Page 47 of The Billionaire's Princess

Yeah. Yeah, I do.

“I mean…” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m here if you want to talk. Kick around some ideas.”

She brightens, her delighted smile lighting me up in a way the sun never could.

“Really? That means a lot. I know you’ve got your career together. And have done for a long time. I hope you have patience with me while I flounder about.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say wryly.

“Good. I’m going to think things through. I’ve got an idea, but I want to make a proper plan before I discuss it with you. So you won’t think I’m a complete idiot.”

“Never, princess.”

She pecks me on the cheek, then pops up like she’s late for a meeting. My semi-hard morning dick is having none of that. I grab her wrist, being careful of her tea.

“There you go again,” I say. “Knock it off.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” she says, correctly reading my thoughts. “I’m going for a jog. You’re welcome to come with me if you like. The grounds are amazing.”

“I do like,” I say, surprised and delighted. “But what about your dad and the staff? You don’t care about them seeing us together at the crack o’dawn?”

“Course not,” she says, scowling. “What do you Americans say? Grown-ass? I’m a grown-ass woman. It’s my life.”

“Works for me,” I say, stifling a laugh. “But aren’t you afraid the staff will blab to some tabloid?”

The suggestion seems to shock her. “No. My father has everyone sign their souls away in confidentiality agreements. And these are mostly people who’ve been with the family for years.”

“Well, if you’re cool with us going public, you’re welcome to hop a ride back on my jet. Whenever we’re ready to go. I just need to be back in time for my Monday morning meeting.”

“Oh, but I’m still spending time with Granny on Thursday, remember? You’ll have to go back without me.”

Not exactly the end of the world, but the reminder still hits me like a thirty-pound bag of concrete dropped on my foot. I have the wild impulse to ask if she’s insane. Because why else would she think I could stagger all the way to the end of the week without her?

“Thursday?”

“Yes, but my flight’s on Friday.”

“Friday?”

“You’ll be fine, darling,” she says, laughing at the look on my face. “I know you can barely imagine a second without me, but you’ll soldier on.”

I’m not entirely sure I will. And she’s right. The seconds without her sure seem a hell of a lot longer than the seconds with her in them.

But we’re both here now. And I plan to make the most of it.

“We’ll have to stockpile some orgasms for our time apart, then,” I say, then I take the tea, set it on the nightstand with a thunk and pull her back into bed with me and the cat.

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