The Rich Boy, an all-new sensational slow burn romance standalone from New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott is releasing March 9th, and we have the first sneak peek!
“All of Me” by Billie Holliday comes on and we neither stop nor speak. We just keep moving to the music. My hands creep up to the back of his neck where his skin is bare and warm to the touch. His eyes are the most amazing shade of hazel. Like some lovesick fool I could stare into them for hours. I don’t think I’ve slow danced with someone since high school. Don’t get me wrong, there have been memorable times in my adult life. I’ve been given roses and taken to dimly lit restaurants. But being here with him is quickly becoming peak romance.
Next is “Lover” by Taylor Swift and we dance on. He doesn’t try to kiss me so I don’t make a move either. There’s no need for more just yet. Doing this, being this close, is beautiful. I want about a hundred more moments like this with him. Possibly a great deal more.
When the music stops we gradually still. And there’s this moment when it’s just me and him and the city around us seems perfectly silent. How good it is to simply be in his arms and to have the full focus of his attentions. To know that maybe, just maybe, I’m safe here with him. The chambers of my heart fill up with him, one by one, and it’s both wonderful and terrifying.
“That was nice,” he says in a low voice.
“Yes, it was.”
“Yes, it was.”
He looks down, taking in the way our bodies are pressed together. “Baby Jesus would be appalled.”
“I do so hate disappointing infant gods.”
“You know, fifty years from now we’re going to look back on tonight and you’re going to regret not taking the opportunity to feel me up,” he says. “Just going for it and grabbing my junk like you own it.”
“Oh my God, Beck.” I laugh. “That was such a perfect romantic moment and you just killed it.”
“Dead and buried.”
He scratches at his head. “Well, shit. I was only being honest.”
“Of course you were.”
With a smile, he takes a step back. I miss him immediately. The heat and the feel of him. The warm and familiar scent of his body. Maybe I should have taken him home last night. Though this slower pace has a sweetness and heat I can’t help but enjoy. Despite the crazy things that come out of his mouth and the insane cravings he inspires in me just by existing. Damn the man.
“So,” he says.
I break out in gooseflesh from the way he looks at me. As if not only am I the only woman in the room (which I am), but quite possibly on the whole damn planet. As I’ve mentioned before, his attention is addictive.
“How about I get the mopping done and then take you on a second date to the diner?” he asks. “See if I can’t bring the romance back to our burgeoning long-term relationship.”
“A second date, huh?”
“It’s a big step, I know. But I think we’re ready. What do you think?”
I nod, my stomach turning upside down. “Let’s do it.”
I’m the type of girl who’s given up on fairy tales. So when Beck – the hot new busboy at work – starts flirting with me, I know better than to get my hopes up. Happily ever afters aren’t for the average. I learned that the hard way.
But how can I be expected to resist a man who can quote Austen, loves making me laugh, and seems to be everything hot and good in this world?
Only there’s so much more to him than that.
Billionaire playboy? Check.
Troubled soul? Check.
The owner of my heart, the man I’ve moved halfway across the country to be with, who’s laying the world at my feet in order to convince me to never leave? Check. Check. Check.
But nobody does complicated like the one percent.
This is not your everyday rags-to-riches, knight-in-shining armor whisking the poor girl off her feet kind of story. No, this is much messier.
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