Page 41 of The Billionaire's Beauty

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Griffin

“Griff? You with us?”Damon says to me at the meeting in the conference room Monday morning.

Startled by this mention of my name, I look up from where I’ve been doodling on my legal pad and discover my brothers and the lawyers all staring at me as though I’ve suggested relocating the entire operation to a yacht anchored off the coast of Tahiti. I hastily clear my throat, sit up straight and try to act like I’ve had my bleary head in the game for the last forty-five minutes.

“Absolutely,” I say, closing my leather folio in the hopes that no one will see the entire page full of scribbles. I don’t think I’ve been writing Bellamy’s name with little hearts around it, but in my current semi-obsessed state? You just never know. While I’m at it, I also hope that no one has noticed that my attention has been riveted on the elevators on the other side of the glass wall (still no sign of her; her dentist appointment must be running long) or that I’ve checked my watch approximately ten thousand times since this endless meeting began. “I’m just going to grab some coffee.”

Ryker leans forward and eyeballs me with amusement down the length of the huge table. “Are we keeping you from something? I get the feeling you’re distracted.”

I try to look politely puzzled by this suggestion while simultaneously shooting him a discreet shut the fuck up or prepare to die glare.

“Not at all,” I say as I get up and head to the side table for a refill, keeping one eye on those elevators. “Continue.”

One of the lawyers resumes droning about a zoning issue we’ve been trying to resolve—luckily, lawyers are good at droning—freeing me up to keep wallowing in my thoughts.

About Bellamy.

She’s seriously screwed with my head, that one.

I’m in bad shape, man.

Bad.

Shape.

I take a fortifying sip of coffee, resume my seat at the table and flip to a new page in my legal pad. As someone who prides himself on being clearheaded, logical and organized, I wonder when and how I’ve turned into this sappy mess who’s so hopped up on hormones and adrenaline that he can barely sit still or concentrate while waiting for a glimpse of his crush.

Well, I know, don’t I?

After Saturday night’s big talk and manicotti (delicious, by the way; she’s an amazing cook), we retired to her room. Once there, according to my best and most conservative estimates, we engaged in seventy-five percent of the positions in the Kama Sutra and got only fifteen minutes of sleep the entire night. My dick is sore and probably needs to be seen for a hydrating trip at the nearest clinic, so I can only imagine how she feels.

Although, judging from the scratches across my back, her enthusiastic cries and coos and the sultry and satisfied smile she wore the last time I made her come, she’s not complaining. At all.

Yesterday morning, we got up. Showered together. Ate. Packed up and flew back to the city in a thoughtful silence, although we did hold hands the entire way.

“Grab some stuff,” I told her when I pulled up in front of her apartment building to drop her off early in the afternoon. Why? Because I couldn’t stand the idea of letting her go and ending our idyll. Still can’t, to be honest. “Stay with me.”

Note that my mouth was dry and my heart damn near pounded out of my chest when I said it. Also note that I didn’t say, for example, “stay with me tonight,” or otherwise put any limitations on her “staying with me,” a detail that I personally find astonishing. As someone who’s enjoyed his share of weekend getaways with lovers over the years, I’ve always found that twenty-four to forty-eight hours is more than enough time for even the sexiest and most intriguing woman to become annoying. This interlude with Bellamy is the first time in my life that I spent that much time with someone only to emerge with the stark realization that I haven’t begun to scratch the surface of my interest in her.

WTF?

It’s like I decided I needed some ice, someone gave me Antarctica and I looked at it and said, Hmm, yeah, but have you got anything bigger?

I knew the weekend was intense and that I didn’t want to go overboard or hit her like a ton of bricks. I knew I needed to play it cool and take a breather. Give her a breather.

But I’m telling you…

When that moment came for her to get out of my car and for me to say goodbye to her, even just for the night, I couldn’t do it.

That’s how I felt. Still feel.

So I was sub-thrilled when she hesitated before smiling at me with unmistakable regret.

“I’ve got to return to my regularly scheduled life. Get some stuff done around the apartment. And you’ve had enough of me by now, haven’t you?”

No! I haven’t!

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