The Billionaire I Slept With Became My Husband

expression into a smile that was both fr

table, her heels sinking si

was dressed in a perfectly tailored, dark grey suit. Ev

a sculpture. A high-bridged nose, thin lips. The dim lighting cast dee

d lurch. This man was even more

e was slightly scuffed, the metal plate had been knocked askew, and the "9" was unmistakably an inverted "6." This was the very table she had passed ear

out to sit in that chair. A quiet, razor-sharp satisfaction curled thro

are you... M

e. The moment his eyes met hers, a flicke

in his file. She had captivating, emerald-green eyes th

e asked one of his own, his voice a low,

a mask of polite confusion and apology. "Oh, no. I'm Chloe Hayes.

casting herself as a pawn in someone else's

andmother's file had mentioned that Miss Price's mother ha

Her voice, her eyes, even the faint scent of gardeni

be her? No. The woman he remembered had been soft, nearly two hundred pounds. This woman was lean, sculpted. It couldn't be the same person. And yet-the defiant

as his private proof, his compass in the darkness of that night. If he could just get a glimpse-bu

iginal plan had been to feign a mistake, make a brief, awkward apology, and ruin Tiffany's d

single word was a comm

ut smoothly pulled out

ind flickered to another scent, another night, a dark hotel room. She crushed the thought immediately. No. That was a different man. A faceless

sked, his tone direct as he leaned forward

er gaze to appear innocent. "My stepmother

table. It was, indeed, a "9". He said nothing, but

ouched his lips. Was this an elabor

ng his name as his eyes locked on

t off in C

hearing the name from his own l

Street. The heir to the Sinclair fortune.

epared for Tiffany. The irony was so sharp it almost drew blood. She imagined Tiffany's face if she could see this: her stepsiste

of it all made her w

rising inside her and forced a smile.

e name around in his mind

nes, the determined set of her jaw, the guarded warmth in her eyes. She looked nothing like the ghost from his memory. And yet, the

ng, to see what this w

adable, his gaze never leaving hers.