Zero To Sixty (BWWM, Sports, Billionaire) Read online

  She was staring at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers in a way that made it abundantly clear that she knew it too.

  "So basically you are saying that you own me."

  "Own is a strange word to use. I hope you aren't going to make a tasteless joke about slavery Mr. Philips."

  Now, that brought him up short. What sort of asshole did she think he was? Then again, there were lots of racists who spoke with the same sort of twang in their voices.

  "No, I wasn't. I might be a good old boy, but I'm not a bigot."

  And then she smiled at him. A real, honest to goodness, light up the room smile.

  His indignation was swept away by that smile.

  Hell, everything was swept away by it.

  He'd climb mountains to have her look like that again. She picked up the papers and put them back into her briefcase.

  "That's a relief. So, are we in agreement?"

  Slowly he nodded.

  "Good. I'll email you the schedule."

  He scratched his jaw. He'd long since forgotten his email password. He gave her a sheepish look.

  "Email's no good."

  "Text?"

  He tilted his head to the side.

  "That could work. But I do tend to forget to charge my phone."

  "What do you suggest then Mr. Philips? Carrier pigeon?"

  He grinned at her.

  "Could you pick me up?"

  She sighed heavily, giving him a look that could have frozen boiling water. But somehow, that look turned him on. A lot.

  He knew at that moment, he just knew, that he was a goner. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on a damn thing until he had her six ways from Sunday.

  And maybe not even then.

  "Baby sitting isn't really part of my job description."

  "Hey, you are the one with the plan."

  She sighed and nodded. Good. The first hook was in the fish. Now he just had to land her.

  This was going to be fun

  Three

  Denise stared around Ansel's house in Malibu. It had taken her over an hour and a half to reach here. And the event was in Hollywood. The opposite direction.

  And still he wasn't ready.

  In fact, he wasn't even dressed.

  He'd come to the door dripping wet with just a towel wrapped around her waist. Denise was still reeling from the sight of water droplets rolling down over his chiseled chest and stomach, disappearing to God knows where.

  Who was she kidding? She knew exactly where.

  What she didn't understand was the almost uncontrollable urge she had to reach out and run her fingers over his flat stomach, just to see if he felt as good as he looked. She never reacted this way to men, no matter how good looking they were. And she didn't even like him! All the same, her hands were still balled into fists to keep her from doing something foolish.

  She knew, she just knew that he had done it on purpose as she followed him inside his very expensive, very manly, very messy house. It was built with raw timber and stone showing everywhere. But there were beer bottles all over the living room and kitchen. Clothes were tossed on the floor and empty take out containers lined the kitchen island.

  "Have a seat. I'll be right with you m'am."

  She glanced around and saw that all the seats were covered with pizza boxes and dirty laundry. One had a stack of magazines, another held a stack of unopened mail.

  "Where exactly?"

  He grinned at her and shrugged. The man really was insufferable! She narrowed her eyes at him as he disappeared up the stairs. His hold on that towel was very, very loose. She turned away abruptly, certain he was going to let it slip so she'd get an eyeful. She wasn't sure what sort of game he was playing, but if he was trying to disconcert her, it was working.

  Without thinking she started to clean the place up. She grabbed an empty garbage bag from under the sink and started to pick her way across the room. She had barely made a dent when she heard him come down the stairs behind her ten minutes later.

  "You don't have to do that."

  She snorted, looking up at a still half dressed Ansel. He was sliding his arms into a button down shirt. The top of his skin tight jeans were still unbuttoned, exposing his flat lower belly. He looked like he had just made love. Or was about to. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

  "If I don't, who will?"

  "The maid comes on Mondays."

  'Today is Monday."

  He smirked at her as she bent to pick up yet another empty beer bottle. At least they were all empty and not full of smelly old beer. He didn't waste a drop from what she could tell.

  "Okay so I guess I forgot to schedule the maid. I'd be more than happy watching you clean up all day."

  She glanced over her shoulder and gasped. He was looking at her ass. Not just looking, he was practically caressing it with his eyes. Denise jerked upright sharply.

  The man had the nerve to sigh dramatically, as if she'd deprived him of something!

  She resisted the urge the snap his head off. She recited the mantra she needed to remember when dealing with difficult celebrity types: He's the talent. He's the talent. He's the talent.

  "Are you ready? We're already running behind."

  He reached into the fridge and grabbed a six pack of beer.

  "I am now."

  {}{}{}{}{}

  Ansel watched as Denise slipped into her car and put on her seat belt. The strap hugged her body in a way that brought her shirt tight across her chest. Through the top few buttons he could see the top of her cleavage pressing against a lacy bra. Her legs were encased in fitted dark wash jeans. She wore black high heeled booties that looked sexy as hell.

  Of course, they'd look even sexier if she wasn't wearing anything else.

  He grinned. He'd have to remember that. For later.

  She turned to look at him and caught him staring at her legs. He smiled sheepishly. There was no point in pretending he hadn't just been ogling her. And would continue to do so on the drive.

  He was starting to hope it was a long one.

  "Seat belt."

