Page 14 of Christmas with the Billionaire
“So, be real with me.” Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her fingers crinkle around a burger wrapper. Tee’s Drive-In is our dinner savior, coming through while most businesses are closing early. “When was the last time you had fast food?”
Taking up the only chair paired with a simple desk, I pluck apart an onion ring. “Strange question to ask.”
Rolling her eyes, she shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I’m guessing you have a hired chef. Don’t most rich people have one of those? I’m just having a hard time picturing you, business man Charles Thornton with a greasy burger in his grip, you know?”
Does she picture me a lot? If only I could get a peek into her head.
“Two weeks ago.” Thinking about it, I shut my eyes to remember. “After a glass too many of scotch, I think I had a moment of weakness and went to taco heaven.”
God, the heartburn the next day was not worth it. Throw in a hangover, and I spent too much time suffering that weekend.
The laugh that leaves her is heavenly. Seemingly enjoying the thought of my suffering, Ellie shakes her head.
“This is going to sound silly, but I kind of expected you to be this uptight rich dude.” Her laugh softens, and she takes a cautious bite of her food. “You keep surprising me.”
Popping a piece of onion into my own mouth, I grimace at the grease. “Still the same guy. Just more gray hairs and a few agelines.” I shrug, my eyes locking onto hers. “Now, if one of us has changed, it has to be you.”
Her brows lift in surprise. Wait, does she honestly not see it?
“Good changes… I hope?” Hesitant, she hides half of her face behind her sandwich, peering over the bite marks.
It’s a futile attempt at concealment. I know I shouldn’t stare, that the hunger coiling in my gut is a tumor, growing by the day, but I’m helpless. My control over my small list of weaknesses is nonexistent.
Sustaining myself on photographs, I studied them like a man starving, tracing the frozen lines of her body on a screen, convinced I had memorized every curve, every slope. I thought I knew her as those small changes occurred over time.
Turns out, I knew nothing.
Seeing her now, breathing the same air, is a brutal, beautiful shock to the system. In person, her features are softer, her body warmer than my phone screen.
A heat, low and demanding, pools in my abdomen. My cock stirs, a traitorous pulse that threatens to give away every uncensored feeling that keeps coursing through me.
Hell, she’s bundled in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, and the mere suggestion of the body hidden beneath all that cotton is enough to undo me.
“Yeah.” The word is rough, torn from a throat gone tight. I force a swallow, my gaze drinking her in. “Good changes, Ellie. You’ve… turned into a beautiful woman.”
She takes my compliment in silence, stuffing her mouth with more bites of food. Even now, with grease clinging to her lips, I’m thinking about it. What it would be like to kiss her again.
Even if I shouldn’t, I want to. Very much so.
She hasn’t brought it up, and a part of me is thankful for it. The other part wonders if it was so bad that she simply wants to forget all about it. Maybe I should. It’s not like I’m going to have another chance to experience it again, anyway.
“I think I’m going to get cleaned up before we call it.” Crumpling her wrapper, she busies her hands as she tries to hide her pink cheeks. While she’s scrambling to collect all the trash and dust away any crumbs, I’m unable to hide my amusement.
She might’ve transformed into a sexy woman, but when she acts all bashful like this, she’s at her cutest. It’s like a breath of fresh air that a man can fill his lungs with.
Nodding my head, I work on finishing my dinner as she hunches over her suitcase, digging out her sleepwear.
Fuck. I’ve only ever seen her in daily wear. What kind of clothes does she sleep in? Maybe something silky smooth against her skin. Or, it could be cotton. Either way, it’ll be clinging to her curves, leaving little to my imagination.
My fingers tingle just thinking about what it would be like if I touched her. I won’t, of course, but imagining it is harmless.
When she slips out of the room to shower in that single bathroom downstairs, the silence that follows after her departure is deafening.
Getting all but three minutes to let out a groan, I jerk when Ellie returns looking the same as when she left. Well, maybe more flushed than before.
“Um,” she starts, hesitating. “Can I borrow you? The door… I don’t think I can get it to lock. I don’t want to risk, you know, one of the other guests strolling in.” Now she’s red from the hollow of her throat up to her nose.
Not liking the image she’s painting, I’m on my feet without thinking twice. I don’t exactly understand what I’m agreeing to until I’m staring at the bathroom door, waiting to hear the hiss of the shower start up before slipping inside.
