Page 50 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

Her gaze lingers on mine, the teasing look slipping into something quieter, deeper. The game is forgotten, cards scattered between us. My pulse is hammering, my breath shallow. I could kiss her right now. I want to kiss her.

I don’t even think. I just tilt forward, slow, testing. She doesn’t move back. Her lips part slightly, her breath mingling with mine, and I swear I can feel the pull of her. It’s magnetic, inevitable.

Just a little closer. Then, I place my lips gently on hers. A moan erupts from her as I savor the moment. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck to pull her closer.

Then, the shrill ring of my phone shatters the moment like a punch to the gut. Emma jerks back, blinking like she’s been snapped from a spell, and my stomach twists at the loss of her warmth.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face. Good grief, this phone is going to drive me crazy. Grabbing it off the table, I glance at the screen. Nate. Of course.

Emma pushes to her feet before I can say anything. “I should check on some things for the clinic,” she says, voice carefully even while her face is flush. My lips tingle all over, the need to continue kissing her overwhelming. “Good game.”

She disappears into the kitchen before I can stop her. I stare after her, my phone still ringing in my hand, heart still racing.

What in heck am I doing?

Chapter fifteen

Emma

Bryan’s truck rumbles down the quiet Ocean Bay Road, the hum of the tires blend with the faint crackle of the radio. Buddy’s snout juts out the passenger window, tongue lolling as the salty breeze ruffles his fur. Bryan tosses him a biscuit from the bag resting between us, humming off-key to some country song he probably doesn’t even know the lyrics to.

I shake my head, amused. “You’re gonna turn him into a menace.” Bryan grins, eyes still on the road. “He’s already a menace. Might as well feed into it.”

Buddy lets out a happy bark, tail thumping against the door. I reach out and scratch behind his ears, my heart warming at his blissful expression.

The truck smells faintly of Bryan’s signature scent that I shouldn’t be so hyper-aware of. But after weeks of living together, of him softening toward me, of this truce we seem to have settled into, it’s harder to ignore.

I lean back against the seat, forcing myself to focus on the grocery list crumpled on the dash. Eggs. Coffee. Milk. Dog treats. Simple enough. I was surprised when Bryan had offered to take me to the grocery store when my car refused to start. In his words it's a death trap and I shouldn't be driving it. If only everything else in my life felt this manageable.

The weight of my clinic plans presses at the edges of my mind. The site permits, the equipment costs, the meetings with vendors, there’s still so much to do. And then there’s the debt, with only an extra few days to pay it down. This was after so much pleading.

I push the thought aside. One thing at a time.

Bryan nudges the air vent, adjusting the flow, and his arm brushes against mine. A brief, unintentional touch, his calloused skin grazing my forearm, the warmth of him too close, too steady. My breath catches before I can stop it, a tiny hitch in my throat that I pray he doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t, thankfully, just keeps humming, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. I tell myself it’s nothing. Just proximity. Just habit. Just Bryan.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a beat, flicking his gaze toward me. “Thinking up a battle plan for the store?”

I smirk, grateful for the distraction. “More like preparing for war. I know that grocery shopping with you and Buddy is a disaster waiting to happen.”

He chuckles, low and easy. “You act like we don’t have self-control.”

I arch a brow. “Buddy’s about to take over the pet aisle, and you’ll somehow end up buying things that aren’t even on the list.”

Bryan feigns offense, pressing a hand to his chest and says: “You wound me, Em.”

Em.

It’s the first time he’s said it in years. The casual way it slips out makes my heart trip over itself, a rush of warmth floods through me before I can stop it.

He doesn’t even seem to realize. Or maybe he does, because he clears his throat a second later, shifting in his seat.

Just friends, I remind myself. We’re just friends. My mind drifts back to his kisses, none of them felt like we were friends. The burning, the passion even though each kiss was just a minute or less.

Still, I can’t ignore the shift in him. The way he’s different from the man who first moved into that house with me cold, distant, pushing me away at every turn. This Bryan cares. He shows up. He doesn’t just tolerate my presence anymore, he’s in this.

He proves it again when he says, almost casually, “Got Liam making a supply run for your clinic.”

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