I’d known plenty of geniuses. Stanford was stocked full, so I had experienced every make and model. And, for the most part, there were known types. The ones who genetics had blessed with intelligence but no social skills. Then there were the pompous, insecure men who feigned confidence by vomiting knowledge tidbits at every opportunity. Then the kind who made me the most nervous: the quiet types who watched you while notating every nuance of your character for analysis at a later moment. The type I shared a car with at that moment in time.

He took his eyes off the view and turned to me. Studied me with open intensity, his eyes scraping open every damaged pore on my psyche.

“Stop.” The words came out before I could stop them.

His mouth twitched. “Why?”

“Don’t think. Your brain could probably use a rest.” I smiled.

“Worried about what I will come up with?”

“No.” Yes.

“Why’d you leave with me?” Open curiosity in his eyes. Like any woman needed to explain running off with a billionaire.

“I figured you should have one night you didn’t have to pay for.”

His eyes smiled. “I like paying.”

“Why?” Now I was the curious one. About every piece of this man. He was fascinating, the most interesting piece being his utter lack of concern about my opinion of his actions.

“It’s less messy. I can dictate the night. No emotions involved.”

“Emotions can make it hotter.”

“And more painful.”

“You been hurt?”

“Not yet.” He stared at me so steadily, an odd emphasis placed on the words, as if he was giving his heart to me with both hands, certain that it would lead to his demise.

I suddenly didn’t want it. Didn’t want the weight and pressure of expectation. Didn’t want to do anything but bring the light back into this man’s eyes.

The car slowed, and I saw the gates before us, moving slowly as we waited for entrance. I reached over, unclicked his belt, his eyes following my hand, his brows raising slightly.

“We’re here.”

Mark dropped us before the front doors, my hand pushing on the knob, my hand stealing behind and pulling Brant into the dark house, his quiet steps following me straight through to the back. There, the silent slide of glass against rubber opened the back wall of my bedroom, the ocean stretching before us. It was an act I’d done before, the view impressive, the ocean air clearing the room of stiffness, the view suddenly embarrassing in front of a man who probably owned islands. I turned away from him, hid the sudden blush of my cheeks, and held up my hair. “Unzip me.”

There was a moment of pause, a moment where I tilted my head, waited for the pressure on my zipper. Then it came, the slow drag, the fingers of his other hand following, four points dragging down my bare back as he took it the entire way, past the curve of my back, until he stopped, half of my backside bared, his breath changing in tempo, a few stuttering inhalations bringing a smile to my face. So, he is human. His hands slid up, hot points of contact, and skimmed the tops of my shoulders, shedding me of the dress as the material fell down my arms and off my body. I turned, naked, save my underwear, and cast a mischievous smile toward his clothes.

“Strip ‘em.”

“You do it.” A challenge and order in the tone.

I shook my head. “I’ve got to break you of the habit of ordering women around.”

He scowled, pulled at his bowtie, yanking it loose and working the buttons on the front of his shirt. “When’s the last time you did what you were told?”

I shrugged. “Hard to think back that far.” Then, as much as I wanted to stand there and watch him strip, I turned and stepped out of my dress, heard the thud of his dress shoe as it loosely hit the floor. I stepped toward the bed, reaching forward to pull at the duvet, and jumped a bit when I felt the heat of his hand turn me back into the hard surface of his chest. A full body press of skin against skin, hard planes meeting soft curves. Nothing between him and my…

“No underwear?” I murmured, our faces inches away, his lit by the glow of night.

“Seemed like a waste of time.” He didn’t kiss me, even though I lifted my chin, invited the touch. His hand stole under the line of my panties and cupped my ass.

“So what does that make mine?”

“A pretty distraction.” He slid his hand higher and wrapped tighter around my waist, and I think I saw a peek of a smile before he pitched us both onto the bed.

A roll of naked skin, legs tangled. The crawl of me along him, our mouths met, first kiss formed. His mouth was hesitant, his hands confident, and I had the moment of wonder if he kissed the escorts before he f**ked them. Then, the kiss deepened, our connection solidified, and I put the thought of prostitutes out of my head.

When he pulled back, sat away from me, his hand dragging over the curves of my skin, there was a pause. A pause filled with the soft sound of breath, a pause filled with a moment of decision when he looked into my eyes and his gaze held a question.

I didn’t answer with my mouth. I rolled over ‘til my legs left the bed and feet hit carpet. I stepped over to my dresser, opened a drawer and fished through panties and thongs until my hand hit foil. I pulled out a condom and walked back, my eyes taking an appreciative tour of his body as he lay on his back, exposed. His eyes smiled at me, his mouth only curving enough to highlight what might be a dimple, no move made to cover the impressive organ that lay against his thigh.