Page 108 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“It’s not Fort Knox.”

“Right there! That!” She’s practically quivering with apprehension.

I settle my hands onto her shoulders. “Breathe.”

She sucks in a quick, sharp breath, then jerks it out.

“That wasnotthe slow, calm breathing I was hoping for.”

“Rex, I can’t believe you’re trying to get me to do calm breathing while we’re illegally skulking around in Marvin’s place about to be discovered at any moment!”

“We’re not going to be discovered,” I say. “Clark will alert me if Marvin comes back.”

She nods excitedly.

I pull her to me and growl, “And I won’t be hiding under a bed if somebody comes.”

She lights up like she always does when I growl things against her skin, and I want her more than anything. She’s so keyed up right now, she’d probably get off with a touch.

I tear my attention from her and look around. “I’ll take the bedroom, you take the bathroom. Sheets have been changed,” I say. “Marvin’s an everyday-maid-service type.”

“Check around it anyway. Check out under the pillow, check the floor around the bedside table, wherever else…”

“I think I get the idea here, ” I say. “I, too, have a head with hairs.”

She heads to the bathroom.

I’m not finding hairs anywhere; the bedroom seems barren of all traces of human DNA. I’m surprised at how unhappy I am about this; I wanted this for her, and maybe even a little bit for me, too.

We’re stopping at St. Herve tomorrow. I’d imagined us FedExing the hairs to my PI from there. Waiting for the results together. Not that I think anything will come of it; its more about the doing, the journey. I’ve never been anit’s about the journeyguy, but things are different with Tabitha.

I open the laptop on the desk, but it’s password protected. I widen my search area to the chair next to the bed and to the desk, looking for things scribbled on notepads, anything. Eventually I head into the bathroom to see how Tabitha is doing.

I find her kneeling under the sink. “You okay down there?”

She backs out and stands. “The bad news: no hairs.”

“Damn,” I say.

A smile suddenly spreads across her face. She’s sparkling. I’m practically feverish with the need to kiss her.

With a flourish, she lifts the baggie between us. “The good news: Toenails, anybody?”

I blink. “What?”

“Toenails.”

“You have Marvin’s toenails?”

She’s beaming. “Yes. Because I’m magic.”

“Toenails work for DNA?”

“Hell yeah.” She stuffs the baggie into her clutch. “So if you’re going to give out an award for the employee who executed the grossest job of the year, I feel that I personally should be up for it. I feel that I probably kicked ass on everybody in your entire organization in the Grossest Job Award category.”

Something twists in my gut. I don’t like that she sees herself as just an employee.

“Let’s hightail it out of here,” she says.

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