The Billionaire's Touch (The Sinclairs #3)
by J.S. Scott
After a troubling childhood, wealthy Evan Sinclair likes his life orderly and controlled. He rarely gives in to spontaneous urges—until he begins a chance correspondence with a mystery woman who sounds like his complete opposite. She intrigues and amuses him, and the interest seems mutual…which is more than he can say for his current obsession, Miranda Tyler, the tough-as-nails, sexy schoolteacher who’s made it clear she’s not impressed—or interested.
Miranda finally has it all: a good job, friends, and the security of living in the quaint coastal town of Amesport, Maine. She even has an anonymous pen pal—a man she’s never met yet has bonded with almost effortlessly. The only thing unsettling her life is Evan Sinclair. The handsome billionaire is arrogant, pompous, and far too used to getting his way. Miranda tries her best to avoid him, until Evan’s steamy kiss turns her world upside down.
Soon their red-hot desire is scorching the sheets and has them both spinning out of control. But when secrets are revealed, will their insatiable attraction keep them together or force them apart? In J.S. Scott’s The Billionaire’s Touch, the eldest Sinclair just might have met his match.
Evan blocked her escape route with his body. His touch was gentle as he slipped his fingers into her hair and tipped her head up to look at him. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Miranda. At Emily’s wedding, I really didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.”
Randi looked up at him and shivered as she fell into his dark, liquid blue eyes. He was looking at her like a predator that hadn’t had food in weeks, his gaze devouring every inch of her face. His intensity at the moment made her edgy, and his unexpected apology threw her off balance. This wasn’t the Evan she was used to, the Evan who either ignored her or threw out condescending comments.
His body pressed closer, his free hand resting against the door beside her face.
“I forgive you,” she said in a rushed voice. “Just don’t kiss me again.”
If he lays those lips on me, I know I’m toast.
His unique, masculine scent surrounded her, sinking into every pore of her skin, intoxicating her. If he tasted her, she’d never be able to resist him.
“Why?” he asked huskily. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this, Miranda.”
His tone was entreating, almost pleading with her to acknowledge the smoldering heat between them. Her heart skittered as he pressed his lips to her temple, leaving a hot trail of breath along the side of her face.
“I can’t,” she said painfully, knowing she wanted him to kiss her worse than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life. “And nobody calls me Miranda.”
“You can,” he cajoled. “And I prefer Miranda. It’s a beautiful name.”
“I hate it.” Randi’s chest was heaving as Evan’s lips trailed lightly to her ear, his heated breath on her sensitive skin making it difficult for her to draw a breath. “Only my real mother used that name.”
“Maybe you could learn to like it again if there was a man saying it while he was taking you and making you fell better than you ever have before,” Evan suggested hoarsely in her ear.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Randi was afraid she’d probably learn to love her full name again under those circumstances.
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