Page 37 of Resisting the Billionaire

Mackenzie

Ahand slides up my thigh, the big palm curving around my hip, holding me in place as a masculine body covers me, his weight settling me into the mattress. A bulge behind his pants brushes against me, sending a wave of longing through me, the hard planes of his chest brushing the tips of my breasts as he lifts his torso off me and whispers in my ear, “I want you so bad.”

Wait, I recognize that voice. Normally full of boyish charm, right now it’s deep and intoxicating, laced with desire.

I turn my head, Gabriel’s vivid blue eyes meeting mine, the passion he’s feeling plain for me to see. How much he craves me, needs me.

Only me.

He takes my mouth roughly, our clothes suddenly gone, and he’s moving deep inside of me, every part of me filled with him. Gabriel.

I cry out his name, the pressure building as he moves faster, my hands curling in his soft locks as I desperately hold on to him. Almost there…

I wake, sitting bolt upright in bed, panting heavily, confusion swirling through me about where I am. When I am. Who, what, how, and why I am.

Was I having a sex dream? About Gabriel?

It was probably that hug from the other night putting strange subconscious thoughts in my head. Dreams like that don’t mean anything… right?

I shift to the side, a deep ache reminding me I’m still turned on. My hand automatically drifts down before I catch myself, hesitating. I can’t finish myself off after that, can I? Would it be wrong?

But that hunger won’t leave, my panties already damp with arousal.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if I… imagine someone else, right?

I lean back against my pillow, letting my fingers slowly stroke myself, definitely not remembering the sensation of dream Gabriel’s hard body atop me, all that golden skin mine to do what I want with. Urging him faster, running my hands over that strong backside, watching his biceps flex and release as he works himself inside me.

My movements speed up, caught in the fantasy, my resolution from minutes ago gone in the wake of imagining being with him. Listening to him croon in my ear how much he needs me, how he wants to help me, support me…

I immediately stop. No, this isn’t good. Envisioning him physically is one thing, but emotionally? That’s too slippery of a slope for me.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and jump into my postage stamp-sized shower, washing away any lingering traces of desire. Get it together, Mackenzie. You’ve become… friends with Gabriel. Be happy with that.

I blow dry my hair and curl it, then apply my makeup and shimmy into a black pencil skirt and pink top, grabbing a protein bar on the way out the door.

We need to pick out a photographer today, but rather than meeting with contenders in person, I’ll show Gabriel some preselected portfolios online. I don’t have an industry contact the same way I do for flowers, clothes, or cake, so anyone he picks is fine with me. It shouldn’t be a problem booking someone. I’m finding that every vendor has room in their schedule for Harold Bishop’s son.

All except the Manhattan Haven Hotel. I still can’t believe they’re making us wait till two days from now just to tour it. They better have an opening soon to actually book it because I have a meeting with Mr. Bishop next week and I need to show him the progress we’ve made.

God, I’m spoiled already expecting everyone to accommodate us, aren’t I?

I walk into the shop forty minutes later, pausing at the heady fragrance that greets me. I’ve become better at identifying individual floral scents since working here, but when they’re all mixed together like this, it’s impossible.

I startle when I realize someone’s already in my office, but I know who it is even before I consciously recognize him. Gabriel’s back is to me as he looks at something on the bookcase, but I remember that body from my dream, his dark hair curling slightly over the collar of his blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to showcase those strong forearms. The way he whispered in my ear…

He turns around, eyes locking with mine through my office window.

I immediately blush, casting my face down as I walk in and set my bag down. “You’re here early.”

He cocks his head. “What’s up with you?”

“What?” Is that my voice that sounds so squeaky? “I mean, nothing.”

Yeah, that was convincing.

He raises his brows silently.

“Everything’s good,” I murmur, strolling past him to take a seat at my new desk. God, I love this thing.

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