Page 62 of Marrying the Billionaire

Archer

My heart stops, despite my resolution less than ten minutes ago to not be distracted by her. “What is it?”

Does she regret what we did this morning? Does she want a hotel room after all? Did I fuck everything up?

“I was in my closet today salvaging what I could and I talked to the contractor the super sent out. He said it might be a couple of months before they finish.”

My heart resumes normal speed. Oh, that. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh.” She gives a soft laugh. “I thought it would take a lot less time for some reason.”

I swallow heavily, not wanting to say this next thing, even though I should. “If that’s too long of a time frame to share a room, I can still get you that hotel.”

“No.” She grabs my hand, squeezing softly. “I liked sharing a room with you.”

Especially the sharing a bed part. What will it be like tonight?

No, no. I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to share a bed at all. What if it ends up ruining everything we’ve built so far?

“Anyway,” she continues, “I just wanted to let you know that and also double check it’s okay to buy some more things with your card. A few of my dresses and most of my shoes got ruined-”

“Of course you can. You don’t have to ask my permission.”

“Well, I feel a little guilty. It’s your money.”

“Money’s no object. Seriously.” I earn a ridiculous salary and hardly touch it. Dad pays for all my living expenses, the same as he does for Gabriel and Connor.

Oh, that’s right. Not Gabriel anymore.

“It was my apartment that did the damage to begin with. I told you I’d replace it all. And you’re my wife.” Those words sound different to me now than they did even a few days ago. “You can get whatever you want.”

Her mouth tilts up at the corners and she leans in to kiss me again, whispering, “Thank you,” against my lips. It’s not a big deal at all, but I won’t say no to this.

She doesn’t pull away and I don’t either, unable to help myself, the kiss playing out, minutes ticking by as our bodies gravitate toward one another. She presses herself flush against me, my tongue deep in her mouth, her hands running through my hair. Her nails scrape lightly against my scalp, and I involuntarily let out a low groan.

“You like that?”

“Yes.” There’s no other answer for her, not with how good it feels.

She does it again, slower, and a rush of goosebumps breaks out along the back of my neck and down my arms, my dick twitching. How is it that she can affect me this much?

The intercom on my phone buzzes and Tracy’s voice fills the room. “Mr. Bishop? Your meeting with Finance is in five minutes.”

And it’ll take me that long just to get down to the fortieth floor. I pull away from her, straightening my tie and suit jacket. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” She fixes my hair, a smirk playing about her deliciously swollen lips. Hopefully, mine aren’t as obvious. “You’re a very in demand man.Mr. Bishop.”

“You don’t have to call me that.” Every time I hear it, a part of me thinks someone is referring to my dad.

“What should I call you then?”

“Your husband,” I reply without thinking, going still as I realize what I said.

The air charges between us, heat filling her gaze as she bites her lip. Apparently, she likes that name.

And it turns out I do too.

“Mr. Bishop?” Tracy calls again.

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