Page 23 of Dirty Billionaire

Now I have my answer. The one I’ve been seeking.

Ward Montgomery doesn’t date. He’s not over the death of his wife, and that makes him an emotionally unavailable man who will only hurt me if I don’t walk away.

The danger with men like him is they want their cake and to eat it too.

He eats my pussy well; I’ll give him that.

But it’s up to me to draw my own line in the sand so he can’t just keep taking.

I wipe my mouth on a napkin, then turn to face him as he sits there like a GQ model on the cover of their Silver Fox edition looking sexy as fuck.

My poor ovaries.

He makes the butterflies in my tummy do the tango every time I look at him.

“I’m going to get dressed and then head home,” I say softly, meeting his gaze head-on. “I enjoyed both our nights together...and”—I smile—"you make a great breakfast.”

“Penelope.” Ward places his mug on the marble countertop, frowning.

“No.” I hold my hand up. “Losing your wife must’ve been devastating. I can’t even imagine the pain.”

“Yes.” His palm flattens on the cold marble, and I notice the indent from the wedding ring he once wore.

Even the physical scars are still there.

“If I was the kind of woman who could do casual sex, you’d be the man I choose, Ward.” I let him take my hand and push back the stupid emotions tightening my chest.

“I wouldn’t want you if you were,” he says roughly and lifts me onto his lap. His strength and dominance wrap me with this delicious feeling of protection, which I know isn’t real.

I want it to be, but it’s not.

I push back the tears threatening at the loss of what could be between us. Something amazing, I sense. But we will never know.

Ward wants a fuck buddy.

I want to fall in love and have a baby. Maybe not even in that order. There’s still a chance I could have a baby.

A tiny one.

Ward is in a different place in life, even without the grief he’s clearly still suffering from.

I dip my face into his neck and breathe in his musky and masculine scent to remember him always.

Cupping the back of my neck, he tugs me back up and kisses me like we’ve been lovers for years. Like two people with regrets who are saying goodbye. Who aren’t ready for it to end, and the fire begins to roar.

“Hey Dad, did you k—oh...fuck.” A voice much younger asks.

We rip apart.

I slide down off Ward’s lap and my bare feet slap on the tiles. Then I come face-to-face with a younger version of the man I just spent the night with.

“Atlas,” Ward exclaims, stepping in front of me.

I lean around him and catch the smirk on his son’s face.

Crap.

Crap, damn, shit.

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