Page 42 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
Sage eventually manages to say, “Yes, please,” and Jacob crams the pastries in a bag, slamming them in with so much force it’s a surprise the bag doesn’t rip. He thrusts the bag at them, and I slide the drinks over the counter.
“Thanks a million, Bills. Jacob,” says Louise, before she winks at me and the couple turn to leave.
Jacob is still flushed and frustrated. “Jacob,” I say quietly. “Let’s have a talk in the back.”
We head through to the back room, and Jacob slumps into a seat with a sigh. “You’re firing me, aren’t you?”
“What? No, you’re doing fine.” He gives me a doubtful look. “No, really. This is all new to you. You’ve just got to loosen up a little. Talk to them like you talk to friends.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “Everyone is your friend. Nobody likes me.”
“That’s not true,” I say. He raises an eyebrow. I summon all my courage and quietly say, “I like you.”
He looks up at me, his green eyes glistening with emotion. “You do?”
I walk over to him slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. For a second, I hesitate, standing in front of him, not quite reveling in how small and human he looks, but definitely noticing it. Then I take another step forward, straddle his legs, and sink down onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
Like instinct, his arms are immediately around me too, supporting me. A wordless promise that he won’t let me fall.
“I do,” I whisper, then close the gap between us and lean in for a kiss.
Suddenly, it’s too hot in the break room, which is nothing more than a glorified cupboard. I gasp as Jacob’s hands slide down my back, and I tilt my head so I can nip at his neck, his stubble coarse on my lips. He lets out a long breath, and I continue kissing his neck, letting my own hands roam his body, driven on as I feel the bulge in his pants growing.
“God, Billie,” he growls. “What spell do you have on me?”
“A wicked, magic one,” I answer. “The same one you have on me. This is so not the right place for this.”
“We can stop.”
“Did I say stop?”
I don’t give him a chance to reply because our lips crash together again, colliding with a renewed passion, the hot desire of lust burning inside us both. I’m aching for him, longing. It’s a primal need, something base and unfamiliar to me. Something exciting.
When he stands up, I yelp, clinging to him as he lifts me in one deft motion, my legs wrapping around his hips, the proof of his desire undeniable. He places me down on the countertop and kisses me again. “Please,” I murmur. “I want you so much.”
“Not as much as I want you.”
The break we take is longer than it should have been, but I don’t care. I should have flipped the sign around to ‘closed’. We probably lost business.
But I don’t care.
Jacob fills my mind like an obsession, like an itch I can’t scratch. Worst of all, I’m starting to like it.
CHAPTER 21
JACOB
For the first time in days, Billie got up early to go to the cafe. I stirred when she got up, and she asked me if I wanted to join her. But I’ve had one too many early mornings over the last few weeks, and I don’t want to deal with it anymore.
She laughed at me for saying that, then got up with a kiss, leaving me to roll over and go back to bed. I sleep for another few hours, waking every so often, drifting between dreams of Billie; thinking about her in the shop, thinking about the way she smiles at customers, and how all of the people on this island love her so much.
Just once, I wake from a vision of being back at the cafe working. Work dreams are usually a nightmare, but this dream is one I almost want to go back to sleep for, so I can keep enjoying it.
Billie has done something to me that’s more than irreversible. It’s magic.
When I finally get up, I discover she’s left a note in the kitchen telling me that she’s left food in the fridge. I chuckle to myself. She didn’t have to do that, but she did. God only knows why, butI’m not one to deny a free meal, so I grab the leftovers from the fridge, slap them in the microwave, and sit down to enjoy my breakfast.
I hate to say it, but she’s right. Having a home-cooked breakfast from someone who cares about you is completely different to eating in a restaurant. I’d forgotten what this feels like.