  "Oh. Right, of course."

  He put on his best aw shucks expression as he slid the seat belt into place. Then he smiled at her, hoping to get things off on a better start today. One thing he knew, if he couldn't make a woman laugh, there was no way he was getting into her bed.

  No matter how rich and famous he was.

  "So, where are we off to?"

  She stared at him incredulously.

  "You seriously didn't even look at the schedule?"

  He shrugged, giving her puppy dog eyes. She did not look impressed. She turned on the car and shifted into reverse. He watched as she twisted in her seat, accidentally revealing even more of her glorious breasts.

  "Hollywood."

  He leaned back and slipped his sun glasses on so he could observe her without detection.

  "Where do you live?"

  "Beverly Hills."

  He let out a low whistle.

  "This is really out of the way then isn't it?"

  "Yes, it is."

  Whoops, he'd really pissed her off. Next time he'd insist on driving. Then he'd have her at his mercy. At least as a captive audience if nothing else.

  Maybe he could impress her with some fancy driving. He sneaked a glance at her. Her lips were pressed together primly. The woman positively oozed disapproval.

  Maybe fancy driving was a bad idea.

  "Sorry, I didn't know."

  "Here."

  She reached down and thrust a folder at him. He opened it. There was a color coded calendar inside, along with a stack of daily schedules, neatly clipped together.

  "Now you'll know."

  He grinned and leaned back in his seat. The woman had a sharp temper. But that didn't bother him one bit. In fact, he knew that a fiery woman made the best bed partner.

  And he had a feeling that Denise knew what she was doing between the sheets.

  Four


  Denise watched as Ansel glad handed customers. It was opening night of a new Honky Tonk bar on the strip. Thankfully this time, he'd driven to her.

  Ansel had insisted on picking her up at her place. She'd argued on the phone with him for a half hour before realizing he would not give up. The man was stubborn as a goat.

  In the end, she'd compromised by having him drive to her, and leave his car at her place. There was no way she was getting into a car with Ansel again. Not after last time.

  He was already at her front door when she realized that her difficult spokesman now knew where she lived. Her big, out of control, childish, overly macho, aggressive, definitely-had-a-crush-on-her spokesman. Not that she thought he was dangerous.

  Well, not criminally dangerous anyway.

  Dangerous to her peace of mind, most definitely.

  Now his car was at her place and she had a much, much bigger problem than she'd initially thought.

  Ansel was far too drunk to drive anywhere, let alone back to his place in Malibu. She sighed and started looking for a hotel booking available on her tablet. Every now and then she took a sip of the shirley temple sat on the bar in front of her.

  It's too bad they didn't serve expresso here. Denise was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

  This past week had been one of the most exhausting of her life. Ansel had fought her at every turn, rearranging his schedule to suit himself. Mostly that meant later in the day and being drunk no matter what sort of promotional event she had lined up.

  Not to mention hitting on her non stop.

  She was sure he did that to every marginally attractive woman he came into contact with. Of course, he didn't do that in front of her. In fact, he deliberately ignored every attractive woman in sight. Except her.

  It was an obvious ploy to make her think he wanted more than a roll in the hay.

  The sad thing was, it was working. Ansel didn't just make her feel special. He was making her feel like she was the one.

  He was beyond attentive. And when he wasn't being combative, he was the most charming man she'd ever come into contact with. Add that to his bedroom baby blue eyes, tattoos, and general bad boy with a heart of gold persona and she was having a hard time separating fact from fiction.

  Just the other day they'd gone to an interview for Food and Wine magazine. Ansel had come to his door with a gift for her. A pretty terra cotta pot full of daisies. Denise knew she was expected to want roses. But somehow, he'd known that daisies were more her style.

  She'd tried to turn down the gift, only to find them in the backseat of her car later that night.

  She sighed, realizing that she'd thought of him each time she'd seen those daisies on her kitchen window sill. In fact, she thought about Ansel far more than was healthy. For her sanity or her career.

  And yet here she was, watching as a parade of bleached blond women threw themselves at Ansel, one after the other.

  It really was odd how many of them were blond.

  Despite the sheer volume of attractive women hitting on him, Ansel seemed completely at ease. In fact, he responded to the most outrageous offers with cordial, but distant charm. He seemed to have no interest in any of the women who seemed determined to take him to bed, one even going so far as to hand him a pair of panties.

  Red lace from the looks of it. Classy.

  Ansel shook his head politely and turned away, blowing Denise a mocking air kiss. He'd known she was watching him. And he knew it wasn't just because of the job.

  She wondered if he would be accepting those red panties if he was off the clock. He'd turned down a lot of women in the past week. Ever since they started working together.

  Of course that didn't mean he didn't like sex. He made it abundantly clear that he would like a lot of sex, with her. But he wasn't vulgar about it. No, he was charming as usual.

  And sensual.

  Very, very sensual.

  Ansel signed another autograph and lifted his glass of bourbon to her in a silent toast. All night he'd been throwing heated looks her way. She knew she was in for yet another tug of war at the end of the night. The thing was, her arms were getting tired.

