Curves Envy 2 - Curvy Girls Do It Better: BBW Billionaire Romance (3 page)

“Candy, you made it.” His bad-boy grin is devastating and I flinch when he extends his hand to help me out of the elevator. “Thank you, Ben, for accompanying Ms. Westerman to my penthouse. Have a great night.”

“The same to you, Mr. Keller. Ms. Westerman, enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Ben.”

We both pretend to be fascinated by Ben’s departure to avoid each other’s gaze.

“Thank you for coming. You’re looking stunning tonight,” he says as my eyes are still fixed on the private elevator.

“Thank you. Your compliments always make me blush,” I confess, turning to face him before bringing the back of my hand to my face to cool off my burning cheeks.

I was really hoping he’d make things easier for me by not looking so devastatingly handsome. His fitted unbuttoned dark grey Henley shirt drapes his muscular chest like a kid glove and reveals enough of his chest hair to seriously turn me on—thank God he’s not one of those men who shaves his entire body. His long-sleeved shirt falls casually over his dark-wash jeans. They remind me of those sinfully skin-tight denims he was wearing when he was standing in line behind me at Vanilla Beans. Although more casual than anything I’ve seen him wear so far, his shoes scream expensive.

He’s a very sharp dresser. The simplicity of his style speaks of elegance without trying too hard. His scruff is all too pleasing to the eye.
Damn.

I’m sure my jaw must be hanging open when he breaks the silence. “Let me take your coat.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a butler and a full staff of eight at your beck and call,” I mock as I hand him my black trenchcoat.

“I remained in the shadows until the
Forbes
spotlight. I’m a little more popular these days, but I still prefer to keep things as simple as possible. I have a cleaning lady, a chef, a personal chauffeur and two personal assistants who keep my life organized. I don’t need a butler and I have yet to use the services of a bodyguard. Have you read the
Forbes
article?” He’s back near me, overpowering me. Even with me in my four-inch Christian Louboutin heels, he’s so much taller than I am.

Worry hits me when I realize I’ve been so preoccupied with reliving every salacious moments of our Thursday night encounter, I didn’t even think of doing a Google search to find out more. “I’m really sorry, but I didn’t.”

He smiles and brushes my hair behind my shoulders. A tingle of arousal runs through me as I lose myself in his sparkling hazel eyes.
No, you don’t, Candy.

“Don’t worry if you haven’t. I was going to ask you if you had noticed there was no photo. It was a request I made before agreeing to the article. I’m a businessman, not a reality star. Although I was very flattered, I don’t need to be paraded in the pages of a publication to be validated for my hard work.”

My God, he’s so self-assured. What a far cry from other men I’ve known so far.

“You’re so certain about who you are.”

“I was blessed with incredible parents.”

So was I, but I lost mine too soon.

“I didn’t invite you here to chat about bodyguards, butlers and
Forbes
articles. Come on in. I want to give you a tour,” he declares before grabbing my hand to follow him.

“Wait, where are we going for dinner?”

“Right here.”

“Your place?”

“I hope you don’t have a problem with having dinner at my home. I thought it would be a more private setting for us to talk since I promised you a few confessions. I’m not big on making revelations in public.”

“Oh. I assumed we were going to a restaurant.”

“Candy, you can wipe the worried look from your face. I’m not the one who cooked. My top-notch chef did a superb job at coming up with a menu you’ll remember for a very long time. It’s like eating at a five-star restaurant without the prying ears,” he says, grinning.

“I’m relieved. I’m happy to know you won’t put to shame my limited cooking skills.”

“If you ask me to do more than cook eggs and toast bread, you’ve lost me. Come on. I want to show you the view before we tour the rest of my place,” he says, lifting my hand and bringing it to his lips.

Surely the heat burning my face comes from the fact his penthouse is set at an extremely high temperature.
You can’t give in, Candy.

As we walk towards the massive floor-to-ceiling window, I catch a few glimpses of the rest of Max’s penthouse apartment. Nothing surprises me given his level of success—sleek white kitchen with kickass appliances, modern and elegant furniture, warm dark wood floors and a media center that puts to shame anything I’ve seen in
Elle Décor
.

