Page 31 of Quarantined with the Billionaire

“Most of the time. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s not hard to believe,” I said, turning around. “But who has time?”

When the hell had he gotten so close to me? I felt my hands beginning to quiver as chemicals rushed through my veins. Why was this man so damned intoxicating?

“You have to make time for the things you love, Bailey.”

“Sure.” Why was my voice so soft? I knew he could hear it because his eyes were searching mine. “But what if you don’t love to read?”

His gaze shifted to my lips as if he couldn’t understand my words. Maybe I was speaking too softly. For a moment—a brief few seconds suspended in time—I thought he was going to kiss me. Thank heavens I didn’t close my eyes in anticipation, but my mouth began salivating when I saw his pupils dilate. Like a predator, he looked like he was moving in for the kill.

But then he spoke and broke the spell.

“Sometimes you need to do things you don’t like.”

I blinked a couple of times, feeling like I had to catch up. Involuntarily, my head moved up and down in a nod.

“Reading has helped me all through my life. When I didn’t know something, I’d look it up. Reading and learning gave me the edge over my competition.”

“But didn’t you go to college?”

“Of course. When I was a kid, I didn’t know the first thing about money or financial planning. But college involves reading.”

“True.” I knew that from personal experience.

“Want to see the rest of the house?”

“I’d love that.”

After climbing the stairs back to the living room, I was a little surprised to see fading daylight coming through the window. It would be so easy to lose track of time downstairs where there was no natural light.

“Have you seen the great room yet?”

I’d peeked but that didn’t count. “No.”

“Let’s go.” We walked through the living room and through the large arched doorway. It was beautiful. Pointing to a small door in the corner that almost blended in with the ivory wall, he said, “Another powder room there.” There was a table full of plants and a decorative dresser against one wall. The ceiling went to the top of the second floor, highlighting a beautiful staircase. On the wall of the hallway on the upper floor were beautiful paintings that I couldn’t wait to see up close. The floor in the great room as well as the stair treads were of white marble, and the double doors leading to the outside world were almost black—stark compared to the earthy hues in the rest of the house. “Ladies first,” Maddox said, holding out an arm.

“What makes you think I’m a lady?” I began walking up the steps, glad I wasn’t wearing clicky heels today, now that we were dressing more casually. In this cavernous space, that noise would have echoed in the most annoying way.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Bailey?”

Laughing, I tried to dismiss the strange electric charge between us, planning to keep up the silly banter. “I haven’t traced my genealogy, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t descended from royalty.”

As I got to the top of the stairs, I was keenly aware that he was, once more, right behind me. He flipped on a switch that bathed each painting under its own light. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be treated like a princess.”

I turned to look in his eyes, and he took my breath away. My voice sounded weak to my own ears. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

Touching one of my cheeks with the back of his hand, Maddox drew a little closer to me. “That’s a damn shame. You deserve to be told that every damn day of your life.”

Once again, my breath hitched in my throat so that I had to force the air down to my lungs. I searched his eyes with mine as saliva once more pooled in my mouth in anticipation. But then he removed his hand as if nothing had happened and turned to the painting in front of us. “I saw you eyeing the art. Do you like this painting?”

“I love it.” It was a stunning rendering of fall colors and, as I examined it more closely, I realized it represented two people walking either through the forest or a park just as leaves were beginning to turn. But the colors and figures all blended together as if the art had been created with crayons and then set in the sun to melt.

“I’m in love with impressionist art.”

“I could stare at this for hours.”

“I have. And I think you should. But,” he continued, walking a few steps, “I feel that way about all the art I’ve acquired. I call this part of the hallway my gallery. Some of the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen I’ve purchased so that I could see it every single day.”

---