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  It wasn’t disappointment curling around my stomach. It couldn’t be, not when Jordan was so stratospherically far out of my league.

  He grinned—nice smile, of course—and shook my hand. I suppressed the zing of pleasure that coursed through me at the contact. Instead, I pulled back and hitched a thumb over my shoulder. “Her name is Seraphina. She likes cosmos and hates cheesy pickup lines, despite her kindness in accepting them.” I decided to throw him a solid because, really, they were absolutely perfect for each other. “Talk to her about how much you love CSI.”

  I tucked my phone into my purse, grabbed my drink, and drained it.

  “I hate CSI,” he said, brows pulling down.

  “If you want a chance with her, you might want to discover a newfound love for it.”

  My legs took a long time to reach the ground—short people problems—but luckily they’d made contact with the wooden surface before Jordan spoke again; otherwise, they might have kept on slithering until I was ass down on the sticky floor.

  “I don’t want a chance with her,” he said. “I want a chance with you.”

  My eyes flew up, and I couldn’t help my breath from catching. I wanted that, too. A horizontal, writhing chance. Or hell, vertical. Semi-reclined. I’d take any of it.

  My body was very aware of exactly how hot he was.

  But then I remembered reality.

  “I’m the best friend,” I said and lifted my chin, forcing my words to be matter-of-fact. I’d been through this before. “You might be fuckable to the nth degree and perfect for Seraphina, but I refuse to set her up with a liar.”

  In a movement too quick for my brain to process, my stool was shoved to the side and I was pinned against the bar, heavy hips pressing into me, a hard chest two inches from my mouth.

  Seraphina whipped around at the movement and I could just see her over Jordan’s shoulder, her blue eyes concerned.

  “Hi, Seraphina, I’m Jordan,” he said, calm as can be, gaze locked onto my face then my eyes when mine invariably couldn’t stay away. “I’m going to borrow your friend for a minute.”

  “Abs?” she asked, and I knew she’d go to bat for me right then and there if I needed her to.

  “Weasel or no?” I managed to gasp out. For some reason, I couldn’t catch my breath.

  Not that it had anything to do with Jordan.

  No, it had everything to do with him.

  “Weasel?” he asked.

  I shook my head, focused on my best friend. Weasel was our code name for the men trying to weasel, quite literally, their way into my pants and then into hers.

  I was just about ready to say fuck it—or me, rather—even if Jordan was a Weasel. He smelled amazing. His body was hard and hot against mine.

  And it had been way too long since I’d had sex.

  “No chemistry on my part—” Seraphina began.

  “Your friend isn’t who I’m attracted to,” Jordan growled out. “You are, and it’s fucking pissing me off that you don’t believe that.”

  —Get Bad Night Stand here.

  * * *

  Read on below for the first two chapters of Bad Breakup, book 2 in the Billionaire’s Club series. Or grab your copy here.

  BAD BREAKUP

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cecilia

  * * *

  Cecilia sat on the plane, her first-class seat luxurious and insanely comfortable. It might have been the first time in her limited travel experience that she didn’t feel like cattle shoved into the back of a truck, and instead, like an actual person with wants and needs.

  “Your champagne, Ms. Thiele.”

  “Thank you,” she said and took a sip, leaning back into the butter-soft leather with a sigh.

  She’d just closed her eyes when someone sat down in the empty seat next to her.

  Rustling accompanied the movement as the person got settled.

  “Can I get you anything?” the flight attendant asked.

  “A whiskey.”

  Every hair stood up on Cecilia’s neck. Oh, God no. It couldn’t possibly be—

  She clenched her lids tightly, refusing, absolutely refusing to open them. No. She was imaging things. It had been years since she’d heard that voice.

  Too many years.

  “Here you go, Mr. McGregor.”

  Oh, fuck.

  Her eyes flew open, but she didn’t move her head. She couldn’t chance it. But she did risk a peek out of the corner of her eye and that was enough to have dread twisting her stomach into knots.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  She’d booked this flight last minute, deciding to use the voucher gifted to her by Abby after she and Jordan had returned from their honeymoon.

  Cecilia’s life had felt stagnant.

  She’d needed to get away, and she’d had the free flight and hotel.

  It made sense to use it, however last minute.

  Plus, everything had worked out. There had been one first-class seat open. Only one cabin at her dream resort.

  And now she was sitting next to Colin McGregor.

  “Flight attendants, arm the doors,” the pilot’s voice chimed through the plane’s speakers.

  A thud signaled her last avenue of escape disappearing.

  She was trapped on a nonstop flight for twelve hours.

  With the man who’d left her at the altar.

  How was this possibly her life?

  “Cecilia?” that masculine voice asked. “Is it really you?”

  And just like all the times before, her eyes were drawn to him. She’d never been able to ignore him. Not Colin. Not even when he’d—

  But this time was different.

  She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a vulnerable girl in a rough place.

  She’d been through hell and back.

  Colin had no power over her.

  Not anymore.

  Cecilia put in her earbuds and turned her back on the man who’d devastated her world six years before.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cecilia

  * * *

  She was going to yell “Bomb!” on an airplane.

  She had to.

  It was the single way to get the plane to turn around, for CeCe to find an escape route from the awful man sitting next to her. He’d been staring at her for three hours twenty-two minutes and forty-six seconds. Forty-seven. Forty-eight—

  Okay. The precise timing wasn’t important.

  But the heavy weight of his gaze was smothering her, a stifling cloud that threatened to make her insane. And it wasn’t any worse than his smell, all spicy and male. It floated around her, making her toes curl.

  He was the same as before.

  As in he had exactly the same effect on her body—an accelerated pulse, sweaty palms, a tense quivering abdomen, and heat between her thighs.

