Shopping for an Heir (Book 10 in the Shopping series)
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance
Gerald Wright works for billionaires. He never imagined he’d become one.
The former Navy Seal is a chauffeur by day, artist by night, so when hotter-than-ever ex-fiancée Suzanne Dayton interrupts his nude model sculpting class to serve him with inheritance paperwork from a man he’s never heard of, he assumes it’s a joke.
Turns out the joke’s on him. There’s just one catch. A big one.
And it might be Suzanne — in more ways than he ever dreamed.
Shopping for an Heir is the 10th book in the New York Times bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series by Julia Kent.
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Gerald awoke with a start, gasping into the strange box of reality, the room dark with shadows and filled with the scent of deeply anticipated horror.
“Oh, God,” he grunted, breathing erratic, heart in flames in the center of his chest.
That f*cking dream.
He hadn’t had that dream about Suzanne in eight years.
A flash of movement under a streetlight in the distance, at the nearest light, caught Gerald’s eye.
Sprinting, he left Declan befuddled, calling out his name, until the light changed and he watched as Suzanne marched forward with that confident walk of hers, shoulders squared as if she were still in morning formation and wore a uniform, wiping her mouth with a tissue and muttering to herself. He knew how the curve of her spine felt under his palms when she stood like that, the supple feel of the paradox between soft skin and hard bone a delightful feast for his fingers.
“Wait!” he called out, unsure and unbidden, moving on pure instinct. He needed to touch her. Would die without making that single, simple connection. Not just in an intimate sense. The need was more than that.
Suzanne got to the curb and stopped. She did not turn around, her body poised, waiting.
Panting with the burst of exertion, his brain firing on all cylinders, he caught up to her and slowed down at the last steps, moving to her, pulled by a force that drew him in. His front settled against her back, his tight cotton t-shirt brushing against the thin linen jacket she wore, the friction erotic and full, sensual.
As his palms touched her elbows, her arms at her side, he inhaled with precision, measuring her.
She did not move.
“Suzanne,” he murmured, chin close to a stray hair that curled out from her updo, resting against the fine, creamy line of her neck. With longer hair, the sharp, jutting bones of her jaw stood out, giving her the look of a Viking princess. In heels, she was exactly his height, setting him off-kilter. He wasn’t a short man. In fatigues she was always four to five inches shorter. In service dress, her shoes gave her a two-inch lift.
He liked being equal. Liked it a lot.
“Please,” she whispered, the word spiraling off into the dark night, as if the street lights beyond them were pulling her voice to them.
Taking her reaction as something other than rejection, he left his hands where they were, closing the inch gap between them. She was cool and regal, his hot, thick chest pressing into her back.
“Please what?” he asked, knowing this could go either way, but not caring, because right now—as each second ticked by—he had more internal calm than he’d had in ten years.
Even as desire burned bright inside him.
“Don’t what?” Tempted to step back, he held strong. Her please carried a weight to it, a meaning he needed to discern before acting. All impulse and no analysis would end this in a flash. Time was his friend. Patience.
He had to go against instinct.
“Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
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