Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1) (14 page)

I grabbed Georgia’s wrist lightly, and her pulse thrummed and fluttered under the tips of my fingers. The feeling made my grip tighten minutely as I turned her to face me.

Her hair hung in a veil around her face, but I could actually
feel
our chemistry in the air between us.

When I pulled her body flush with mine, she tipped her chin so that she could look straight into my eyes.

Her signature blue eyes were shining with emotion, but something else wasn’t right.

She was still beautiful, but her face—something was different. Her lipstick-smeared lips looked to be twice their normal size.

“Um, Georgia—”

“Georgie,” she corrected while looking up at me sweetly. She fluttered her lashes coyly, but I barely even noticed. I couldn’t look away from her mouth.

“Right. Georgie.” I steeled myself. “Listen, I know this is a weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to have had some light work done, would you?”

“Work?” she asked, oblivious.

“Yeah, you know.
Work
.”

She shook her head and smiled a little, clearly still in the fog from our kiss. I wished I was. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

I coughed to clear my throat and wiped the building sweat from my brow. This wasn’t a good idea. Asking women questions like this was never a good idea.

Maybe I should just pretend not to notice.

“Kline?”

Shit
. Were they getting bigger?

“I don’t know,” I fumbled. “Some kind of lip filler that has a delayed reaction, maybe?”

“Wip fiwer?” She tried again, her nose scrunching with the effort. “Wip fiwer. Wipppp fiwer.”

Concern blanketed my face and hers turned distraught.

“Oh, sit. Sit sit sit.”

“Sit?”

“Not sit. Siiit.” She dropped her face into her hands. “Sit.”

“Ohhh,” I said in realization, picking her face up out of her hands to find her lips and the palms that had just touched them swelling at an alarming rate. “Shit, Georgie.”

“Exacwy.”

“What’s happening? What do I need to do?”

I moved to grab some ice out of my forgotten glass, and her eyes followed me and then widened exponentially.

“Sit, Kwine! Is where wime wuice in where?”

“Wime wuice?”

“Wime wuice!”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Shit. Shit! Yeah, there’s lime juice in there.”

“I’m awerwic. I nee benedetto. Benedwetto. Sit! Benedwiwww.”

“Benadryl!” I shouted, victorious. Like it was some kind of game. She looked disgusted.

“Right. Sorry,” I apologized, turning my attention back to surveying her and putting my focus back on her health. “Jesus, it’s bad, Georgie. Do we need to go to the emergency room?”

“No.” She shook her head, eyes determined.

Her lips looked like cartoons. I panicked at the thought of her throat closing up with the same fervor.

“Please. Let me take you to urgent care or something.”

“No, Kwine. Wet’s wust wet ouw of hewre. Benedwiwww.”

“Right. Benadryl.” I grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the elevator without looking back. No way was tonight going to go down in history as the night I fucking killed a woman with one kiss.

I shoved through the crowd that had gathered there without apology, and Georgia shielded her face from their scrutiny. The doors propped open with my foot, I ushered her in and hit the button for the lobby as fast as I could before holding the ‘close door’ button with excessive force. When they finally shut, I pulled Georgia’s gaze from the floor with a gentle finger at her chin.

“I’m so sorry, Georgie.”

“Is wit bwad?”

“It isn’t good,” I answered vaguely. “Please, let me take you to the hospital.”

“No,” she refused, taking some of the sting out of it by offering a smile. I mean, her mouth didn’t smile—it was too swollen—but there was visible happiness in her eyes. “I’m owkay. Pwomise. Wust nee Benedwiw.”

The doors opened on the ground floor, and I peeled out of there like a drag car, Georgie in tow.

“Swow down, Kwine,” she ordered, tugging on my hand and nearly tripping on her dress.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, knowing I wouldn’t be able to beat the panic back enough to slow down to her pace.

She smiled again, but it didn’t last long. It turned right into a shout when I swept her off of her feet and into my arms and took off at a jog again, dialing Frank as I did.

Two rings and he answered.

“Mr. Brooks?”

“I need you to meet us at the Rite-Aid on the corner!”

He wasn’t used to me shouting, but he sure as hell didn’t question it.

“Yes, sir.”

One look at Georgie’s face, and I started running faster.

For the first time in ten years, I didn’t have the first clue what I’d done with my phone after ending the call—and I didn’t care one bit.

“H
ere.” Kline slid back into the car and handed me a brown paper bag with what I could only assume was Benadryl.

“Tanks,” I whispered, offering a small smile.

He furrowed his brow, lips fighting a wince.

Shit. How bad is it?

Seeing as it was my first date with Kline, I knew this wasn’t an optimal situation. In a matter of a few minutes and one perfect, sexy kiss, I had gone from smiling and offering up charming, flirty responses to sounding like I was talking around a wiener in my mouth.

Lime juice had sabotaged me. It had been years since I’d come in contact with the allergy-inducing demon. And the last time, it was
way
worse. My throat had started to close up because I had ingested it, whereas this was just contact swelling.