The man is loaded. His place makes mine look like a kid’s treehouse.

“Your home is spectacular.”

“Thank you. It’s my oasis away from the frantic hustle and bustle of owning so many companies. I chose every aspect of this home and I went out and found the talent to execute my vision. I’m glad you like it.”

Are you kidding me? Your home is a dream. I never imagined I’d be standing in such an outstanding apartment.

“Have you ever seen anything more amazing?” Max and I are standing side by side in front of his window overlooking Central Park.
Wow. I really wouldn’t be able to believe some people were privileged enough to live like this had I not witnessed it with my own two eyes.

As beautiful as this view may be, and it’s majestic, there are only a handful of extremely rich people in Manhattan who can afford this view. I don’t know what a million, let alone a billion dollars would represent, but suddenly I’m quite intimidated by his colossal wealth.

“You get to see this every day?” I ask shyly.

“Pretty much. I know you thought I was mocking you at your office yesterday, but I truly never get tired of seeing New York at my feet.”

“Neither do I.”

“We have something else in common.”

“Oh, really? What else do we have in common?” From our first few encounters, I can’t imagine he can find many similarities between us.

“I love beautiful women with sexy curves and you happen to have been blessed by the gods in that department,” he says, dropping one arm against the window before leaning in and brushing my lips tenderly.

“Oh,” I exhale in his mouth before returning his kiss.

Okay, Candy, resisting a guy means saying no to him kissing you.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, shutting down the pesky little voice inside my head screaming at me to stop. After a few minutes of passionate embrace he pulls away from me and I already miss his lips against mine.

“Come on, let me show you the rest of my place,” he says, pulling away from me.

Max gives me a royal tour of his penthouse. It’s obvious a connoisseur has selected every single piece of furniture. His place leaves me jaw-dropped, but nothing astounds me as much the art adorning his walls and the bronze statues lining the coffee tables. The massive canvases are painted with the same flair you’ll usually find hanging in hip art galleries like Agora Gallery on 25
^th
Street. I’ve been once or twice with Lia when we played tourists for the day and it’s always been a dream of mine to own a signed piece. So far, I’ve had to content myself with fake reproductions I’ve found here and there.

“Max, your home is truly an oasis. The art is…” I really am unable to find the words to describe what I see. It’s so new to me. None of my friends have enough money to afford even the smallest pieces in his home—even if we combined our savings, I still doubt we could afford the tax on some of these masterpieces.

“You like the décor?”

“I love it. It’s so refined.”

“My mom instilled a love of art in us.”

“Us?” I ask, surprised. “You have siblings?”

“Yes, I have two brothers—Gabriel, the eldest and Lucas, the baby. I’m the middle child.”

“If you’re the middle child, your older brother must be a trillionaire, since they say the eldest of the family is usually the most ambitious.”

“Actually, it’s usually the eldest and the youngest since the baby likes to find a way of standing out.”

“You redefine the rules.”

“I always have, Candy.” His eyebrow arches. It’s clear we’re no longer talking about family dynamics.

“Your parents must be proud of your extraordinary success.” Since I’m determine to hold it together regardless of the fact he’s oozing gorgeousness, I gently veer the conversation to a less suggestive topic.

“My mom does love to brag about her three sons.”
He’s being modest.
“I’m sure your parents must also be extremely proud of your accomplishments. You’re a trailblazer in many ways.”

A pang of sorrow hits me. I share a lot on my personal blog and with the readers of
Sassy
magazine, but only a handful of people on this planet know I’m an orphan.

“I’m sure,” I whisper. I lower my eyes before he has time to read the sadness in my gaze. Thinking of my parents always brings back such painful memories.

“These stairs over here lead to the second floor. The view from upstairs is even more breathtaking than what you’ve seen so far.”

“I can’t imagine how anything can be more amazing than what you’ve shown me so far, but I’m willing to take your word for it.”

“Let’s go find out.”

Before I even have time to respond, he’s dragging me up a set of beautiful rustic-looking wood stairs.

“Wow, I’ve never seen anything like this before. What kind of wood is it?”

“It’s reclaimed barn wood. It’s old and it’s full of character. I wanted to add more depth to this very modern space. I had to have this shipped from Canada, but it was worth every penny.” 

