*SAMPLE* The Billionaire's Virgin *SAMPLE*

The Billionaire's Virgin (SAMPLE)

Note to Reader: This is a sample! I'm trying Kindle Unlimited for this one so I can't post it here- but that means it's free to read for those who already have KU and it's on sale at Amazon for $0.99, so it won't break the bank at least :).

Enjoy!

http://a.co/czysBhp

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This set up isn't helping.

Shaking my head at myself, I murmur a polite thank you as Mr. Blackwell scoots my chair in for me.

The food is delicious, as usual.

And the conversation is surprisingly easy.

I know his opinion on a lot of things just as he knows mine. When you spend sixty plus hours a week with someone for so long, personal knowledge is sure to seep in.

The food is delicious, as usual.

We spend a few minutes just eating. He tops off my wine glass.

I should probably stop. I'm a cheap drunk.

But this wine is delicious.

"Can I ask you something?"

I swallow my bite, rubbing my hands on my thighs under the table.

"Yes?"

He smiles.

"Don't worry, it shouldn't be too painful. I was just wondering what actually made you decide to leave. Maybe it's something I can fix. For future assistants."

I take a gulp of wine and look away from those eyes that feel like they see too much.

Maybe it's the setting. Or maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's the fact that I'm officially done working for him.

"You're too distracting." I resist the urge to slap my hand over my mouth.

It's out there now.

I almost made it too.

He frowns.

"Too distracting? How?" he asks, looking genuinely confused.

That just makes me roll my eyes and let loose even more.

"You know how. You're very attractive. And yes, I'm superficial enough to notice and be distracted by it."

Alright, I immediately regret this decision.

I take another gulp of wine.

"Hmm."

I look up cautiously from my plate.

He doesn't look angry. In fact, he's smiling a little.

"You think I'm attractive?" he asks silkily.

I snort.

And then put down my wine glass right away.

No more woman.

"Sorry. I've obviously had too much," I mutter, leaning back in my chair.

Just enough to let my mouth run off without me apparently.

I look up as I hear his chair move back from the table.

"No need to apologize. I'm actually glad you don't work for me anymore."

I clear my throat.

"That's fair I guess. I'm just going to go now." I stand up quickly, feeling a flush of embarrassment color my cheeks.

But before I can take more than a step toward the the door, he stops me with a hand on my arm.

I freeze.

"I think you misunderstood me," he says quietly. He's close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body. "I meant I was glad you don't work for me anymore because now I can tell you that I find you attractive. Very attractive."

I swallow, feeling a little light headed.

Did Christopher Blackwell just say he finds me attractive?

How much wine did I have exactly?

I take a step away so I can look at his face. His eyes meet mine directly.

"Are you..." I clear my throat, not knowing how to word this. "Are you hitting on me?"

There. I said it.

And it sounded just as crazy out loud as it did in my head.

His smile widens at the question.

"Yes, I am hitting on you. Or, at least attempting to," he adds wryly.

"Oh no. Is this a date?" I gasp out before I realize how that might sound.

He winces a little.

"Ouch. Please be careful of my ego. It's kind of fragile."

I cover my face with my hands and shake my head.

"That's not what I meant," I say through my fingers. "It's just if I knew it was a date..."

"You might not have come?"

Is he closer?

"If you'd like to leave, feel free to. It might hurt my feelings, but I'm a big boy. I can take it."

I laugh despite myself.

"Come on. I have it on very good authority that you find me very attractive," he teases. "And this won't be a human resources nightmare anymore."

I sigh and lower my hands to meet his eyes again.

"Yes, I think you're very attractive."

"Thank you. But...?"

"But I don't think I'm your type. Shouldn't I have an extra six inches on me with those taut, pilates muscles?"

His mouth twitches.

"Taut pilates muscles?" he repeats.

I wave my hands through the air, irritated.

"You know what I mean."

He sobers a little.

"I don't really have a height bias. And I like your curves." His eyes skim down my body, lighting all kinds of fires before they come back up to meet mine again. "I really like your curves."

I swallow.

I feel like I might have gone off the deep end and am currently hallucinating.

Though I would hope I wouldn't sound like such an idiot in my own fantasy.

"We can go slow," he says, his arms slowly coming up,giving me time to move back.

I don't.

I let him wrap his hands around my hips.

"Though it might kill me," he admits. "It's been difficult keeping you in the hands off category. Especially in those buttoned up cardigans and those glasses."

I just stare at him.

"You're turned on by my cardigans. And my glasses," I repeat dumbly.

He grins, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"What can I say? Makes me want to muss you up a little. See you relaxed. Help you get there." His eyes darken a little.

There's no mistaking that he's telling the truth.

His thumb gently rubs against the sliver of skin exposed at my midsection from where my shirt has ridden up. Just that small touch sends a shiver of desire through me.