Page 51 of The Billionaires

“You wouldn’t be intruding,” he says. “It would give us a chance to get to know each other better. I rarely do anything productive when I fly, so it would work out perfectly.”

“So… I’m to be your in-flight entertainment.” Crap. Did that sound dirty?

He looks at me with a strange expression. “Is that a yes?”

“Sure.” I clear my suddenly dry throat. “Let’s continue the tour?” I nod at the Cubiculum.

“I’m not sure if it’s proper for us to go in there,” he says with a frown. “That’s my bedroom.”

“By golly.” I clutch the diamond necklace theatrically. “And without a chaperone? Unthinkable.”

He grumbles something under his breath, then gestures at a room we haven’t visited yet. “How about we go to the Study?”

“Sure. What’s after that—the Wine Cellar? Or the Lounge? The Vault, maybe?”

“If you wish,” he says, his expression deadpan. “I’m not a huge wine connoisseur, so my cellar is pretty small.”

Yeah, right. Probably bigger than my whole apartment.

As we enter the Study, I realize it might be the most modest room in the whole place. I see a couch, a bookshelf, a pretty rug, and a pillar topped with a beautiful cameo-glass-embroidered vase—likely from Ancient Rome. It appears to be the only crazy-expensive thing in the room… unless all the books are first editions signed by the authors. Or the legs of the couch are made of diamonds. Or the rug is made of gold thread, then painted over.

I look around as I pointedly furrow my eyebrows. “Where is the room with the pool?”

He frowns. “You saw the pool.”

“No, the one filled with gold that you swim in. You know, like Scrooge McDuck?”

He steps toward me, eyes gleaming with either laughter or mischief. “Did you know that Caligula—the historical figure, not my ferret—used to do something like that? He’d put gold on the ground and wade through it, or walk over it with bare feet.” He glances at my feet as he says this, and if the idea is to channel that historical figure famous for an insatiable libido, he does it eerily well.

My breath quickening, I take a step back—and trip over the edge of the rug.

Crap!

I flail my arms, trying to grab onto something to break my fall. My hand smacks into the vase, sending it flying—but doing nothing to stop my butt from its inevitable collision with the floor.

Except it’s not so inevitable.

Right before my coccyx kisses the hard marble, powerful hands catch me, and I find myself looking into Lucius’s concerned face—even as a loud crash reaches my ears.

Oh, shit. The vase.

Judging by the sound, it’s in pieces.

“I’ve got you,” Lucius murmurs, relief evident in his voice.

“But not the vase,” I gasp, looping my arms around his strong neck. Speaking in his embrace is surprisingly difficult, especially since he’s still holding me in a semi-horizontal position, as if dipping me in tango.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says without a second of hesitation. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to set me upright and release me.

I moisten my lips. “But… was it expensive?”

His metallic eyes never leave mine, the gleam in them hypnotizing. “Priceless.”

Gulp. I’m not sure if it’s the fall or the guilt, but I feel kind of floaty. Am I on the verge of fainting?

“Are you okay?” he asks, no doubt because my body has slackened in his arms.

I stare at him as I try to think of an answer. On the one hand, his muscular arm cradling my back feels amazing. On the other, I feel terrible about the ancient artifact that I ruined—even if he doesn’t seem to care about that. Since I can’t trust myself not to babble, I reply with an abridged version—a breathy “I’m fine.”

---