Page 55 of Marrying the Billionaire

I am?

I keep quiet as he continues on to the end of the hall and flicks on the light in his room. I haven’t been in here since that first day exploring.

“I have anything you need. Extra toothbrush. Clothes. Well, maybe not the stuff you usually wear.”

A huff of laughter escapes me. “I’d be a little concerned if you did.”

He rummages in his closet for a minute and comes out with a faded blue Columbia University t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “I don’t wear pajamas to bed, but I have these.”

If he doesn’t wear pajamas, does that mean he wears… nothing? Oh Lord, help me. “This is great. Thanks.”

There’s a knock on the front door and he leaves to deal with the super, his room imposing without him in it. Twice the size of my guest room with floor to ceiling blackout curtains, it gives off strong masculine vibes with its black and steel king bed and matching seating area in the corner, everything else in shades of gray.

I duck into the bathroom and change clothes, scrubbing my makeup off with a spare washcloth under the sink, finding a new toothbrush too while searching under there.

When I come back out, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his temples.

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I want it all redone, just to be safe. The pipes, the wall, the floor. It may take a while.”

I twist the hem of my t-shirt around my finger. “Should I get a hotel in the meantime?”

“No.” We’re both startled by the intensity of his voice, and he quickly clears his throat. “I mean, you can stay in here. If you’re comfortable with that arrangement.”

“And you’ll be in here too?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes. It’s a big room.”

With one bed.

“That’s fine with me.” I step in closer, squeezing his arm as I sit beside him. “Thank you for everything.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. My apartment just ruined your-”

“It’s not your fault.” I place my hand in his, enjoying the heat of his body this close, this sense of togetherness. “You’ve been so incredibly giving. Offering your room to me, a place to live to begin with. You were understanding earlier at the auction. And last night too. Basically all the time.”

His fingers tense around mine. “Don’t make me out to be some saint. I’m not.”

He stands, letting go of my hand, and makes his way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Did I say something wrong? I just wanted to tell him how much I appreciate him. This man who’s willing to work with me. Take the time to try and understand me. Put up with my ridiculous tendency to run away.

I pull back the dark bedspread and crawl under the covers, calming myself until he returns. He removes the oversized watch at his wrist and sets it on his nightstand, unbuttoning his dress shirt quickly. A sliver of tan skin gives way to heavy pecs and toned abs as he slides the shirt from his shoulders, starting in on his belt buckle next. I gape at him, utterly fascinated, and that’s when he seems to realize what he’s doing. “Oh, shit. I was on autopilot-”

“No, it’s fine.” More than fine. Seriously, I could look at him shirtless all day. “Do whatever you normally do. This is your room.”

He nods, unconvinced, and shuts the lamp off, plunging us into darkness. With the blackout curtains over the windows, not an ounce of light gets in.

There’s the quiet shucking of his pants, and then he climbs in next to me. With the size of this bed, though, there’s more than enough space for both of us. Why couldn’t he sleep in some narrow twin bed?

I wait until he’s settled to say, “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing earlier. I know you’re not perfect. No one is. But you’ve been so good to me. And I really appreciate it.”

The sheets rustle and I imagine him turning on his side to face me. “I’ve barely done anything.”

“You have,” I insist, reaching out for him and finding his arm. I soothe my hand across his warm skin, his muscles flexing under my fingers.

There’s a companionable silence for half a minute until he whispers, “I- I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

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