Page 73 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
“I feel bad now for not having you stay in the guest room at the house.”
“It’s totally fine,” he says. “I wouldn’t have expected you to invite a stranger who’d just shown up on your doorstep to stay in your home with you. And definitely not when the guest room is only about two feet away from your own bedroom.”
At his reference to bedrooms he looks down and shifts in his seat, eliciting a grunt from Thelma.
“I mean, I’m doing most of my work at night,” he explains, “and I wouldn’t want to disturb you when I’m making calls and having meetings.”
I’m right next to him now.
“Nice view of the sky from here.” I duck down to peer out of the low window at the pinks and yellows of the sunset.
At the merest suggestion of my presence, Thelma wakes up, emits a snarky meow, jumps off Miller’s lap and scurries off toward the stairs.
The second she’s gone, Miller reaches for my waist and pulls me down to replace her.
And I let him.
His hands feel strong, caring, trustworthy.
“The finest view I can imagine is right here,” he says, running his thumb along my jawline.
And I let him.
His touch is delicate, thoughtful, and appreciative.
Then he kisses me.
And I let him.
And I dissolve into his lips.
Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FRANKIE
“Why do you have to go to Chicago?” Miller asks between tiny, featherlight kisses around the outline of my lips.
Sparks from the touch of his mouth skitter across my skin.
“My boss wants me there.” My eyelids drift shut as I let myself sink into the pleasure of him. “To help the advertising team to…” His hand strokes up my back and entices me closer. “…persuade a big home decor influencer to be the face of a new sofa collection.”
He brushes his cheek against mine, the scent of his skin sweet with fresh farmwork sweat, the tickle of his stubble sending a ripple of desire between my thighs.
“So it’s just temporary?” His voice is low against my ear. “Because you’re scared that jerk might get the big job if you don’t go?”
I can barely breathe over the beating of my heart and the ache of anticipation for what might happen next.
Maybe Paige is right. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen if I give in to this? Ten years from now would I regret doing this—or regret not doing it?
The throb between my legs tells me I would definitely regretnotdoing it.
And my brain says maybe I don’t have to constantly protect myself from lies and deception. Maybe there’s nothing here to protect myself from.
“Yup. Just a quick visit. Leaving late-afternoon tomorrow.” I rest my hands on his broad shoulders that are so strong, so reliable, and make me feel so safe, and inhale the lemongrass aroma of my shampoo in his hair. “And I’ll be back late the next night.”
“That’s not too long.” He eases back a little to drop his forehead against mine as he heaves a heavy sigh. “Thank God.”
