Page 21 of Billionaire's Frenemy

Ten

Jameson

For the first four days, this trip was everything I’d hoped it would be. Willow and I were overly polite to each other, we explored and spa’d and swam and ate. And ate. And ate.

My God, I had no idea where she was putting all the food. Our first morning there, we’d hit the breakfast buffet twice. Twice! She was still the tiniest thing, but man, she could eat. I loved it.

And every night, we’d made love for hours. The kind of slow, sweet, passionate love I’d always wanted to show her but had never had the nerve to attempt. I worshipped her body, and she seemed to revel in it.

We were happier than we’d ever been together.

On day five though…something between us shifted. She woke up on edge, and it seemed as if everything I did or suggested was completely wrong. I bit my tongue, not wanting to start an argument while we were sequestered together in the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. But damn it, she was driving me crazy.

“Do you want to check out the tennis courts?” I asked when we got back from breakfast.

“No.”

“Okay. Do you want a new mani-pedi?”

“No.”

“Do you want to go swimming? Hiking? Ride a goat?”

“No.” She crossed her arms and sunk lower into the sofa cushions.

“Do you want to sit here and do nothing?” I suggested, unable to keep the bite out of my tone.

“How long are we staying here?” she asked.

“We can leave whenever you want.” I shifted to face her and ran my finger over her arm, watching her shiver in reaction. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, kicking her heel at the carpet.

“Is it hormones?”

She narrowed her gaze at me, and her cheeks flushed the way they did when she got super pissed at me.

Shit.

“You know what, Cassel?” She jumped to her feet and put her hands on her hips, glaring down at me. “Every time a woman is having any kind of bad day, or attitude, or whatever…you men automatically blame it on hormones.”

“You’re fucking pregnant!” I yelled, standing as well and glaring right back at her. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that it might be affecting your mood.”

“Piss off!” She started to stomp away, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back to me.

“No way, princess,” I told her. “You’re not running out on me. We’re together now. We work this out.”

“Let. Me. Go.” Her tone was low and dangerous, but I wasn’t about to back down now.

“Wills, talk to me,” I begged. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated with an exasperated sigh. “You’re just…here. All the time! I need some space. I’m too independent for all this togetherness.”

“Me, too,” I told her. “But we can be independent together.”

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she snapped.

“I doubt that,” I admitted with a shrug.

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