Amanda Richardson Facebook ad: “An Unputdownable Billionaire Romance”

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“Don’t make a scene, Parker,” I growl, and her outraged expression almost makes me want to smile. I nod my head as we pass surprised onlookers. I’m sure the last thing she wants is for her guests to wonder why she’s so angry at her engagement party, though a small thrill works through me when I think of how it was me who worked her up so much. I open the first door that I see—an office—and pull her inside before closing it. Once we’re inside, I let go of her arm and take a step back. “Now, are you going to tell me why you look like you’re about to go postal on me?” She scoffs, and being this close to her, I can smell her perfume. Is it perfume? It’s light and floral, subtly smelling like roses and fresh cut flowers. No, it must be her shampoo. “I think you already know,” she accuses. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her breath smells like champagne. Ah. Liquid courage, then. This should be fun. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” I ask, keeping my lips straight. If she suspects how amusing this is to me, I might not make it out of this office alive. “The swans,” she hisses. My lips twitch. “You have a problem… with the swans?” I ask lightly. She makes a half-assed attempt at shoving me back, but I don’t budge. “Yes, the swans,” she says cruelly. “And the champagne from my birth year, the caviar, the whole ordeal, really… it’s so over the top, Ravage.” Her use of my old nickname sends a thrill through me. I rock back in my heels as I place my hands in the pockets of my pants. “Are you surprised that it’s over the top? You know I don’t do anything half-assed, Parker.” Especially when it comes to her. Is that why she’s mad? Because I went too far? Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice still huffy and tense. “I don’t know anything about you anymore.” I don’t know what to say to that, so I go with the next best option: pushing her buttons. “Okay, then I think we’re done here,” I goad, taking a step toward the door. “Oh no,” she growls, baring her teeth and pulling me back by the front of my suit jacket. “You’re not going anywhere. Not before I tell you how inappropriate this all is.” Wow. She’s as feisty as I remember, but my urge for control wins out. The last thing I want to do is stay in this office with her. In such close proximity. Not being able to touch her. Especially because she’s engaged to someone else. “With all due respect, if you’d like to continue yelling at me, I think I’ll pass. When you’re ready to thank me, you know where to find me.” I step back again, and I realize within half a second that my response was entirely the wrong thing to say. “You,” she seethes. “You don’t get to come into my life on what’s supposed to be one of the happiest nights of my life. You were supposed to stay in my past,” she adds, her voice softer. “One of the happiest days of your life?” I ask, my jaw hardening. “Then tell me, Parker, why you look like you’re going to a funeral?” My eyes bore into hers as I raise my eyebrows in a silent question. Her mouth opens and then closes. I close the distance between us. “Or would you rather elaborate on why it’s supposed to be one of the happiest nights of your life? Supposed to be… the way you worded that tells me everything I need to know.” Her fists curl at her side. Okay, maybe I’m provoking her a bit unfairly. Spurring her into admitting what I want to hear. But I can’t help but wonder why my financial help and my presence here tonight are making her practically foam at the mouth. As always with her, I am straddling the line between wanting to push her and mold her to my whims until she’s saying all of the pretty words, and wanting to ensure she stays far away from me for that very same reason. “I want to know why,” she says simply, looking more resigned now. I shrug. “I have all this money and nothing to spend it on. It’s the least I can do for my best friend’s sister.” She rolls her lower lip between her teeth as she looks off to the side. Her hands uncurl and she crosses her arms. “You didn’t need to do all of this,” she says tightly. Her brows are pinched when she looks back up at me. “I’ll find a way to pay you back. And you are not paying for my wedding.” I hold my hands up in silent surrender. “Fine. Whatever you want, Parker.” “Fine,” she huffs. Sighing, I rub my mouth. “He makes you happy?” I ask. “What?” she asks, suddenly angry again. “Declan.” “It’s Dylan,” she hisses. “You didn’t answer my question,” I tell her sternly. Her mouth parts and she looks like she doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah. He makes me happy.” And I know—I know—I shouldn’t ask her this question. Let lying dogs lie, and all of that. But I have to know. Some small, twisted part of me needs to know. “Does he treat you like a seven-course meal, Parker?” She shifts her weight and looks away. I’ve spent years studying body language. Due to the nature of my extracurricular activities, I have to ensure that the women I’m with are enjoying themselves. I’ve taught myself to read every inhale, every muscle jerk, every expression imaginable. When my subs are too into a scene to speak verbally, I can decipher what they’re thinking through body language. We use verbal and non-verbal safe words for a reason. It’s a useful tool—one that certainly comes in handy in times like these. And Parker? She’s so easy to read. I school my face into indifference as she sucks in a breath of air. “Yep. Seven-course meal,” she says quickly. Little liar. —from PREY TELL (Ravaged Castle Book 1) —Marry Lies (Ravaged Castle Book 2) @ https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C5MX4PK7 —Ward Willing (Ravaged Castle Book 3) @ https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CDTXRNWY

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An Unputdownable Billionaire Romance

Prey Tell (Ravaged Castle)