Page 64 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I blink. “What?”
“Lock the door, so no one can come in. Just in case.”
“No, I mean… you’ll sleep in your RV again?”
“Of course. It’s part of our trap. Gotta make sure no one comes looking for you.” He lets his hand slide over my exposed arm and gives me a wink. “Don’t worry. No one is going to hurt you on my watch.”
My eyes wander down his chest, to the hand that just left a warm trail against my skin.
“Oh, yeah,” he lifts that hand and displays his expensive-looking Rolex or whatever it is. “This may be a replica, but I promise I’ll keep you just as safe as if it were authentic.”
He tosses me another wink before heading out the door. “Try not to miss me too much, Panda.”
That’s preposterous, I want to shout after him, but instead just stare at his butt as he leaves. It is a great butt. Then, like he told me, I lock the door—twice—and slide the chain into place. From up here, I can see Ben enter the RV a minute later. He shuts the door, sets up a surveillance camera, and once again drapes himself in a blanket while brushing his teeth.
It feels cruel that he’d have to sleep in an uncomfortable driver’s seat while I’m all alone in the thick silence of this new apartment. I exhale slowly, forcing my limbs through the motions of my nighttime routine while, admittedly, my mind is still elsewhere—still playing footsies with Ben Lyon.
Maybe I should ask him to come sleep on the couch. It would be much more comfortable for him. So I walk back to thewindow, but when I get there, I find him asleep already. Looks like it was a long day for him too. As it was for me.
I don’t usually do this. I don’t consider letting someone sleep on my couch. And I certainly don’t lie in bed thinking about that someone.
Yet here I am—stretched out beneath the sheets, my pulse unsteady, my body restless—all because of him.
I can still feel the heat of his fingers on my arm, the way he steadied me like it was nothing, like he isn’t even aware of the effect he has on me.
My legs rub together instinctively, frustration building. It’s been years since I’ve felt attraction to anyone—since my body has responded to another person like this. And it feels… good. Too good. Dangerous. It’s a slippery slope, and I know exactly where it leads—to bad decisions, to losing control. And I can’t lose control.
Ben is a con artist. A liar. A thief. He’s trouble wrapped up in an irresistible smirk and a body carved for sin, and… I’m sure there are more arguments against him. Because those sure are arguments against him.
Unfortunately, my body seems to have other ideas.
I turn onto my side, pressing my thighs together, willing the craving between them to fuck off. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the darkness behind my lids doesn’t help either. Because all I see is him.
Ben on the couch, his shirt clinging to his broad chest, long legs spread—and me between them.
Ben licking his lips, his tongue flicking out just slightly—and mine eagerly doing the same.
Ben gripping my waist, pulling me onto his lap, his fingers digging into my skin, firm and demanding—me turning into a puddle on top of him.
My breathing turns ragged. My fingers twitch against the sheets, itching to roam lower, to touch myself the way I wish he would touch me.
Fuck. No.
I need to exercise self-control! Luckily, I let Elaine talk me into attending that one yoga class with her that one time. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. Time for emergency measures. Time for breathing exercises.
It’s simple, really. You just breathe and fall asleep. Coincidentally, that’s also the reason I never went back for the second lesson, since I was too embarrassed after falling asleep during the first.
How did it go again?
4-7-8. Inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight. It’s supposed to trick my body into relaxing, into believing that I am a woman of peace and modesty rather than an anxiety-ridden mess currently overheating over a freaking criminal.
I take my first breath.
One, two, three, four?—
Okay, good start. Now hold.
One, two—What if I asked him tomorrow to sleep on the couch? And what if I woke up to find him shirtless, stretching like some kind of sun-kissed Greek god?—
