Page 94 of The Billionaire Experience

“Excuse me. You won’t let me? I am capable of purchasing a house, Brody.” She did a mental inventory of her credit score and her bank account and amended, “Or I will be. By the time the book is done and you’ve moved back to New York, I’ll have the downpayment.”

“I can’t let you buy a house I’m capable of giving you.” He appeared genuinely confounded.

“And I can’t let you give me a house that I’m capable of purchasing.” She shot her chin forward. She could also be firm.

His shoulders moved up and down as he took a deep breath. After assessing her posture—arms folded, lips pursed—he dipped his head into a nod. “I don’t like it, but I suppose that’s fair.”

She offered her hand. “Shake on it?”

He regarded her for a moment before kissing her hand instead. He didn’t stop there. He feathered kisses up her arm and then laid one on the top of her shoulder, lingering there for a beat.

“Brody.”

“Stop acting like you hate me.”

That was the problem. She didn’t hate him. She was pretty sure she loved him. Eyes shut, she reconsidered her own stubbornness. It wasn’t fair to paint him the villain. She knew him well enough to know that this hadn’t been transactional for him either.

He hadn’t played her or taken advantage of her once. He’d treated her well and had made sure she had everything she needed. Including a bed to sleep in.

Brody had been the real him this entire time. It was Reagan who had tried on an identity that hadn’t fit. Asking him to change would be like asking a cactus to sprout feathers. It simply wasn’t in his DNA to be in a long-term relationship—to settle down. He’d told her that from the beginning—in myriad ways.

His hands wrapped around her waist while his lips moved from her neck to her ear. “I don’t like fighting with you. I’d rather make love to you.”

Goosebumps erupted on the surface of her skin. She’d never been particularly good at refusing him, and this was an offer she knew she’d take. He drew a yes from her like juice from a ripe orange. She’d miss him when he left, without a doubt. But he was here now, his piney cologne tickling her nostrils, his intoxicating kisses making her want to shout yes to whatever he offered.

He smiled against her damp skin before setting a kiss on her lips. Her heart suffered a tiny fissure, but she welcomed it. If only because she knew she’d found the real thing. Not love the way Dustin had defined it, like numbers on a spreadsheet. But love as Brody defined it. Wild, untamed.

She didn’t know if she could let him walk through the front door of 388 Maplebrook again if he did visit. But that was a problem for future Reagan. Present Reagan was right here, right now.

He unzipped her dress and pressed the flat of his palm on her bare back, deepening their kiss as he unhooked her bra. “God, you’re beautiful. I can’t wait any longer to be inside you. Don’t make me wait.”

He sounded short of breath. She had to admit hers had gone shallow as well. Partially from the truth she had bound with rope and thrown into a dark corner of her heart. He could never know she loved him with such intensity.

Ever.

“You don’t have to wait.” She dropped her dress to the floor and then tossed her bra aside. He wasted no time kissing her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. When his fingers slid into her panties, she held on to the boardroom table for purchase.

She clawed his back, arching when he moved his attention to her other breast. She would buy the house from him and say goodbye when the time came. At least one thing would be set right. She would own the home she’d grown up in. Finally.

Where the man who sold it to her would go was anyone’s guess. She wasn’t sure even Brody Crane knew the answer to that.

Brody stepped out of the restroom and adjusted his cufflinks. He’d given up on his hair—it was permanently bent into the shape of Reagan’s fingers.

He smiled as he waited for her to exit the ladies’ room so that they could reenter the party together. God, that woman. Never in his life had he met someone who could heat his blood and blank his mind. And yet, even in that boardroom, there had been more between them than incredible sex.

She had leveled with him more than any woman had, excluding his mother, but Keaton had her own agenda. Reagan didn’t have an agenda. She hadn’t moved her storage unit in—he had. And she had been the one to show him what a real home felt like.

He’d set out to conduct an experiment. Could a billionaire who had never settled down manage it? And he had. It’d been simple. Natural.

Inspired, he reached into his pocket for his phone and opened the writing app. As he pecked his thought into the keyboard, someone approached, but he couldn’t risk looking away and losing the epiphany he was in the middle of having.

“Hang tight, sweetheart, getting this down before I forget.”

“Sweetheart,” boomed a male voice followed by a raspy chuckle. “Shit, son. I’m flattered.”

“Dad.” His epiphany frittered into the atmosphere. The man standing in front of him wore a black tuxedo, no bowtie. He had as much hair as Brody, only Octavius Crane’s was stark white. “What are you doing here?”

Octavius grinned, his tanned, weathered face making him appear like the most distinguished Hollywood actor of his time. “Nice to see you too.”

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