Page 94 of Forking the Billionaire

Right, Jules.

I stepped into his room without hesitation. “I can’t say I’m sad to hear that. But are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He let the door click shut behind him. “But don’t sit on the bed.”

I watched him. He looked agitated, moving like a predator, big and strong, and without any of his usual easy grace. Jasper was nothing if not easygoing, kind, and unbothered. If the building burst into flames, he would give a soft smile, promise everything was fine, and then easily carry me to safety…over his shoulder like a caveman while digging his fingers into my hip.

“I found Jules and Chester together,” he said.

That was sobering. But it had to sound different than it was.

“Together how?” I asked. Maybe they were sitting on the beach sipping mimosas side-by-side. They couldn’t betogethertogether. “Chester’s in love with Juno, isn’t he?”

Jasper tipped back the rest of his glass and set it on the counter. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

This wasn’t like Jasper at all. He had no smile, no ease. His every movement was rough, tense.

It made my heart hurt.

He was really upset and I wanted to console him, but also what he said bothered me a bit. He wasn’t supposed to care about Jules.

The whole upset vibe he had going on suggested otherwise. Was there some other explanation?

I again tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it just lingered there.

“So they were having sex…in your bed.” I leaned against the counter, going for casual, pretending that I wasn’t mentally screaming. “And that feels like a violation of the not-at-all relationship you have with her?”

He pinned me in place with a look. “I don’t care about either of them.”

It didn’t sound like a lie.

Was I missing something?

“Well, you certainly seem hot and bothered,” I said.

He moved closer, stealing all the air from my lungs. The electricity around him stunned me in place and sizzled through my body. I stared up at him, at the intensity in his eyes, and I wanted to kiss away his hurt, starting with the stiffness in his lips, down that sharp chin, the corded muscles of his neck and strong shoulders.

“Why are you here, Esme?” he asked, not harshly, but not softly either.

“Because I wanted to see you.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Is there a problem with that?” I asked, growing more confused by the second.

“Of course not.”

He was too close not to be touching me, yet he wasn’t. Whatever he was thinking, he was holding back. That didn’t mean I had to. Maybe he needed me to be his security blanket, his warm happy familiarity.

I wanted to touch him, and I wanted to share what I came to tell him.

I placed a hand over his heart, let his warmth soak into my palm. I felt his heart, beating a little too fast, just like mine was. And I felt grounded.

“Ziggy came by my place,” I said. “He told me he loved me.”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t react at all.

Did he not care that another man could possibly have romantic feelings for me? That someone else could love me?

---