Page 42 of My Cruel Billionaire

Jenna

“Well, Michael?”

I was getting tired of his games. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down.

“What’s the thing you miss so much from the good old days?”

“I think it would be best,” he said in that damn, calm and velvety voice of his. “If I were to show you.”

“Oh, you’re going to show me, huh?”

I hadn’t intended it to come out as bratty as it sounded. I was upset, on an emotional roller coaster. I’d just found out my mother was going to survive after an invasive surgery that turned her into a sort of cyborg. Not to mention two days before when she’d had a heart attack while watching my son.

A heart attack I helped to bring on because I was pushing her too hard, using her up as my main source of babysitting. I thought back to the times she’d tried to tell me that she was being overworked but I’d just blown her off.

I wasn’t blowing her off any longer.

I felt bad for lashing out at Michael. He’d been great through this whole ordeal. I looked up at him and sighed.

“I’m sorry. I’m not angry I’m just… it’s been a long couple of days, you know?”

“I know.”

He offered me his hand, and after a moment I took it. He led me out of the living room and into the kitchen.

“You brought me into the kitchen?” I asked incredulously. “I never cooked for you, ever, so I know you didn’t bring me in here because you’re nostalgic for my home-cooked cuisine.”

“Oh, I’m hungry all right, but not for dinner.” His eyes sparkled as he devoured me with his gaze. “I brought you in here to ask you a question.”

“A question?”

“Yes. Do you remember that time I kissed you when you sat on the kitchen island?”

I paused, and a flush of emotion brought color to my cheeks. I resisted the urge to pant, and tried to get control. Of myself and the situation.

“You’re going to have to be more specific. If I recall, there were lots of times we made out when I was sitting on the kitchen island.”

“Oh, but this one was special.”

He took me by the waist and lifted me up onto the counter. I yelped in surprise, but then everything just felt really comfortable. It felt like I belonged perched on the edge of the counter, with him melting me with a molten gaze.

“You see, you were sitting just in this spot,” he purred, stroking his fingers through my hair. “We’d just seen that off-Broadway production of Cats.”

“Oh lord, that was awful,” I said with a giddy laugh.

“Awful indeed,” he said, eyes shining. "But you were hauntingly beautiful in that opera dress.”

The memory came flooding back to me. I did recall that evening, and the dress which had been floor length yet clung to my body like a second skin, leaving my shoulders and a great expanse of cleavage bare.

He’d been unable to keep his eyes, let alone his hands off of me all night. I thought he was going to explode and start ripping clothes off the moment we hit the penthouse, but instead things sort of slowed down and chilled out. He set me down on the counter like he did tonight and then took his time making me feel amazing.

I was getting the same vibes here.

“So do you remember that night?” he asked, his mouth a few inches from my own.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He leaned in and kissed me, slow and sweet. My hand went to the side of his face, caressing his smoothly-shaven cheek until my fingers slid through his soft hair.

---