Tempting The Billionaire. Niobia Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ concrete in the center of the dark and modern bathroom.

      He quickly swiped on his deodorant and lightly sprayed on cologne from one of the ten bottles sitting on a long ebony wood tray in the space between the large tray sinks atop the concrete vanity.

      Naked, he strode across the heated marble floors and through the opening in the tinted-glass wall to his loft-style bedroom suite. His motorized open-front closets lined the entire wall behind his king-size Monarch Vi-Spring bed, but the suit he’d already selected was laid across one of the custom chaise longues at the foot of it. His long and thick member swayed across his thighs as he moved to pull on his snug boxers, having to adjust it to comfort before he finished dressing in silk socks, his off-white wool-silk suit and a matching open-neck shirt. The fit against his athletic frame spoke to its custom tailoring and his desire for both quality and style.

      Not wanting to run late, he hurriedly selected one of a dozen watches to buckle around his wrist while slipping on shoes that were almost as comfortable as his bed.

      Life was good when it came to the creature comforts. The days of squeaky rubber-sole shoes from the dollar store were over.

      I hated to walk in ’em, he remembered. Felt like everyone heard me coming.

      He rushed through his opulent two-story villa-style mansion, which sat on two gated acres in Alpine, New Jersey, styled in muted tasteful decor with vibrant pops of color that were a testament to his dynamic Latino culture. Chance lived alone in the six-bedroom luxury home, and he usually kept music or his 4K televisions on to break the silence. Hip-hop from the 1990s played from the sound system, and he rapped along to Big Daddy Kane’s “Ain’t No Half-Steppin’” as he grabbed his keys from beside the glass-blown structures of nude women atop the table in the center of the foyer.

      Soon he was out the double front doors and behind the wheel of his black-on-black Ferrari 488 Pista, taking I-280 to Passion Grove. He drove the supercar with ease with one hand, effortlessly switching lanes on the interstate as he lightly tapped his fist against his knee to the music playing. The commute was hassle-free because it was Sunday morning, and he was grateful as he finally guided the vehicle down the exit ramp and made his way through the small town. He didn’t think he could find an upscale town more laid-back than Alpine, but Passion Grove proved him wrong.

      A city without traffic lights in 2018?

      Chance felt bored already. He still found it hard to believe that his fun-loving best friend, Alek—who was born into a billionaire dynasty—chose the small town to live in after jet-setting all over the world.

       Real love will make you do unexpected things.

      His and Helena’s plans had been to travel the world and explore new adventures after they were wed.

       And look how that turned out.

      His hand gripped the steering wheel, lightening the color of his skin across his knuckles. He was glad to finally make it to Alek and Alessandra’s, accelerating up the private mile-long paved street leading to the expansive twenty-five-acre estate until he reached the twelve-foot-tall wrought iron gate with the letter D in bronzed scroll in the center.

      Alessandra had inherited the estate upon the death of her father, Frances Dalmount, who co-owned the billionaire conglomerate the Ansah Dalmount Group, along with Alek’s father, the late Kwame Ansah. When Alessandra and Alek wed last year, they’d decided to make the Passion Grove estate their main home, while maintaining both his Manhattan and London penthouse apartments, and the vacation estate they built together on their private island in upstate New York.

      After getting checked in by security via video surveillance, Chance drove through the open gates and soon was pulling up to the massive stone French Tudor. He hopped out and pressed a tip into the hand of one of the valets his friends were using for the day to park the vehicles.

      He jogged up the stairs and accepted a flute of champagne from the tray being held by a servant. “Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head as he entered the foyer through the open double doors.

      “Thanks so much.”

      Chance paused and turned at the soft voice. He froze with his drink still raised to his mouth as he eyed the woman over the rim of the crystal flute. His heart began to pound, and his breath caught in his throat. Well, damn...

      She was beautiful. Tall and shapely with skin as dark and smooth as melted chocolate. Long and loose waves of her beyond-shoulder-length ebony hair framed her oval face with high cheekbones, bright and clear brown doe-like eyes, and a nose bringing forth a regal beauty similar to the women of Somalia. The long-sleeved white lace dress she wore clung to her frame with a V-neck highlighting her small but plump breasts, and a wide skirt above long shapely legs. Her gold accessories gave her skin further sheen.

      As she walked past the valet with a soft reserved smile, the wind shifted, causing her hair to drift back from her face as she moved with confident long strides that flexed the toned muscles of her legs and caused the skirt of her dress to flounce around her thighs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and had no desire to do so. She was a treat, and the very sight of her as she easily jogged up the stairs made him hunger for her.

      He smiled like a wolf behind his flute as his eyes dipped to take her in from head to delicious feet displayed in open-toe sandals with tassels that were sexy.

       Who is she?

      He felt excited with each step that brought her closer to him. When she paused to take her own flute of champagne, his hawk-like eyes locked on how the flesh of her mouth pressed against the crystal, leaving a light stain of her lip gloss on the glass.

       Who is she? And does she want to leave with me later?

      The prospect of that made his return to the States completely worth it.

      “There you are, Chance.”

      With regret, he turned from his temptress. “Here I am,” he agreed, genuinely smiling at Alessandra Dalmount-Ansah as she walked up to him, looking beautiful in a white light georgette dress with perfect tailoring.

      She grabbed his upper arms lightly as she rose up on the tips of her shoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Welcome home, Chance,” she said with warmth, looking up at him with sympathetic eyes as she raised a hand to lightly tap his chin. “You good?”

      He nodded, hating the unease he felt. How much more of this pity will there be today? he wondered, purposefully turning from her to eye the beauty in peach as she stepped inside the foyer.

      Her eyes landed on his, and he gave that lingering stare and slow once-over that was nothing but pure appreciation and a desire to know more. Her brows arched a bit and her mouth gaped as she gave him the hint of a smile that was just enough to give him hope.

      “Hey, Ngozi,” Alessandra said, moving past Chance to kiss her cheek in welcome.

      So, this is Ngozi? Alessandra’s best friend and attorney. Brains and beauty. Just as Alessandra had said to him so many times.

      Her eyes left him, and Chance felt the loss, finally taking a sip of the champagne he instantly recognized as Armand de Brignac.

      “That’s right, you two have never met,” Alessandra said, reaching for one of Ngozi’s hands and then one of Chance’s. “Chance Castillo, godfather, СКАЧАТЬ