The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO) novel Chapter 50

“Why is that?”

“Saves you having to wine and dine leggy blondes on short notice, when you can’t be bothered or have a hangover.” I smirk. Inwardly glad he has no date with him tonight.

“I guess. Although that stiff double whiskey sorted me right out.” He’s smiling, he seems relaxed tonight despite his earlier weirdness and there’s that casual laid back energy.

“What’s with that anyway?” I ask curiously.

“What’s with what?” he looks over my head and nods at someone trying to catch his attention - ever sociable Carrero. Back to swaying with me to the music, he seems distant suddenly, but I know he’s trying to avoid my gestapo questioning.

“The lack of leggy bosoms lately?” It’s been in the back of my mind, his lack of playmates and sleep overs for weeks now.

He shrugs and spins me around, pulls me back into his arm playfully and lightly smacks me on the butt. I throw him a mock alarmed look; the tug of his grin is not lost on me and I get that warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach at his good mood. He’s so much more mellow since we landed.

“Lost your sex drive or merely misplaced it?”

“Nope.” He’s smiling, but that guarded look is back with my probing, he’s being deliberately evasive, pulling out that tug of irritation at him.

Oh, so we’re playing the one-word answer game, are we?

He looks amused at my dry expression.

“Bored?” I press.

“So, so … Just taking a break.” He shrugs and looks over me again, this time winking at another attention grabber.

For goodness sake.

“You do that, do you?” I cock my head to the side, studying his chiseled jawline, the sparkle of his mystical eyes in this light. He looks particularly handsome tonight.

“Sometimes.”

I doubt it very much. I’m pretty sure in all the years I researched his social endeavors, I have never seen a break in the flow of women, but maybe some of them were just stand in dates, like me. PA and assistants when he couldn’t be bothered.

“Are you sick?” I know I’m prying but I live with him and I know how much he likes to roll in the sheets, and by my calculations it’s been a while since the last one. A long while.

“Not that I’m aware.” He throws me a quizzical glance with raised eyebrows that says, “Where are you going with this?”, but he’s still smiling. He catches my hand and holds it to his forehead with a furrowed brow.

“Do I feel sick?”

I pull my hand free and shake my head at him in exasperation. We go back to swaying, but my brain is still mulling it over.

“You’re not? … You know?” I hesitate as the telltale heat runs up my cheeks and I curse myself for asking this.

“What?” he’s laughing now, I think he knows what I’m going to ask and it’s absolutely hilarious to him. He has that amused look on his face, the all-knowing eye.

How does he do that?

“Having man problems?” I blush furiously.

Why am I even asking this, god? I’ve become as nosey as him! And as inappropriate!