Page 32 of Billion Dollar Mistake

I glance back at him. His forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean?”

His face is close to mine. His hand back on my arm. Does he know I need that right now?

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the intensity of the moment, as the weight of unspoken desire hangs thick in the air. When I open them again, I find the strength to say, “Everyone wants something.”

His gaze is fixed on me. “I don’t.” He softly murmurs with dilated pupils. “Well, I want to talk to you.”

“You could have bought me a second hand one. Not the one that’s only just been released.”

“I can’t have it breaking on you.” His words carry a tone of urgency and sincerity.

“Sure,” I playfully quip, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. My eyes drop to his lips, and I can’t help but add with a chuckle, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get into my pants.”

“Why would I need to buy you a phone to do that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. I’m becoming delirious the longer I'm in here.

His finger touches my chin and tilts my head back. Our eyes hold once again. “I need to talk to you, remember?”

“Talk to me.” I wink.

He shakes his head as a deep chuckle leaves his chest. I find myself wanting to lean in and kiss him. Kiss him with those lips that like to talk to me. When was the last time a guy wanted to do that?

A long time.

And as crazy as it sounds, I believe him.

Opening the lipstick as a distraction. I swipe some on my lips and rub them together. I feel like myself again.

A camera flashes the instant I turn to Jeremy.

I scrunch up my face. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a photo.”

“Why?” I ask. As new butterflies swarm my stomach.

“I want your new phone number in my phone.”

“You needed my face to do that?”

His eyes bore into me, and I don’t expect his next word to be so calm and direct. “Yes.”

A shiver runs up my spine. “I still have the SIM at home. I’ll keep my old number.”

“I’ll save your picture to your name.”

“Well then, I need a photo of you too. It’s only fair.”

“I don’t do photos.”

I roll my eyes. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

“No. Your face is so…” He trails off, rubbing his jaw, and looks away. I want to beg him to look at me and continue.

“So?” I press, needing his answer.

“Delicate. Exquisite,” he says and turns to face me. His eyes move slowly over my face. I can’t understand what he’s thinking. He’s so hard to read.

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