Page 6 of The Billionaire's Lust

Jacob didn’t come home last night.

I threw the covers to the side and kicked off the bed, moving like a woman possessed. I pulled on a pair of yoga pants and stomped into my flats beside the closet. I knew I was unshowered and looked slightly unhinged, but I was going to Whitmore and Creighton.

But what if he isn’t at his office? I thought, hurt knotting my stomach. What if he stayed at a hotel because he couldn’t stand being around me for one more second?

I paused outside the bedroom, the smell of coffee wafting up to put my freak out on hold. He must have gotten up before me.

I eased down the staircase, drawing steadying breaths. This was just further proof that it was time to be honest. I was literally losing my mind.

The door to the balcony was open and I launched myself forward. Jacob was reclined in one of the wicker armchairs, looking incredible even in a plain white t-shirt and black lounge pants. His dark hair was slightly mussed, the wavy locks creating an ebony halo around his bowed head. He looked so peaceful. So serene. I was about to take him from that, ripping him into the dark pit of my latest betrayal.

"Morning," I said, my voice still shaking, hoarse from hours of non-use.

Yeah right, Lay. Non-use my ass--I was shaking from white hot terror that I’d ruined everything. If all the drama I’d put him through up to now wasn’t enough to destroy us, hearing that I’d officially become one of those psycho girlfriends that snooped would be.

He glanced up, his cerulean eyes bright and warm. Warmer than I'd seen them in a while. "Good morning." He nodded at the small, iron wrought table beside him where a French press and a second mug sat. "Coffee's fresh."

"Thanks." I gripped the handle tight and poured the dark roast into my mug then added a bit of cream and brought it to my lips. It was liquid fire, scorching my dry mouth and throat.

I sunk into the chair beside him, trying to shut my head off and focus on my heart and what needed to be said. It was a losing battle because the possibility that I could lose him consumed me. The notion that this could be it, that we’d reached the point of no return was like a knife to the chest. But it didn't compare to this purgatory, the agony of the words he wrote branded on my soul.

I'm not sure about a lot of things. I'm not sure where Leila and I stand…

"It's beautiful out here today, huh?" His deep voice pulled me from my pity party.

It was true. The sky was a soft hue that was romantic. Dreamy. A world away from the storm that was coming.

"It is," I answered, chewing on my bottom lip.

"Can I tell you something?"

I blurted out yes, snatching up the reprieve, no matter how brief.

"It's going to sound cheesy," he warned, stealing a look at me.

I couldn't help but smile at that. Jacob Whitmore, cheesy? That was damn near impossible. But he was clearly waiting for me to give him the okay, so I tipped my head for him to go on.

"Mornings are my favorite time of the day," he confessed. "Where the sky is still swirling with bits of purple, shedding the last pieces of yesterday. I feel like anything is possible. A fresh start. A chance to get it right or wrong. Anything could happen."

My lips spread, but nothing came out. A fresh start. It was like he'd read my thoughts and knew just what to say and show me that this was my moment. All I had to do was take it with both hands and let go.

He faced me full-on, his expression the very definition of dread. "Too much?"

The side of my mouth crept upward. "No, Jacob. It was beautiful."

He held my gaze for a few seconds more then turned back to his city. "I'm sorry I've been at the office so much lately. I've been up to my damn ears signing off on projects, expanding our client base..." He trailed off with a low chuckle. "What am I saying? You know better than anyone how crazy things are."

"I do," I replied, placing my mug on the table. My hands were shaking too hard to maintain my grip. When he blew up after I told him about the letter, I could already see it crashing and splintering into a million pieces.

I rolled my shoulders back. I’d had weeks of avoiding this. Living with this secret. Win or lose, I was coming clean.

"I'm sorry too, Jacob."

He cocked his head to the side. "You're sorry? What for?"

"Because I read the letter you wrote to your mother."

Ever since I opened that letter, I prepared myself for the worse. A rush of blood to the head in the space between my confession and his response. Some form of cardiac arrest to kick in as I watched it really sink in, compounding the damage I'd already done. His face would crumble, wild with rage as I prepared for him to tell me that he was done. That he was tired of giving me all, only to be disappointed when I found some new way to hurt him. I was prepared for the eruption, to stand still and take it as he laid out all the reasons he never should have hired me or allowed himself to fall for me. I was prepared. I'd accepted it. What I wasn't prepared for were the actual words that fell from his lips.

---