Page 64 of Fixer for the Billionaire

I watch him sleep, admiring the art that is his physique.

He's a real-life version of Michelangelo's David, complete with after-sex hair.

Carefully, as though trying to tame a wild animal, I reach out to touch the silky strands, marveling at how they feel both soft and wild between my fingers. I'm still touching them when Quentin, eyes still firmly closed, murmurs out loud.

"If you're checking for horns, sorry to disappoint, but I only wear them on Tuesdays."

I snort, unable to contain the laughter that bubbles up. "I'm shocked. Thought you’d be too worn out to joke this morning."

With one eye lazily open, he grins. "Darling, you underestimate the revitalizing power of being thoroughly... captivated. Though I must admit, you've left me completely defenseless. How will I go on?"

"Oh, please. The only thing you need to go on is a sense of humor. And maybe a map, considering how, in the middle of the night, you got lost on your way to... well, you know."

He laughs, a full-throated, seductive sound that fills the room. "Lost? Me? Never. I was merely enjoying the scenic route. But next time, navigator, feel free to guide me."

"Oh no. I don't need that kind of pressure. I can barely keep up with you."

"Are you kidding? After what you did in the foyer, I nearly had to call a timeout. And that's saying something, coming from the reigning champion of endurance."

"Well, I do have some... impressive stamina when it comes to physical challenges." I feel my cheeks warm at the reminder of our heated encounter in the foyer last night. But then I shake my head. "That was all you, though. I didn’t do nearly enough for that kind of praise."

He takes my hand, holding it, his sleepy green eyes zeroing in. "Carmina Elena Sanchez...Everything you do is enough and more. Don't you ever forget that."

"Mind sharing that sentiment with my mother sometime?"

I snuggle against his bare chest, and he presses his lips to my forehead. "Ah, fuck, I know. Family is...hard. Whether they're around or not around." He swallows, and his Adam's apple bobs. "When my parents died, I was fourteen. I was angry. Their fighting. The cheating. That was hard. But knowing that they were trying to patch up their marriage when they took that last trip? That an argument was probably the last thing they ever shared before the car swerved and crashed? That was the worst. That was what I couldn't forgive. I felt like...if they'd just given up and gotten divorced, they might still be alive."

I reach out and take Quentin's hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry."

Quentin gives me a sad smile. "Thanks." He turns his attention back to my hand. "You know, I blamed the institution of marriage for a long time. I was convinced that it was the root of all evil."

"That's a bit extreme, don’t you think?"

"Hey, it made sense for a while. Commitment, fidelity, expectations...they all led to disappointment and pain. I figured if you had nothing, then you had nothing to lose."

I let out a small laugh. "Well, that's certainly one way of looking at it."

Quentin chuckles. "Yeah, I was quite the cynic in my teenage years. And adult years."

"I'm aware," I say with a smile.

"But then I met someone who made that risk feel worth it." He turns back to me, his eyes locking onto mine with a gentle intensity. "And I realized that it wasn't marriage or love that were the problem. It was the people in them. Maybe they weren't meant for each other, but we are."

My chest suddenly feels like an anvil's dropped on it. I can barely breathe. "What are you saying, Quentin?"

"I'm saying... maybe?—"

My phone interrupts Quentin, a chaotic rendition of "Flight of the Bumblebee" slicing through the silence. The ringtone is coming from the hotel suite foyer, where I dropped my purse during a certain activity.

Exhaling, I glance at Quentin, wrapping a sheet around my body as I swing my legs out of his bed.

"Sorry. It's probably just... the girls." I walk fast, talking over my shoulder. "They're probably up and causing chaos."

I don't wait for him to respond. My body's running on adrenaline, and I'm almost positive that if I stay, the panic will set in.

As I hurry to the foyer, my thoughts race with whatever Quentin was about to say.

But as soon as I pick up my phone, all thoughts of Quentin and our conversation fly out the window.

---