Page 7 of Riding with the Secret Billionaire

"What word do they use?"

"Difficult. Intense. Controlling." He says it matter-of-factly, without any apparent discomfort.

"Those too," I agree with a smile."But complicated covers all of it."

We stop at a roadside diner for breakfast.The place is nearly empty, just a couple of truckers at the counter and an elderly couple in a booth near the window.Jake chooses a booth with clear sightlines to both exits, his back to the wall.I slide in across from him, amused by his predictable choice.

"Let me guess," I say as the waitress hands us menus."You always sit facing the door."

"Always," he confirms, scanning the menu with the same focused attention he gives the road.

"And you'll order something protein-heavy, minimal carbs, nothing too messy or complicated."

He looks up, those striking eyes meeting mine directly."You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?"

"Am I wrong?" I challenge.

When the waitress returns, Jake orders the steak and eggs, protein-heavy just as I predicted.I opt for blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon, partly because I want them and partly to be his opposite.

"You're smirking," he observes after the waitress leaves.

"You're just so delightfully predictable," I reply."It's like I've created a psychological profile of you after less than twenty-four hours."

"And what does this profile tell you?"

I lean forward, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper."That beneath all that control and precision beats the heart of an actual human being who occasionally makes jokes and lets exhausted women sleep in his truck."

"Groundbreaking analysis," he says dryly, but there's amusement in his eyes.

Our food arrives, and I nearly moan at the first bite of pancakes.It's been almost twelve hours since I last ate anything substantial, and the sweet, fluffy goodness hits all the right notes.

"These are amazing," I say around a mouthful."You should try some."

"I'm good with my predictable protein," he replies, cutting his steak.

"Live a little, Jake. One bite of pancake won't destroy your macros or whatever."

He looks at me for a long moment, then sighs and puts down his knife."One bite."

I slice off a perfect portion with enough blueberries and syrup, then offer it across the table.Instead of taking the fork from me, he leans forward and takes the bite directly from my fork, his eyes locked on mine.

Something hot and electric shoots through me at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.His lips close around the fork, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of their shape, their fullness.

"Verdict?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly husky.

He swallows, his expression thoughtful."Not bad."

"Not bad? These are celestial pancakes, Jake.They're practically a religious experience."

"I prefer savory to sweet," he says with a shrug, but there's something in his eyes that suggests he enjoyed more than just the taste of the pancakes.

After breakfast, we're back on the road.The landscape has changed from flat farmland to gently rolling hills as we make our way deeper into Missouri.The tension between us has shifted somehow, charged with an awareness that wasn't there before.I find myself noticing things I'd missed earlier, the way his t-shirt pulls across his shoulders when he adjusts his grip on the wheel,the subtle woodsy scent of his cologne,the controlled strength in his movements.

"Tell me about this wedding we're racing to," he says, breaking a comfortable silence."Must be important for you to go to these lengths."

"My best friend Jordyn is marrying this mountain man lawyer named Silas.They're total opposites but somehow perfect together.She's been planning this wedding forever, and I promised I wouldn't miss a thing."

"The dress fitting on Saturday," he remembers."Is that the only deadline we're working against?"

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