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Sway With Me

By:Shelly Bell

Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) - Shelly Bell
Chapter 1



Tell me where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart, or in the head?

How begot, how nourished?

William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, act 3, scene 2

With anticipation surging through his veins, Ryan Sullivan strolled into the decadent marbled lobby of the most desirable office building in downtown Detroit. He didn’t believe in luck, but if Uncle Alexander came through for him, he’d believe in luck, fate, karma, and Santa Claus. Images of gold mines, Standardbred racehorses, and Greek islands danced in his head. What had his uncle bequeathed him? One of the recycling companies? The entire conglomerate? Or even better, plain cold cash?



When he’d gotten the phone call yesterday from a man claiming to be his uncle’s attorney, he’d almost hung up thinking his friend Braden was pranking him. Once he’d realized the lawyer meant business, Ryan had nearly fallen out of his chair. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve an inheritance, but he wouldn’t argue. Out of everyone in his family, he needed it most. Maybe now he could finally afford to move out of Braden’s house.

After a sleepless night spent envisioning the myriad of possibilities, he’d hopped out of bed before his alarm blared and left a half-hour earlier than necessary to get downtown. Of course, he hadn’t foreseen an accident closing the exit to the attorney’s office, or the construction which reduced the traffic to one lane, or missing the turn to get back on the highway. Luckily, his GPS gave him a shortcut through the neighborhoods.



Although he’d worked in the city before he was laid-off, that part-time legal aid job had rarely called for home visits. Only this morning, he drove down Detroit’s narrow, torn-up streets and observed firsthand the poor condition of the homes. With their broken windows, missing shingles, crumbling brick, and stripped aluminum siding, the houses appeared unfit for inhabitation, but the presence of dented cars in the driveways confirmed people actually lived there. The yards inundated by weeds and tall grass provided the perfect habitat for rats, which according to local news reports, grew to the size of a typical house cat. Didn’t the owners have any pride in their homes and neighborhoods?

Now, glancing around at the gleaming marble and Pewabic tile, the dichotomy between this ostentatious lobby and the houses located only a mile away wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t have the time to wallow in the injustices of the world. In a few short minutes, he’d hopefully go from living on the bottom floor to luxuriating in the penthouse.

His adrenaline pumping, Ryan glanced at his Movado watch and stepped into the empty elevator. Only five minutes late. He blew out a breath and pressed the button for the fifth floor. With a ding, the doors began to slide shut.

“Hold the elevator,” a husky female voice requested. A petite foot, encased in a black high heel shoe, wedged itself between the doors.

And what a foot.

The elevator doors bounced open, slowly revealing the foot’s owner. He dragged his gaze from the foot up the shapely calf, momentarily lingering, then continued up a deliciously toned, milky white thigh . . . Swallowing hard, he slid his focus to the black fabric which hid what he was already dying to see. His intense perusal skipped over slim hips, to rest on a conservative, yet tight-fitted, black suit jacket, which accentuated a tiny waist, but sadly, concealed the size of her breasts. Ryan almost didn’t want to continue his examination, fearing her face would ruin the perfect fantasy.



Oh, what the hell. He’d only live once.

He slowly lifted his gaze. Right then and there, he realized that someone up there must love him and have decided to reward him today.

He’d never seen a more beautiful woman.

This was a woman musicians sang about, artists immortalized in paintings, poets wrote sonnets for. He’d never grow tired of looking at her—her creamy white skin, her round brown eyes, framed by thick lashes, her hair as dark as coal pulled in a messy bun on top of her head with a couple loose pieces falling to the middle of her back. And her lips . . . those plump pink lips begged for a kiss.

What the heck was wrong with him? With him gawking at her like a letch and moronically ranting poetic musings about her beauty to himself, it was no wonder she hadn’t entered the elevator.

One dainty foot remained between the doors while the rest of her stayed firmly outside. Her mouth pursed into a perfect little O and those eyes widened as she ogled him. The door started to close and still neither of them moved a muscle.

Shaking off his temporary insanity, he regained control of his limbs and pressed the elevator’s ‘open’ button. He coughed, clearing the cobwebs from his throat. “I’ve got it,” he said, his voice sounding raspier than normal.

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