Home > Shopping for a Billionaire's Fiancee (Shopping for a Billionaire #6)(8)

Shopping for a Billionaire's Fiancee (Shopping for a Billionaire #6)(8)
Author: Julia Kent

Shannon’s cute little nose scrunches up, her eyes narrowing as her eyebrows meet. “‘First’ sex tape? What do you mean by ‘first’? That implies you intended to have sex tapes. More than one sex tape.”

Damn it. Caught.

“I just thought someday...you know....”

“How about never. Someday is never. The camera adds ten pounds, and YouTube is forever. Plus¸ who wants to watch themselves having sex? Ew.”

If the camera adds ten pounds to your tits or ass, go camera. I don’t say that aloud, though, because I do not have a death wish. Scratch that one off my list of sexual fantasies. For now, at least.

How in the hell did we get from Marie barging in on us in flagrante delicto to my being the bad guy? “Look, I never taped us having sex, but your mother did,” I argue.

“Technically, Agnes’ grandson did,” Shannon says primly. She really hates that I’m angry with Marie, and is doing the whole people-pleaser thing that she does when there’s conflict. I think conflict is underrated. When two people clash, you learn more than you can ever find out when everyone’s doing the fake passive-aggressive pretend game.

“It’s hard to decide who to blame more, but I’m leaning on the side of Marie,” I grumble. I’m driving my SUV out of the city and into the suburbs, toward Marie’s yoga studio. Given that the proposal takes place soon, I should try to mend fences with my future mother-in-law. Give her a chance to apologize and all that, right?

“No one realized we’d be in a compromising position when Mom walked into my bedroom.”

“Let’s parse that sentence for a minute and find all the ways it’s just plain wrong. Starting with ‘Mom walked into my bedroom.’ You’re twenty-five years old and have a boyfriend. At a minimum your mother should knock.”

“She’s never needed to knock before.”

“My point exactly.”

“How did I just make your point?”

“Shannon, what kind of mother of a grown daughter doesn’t stop for a second and wonder if she’s going to walk in on a private moment? For all she knew you were doing something indecent.”

“I was!”

“Sex with me isn’t indecent. It’s private, and it’s hot and sweaty and awesome...” What are we talking about here? I had a point, right? Now I’m just ready to skip yoga and go back to my apartment for another sex binge. We need to find a Thai place nearby...

“Then what would I be doing alone that’s indecent?”

I frown. “You could be masturbating.”

She makes a choking sound. “Wait. Having sex with you isn’t indecent, but being caught...you know...is?”



All this talk about having sex and Shannon taking care of things herself is making my mental picture gallery and video archive turn into one big sexfest. I slip up. I err.

I tell the truth.

“Because that would be a waste.”

The temperature in the car drops a good ten degrees.

“A waste?”

“Right. You have me now. You don’t need to...you know...”

The look on her face makes this tiny little voice in the back of my head scream Do over! Do over! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!

“Let’s go back to the word ‘indecent.’”

Uh, oh.


Saved by the phone. I’d rather be screamed at in Balinese than hear whatever’s about to come out of Shannon’s mouth.

It’s a text from Marie.

Yoga cancelled due to water leak in studio. You kids have a fun afternoon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

That list is so small.

“Your mom just canceled yoga,” I explain as I get into the left lane to pull a U-turn and head back into the city. “Water leak in the building.” Broken pipes are so underrated.

Shannon’s still upset, but pivots. “Text her back and let’s offer to meet for lunch.”

“Do we have to?” I can’t keep the gruffness out of my voice. That Resting Asshole Face quality applies to my voice, too. I have a bad case of Resting Asshole Baritone, apparently.

“You hate my mother,” she says out of the blue, bursting into tears.

Oh, shit. Just what you want your future fiancée to say four days before you’re about to pop the question.

“I don’t hate her.” Diplomacy bubbles up at the perfect time. “I just need more space than you do when it comes to Marie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shannon’s eyes are red and puffy already. Something in my chest feels like I’m being stabbed. “It’s not like I wanted her to come in like we were filming an episode of Sons of Anarchy!”

“There was a motorcycle in the room?” I’m lost now. Then again, there could have been a motorcycle in the room for all I cared. When I’m having sex with Shannon, the rest of the world just fades away.

“I meant your naked, sculpted ass on video.” I’ve seen the episode of Sons of Anarchy that she’s talking about. I sit up a little straighter knowing she thinks my ass is that muscled.


How did she see my ass from that angle?

I pull over into a parking lot and slam the SUV into Park.

Her eyes widen, a creeping flush of red starting in her neck and moving up. Turns out I’m not the only one who’s caught.

“You saw the video?” The only way Shannon could know something like that was if she viewed it.

“Have you?” Her chin juts up in defiance. Didn’t expect that question.

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