Page 38 of Billionaire's Bookworm

“I wear very reasonable socks, I’ll have you know. And I even shop at grocery stores.” I stepped back to let her in, my shoulders relaxing a tiny fraction. Porky was already making himself at home, sniffing around my imported marble floors.

“The gourmet ones don’t count.” She paused, taking in the sweeping staircase and crystal chandelier. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in the tight line of her neck.

“So this is how playboy billionaire’s live,” she commented lightly. “Do you have a butler named Jeeves hidden away somewhere?”

“Sadly, Jeeves had the night off. You’ll have to settle for my mediocre hosting skills instead.”

That earned me a small smile.

Progress.

“Your dog is eating my hydrangeas again,” I noted, spotting Porky through the windows. He’d made it onto the ocean-view patio and was happily decimating my gardener’s hard work with the potted plant arrangements.

“He has expensive tastes.” Emma’s lips twitched. “Must be all the time he’s been spending in your company.”

“I suppose I deserve that.” Hiding a smile of my own, I cleared my throat. “I was thinking we could start with a tour?The place is ridiculous, I know, but it’s got some interesting?—“

A massive boom of thunder cut me off, and the lights flickered ominously.

“Maybe a quick one,” Emma agreed, eyeing the darkening windows. “Before your power goes out and I have to watch you try to navigate this place in the dark.”

“I know every inch of this house,” I assured her confidently.

“Uh-huh.” She glanced at Porky, who returned with what looked suspiciously like one of my Italian loafers. “Your doggie door is getting some use, I see.”

“That’s... That’s a five hundred dollar shoe.”

“Was,” she corrected, fighting a smile. “Wasa five hundred dollar shoe.”

I led her through the main floor, pointing out things I thought she’d appreciate––the library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves, the sunroom perfect for reading, the professional kitchen where I’d actually learned to cook instead of relying on my usual private chef.

“And this,” I said, pushing open double doors with perhaps a touch too much flair, “is the dining room.”

“Holy...” Emma trailed off, taking in the long table set for two at one end, candles already lit against the growing darkness outside. “You know we could have just ordered pizza, right?”

“Next time,” I promised, then immediately wondered if I’d presumed too much. But Emma was already moving toward the table, drawn to the wall of windows overlooking the gardens. Lightning flashed, illuminating the rain-swept grounds.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “In a definite ‘haunted by aristocratic ghosts’ kind of way.”

“Just wait until you meet Great-Aunt Gertrude’s spirit in the east wing.”

“You don’t have an east wing.”

“How do you know? We haven’t finished the tour.”

She turned to face me, and something in her expression made my heart skip. “You’re different here.”

“Different how?”

“More...” She gestured vaguely. “Relaxed. Less...”

“Brooding corporate billionaire?”

“I was going to say less guarded.” Her cheeks flushed slightly. “But yeah, that too.”

I stepped closer, drawn by the candlelight playing across her face. My voice lowered. “Maybe I’m just trying to prove I can be more than what you first assumed.”

Her eyes met mine, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. My gaze tracked the movement and she froze just as the lights went out with a decisive snap.

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