How (Not) To Be Seduced By Billionaires (Books 1-3)(2)

By: Marian Tee

People from the opposite row were staring at me oddly. I could feel their gazes on me, and most of them weren’t friendly either. My heart sank even as I tossed a grateful glance at the unoccupied seat at the head of the table. Obviously, whoever it was Kastein Inc. had assigned to interview us was also late – but what if the other applicants were planning to tell on me once the interviewer arrived?

Sensing the man next to me turning to my direction and not getting any unfriendly and competitive vibes from him, I silently breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of having at least one person in the room not antagonistic toward me.

Friendly smile in place, I said, “Hel—oly shit.”

Bottle Blonde gasped.

I cringed at the sound. That was what I should have done. Gasped. But then – who could blame me, really? Anyone would have been completely shocked at seeing someone so incredibly beautiful in person. Men were not supposed to be beautiful, dammit. But this one was.

His sun-kissed hair seemed to have all the shades between dark gold to copper – his natural hair color, in other words. It was impossible for any artificial hair dye to create his kind of hair, which was also naturally curly. Those adorable curls would have made him look gay if not for his strong jaw. His eyes were the lightest shade of gray, almost silver – and they were laughing at me, with his sexy-looking lips curved in a slight, amused grin.

My heart sank the second time in minutes at the sight of it. Great. Way to make an impression on a potential rival in the workforce: let him know he’s turned your head around completely.

Desperate to make him forget my embarrassing gaffe, I asked quickly, “Are you applying for the marketing research position, too?”

He raised a brow, making me wonder what I had said wrong. His sexy secretive grin still playing on his lips, he said simply, “No.”

We stared at each other after that. I didn’t want to – I swear I didn’t – but somehow his gaze was commanding and magnetic, and I felt like I wouldn’t be able to pull my gaze away unless he let me. And really, I knew how ridiculous that sounded – especially where I was concerned.

My parents had even nicknamed me “Little Miss Granite” because I was stubborn as a rock. Even as a kid, I had a tendency to be headstrong when there was something I wanted.

I had never been a pushover, and yet here I was - a slave to a stranger’s gaze. I was scared that if this man told me to bend over, I’d ask if he wanted me to take off my undies first or let him do the honors.

It was a freak-out-worthy thought, considering that I had never thought of sex in such graphic terms. In fact, the only sex scene I had ever watched in my life was the one in Breaking Dawn and the only hardcore part in it was when Edward broke his bed’s headboard into pieces. And all the time, I had kept thinking, if his hands could do that, what about his…well…you know? Was that even a good thing?

“You’re late, you know.” The European accent of his voice made my toes curl. Even so, one part of me was dismayed at his words – did he really have to say that out loud? But the other part of me was just plain relieved he spoke. It somehow gave me the strength to look away, and I did so quickly, training my eyes on his necktie, which was a lovely silky shade of red. Again, it was the kind that should have made him look extremely gay. But no, it did not. It just made him more mouthwateringly sexy.

Still not looking at him, I mumbled, “I miscalculated the traffic on the way here.”

“Ah,” he said.

I mentally groaned at the sound. It was very, very sexy, too. Everything about this man was just plain sexy, and it was extremely terrifying. You see, I was what you’d call a sexual prude. My parents had the most amazing love story ever, and because of it they sort of drummed into me since I was old enough to enjoy bedtime stories that I was destined for an amazingly romantic adventure of my own. Of course, by the time I got to high school, those bedtime stories had turned into the most horrible of warnings.

Walter and Carole would constantly warn me of how a man’s, umm, member could end up literally tearing your hymen apart and send you to E.R. if you weren’t made ‘ready’ by true love. Since Walter was a top-rated surgeon and Carole his nurse for twenty years, you could just imagine how believable their horror stories had sounded during my younger years. Of course, I knew better now, but old fears were pretty hard to kill, especially if you’d been listening to them since you had your first period.

Feeling like I had to say something or Mr. Too-Sexy-To-Be-True would know how much he was affecting me, I added lamely, “I didn’t mean to be late.”

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