  She wanted him.

  Despite it being six years since she’d seen him. Despite what he had done.

  Cecilia’s body still wanted Colin’s with a longing that was so intense it was almost scary.

  Her lady bits wanted her to tug him up from his seat by the tie—a new addition, as she’d never seen the man in a suit—drag him up the aisle, and lock him in the ridiculously small bathroom to have her merry way with him.

  Hence the bomb threat.

  Which, obviously, she couldn’t make.

  It might be torture sitting next to Colin, but there were three hundred other people on this airplane, all with places to be, people to visit, sights to see. She couldn’t ruin that for them.

  Not that Colin McGregor would care he was ruining it for her. He crushed dreams, smashed hearts, tore tender emotions to shreds.

  He was her Godzilla, and she was the decimated city.

  Had been the decimated city.

  Now she was rebuilt. She was stronger, her heart reinforced with rebar and steel, and she didn’t give one damn for Colin McGregor.

  Damns to give or not, she still didn’t want him within arm’s reach and so short
ly after takeoff, she’d risen and discreetly asked the flight attendant if there was any way she could switch seats, only to receive a regretful glance and an apology as the flight was completely full and all of the first class seats were occupied by couples or families traveling together.

  She’d even started to ask about moving back to economy, thinking to make someone’s day by offering them a seat by the gorgeous Scot, but the flight attendant had looked so harried that Cecilia had relented.

  She knew they had a job to do and that she was getting in the way of it and while she also didn’t want to be a pain in the ass, her current situation was truly untenable.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he said and the rough edges of his accent hacked at the words, making them more of a growl rather than a soft sentiment.

  Her breath caught, and she found her eyes drawn to the stormy blue of Colin’s.

  And she stared again, utterly entranced before she remembered how it had all ended.

  Her in a white dress.

  Alone except for the priest who’d given her a pitying look and invited her to stay as long as she needed.

  It had always been like this, Colin’s gruff words winning her over. They were unexpected from him—he was typically so reserved and taciturn, and freely given as they were, his words chipped away at any defenses she managed to erect.

  The problem was that his words weren’t always followed up by action. In fact, they were typically trailed by pain for her and fury for him.

  The hurt of those memories—of Colin so angry, her so broken—helped shore up her resolve.

  “Don’t say things like that,” she snapped and started to pop her earbuds back in. Her friends at home had filled her phone with a slew of romantic audiobooks and she decided that she much preferred fictional heroes at the moment.

  At least if they broke their heroine’s heart, it was only once.

  Colin had already broken hers twice.

  She wasn’t looking for a round three.

  But before she had the chance to insert the earbud, his fingers gripped her wrist. “Don’t ignore me,” Colin said, all high-and-mighty, all arrogant, rich Scottish duke.

  Well, she wasn’t a little girl anymore, wasn’t a fresh-faced recent high school graduate taking a summer trip, wasn’t even a slightly disillusioned college dropout. No. She was more experienced and at twenty-six she knew she’d had enough of wealthy, powerful men.

  “You don’t belong here.”

  “Go!”

  “If you were worth anything at all, your parents wouldn’t have disowned you.”

  The memory of Colin’s words were bullets, stealing her breath as they shot forward in her mind to strike home.

  She’d been so naïve, so stupid, so . . . completely in love.

  And he’d destroyed her.

  Twice.

  What was the saying? Fool her once and shame on him, but fool her twice and shame on her?

  Yeah. That.

  Shame on her. For being a fucking idiot. For putting herself out there. For being a glutton for punishment.

  “Let me go, Colin,” she said, yanking at her wrist until he was either forced to release her or make a scene. He chose to let her go. Of course he did. Because McGregors didn’t make scenes. They functioned in the background, skulking, stalking, waiting for the moment their prey faltered and they could pounce.

  And to show her that he was still in control, that he was stronger than her and was only loosening his grip was because he wanted to, Colin did it slowly, sliding fingertip by fingertip free, dragging them across her skin and raising goose bumps in their wake.

  “I already did that once,” he said, putting his arm back onto his armrest. A lock of jet-black hair fell across his forehead as he leaned in to meet her eyes. “And it was the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Twice,” she whispered, her throat tight, her heart pounding. There was an invitation in his gaze. He would accept her. She could crawl into his arms, get lost in an embrace that made her feel sheltered from anything bad in the universe.

  Except with Colin that peaceful, protected feeling never actually lasted.

  His expression clouded and she might have said he looked confused. But Colin was never anything less than one hundred percent completely sure of himself.

  That was why he’d broken her so completely the second time.

  So she ignored the invitation in his eyes, turned her back on him again, and tried to pretend that she didn’t feel like crying.

  Her once in a lifetime adventure was off to a brilliant start.

  —Get your copy here or visit elisefaber.com for more information about all of my books.

  Acknowledgments

  Somehow I made it to the end of another book. I often get here and wonder how in the hell that could have happened. But regardless of the mental wringer my characters put me through (just behave, dammit!), I always feel exceptionally grateful at this point in the publishing process. Thanks to my editors Christine and Julie for making the crazy little story in my head palatable and thanks to the Fabulous Fabs (Jaci and Johanna) for supporting me when life gets crazy. Also thanks to the Fabinators, fan group extraordinaire, for being open to ALL the books, no matter if they’re hockey or billionaires or cowboys. I couldn’t do it without you.

  And none of it would mean anything at without you, my reader. Thank you for buying and reading my books, for emailing and messaging when my stories really draw you in. Thanks for telling me when you hate a villain or can’t believe that so-and-so did that. Those moments are what make all the late nights and early mornings and revisions and edits and edits and so many freaking edits, worth it.

  I love you all.

  -XOXO