Page 39 of Adonis: The Cost of a Billionaire's Heart
Only warmth.
Only the terrifying possibility that things between us were no longer pretend.
“We should sleep,” he finally said, though he didn’t release my hand. “We have to be up in a couple of hours.”
“Mmhm,” I agreed, even as disappointment fluttered in my chest.
I closed my eyes, expecting him to let go of my hand, to reestablish the professional distance that had ruled our relationship over the past seven days. But he didn’t do that either. Instead, his thumb moved slowly, almost absently, across my knuckles, providing a gentle caress that felt both soothing and electrifying. Adonis Holland was unlike any man I’d ever fucked or known for that matter.
I drifted toward sleep more easily with his hand still holding mine, wondering what it meant and knowing that whatever it was, it couldn’t last beyond the next twenty-four hours.Our situation wasn’t a fairy tale where the billionaire bachelor fell for the struggling single mom. It was a business arrangement with an expiration date. So why hadn’t my heart gotten the memo?
As consciousness slipped away, I couldn’t help the traitorous thought that whispered through my mind: what if it could be more?
I woke slowly, instantly becoming aware of the unusual warmth and weight across my waist. My naturally long eyelashes fluttered open to find myself still nestled against Adonis’s hard chest, his warm arm hooked around me, and my head tucked under his chin. Somehow in the heart of slumber, we hadn’tmanaged to pull away from each other, throwing away the fantasy of professional distance.
For a beat, I remained perfectly still, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear and feeling the warmth of his body against mine. He was right, he did run hot. Adonis’s body was like a sauna. His breathing was deep and even, which told me he was still asleep. I slowly began to lift my head, noticing his face was relaxed in a way I’d never seen during waking hours. Without the intensity of his conscious control, he almost looked peaceful.
I knew I should’ve moved away before he woke up to spare us both the awkwardness of our unexpected intimate encounter, but I allowed myself just a few more seconds in the warmth of his embrace, memorizing how it felt to be held by a real man. To be held by him—truly held, and not just for show.
Then, carefully, I began to remove myself from his strong arms. I’d almost succeeded when his eyes opened, instantly alert in a way that suggested he was accustomed to waking up on go mode and ready for action. He looked at our position, at my obvious attempt to slip away, and something complicated passed across his facial expression.
“I’m sorry,” I began, embarrassed.
“No need to apologize,” he answered, his voice morning-rough in a way that sent an unexpected quake through me.
We disentangled fully, both sitting up and putting proper distance between us. The morning light streaming through the curtains made everything feel more real, more exposed, than the intimate darkness of the night.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked formally, as if we were back to our business relationship, as if we hadn’t held hands in the dark and hadn’t just woken up in each other’s arms.
“Mm-hmm,” I answered. “I appreciate you sharing the bed. It was a lot warmer than the sofa.”
He dipped his chin before standing up. “I should shower. We have the final meeting with Garrick at nine.”
“Right. Of course.”
He hesitated, looking like he might say something more, but then pointed his feet toward the bathroom. When the door closed behind him, I let out a long breath while pressing my hands to my cheeks.
What just happened? What almost happened? And why does it matter when I’ll never see this man again once we land back in New York?
I slipped out of bed, trying to focus on the day ahead, on maintaining our charade for just a few more hours. Then the contract would be signed, and our arrangement would be complete. Adonis would get his fifty-million-dollar deal, I’d get the other half of my fifty thousand dollars, and we’d both get exactly what we wanted from the beginning. So why did the thought fill me with such unhappiness?
I enteredthe bathroom with my heart bucking against its reins. It wasn’t because I was nervous about sealing the deal with Ellis Garrick. It was because I’d woken up holding onto Sim. And now that I knew her pussy tasted like angel dust, and she had that drip-drop, Ineverwanted to let her leave my side. Her body had become a drug to me overnight.
My legs carried me to the sink, and I splashed cold water on my face before staring down at my morning wood, then up at my reflection. I barely recognized the man looking back at me. There was something different in my eyes, a softness, something dangerously close to an emotion I hadn’t felt in a long time.
This shit wasn’t supposed to happen.Sex wasn’t in the contract. Feelings weren’t either. This was business—clean,simple, and mutually beneficial. But nothing about being deep inside her felt like business. It was all pleasure.
Simora had played on my mind all night long, even in my dreams while I slept. I shook my head, physically trying to evict her from my thoughts—stopping myself from thinking about how soft her collarbone was against my lips and how her pussy tasted like cherry kiwi on my tongue. No other woman had ever exerted the power to take over my heart and drop me to my knees in worship at the same time. I didn’t want to admit it, but Cupid had shot me right in the fucking heart, and I was done for.
After showering and getting dressed, I traded places with her so that she could do the same. The weight of her purse surprised me as I moved it from the sofa bed. Something fell out—a small wallet-sized photo. I picked it up to see a younger version of Mason looking like a carbon copy of Simora with her smile and bright, brown eyes. He was maybe one or two, with only a few baby teeth and chocolate icing smeared across his face, wearing a birthday hat. The happiness radiating from the image caught me off guard.
She was a mother. A single mother.
I stared at the photo longer than I should’ve, piecing together the puzzle that was her. The constant checking of her phone for another one of his FaceTime calls or update texts from Maya. The worry lines that appeared whenever she thought I wasn’t looking. Her fierce negotiation of the contract terms for her son’s medical insurance. The desperation when she got fired.
It wasn’t just about her. It was about him.
I slipped the photo back into her purse, but I couldn’t forget what I’d seen. Everything shifted in my mind. Her determination had suddenly taken on a new meaning. I’d been forcing myself to view her as another player in the corporate game, someone willing to fake a relationship for financial gain. But she was never playing for herself.
