Page 107 of How to Bang a Billionaire

“But I don’t like what they make me.”

“Who says they have to make you anything? What you’re into can sometimes just be what you’re into.”

“I…I…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to make you hate me. I don’t want to lose the bright look on your face when you see me. Your smiles. Being able to make you laugh. The way you come with such fearless joy.”

I wasn’t prepared for him to be sweet in quite such a vivid way.

“The way you blush flamingo pink.”

“Oh my God, stop it.” But I was laughing. “What about the way I fall over and vomit on you?”

“Endlessly charming.”

His teasing was a twist on the blade of a knife I’d forgotten was sticking right the fuck into me. And I was suddenly bleeding with fresh longing.

“What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing.”

He drew back, but it was only to stand and pull me from the swing and into the crook of his arm. He didn’t usually hold me like this, so there was a brief moment when he almost felt like a stranger. But his cologne swept over me like homecoming and I melted. Snuggled. Pressed my cheek into the soft, body-warmed cashmere of his jumper. And then burst into tears.

“What did I do?” he asked, sounding kind of stricken.

I made a grotesque gurgling noise. And finally managed, “I just missed you. I missed you way too much.”

“I missed you too. Enough to chase you to the ends of the earth, my Arden.”

“Only on a technicality.”

“It still counts and I’m taking it.”

I sort of laughed and sort of sobbed. “You’re not going to lose me unless you push me away. Can’t you trust, just a little bit, that I like you?”

“It’s hard to believe.”

“Why? Haven’t you seen yourself?”

“Yes, and you’re everything I’m not.”

“You mean a short-arsed nobody?”

“I mean…happy and good and free.” He tucked his free hand beneath my chin and turned my face up to his. The pale Scottish light had made him a study in contrasts: dark hair, pale skin, those amazing eyes of his, as cold and deep and changeable as the waves of Oldshoremore Beach. I thought he was going to kiss me—I would have been okay with it if he had—but, instead, he simply held my gaze and murmured, “Come back to London with me.”

I wanted to. And I was terrified. And I was sure cuddling me was cheating. Because it was unraveling every sensible thought in my head and replacing them with sparkly rainbows and cartoon hearts. “I don’t know…I mean…I…oh God. I want to…but I’m scared and I don’t know.”

“Please.”

It was a single word. But it hit my heart like a nuke. Kaboom.

I’d always thought that begging—outside the safe context of the bedroom, anyway—would be embarrassing. But when Caspian did it for me? Put all his power and pride aside for the sake of my messed up, vulnerable heart? He didn’t seem weak at all. In fact, I couldn’t quite imagine the strength that allowed such rare and unbowed humility.

I swallowed, my mouth coppery with the residue of weeping. “It can’t be like it was.”

“I know what you need from me. You’ve made that very clear. But, Arden…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t expect me too much too soon. This goes against every instinct I possess and I’m going to…stumble.”

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