Page 12 of Billionaire Book Boyfriend

A sharp knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

My heart leaps. No one ever visits me this late. I push away from my desk and hesitate for a second before crossing the room. Slowly, I pull back the curtain and there he is.

Drake.

“I wasn’t expecting you. Hey,” I whisper as I open the door.

Drake stands in the doorway, his gaze steady but filled with an intensity I can’t quite read. “I decided to come at the last minute,” he admits, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The air between us feels thick with unspoken tension. I search his face, trying to figure out what he’s feeling, but he’s not giving anything away.

“I re-read your book again,” Drake says, breaking the silence. His voice is low, almost like he’s lost in thought.

I blink, caught off guard. “What? You read it again?”

He nods. “I needed to understand why it had such a grip on me. Why it hit me so hard. I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for him to continue.

“There’s this scene," Drake begins, his eyes locking with mine. "It’s when the main character, the guy, is standing at the edge of the pier, staring at the water, trying to figure out if he’s brave enough to dive in. He’s terrified, not of the water, but of what it represents. The unknown. Commitment. Trust.”

I remember the scene vividly. It’s one of the most emotionally charged moments in the book, one where I poured my own fears and vulnerabilities into the character.

Drake steps closer. “That’s me, Emily. I realized that’s how I’ve been living my life. Afraid to take the plunge. Afraid of whathappens when I give myself over to someone completely. But reading that, it hit me hard. The character doesn’t jump because of the water. He jumps because of her. Because he knows he can’t stay on the edge forever, not if he wants to be with her.”

I swallow, my throat tight as emotion swells inside me.

“I’ve been standing on that edge for too long,” Drake continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could control everything, keep things at arm’s length. But then you came along, and now I’m scared. Scared of how much I care about you. Scared of how much I don’t know about you. Scared of what happens if I let go. But that scene made me see things differently.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “You don’t have to be scared, Drake. I’m scared too, but... we can figure it out together. We can start over, this time with everything out on the table.”

Drake’s jaw clenches as he steps closer, his hand brushing against my cheek. “I don’t want to stand on the edge anymore, Emily. I want to dive in. I want to dive in completely with you. I want to get to know you for everything you are… Emily Jameson, the librarian, and Eva Steele, the steamy writer.”

The vulnerability in his voice melts away the last of my doubts. I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that’s filled with every emotion I’ve felt over the past week. It’s tender and desperate all at once, a collision of fears and desires.

Drake’s arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepens, turning into something more heated, more urgent. Myheart races as all the passion we’ve been holding back floods between us.

We break apart for a moment, both of us breathless, our foreheads resting against each other.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” I whisper. “Writing about you, feeling all these things and not knowing if you’d ever come back.”

Drake’s hands slide to my waist, his grip firm but gentle. “I came back because I couldn’t stay away.”

The heat between us builds again as our lips meet once more. This time, there’s no hesitation. No fear. Only raw, undeniable need.

Drake’s hands move to my hips. His moans provoke me to start walking backward, guiding him toward my bedroom. Our kisses grow more frantic as he backs me into the hallway wall, pressing himself into me. My pulse pounds in my ears, my body reacting wildly to his touch.

The rational part of me wants to stop him, to say we need more time to date, more time to really know each other. But the part of me that craves being touched by a man like the ones I craft in my stories speaks louder. That part refuses to be denied.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want me touching you like this, kissing you like this,” he groans. “I will respect your wishes.”

I smirk, breathless, teasing. “I don’t think I’d ever want you to stop, so respect my wishes and touch me, kiss me more.”

He pulls back, his gaze locking with mine, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe a sign that this is real. For a moment, the air between us stills, the intensity of his stare making my heart race even faster.

His voice drops low as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Good… because I want it all, the fantasy, the passion… you.”

“I want you too,” I murmur, feeling heat rush to every part of me.

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