“Yes, it was,” I say, unable to peel my eyes from the stairs. I’m so dazzled by the wood, I’m oblivious to the view in front of me. When I lift my eyes, I gasp in amazement. Even with night falling, the view is arresting. “This must be out of this world during the day. I mean, the sun must shine through this massive window and you’re able to enjoy something few mortals will ever see.”

“I’ll often have my coffee up here. I’ll sit on this couch over there and I’ll admire the sun setting over Manhattan. It’s truly like having a front-row seat to paradise.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to invite you back for coffee one morning. Unless you’d like to stay tonight and catch the view in the morning.” The burning lust in his eyes makes me nervous and excited at the same time.

His open invitation shocks me so much I take a step back. His boldness and forwardness silence me. I thought maybe Thursday’s encounter was simply a way for me to help him move forward with his business goals, but I’m not so sure anymore.

“Max…” My voice sticks to my throat as I lower my eyes, blushing.

“Those rosy cheeks make me wonder if you’re more surprised by my honesty or by the fact you might be open to the invitation.”

I open my mouth, but before I can think of a retort, he brushes a loose strand of hair from my cheek and drops a finger to my lips.

He has a way of disarming me.

“You’re right,” he interrupts. “I should behave. At the very least I should explain a few things before inviting you to stay the night. Of course, I have two extra bedrooms other than my own, you’re welcome to use either of them,” he says, fighting a smile.

“Good to know. It’s unfortunate, I didn’t pack an overnight bag.”

“Honey, what I have in mind doesn’t require an overnight bag.”

Holy. Shit.

My heart is beating so fast I fear he can see the palpitations against my chest.

“I hope you’re hungry.” I’m so grateful he changes the subject because I truly can’t handle the raging passion filling me. I’m not used to men devouring me with their eyes the way Max does, nor am I used to men hitting on me like this.

“Yes, I am.” I focus my gaze on the nocturnal view of the city to avoid the temptation I read in his eyes.

Since we had such a hearty breakfast, I skipped lunch. At least, I prefer this version of the facts rather than admitting to myself I was so nervously anticipating this evening I wasn’t able to eat a bite all day.

“Good, let’s go see what’s for dinner.”

Max grabs my hand to lead me down the stairs and I can’t help look up contemplatively at the rooms on the second floor.
Which one is his bedroom?

“Since there’s still so much for me to discover about you, I asked the chef to prepare a classic American dinner. I’m not sure how adventurous you are when it comes to trying out new dishes, so I kept it simple.”

“Oh. You didn’t have to fuss over me so much, but you have me intrigued. What’s on the menu?” I’m genuinely excited. George would have reprimanded me for even glancing twice at a dessert table.

“The chef left forty-five minutes before you got here, so it’s ready and warm. I believe he mentioned we would be feasting on fresh brisket of beef
au jus
served with baby roasted potatoes drizzled with garlic butter, and he’s also prepared a colorful assortment of heirloom carrots.”

Hmmm
. The last time those fancy carrots were on the menu was when I took ill-fated advice from Dr. Oz and ended up bumping into Vince—the mechanic-slash-wannabe-pilot. I hope this isn’t a sign for me to run before a jealous wife gets off Max’s private elevator and attacks me.

“You’re right, this menu is worthy of a five-star mention.”
Everything on the menu sounds exquisite. I can’t believe he would have gone to all this trouble on my account.

“I have chilled champagne in the wine fridge, should I serve you a glass?”

“Absolutely.”

“I hope you like warm spinach dip.” Max grabs a bottle of bubbly from his wine fridge and pops the cork with an expert hand before filling the flutes and handing me a glass.

“Thank you. It’s one of my all-time favorite appetizers.”

“We share something else in common.” He winks. “I thought I had tasted a few great recipes, but my personal chef has taken a simple appetizer to celestial levels. Marcello is a real magician in the kitchen. I’m warning you, one bite and you’ll be hooked. Every time he makes this for me when I have friends over, I can never convince my guests to go home. They want to camp at my door until Marcello returns the next day so they can beg him to prepare a new batch.”