Page 49 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

“No, you’re not.” I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. “The way you’re acting is starting to worry me, Evan. I don’t like this at all.”

“Look,” he said, wiping his hand down his face. He seemed weary again. Tired of pretending, maybe. I didn’t know. “I just don’t know how else to say this. This thing between us is new to me, and it’s overwhelming. All right? It’s overwhelming.”

He looked at me with a deep sadness in his eyes.

“You’ve proven me wrong on so many things. I never expected that when I arranged this fake marriage. I wasn’t expecting a lot of things…”

His voice trailed off, and his gaze snapped to the side. I wondered where he was going with it.

“Hey.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“I’m just saying, you taught me that treating people like, well, people, instead of just objects, and using my celebrity status to do good, and that sometimes letting go of control leads to better results and it really got me thinking.”

He put his hand on top of my own and gazed into my eyes.

“Amanda, I need time to come to terms with, well, me. You understand?”

“I think so.”

He stood up, and I kissed him goodbye. Then I handed him his briefcase and phone and walked him to the door.

He walked down toward the limo, then stopped at the last moment. He turned back to me.

“Goodbye, Amanda.”

“Goodbye, Evan.”

I wondered at the strange sense of finality in his words. As the door shut, I started to go over our last conversation in my mind.

I realized what it all meant. He really cared about me. He really, truly did. I couldn’t believe how I’d run around being so stupid, thinking he was out of my league.

He’d let his guard down and shown me his human side. For once, his super billionaire alpha male mask had slipped, and I’d seen the real person behind the Iceman persona.

I wondered about what Jennifer had told me about Marshall. That she hadn’t really changed him. That all she’d done was help him draw out the kind and loving person lurking deep inside tothe surface.

Was that what I was doing with my fake husband? Drawing out the inner chewy nougat of goodness from within him? Or was I just seeing what I wanted to see? Believing what I wanted to believe?

I dismissed the idea summarily. He was showing me his real face now. There was no manipulation on his part. I could tell that these feelings were genuine. He had to come to terms with the fact that he now had genuine emotions, and he had to learn how to express them.

The thing was, he did a great job of expressing his feelings for me when he stopped trying so hard to be an island. We got along in an effortless, soothing way that allowed for plenty of sparks in and out of the bedroom, but only after he started easing up on me and showing his gentler side.

Rebecca and Maria showed up to clean up the dining room after our breakfast. Rebecca had music playing on her phone, heralding their arrival. When they saw that I was still in residence in the dining room, they startled and turned to leave.

“Sorry, Mrs… that is, Amanda. We’ll come back later.”

“No need. Come on back.”

I stood up from my spot so they could start the cleanup. Then I noticed she was playing The Twist. I remembered the song vaguely from a movie somewhere.

I started doing the dance, because I remembered that too and I was feeling light as a feather. Rebecca and Maria laughed in delight, and soon they joined in as well. The three of us twisted around the dining room, having a wonderful time. Chavez walked past the dining room door, then came back and did a double take.

His mouth was open in awe as he watched us having a splendid time. For a moment, I thought he was going to join us and start twisting his stately ass off. Instead, he gave a warm smile andcontinued on his way, humming the song under his breath.

The song ended, and I found myself breathless. I hugged both of them and then headed up to my room. I had work to do, after all. Then I remembered that I’d left my laptop in Evan’s bedroom. Lately, I’d been sleeping in there more often than not.

Or perhaps I should say, not sleeping in there more often than not.

I headed over to his side of the manor and entered the bedroom. The smell of sex hit my nostrils as soon as the door opened. I laughed under my breath, a bit of burn coming to my cheeks. I resolved to open a window or something before the household staff came to clean his chambers and discovered the scent of our mutual passions.

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