Every mus

large, powerful hand shot out and clamped around her jaw, the grip like

warmth. They sliced through the alcoholic haze in her mind, a jolt of pure, cold shock. He stared down at her, this b

All that remained was a raw, aching need. She rose onto her tiptoes

into dangerous slits. Behind him, a mountain of a man in a dark suit-a bodyguard, she vaguely registered-took a step forward,

l wave of panic, the cold sweat, the desperate urge to claw her own skin off-the hallmarks of her crippling haphephobia-did

in her hair, gripping the back of her head to hold her in place. He took control of the kiss, his mouth hard and d

allway-the sound of a glass shatteri

. The face looming over her was not a stranger's. It was a face she'd seen on the cove

rembling hand, her mind reeling. She didn't apologize. She couldn't.

t looking back. She could feel his icy gaze on her, a physical weight agains

ng a frantic rhythm against her ribs. V8. That was the booth number Ivan h

er voice thin and shaky a

died in h

he wasn't alone. He had a woman pinned against the plush leather sof

e. Gwen's entire world fractured. It was Blair.

r nails turned white from the pressure. A tremor started in her hands an

he panted against Blair's lips. "Once I gift-wrap Gwen for tha

"You're terrible. But can she even handle a man like that? Wit

, hot and acidic. It wasn't just tequila. It was betrayal. It

slammed against the inside

al mask of shock and guilt. Ivan fumbled with his pan

had been burned away by a white-hot rage. She looked at Ivan,

om her left hand. The one Ivan had given her six months a

nd threw it. The ring arced through the air, str

ck on the wreckage of