Page 17 of Beauty and the Billionaire

By the time I shut myself in my room, the heat had reached my face. Was this not the reason I allowed him to work off the debt? To be surprised by his unrestrained fierceness like the night he had come into my penthouse?

Or is there more that you don’t want to admit?I wondered. It had been a long time since anyone had attempted to check my moral compass.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

CHAPTER 5

Discoveries

Zain

The chiseled muscleson Dominic’s torso were the first damned image in my mind as I drifted up from the depths of sleep. Somewhere in the blackness of the night, his lean muscles and taut, smooth skin had imbued my thoughts that the remainder of my time in bed was restless. Sleeping shallowly, I was almost aware of where my disjointed dreams were taking me.

I know I am dreaming, I thought countless times, but I still stood in the kitchen, letting my gaze shed away the dislike, the near hatred I had for him, and indulge in what he was inadvertently offering.

Except he wasn’t offering. And even if he was, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want my gaze sliding over the rippling muscles of his body, but the urge was stronger than me. It was impossible to resist it when the opportunity was so close, so present, so imposing. And maybe I wouldn’t have spent the rest of the night dreaming about his body had he not tried to be so intimidating.

I brushed my teeth in front of the big mirror above the bathroom sink, then washed my face with cold water, doing littleto put out the fire within. My own body was strained, wrought tight, and tingling whenever our midnight encounter crossed my mind. I wasn’t much of an athlete, as the mirror showed without being asked, but I worked hard, lifted things, rode a bike, and often ran. Skinny, almost scrawny, I had the faint outlines of muscles that couldn’t compare to what I had stared at last night. The deep ridges between individual muscles, the bulging chest that was much broader than his shirts and suit jackets indicated, and the cut physique of a man who had a purpose in mind.

No, I wasn’t fond of Dominic Blackthorne, who had put my family in a terrible situation and who was on a personal crusade of vengeance.

But I was fascinated.

I was intrigued enough to know, deep down, that Iwantedto be here. Iwantedto pore over the files, do as I was asked, and scratch the cold, angry surface he put out to the world. That was all it was, I was sure. A front, a facade.

I had seen it slip for the briefest of moments. To be fair, it was in the middle of the night, in poor light, and with tired eyes, but I could have sworn that I saw him balk, then pull tightly together a mask of indifference.

Part of me suspected that Dominic Blackthorne wanted people to hate him.

And because that was a far-fetched idea, I would check before I claimed it aloud.

Putting on a pair of black skinny jeans, the only good ones that I owned, and a white T-shirt I had expected to be cleaning his dusty library in, I decided I was as ready for the office work as I could be. How strict was he, anyway?

I descended the big stairs and found the familiar dining room bathed in bright morning light. Outside, mildew sparkled on the vast lawns, and mist lingered on the ground in the far distance, near the forest.

Dominic looked up from his tablet as I walked in. He wasn’t sitting at the long dinner table as the first night, but by the far window at a smaller, round table clad in white. The breakfast table was cluttered with all sorts of tasty items. From boiled eggs to hot buns and cold cuts, accompanied by fried bacon, hot hash browns, a pitcher of orange juice, a pot of coffee, and a small mountain of muffins in various colors.

“I half expected you would be leaving today,” Dominic said. His eyes glimmered as they caught the morning sunlight. He swiftly erased all traces of surprise from his expression, hardening his facial muscles and looking down at his table uncaringly.

“My word and signature mean a little more than all that,” I said in a cheerful tone. I had always been a nightbird, but working early shifts had taught me how to start my day right. A smile, even if it had to be dragged from the angry clutches of my sleepy heart, and a hearty breakfast. And that was it.

“I am beginning to see that,” Dominic said in an almost flat tone, but it rose at the last two words as if carried by hope. He pretended to be busy for a minute as I sat down, looking through his tablet and touching the screen. He folded his lips, licked them, and continued to look at the screen. “I only thought that your conscience wouldn’t let you do the work.”

I helped myself to a cup of coffee and a chocolate muffin. “You misunderstood.”

His attention snapped to me.

“Let me guess,” I said, smiling to myself victoriously. “People don’t say that to you often.”

“They do not,” Dominic agreed.

“Well, you did,” I said. I took my time before speaking again, tasting the muffin and having a long sip of coffee.

“Care to elaborate?” Dominic asked, his tone a touch impatient.

I nodded, swallowing another bite of the muffin. I didn’t often get to have a sweet breakfast. “If I need to have my conscience at stake to do this, I only want to understand the situation.”

Dominic looked at me blankly. He wore a crisp, white shirt with an unbuttoned collar stretched wide by the width of his shoulders. A black leather wristwatch with a dark blue dial and silver handles caught the light of the morning sun. It was a fancy thing. It was probably priceless, like his cufflinks or the hairs in Orwell’s nose. “Is my word not enough?”

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