Page 47 of The Billionaire's Cinderella

With my hands now free, I can’t wait to turn back and scoop her up. To feel the supple warmth of her body as I swing her in a circle, her toes brushing the floor. To set her back down, palm her face and press a lingering kiss to the freckled bridge of her nose.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi. I see you got more handsome again today,” she says, a little breathless now as she beams up at me and runs her fingers through the hair at my temple. “Do you do that every day?”

“You’re just biased,” I say, cheeks burning with pleasure.

And with desire.

“I am biased— Oh, what’s all that?” she says, spying the loot on the coffee table for the first time.

“Sorry,” I say before taking her hand and leading her to sit beside me on the sofa, where I pass her a glass of wine. “Ignore all that. It’s for one of my other girlfriends.”

Please note that the G-word is not normally part of my vocabulary. Not even jokingly. Like vampires, IRS audits, the word love and the word marriage, the G-word is to be avoided at all costs. You just never know what frightening thing might happen if you lower your guard and let it slip out. But like everything else with Ella, it just flows freely and naturally. And now that it’s out there, I don’t want to issue any disclaimers or throw a flag on the play.

She’s taken a quick sip of wine, but her slight hesitation as she lowers her glass tells me the G-word does not go unnoticed.

“No worries,” she says. “I plan on taking my groceries back to my place and teaching one of my other boyfriends to make croissants later.”

I freeze.

Iwas joking. I know she knows I was joking. And I know she’s joking.

Everything’s cool, right?

So kindly explain to me why the mere thought of some other guy in her life births a roaring dragon in the dead center of my chest? I’m not a jealous guy. Between me and my brothers, I’m the most laid-back and the least likely to take offense at anything. By far. But I’m telling you… The idea of some other guy being the recipient of her time, her smiles and her laughter is enough to cause a red haze to fog my vision. And the idea of some other guy touching her? That’s as far as I can go with that thought because my head threatens to explode.

I will fuck some shit up right now. I don’t give a fuck.

I open my mouth with no idea what I’m going to say other than it’ll involve the prominent use of the word mine. But then I catch a glimmer of amusement in her eyes and quickly stand down.

“Don’t fuck with me, sunshine. Not about that.”

“I won’t,” she says, her amusement vanishing. “As long as you don’t fuck with me.”

She’s calm. Steady. As dead serious as I am during those couple of beats when we stare at each other. And it hits me that this, right here, is the thing about Ella. She’s got the blue eyes and the sweet smile. She makes pastries for a living and needs to work on her self-esteem. But underneath all that, she’s got a titanium spine. And anyone who messes with her does so at their own peril.

This, right here, thrills me as much as a night in bed with her.

“Keep it up,” I warn her. “I just might fall in love with you. What’ll you do then?”

She blinks, which tells me she has no answer to that. None that she wants to give right now, anyway. Instead, she leans in and gives me a soft kiss that leaves me dazed and satisfied.

I’m not sure what, exactly, just got settled, but it feels significant.

“Open your bags,” I say, pulling back. “We have dinner reservations.”

She eagerly turns to the first bag, a large one, and yanks the tissue paper out with unabashed excitement—

“A spa robe!” She unfurls the thing and rubs the side of it against her smiling face. Purest joy. “It’s so soft! I love it! Thank you!”

“You can’t keep stealing mine every time you get out of the shower,” I say, unaccountably touched by all this glee over such a small thing. It’s a robe. It’s nothing. You’d think I gave her a Bentley. When was the last time a boyfriend gave her something nice? Has no one ever treated her like the princess that she is? “I don’t want to catch pneumonia. There’s more.”

“I’m going to get so spoiled,” she says, carefully folding the thing and putting it aside before reaching for the next bag and delving inside. “Oh my God! It’s a silk kimono! I’ve always wanted one! What a beautiful blue! This is gorgeous!”

I decide not to tell her that this kimono is the exact shade of her eyes, which are far more gorgeous. I shrug, determined to keep it casual.

“Just in case the spa robe is too hot during the summer. One more.”

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