Page 40 of The Billionaire Experience

“There are Egyptian cotton sheets on the bed and fancy French lavender body wash my sister left behind.”

That sounded heavenly. She sighed and hummed at the same time.

“Yeah, you’re staying. That sigh came from the depths.” He took her hand and helped her stand, walking with her down the hallway. When he pointed out the towel closet, she had to smile. She was familiar with the towel closet.

He dropped her off at the door, leaning on the frame as she took a look at what used to be her grandfather’s bedroom. A little smaller than her old room—the master—and less cluttered than when Ike had lived here.

“In the morning I’ll make you a bacon and avocado omelet.”

“You make omelets too?”

“In addition to the Italian place, I worked in a diner.”

“You’ve lived many lives, Brody Crane.” Being a part of this one was an interesting shake-up in her already shaken-up life.

“Need anything else? Extra pillow? Toothbrush? Cuddle buddy?”

She shoved his chest and ended up resting her hand there for longer than she’d intended. He palmed her hand, stroked her fingers, and she didn’t miss when his gaze dipped to her mouth.

“Good night,” she whispered, sliding her hand away before she made the mistake of pressing her lips to his. She shut the door and rested her back against it.

“See you in the morning,” he said through the door.

Phew. That was a close one.

Last night, Brody had stared unseeing at his laptop while Reagan had showered. He’d tried not to imagine her naked, honest to God, and had failed spectacularly. He planned on stealing another kiss. This morning he’d decided to go for the one-two punch of coffee and the dish he’d named after himself: his specialty omelet, the Bromelet.

He liked taking care of her, especially because she didn’t take very good care of herself. She dropped everything to run to someone else’s aid, half the time forgetting to feed herself. She picked up the phone at all hours, despite a self-proclaimed quitting time of seven o’clock. And, after mentioning what she planned on billing for last night’s call, he knew she wasn’t charging what she was worth.

His ex-girlfriend hadn’t been as generous. Alexis had believed that everyone around her was there to do her bidding. Hell, she’d treated him like he’d worked for her half the time. That had worn very thin very fast.

Reagan didn’t expect anyone to take care of her. Not that he’d specifically tasked himself with that charge, but whenever she was around the urge to do just that was overwhelming.

So, he’d planned on waking her first thing this morning. He’d pictured her asleep in the guest room, her arm thrown over her face, sheets tangled around her bare legs. He’d decided to wake her with coffee, or kisses. Or both.

Instead, when he stumbled into the kitchen at seven thirty to start the coffee pot, he found she’d beaten him to it.

He scrubbed his unshaven face with one hand. “You’re up.”

“So are you.” Her gaze jerked from his boxers and T-shirt and bare feet back to the coffee pot.

“I didn’t get dressed. Thought you were asleep.”

“No big deal. I heard you coming down the hall.” She handed him a full mug. Was it him or was she struggling to keep her attention above his neck? “Which reminds me, I need to fix that squeaky floorboard.”

“How’d you sleep?” His voice was craggy this early in the morning.

“Great after my shower.”

Groan. He had not needed a reminder of that enticing visual.

He sipped the coffee and then moaned for a different reason entirely. It was strong—the way he liked it. “This tastes amazing.”

“I make great coffee.” She smiled at the edge of her mug before a serious expression crossed her face. “Thank you for letting me sleep here. I went to bed after my shower and died. I also appreciate the T-shirt and sock loan.”

He glanced down at her feet, where she still wore his socks. She was back in her own T-shirt and jeans, though.

Bummer.

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