Page 19 of Riding with the Secret Billionaire

Jake leans forward slightly, close enough that I can see the faint stubble already beginning to shadow his freshly shaved jaw. "Unpredictably," he says, his voice dropping to a register that sends heat pooling low in my belly. "Which makes it both problematic and... interesting."

The waitress chooses that moment to appear with our check, breaking the charged moment. Jake pays-- "Company card," he explains when I try to contribute, and we walk back to the motel in silence, the night air heavy with humidity and unspoken words.

In our shared room, the awkwardness returns full force. Jake makes a show of arranging extra blankets on the floor beside the bed, despite my earlier insistence that we can share.

"You're really going to sleep down there?" I ask, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "That carpet hasn't been deep-cleaned since the Clinton administration."

"I've slept in worse conditions," he replies, not looking up from his makeshift bed.

"I'm not going to attack you in your sleep, you know," I say, trying for levity. "Unless you snore. Then all bets are off."

He glances up at me then, something serious in his expression. "It's not about that, Trish."

"Then what is it about? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks a lot like you're afraid to share a bed with me."

"I'm not afraid," he says, an edge entering his voice. "I'm being respectful."

"Respectful would be accepting my offer instead of martyring yourself on the gross motel carpet," I counter. "Unless there's another reason you're so determined to maintain physical distance?"

He straightens, his full height making the small room feel even smaller. "You want to know the reason? Fine. I'm attracted to you. Have been since I saw you standing in that airport terminal. And I don't trust myself to maintain appropriate boundaries if we're sleeping inches apart all night."

The frank admission sends a jolt of electricity through me. "Who says I want you to maintain appropriate boundaries?"

His eyes darken. "Don't, Trish."

"Don't what? Be honest about what's happening between us?" I stand up, crossing the small space between us until we're nearly touching. "I'm attracted to you too, Jake. I have been since you first stepped out of your truck. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

He remains perfectly still as I move closer, but I can see the tension radiating through him, the careful control he's exerting to keep himself in check. His breathing has accelerated slightly, his pupils dilated as they fix on my face.

"This is a bad idea," he says, but doesn't move away.

"Probably," I agree, tilting my face up toward his. "But I'm still going to ask you to kiss me."

Something flares in his eyes, desire, conflict, maybe hunger. "Trish," he says, my name half warning, half plea.

"Kiss me, Jake," I whisper. "One kiss. If it's terrible, we'll laugh it off and never speak of it again. If it's not..." I leave the rest unspoken, an invitation hanging in the air between us.

For a moment, I think he might refuse. Then his hand comes up to cup my cheek, large and warm against my skin. "One kiss," he agrees, his voice rough. "Then we talk about this rationally."

I nod, already leaning into his touch. "Rationally. Absolutely."

His head dips slowly, deliberately, giving me every chance to change my mind. I hold my ground, heart hammering in my chest, skin tingling with anticipation.

When his lips finally meet mine, the contact is gentle, almost cautious. I answer by pressing closer, my hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his t-shirt.

Something shifts then. A dam breaking, control shattering. Jake makes a sound low in his throat, his hand sliding from my cheek to tangle in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I gasp at the sudden full-body contact.

He takes advantage of my parted lips, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a thoroughness that makes my knees weak. This isn't just a kiss; it's a claiming, a conversation without words, a declaration of intent. I respond in kind, rising on tiptoes to press myself more firmly against him, my arms winding around his neck.

I've been kissed before, but never like this, never with such focused intensity, such careful deliberation beneath the passion. Jake kisses like he does everything else, with absolute precision, yet there's an edge of something wilder underneath, something he's holding back with iron discipline.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them, pupils blown wide with desire. My hands are still on his shoulders, his still in my hair and at my waist, keeping me anchored against him.

"That was..." I start, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

"A mistake," he finishes, though he makes no move to release me.

"Not the word I was going to use," I counter, threading my fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'incredible' or 'worth repeating immediately.'"

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