Page 29 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
I shift slowly, trying not to wake him, but the arm tightens around me for a beat before it relaxes again. His breathing is steady. Peaceful.
"Shit." I mutter, my voice sounds exactly how it should, like I was drinking all night.
He looks so calm. Sotogether. Of course he does. Sawyer Gallo probably wakes up after sex like he’s in a cologne commercial, all golden light and abs. Meanwhile, I’m a tangled mess of bedhead, anxiety, and the overwhelming need to flee.
This was supposed to be professional. Just a trip to scope the wedding venue. Some beach air. Some recon. Not a one-way ticket to Sawyer’s sheets and my own emotional panic spiral.
I jump out from under his arm with the finesse of a raccoon escaping a trash can and gather my clothes like I’m part of a heist. Shirt, bra, sandals, dignity—wherever that last one is hiding.
"Charli..."
I don't give him a second look as I dart across the room, slip out the door, and bolt down the hallway to my own room.
I shut the door behind me and lean against it, chest heaving.
What the hell just happened?
As soon as I lock myself in my room, I take the world’s hottest shower, scrubbing my skin until it’s pink and my shame feels marginally less suffocating.
“You slept with your boss,” I mutter to myself, head resting against the shower wall. “And not just your boss—yourboss’s brother.”
The water streams down over my face, but it does nothing to wash away the reality that I crossed a line. A big one. It doesn’t matter that it felt good—hell,perfect.It doesn’t matter that the way Sawyer looked at me made my heart stumble in my chest. It was still a terrible idea.
He’s going to think I can’t keep things professional. That I’m a mess. That I’m using him. Or worse—that this entire trip was some elaborate seduction plan instead of me just trying to rebuild a career.
I groan, tipping my head back under the spray. “This is bad. So bad.”
By the time I step out of the shower, towel wrapped tight around me, I feel only marginally better. I reach for the blow dryer when I hear it.
A knock.
And then a familiar voice.
“Room service!”
My brows knit. I didn’t order anything.
Still wrapped in my towel, I pad to the door and crack it open. And standing there, grinning and smug and entirely too good-looking in a clean button-down shirt and casual shorts, is Sawyer.
He’s pushing a room service cart. Loaded with breakfast, which smells amazing.
Without waiting for an invitation, he nudges the cart inside. “I think we should talk,” he says casually, like this is all totally normal.
Of course he does.
My jaw drops, and I scramble to speak, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Sawyer, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—last night, I mean, it was amazing, but I was caught up in the moment and I didn’t mean to cross any lines and?—”
He cuts me off by stepping forward and pressing me against the wall and kissing me—firm, sure, and silencing. I gasp against his lips; the breath stolen right out of me. When he pulls back, there’s a glint in his eyes that makes my knees wobble.
“You should probably get dressed,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Or we’re never leaving this room today.”
Flushed and flustered, I retreat to the bathroom, pulling on a sundress and brushing out my wet hair with hands that won’t stop trembling. When I return, the breakfast is laid out perfectly on the small table by the window. Everything smells incredible—fresh coffee, tropical fruit, flaky pastries, and a plate of eggs that looks like it came from a five-star kitchen.
I blink, stunned silent, as Sawyer pours me a cup of coffee and slides it across the table like he does this sort of thing all the time.
“I figured you might not feel like going out just yet,” he says smoothly. “So I thought breakfast for two would be a better start to the day.”
I sit, still wordless, as he fixes his plate. Like nothing is wrong. Like everything is completely normal.