  For the first time in her life Denise understood why people drank. Ansel had her wound tighter than a spring. For a moment she wondered what he would do if she ever snapped and took him up on his offer.

  He would be shocked at first. Then he'd pounce on her, and carry her to the closest bed. Then he'd be shocked again when he realized how inexperienced she was. The joke would be entirely on him.

  For the first time all night, Denise smiled.

  {}{}{}{}{}

  Ansel could tell Denise was getting tired. They'd stayed far later than the scheduled appearance. The bar owner was thrilled. But Ansel's handler looked exhausted.

  Beautiful, but exhausted.

  He wondered briefly if she'd been loosing sleep over him.

  The thought made him smile.

  He was getting to her. He knew it.

  All week long he'd been waging a war against Denise's carefully constructed defenses. Every now and then he saw a crack. A glimmer of the mutual attraction that was simmering between them, ready to burst into a high boil.

  Now it was time to cash in his chips.

  He'd planned his tactics carefully. Drink too much to drive. Wait too long for a hotel. Insist on sleeping on her couch. Charm his way into her bed.

  And stay there, as long as possible.

  He moseied over to where Denise was sitting at the bar, looking as if he had not a care in the world. That was a pretense of course. He had one very specific care.

  No, not a care. A need.

  "How you holding up darlin'?"

  She gave him a weary smile. It almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

  "I'm alright. I think it's time we got you settled for the night. I can't allow you to drive in this condition."

  "What condition is that darlin'?"

  "Drunk, Mr. Philips. Now if you are ready to go, I got you a room at the Sunset. It's just down the street."

  He leaned against the bar and made a tsking sound with his tongue.

  "Don't think I can do that darlin'."

  "Mr. Philips, I've asked you already not to call me that."

  He grinned at her cheekily.

  "Whatever you say… darlin'."

  She gave him a look that said plain as day 'don't test me.' But he couldn't help himself. How could he resist goading her, when she looked so deliciously prim and proper?

  He slurred his words just a bit so she'd know he was 100% too drunk to get behind the wheel. Ansel might seem plastered but he was entirely in control. He had to be, if he was going to outmaneuver his very intelligent, very desirable opponent.

  "Maybe if you called me Ansel… anyway darlin' I have been kicked out of that particular hotel on several occasions. So I think it's best that I not darken their door again. At least not during such a sensitive time, regarding public opinion."

  He could see the wheels turning in her mind. Click, click, click. She sighed and hauled out her iPad.

  "There wasn't much else available… let me see…"

  He grinned at her, chewing on a swivel stick.

  She glanced up at him.

  "Do you always have to have something in your mouth?" He just grinned wider, making sure she knew he was thinking all sorts of wicked things. Denise rolled her eyes in response. Yes, she'd gotten the message. Loud and clear.

  "I have to make a few phone calls."

  "There's no need for that sweetheart. Why don't I just crash on your couch? We have an early day tomorrow anyway, don't we?"

  She was staring at him with narrowed eyes. It was obvious she was onto him.

  "Absolutely not."

  "What, don't you trust me angel?"

  "I really must insist that you stop calling me that!"

  "What?"

  "Angel- or baby cakes or whatever imbecilic name you come up with next!"

  "Baby cakes?
I would never call you that."

  She looked ready to jump out of her skin. He almost took pity on her. Almost.

  "Sugar britches, maybe. But baby cakes, never."

  Despite herself, she cracked a smile. Then she went back to checking for hotels. He could see he wasn't getting anywhere so he changed tactics.

  "Let's go get a drink then. Somewhere quiet. You can review schedules the whole time and I won't say a peep."

  "Ansel…"

  He leaned in close, grinning at her.

  "I like the way you say my name… Denise."

  She blinked at him, as if she hadn't realized she had said his name. He was getting to her. Just not fast enough.

  "Come on, love. I promise I'll be a good boy and stay in the hotel of your choosing. If you have a drink with me."

  She smiled at him ruefully and he felt something inside him crack open. She really did look tired. Vulnerable even. He stopped wanting to pounce on her and started wanting to protect her. In that moment he would have slated a dragon for one of her rare smiles.

  "I'm just far too tired tonight Mr. Philips. Another time."

  He sighed heavily, conceding defeat.

  "I'm going to hold you to that."

  Five

  "The jeans. Definitely the jeans. You look HAWT."

  Denise rolled her eyes at her best friend, who was lounging on Denise's bed. Somehow, Sasha always looked like she was lounging. She was the polar opposite to Denise and had been since they met all the way back in fourth grade.

  "I'm not trying to look hot Sash. I'm trying to blend in."

  Sasha pulled a face at her.

  "Well, some people just can't help it. You're gorgeous so just get used to it. Besides, isn't he going to be there?"

  Denise had filled her friend in on the ongoing tug of war the Ansel was playing with her mind. She wished she hadn't mentioned it though. Sasha was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to let go of the idea that this was an epic love story waiting to happen.

  Yeah right, it would have to be called The Playboy and The Prude.

  That would fly off the shelves.