Swallowing a few times, I confirmed my throat was breezy and clear.

But the way Kline was trying
not
to react to my appearance?

Well, that had me rummaging through my purse and getting my compact out. Flipping the clasp, I opened the mirror, coming face-to-face with something that could nauseate horror movie enthusiasts. Bright red blowfish lips consumed my face. The skin was stretched so tight I feared something might burst.

Bottom line: It was bad. Real fucking bad. Kylie Jenner’s mouth on steroids bad.

“Ah ma gaw,” I gasped, tongue still swelling by the second.

I glanced at myself in the mirror again, which was a big, fat mistake of epic proportions. The swelling seemed hell-bent on consuming my entire face.

“Tis is ba! Tis is so ba!” I grabbed the paper bag off the seat and pulled it over my head.

On a Britney Spears’ scale of embarrassment, I had proverbially flashed my beaver to millions of people.

For the love of God, the inflammation is going to my brain. I can only think in celebrity speak.
My allergic reaction had turned me into Leslie.

“Georgia, please, don’t hide your pretty face.” Kline removed the paper bag, staring back at me with serious concern.

Pffffffft. Pretty?
All forms of pretty had fled the building the second I had contracted elephantiasis of the face.

I averted my eyes from his and focused on removing the cellophane wrapping from the Benadryl. “Somonabith,” I cursed, fumbling with the childproof cap.

He gently took the bottle out of my hands, detaching the cap with ease, and handed it back to me. “We need to get you to an emergency room. St. Luke’s is just around the corner.”

Oh, hell no. Out of all of the emergency rooms in New York, I was not going to
that
one.

Well, unless my reaction gets worse—then I’d reconsider. I’d face the embarrassment and my brother’s incessant teasing for a shot of epinephrine over not breathing at all. I’m not a complete moron.

I shook my head frantically. “Ma brudder. Nob way.”

He scrunched his brow up in confusion.

“Nobe. Nob hobitals.”

My brother Will was finishing up his ER residency at St. Luke’s, and I knew for a fact he was elbow deep in a twenty-four-hour call shift. If I walked into his ER looking like this, I’d never live it down.

“But—”

“Uh-uh. Nob habbenin’,” I cut him off, resolute.

And to solidify my decision, I tipped the bottle of Benadryl to my goliath lips and knocked back as much as I could.

“Shit! Georgia!” Kline grabbed the bottle from my hands, panicked. “That’s too much. Way, way too much.”

I shrugged, reaching for the discarded paper bag and pulling a pen from my purse.

No ERs needed, I’ll be fine,
I wrote, holding it out to him.

He frowned. “I’m really worried.”

I promise, I’ve been through this before. The Benny will do the trick.

I reassured, hating seeing him so anxious.

His mouth offered a wry grin. “Benny?”

I nodded, my neck doing its best impression of a bobblehead doll. It was safe to say, the antihistamine was kicking in.

Yeah, Benny and I go way back. I promise I’ll be fine in a few hours.

He assessed my face. “Pretty sure you drank way too much Benny.”

I shook my head, hiding my lips with my free hand.

Just stop looking at me until the Benny kicks in. I’m sorry this is the worst first date ever.

He took the pen out of my grip and pulled the bag into his lap. His hand moved in fluid motions as he scribbled something down and then slid it back to me.

Just stop looking at me until the Benny kicks in. I’m sorry this is the worst first date ever.

This is the BEST first date ever.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight.” He offered a smile—a real smile, not the
I’m trying to smile, but holy shit, you look bad
kind of smile he was showcasing before. “And, Georgia.” Kline touched my cheek. “Even with an allergic reaction, you still have the power to take my breath away. You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. Swollen lips and all, you’re still gorgeous.”

I stared back at him, speechless. There was still so much I didn’t know about Kline, but my gut told me, at the root of his soul, he was a good man. A sweet, kind, and undeniably good man.

Despite the lime juice fiasco, I’m glad I’m here too.

My eyelids started to feel heavy, my lashes blinking past the fog. I leaned my head back on the seat.

“You okay?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, tucking me into his side.

I wasn’t vomiting and I could still breathe, so I muttered, “Uh-huh,” as I nuzzled into him. “Jus a lil sweepy.”

The pull to go comatose was strong. In the back of my mind, there was a tiny bit of rational thought wondering,
Am I going to overdose on Benadryl?

Before the urge to sleep snuffed out all the light, I grabbed my phone from my purse. Pulling up my text conversation with Will, I attempted to shoot him a message.

Me: WELLY IM BENNY

Delete.

Me: WELLIUM ODOR

Delete.

Slowly, but surely, my fingers got their shit together and autocorrect stopped trying to make me her bitch.

Me: WILL CAN AN OC GIVE A BENNY!*&

There. Perfect.

If he thinks I’m in trouble, he’ll call me. Otherwise, no big dealio
, was the last thought before Benny took over and said, “Goodnight, Georgia.”