Page 17 of Riding with the Secret Billionaire

The room is exactly what you'd expect from a roadside motel in a town that considers its high school football team the height of cultural achievement. Faded floral bedspreads, thin carpeting, generic landscape art bolted to the walls. But it's clean, at least, and the air conditioning works, which is a blessing after the Kansas summer heat.

"I'll take the floor," Jake says immediately, setting our bags down just inside the door.

"Don't be ridiculous," I counter, kicking off my shoes. "The bed is plenty big enough for both of us. We can build a pillow barrier down the middle if you're worried about your virtue."

His mouth twitches. "It's not my virtue I'm concerned about."

"Oh please," I scoff, though his words send a thrill through me. "I think I can control myself for one night, no matter how irresistible you think you are."

"Trish," he says, my name a low warning.

"Jake," I mimic his tone. "Seriously, I don't bite. Unless asked nicely."

His eyes darken at that, and for a moment, the air between us charges like it had last night. Then he deliberately looks away, breaking the connection.

"I'm going to shower," he announces, grabbing his bag and heading for the bathroom. "There's a diner across the street if you're hungry."

The bathroom door closes with a definitive click, and the water starts running moments later. I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what I've gotten myself into. The attraction between us has been building since Toronto, growing more intense with each mile we travel. Being stuck in this small room together is either going to force us to address it or drive us both insane.

I pull out my phone to distract myself, finding a text from Jordyn. I had opted to shoot her a text earlier, explaining the situation in very vague terms so as not to have her worrying about me in the weeks leading up to her wedding.

Jordyn:Where are you now? Still on track for Saturday?

Me: Basic Plaines, Kansas. Literally the most boring place on Earth. Yes, still on track. How's pre-wedding stuff going?

Jordyn:Still chaotic, but still in the best way. Silas's brothers all have Strong Opinions™ about everything. Miss you. How's the mysterious Jake holding up?

I glancetoward the bathroom door, behind which Jake is currently showering. My mind unhelpfully supplies images of water running down his muscular torso, and I quickly redirect my thoughts.

Me: Still mysterious. Still controlling. Still infuriatingly attractive. We're sharing a motel room tonight. Only one available in this football-obsessed town.

Jordyn:Hmm, do I need to plan for an extra plus-one at my wedding?

Me: Very funny. It's not like that. He's taking the floor like some kind of chivalrous caveman.

Jordyn:Suuuure. Just remember, I want ALL the details when you get here.

I putmy phone away as the water shuts off. A few minutes later, Jake emerges in a cloud of steam, wearing a fresh black t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His hair is damp, his face freshly shaved, and I have to force myself not to stare at the sliver of abdomen that appears when he reaches up to run a hand through his wet hair.

"All yours," he says, seemingly oblivious to my reaction.

I grab my toiletries and practically flee to the bathroom, needing space to compose myself. The shower helps, washing away the day's travel grime and cooling my overheated thoughts. By the time I emerge in my own sleep shorts and tank top, I've regained some semblance of control.

Jake is sitting at the small desk by the window, typing something on his laptop. He glances up when I enter, his eyes widening slightly as they take in my bare legs before quickly returning to his screen.

"Hungry?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

As if on cue, my stomach growls audibly. "Starving, actually. Diner still open?"

"Until nine," he confirms, checking his watch. "We have time."

At least that'll give us time outside for me to get a grip. "I'll just need a few minutes to change, then we can head over."

The dineracross the street is nearly empty, most of the town apparently at the football game. We slide into a booth by the window, and a waitress promptly brings menus.

"You folks just passing through?" she asks, pouring coffee without asking if we want it.

"Yes," Jake answers before I can. "Just tonight."

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