Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (the beginning after the end novel read .TXT) 📗

“Fine, then. Can you come around eight-thirty?”

“Sure, I can. Perfect.”

I might be feeling a bit giddy with my good fortune, because I decide to push my luck and lean in to give her a good-bye peck on her cheek.

She flinches when I get closer but doesn’t move back. As I bend to her face, her flowery scent penetrates my lungs and my stomach stirs.

Oh, man.

The question of whether I’m making a mistake with this whole bet comes into my mind again. But this time, it’s not because of my guilt over lying to Eva. I like to be the one who sets the rules of my own life. With Eva close, however, I can’t seem to stick to my natural habits. Somehow she makes me think, say, and feel things I didn’t plan on.

You don’t have another choice, Nathan. If you want to become CEO, then Eva is the way to it.

I press my lips to her cheek and let the thrills explode in my chest.

Eva gets out of the car and shuts the door. She waves at me and disappears into her house.

I fire up the engine and ride away, my body still humming with the mighty sensation that pressing my lips to her cheek has unleashed in me. I grit my teeth, forcing my heart’s cadence back to its normal rhythm. I need to ensure that these effects Eva triggers in me don’t grow into any real feelings.

And for now…I’m not doing the best job of that.

Chapter 17

(Eva)

“Did you put on your dancing shoes?” I ask as Nathan hops into the driver seat.

He shuts the door a little too loudly. “Dancing? I thought we were going out to have drinks. You didn’t say anything about dancing.”

“Didn’t you claim to be the salsa connoisseur the night I met you?” I wink.

It feels normal and strange at the same time to be teasing Nathan. Normal because our dialogue evolved through banter from the first moment we spoke. And strange because, somewhere along the way, our bickering comments transformed. The warm tone with which I’ve just reminded him of his arrogant claim is proof of it.

He pulls up his shoulders, apparently at unease. “Yes. But what I meant is that I know a good dancer when I see one. I never said that I can dance.”

His flustered face warms my chest, making me act way flirtier than I should. I put my hand on his fingers clutching the wheel. “Aren’t you lucky I’m also a good teacher?”

He blinks at me, and I regret my bold gesture immediately. As the blazing strength of his gaze washes over me, it’s safe to say that even my toes are melting.

Well, Eva, you wanted to tempt him, and here is your reward.

I withdraw my hand and turn my head forward. I take a peek at him from the corner of my eye and see that he’s watching me. There’s a satisfied grin on his face, as if my reaction is to his liking.

I swallow to ease my parched throat. “Uhm…shall we get going? Judy and your brother must be already waiting for us.”

In less than ten minutes we’re approaching the disco pub, Mamacita. Nathan points at the orange Lamborghini as we enter the parking lot. “Look, that’s Murphy’s car.”

I blink at my friend’s black Ford, which is almost as beat up as our sedan. “And Judy’s here, too.”

We get out of the car and walk toward Mamacita’s entrance.

The first odors to greet me upon arrival are usually the smell of lemon—Mamacita’s most popular drink is the straight tequila shot—mixed with the rubbery stench of overheating speakers. But tonight, a cloud of zesty manly cologne and sweetish hairspray envelops me as soon as we step inside.

Nathan must feel it too, because he leans to my ear and whispers, “Huh, some of these people must have put extra effort into their looks.”

I give him a slanted glance. I’m interested in his reaction to the low ceilings, dim lighting, dark-shaded walls…the overall lack of fanciness. Mamacita must be even further away from his world than the Desert Rose was.

He scans the room with curious eyes, then tilts his head toward the big, convivial tables. “Why are these so long?”

“To provide additional space to dance,” I joke. Well, sort of. On some heated nights, people do climb on the tables.

Nathan’s eyes dart to me. “So you weren’t kidding me with the dancing part?”

I meet his I-wish-you-were-just-teasing-me look with a wide grin. “Look around, Nathan, you can’t seriously assume I come to Mamacita to sit around and watch the thoughtful decoration, right?”

I turn away to check the room for Judy and Murphy. It’s not hard to spot them. Nathan’s brother stands out among the regulars like a black sheep. His shiny, navy blue jacket reflects the orange disco lights. Plus, he’s the only man in the sultry room who has a pair of ironed, white trousers. He actually looks good in them, too, but they’re way more elegant than the clothes of the rest of the guests.

Judy waves at us while squeaking. “Here, here, Eva.”

Nathan notices them, too, and his face relaxes. “At least I’ve dressed the part of a salsero, right? I’m glad I called you to check what I should wear. I’d hate to be the odd one out, like my brother.”

My eyes flick to Nathan’s purple shirt that he wears unbuttoned around his neck. The color accentuates his naturally tanned skin and dark hair. He has paired it with a pair of simple black jeans. If it wasn’t for the clearly expensive fabric of both, he could actually blend in well with the other guys. “And you didn’t pass on this information about the dress code to your brother because…?”

Nathan shrugs. “Maybe I didn’t talk to him after our call. Or maybe it was a little prank he deserved. Pick your favorite explanation.”

“I’m gonna go with you not having a chance to talk to him.”

“Ah, so you like to assume the best