Page 50 of The Billionaire's Obsession: Florida

I wish he could trust me.

The deep, steady cadence of his breathing told her that he slept.

Small steps.

Simon didn’t sleep with anyone, didn’t allow himself to be in the same bed with another person when he was vulnerable. The fact that he was sleeping with her plastered against him was bigger than a step; it was more like a huge stride.

Moving a little to get comfortable, her heart flipped over when he grumbled an incoherent protest and yanked her back against him.

Yep. They would need to have a talk about his trust issues tomorrow. She needed to know something about what happened to him, why he had reacted the way he had earlier. It wasn’t possible to combat a ghost she couldn’t see, couldn’t understand.

Never again did she want to see Simon in the grip of panic, lost in an unknown fear. His vulnerability had nearly ripped her heart out.

A fierce protective instinct flowed over her as her eyes fluttered closed, completely spent and exhausted.

He’ll dodge and be evasive. He won’t want to talk about it.

If he wasn’t ready...well...she’d wait until he trusted her enough to discuss it.

Satisfied that things would work out fine, she yawned against Simon’s shoulder until her breathing matched his, deep and even, and fell into a dreamless, contented sleep.

Three days later, Simon scrawled his signature on the last of a stack of mile-high documents that his secretary had dropped on his desk earlier that morning. Slamming the gold pen on the top of the pile with more force than was necessary, he leaned back in his enormous leather chair with a frustrated sigh, wondering how many more days he could take of the tension between him and Kara.

No sex. No touching. No waking up in the morning with her delectable body wrapped around mine like a silken blanket.

God, that morning three days ago had started off as the best morning of his life.

Unfortunately, what happened at breakfast also had it ranking right up there with one of the worst.

She had wanted to talk about the night before.

He didn’t.

Oh, he had been more than willing to talk about and repeat what had happenedafterhis freak-out. The actual panic attack?...not so much.

Raking his hand through his hair, he leaned back and tried to relax his body, admitting to himself that the distance between the two of them wasn’t really her fault. Much. She had taken his unwillingness to discuss it gracefully, giving him one of her sweet smiles and telling him that she would wait until he was ready. But then...just when he was thinking she might end up waiting until she was old and gray before he wanted to discuss it...she droppedthe bomb.

I can’t make love with you, Simon. Not until you trust me enough to tell me what happened. I just can’t.

Then, after turning his world upside down with that comment, she had kissed him on the forehead like he was a child, wished him a good day, and sashayed her sweet little ass out the door. And she had done it all with a smile. What. The. Hell.

To her credit, she hadn’t been a bitch to him, hadn’t raised her voice or thrown a tantrum. Shit, he wished she would. Maybe he could generate a lot more anger at her to help him through his current torment.

The only thing that really pissed him off was the fact that hedidtrust her. He just didn’t want to talk aboutthat.

“You look like a man who’s ready to attend his own execution. What’s the matter, little brother? Getting tired of Kara? ’Cause if you are I would gladly-”

“Touch her and you die.” Fists clenched on the desk in front of him, Simon leaned forward, the threat of fratricide on his face, as he watched his brother saunter across his office. “Don’t you fucking knock?” He knew Sam was goading him about Kara, trying to push his buttons. In reality, his brother would never come near her again. Sam had made that perfectly clear to Simon when he had apologized for his behavior at the party. However, it didn’t stop Sam from trying to irritate the hell out of him.

Sam shot him a cocky grin as he dropped into a chair in front of Simon’s desk. “Why would I? I own the company.”

Simon decided that the only thing worse than owning Hudson with Sam was the fact that they had both had an office on the same floor. “Last time I checked, so did I,” he snapped back at Sam, not in the mood for his older sibling’s bullshit.

“I’m older. It gives me seniority.” Sam propped his Italian leather-clad feet casually on Simon’s desk.

Simon waited, watching his brother relax back into the chair. The bastard. Leaning forward, Simon swept one muscular arm across the desk, knocking Sam’s feet into the air. “Get your damn feet off my desk!”

Really, was there anything more amusing than watching a man in an immaculate designer suit flailing his arms like a baby bird, trying to catch his balance before his chair flipped over?Simon didn’t think so. Not when it was Sam fluttering his arms while his chair tilted. The only thing that would have made it better was if his brother had tipped the chair over and landed flat on his ass.

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