Page 127 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

That made him actually growl—though there was laughter in it too. “You are a monstrous little minx.”

“Punish me later.”

“I…I…”

“When you’re ready.”

The panicky flutter of his pulse slowed again. “You should be careful. It would not be to your benefit were I to keep tally.”

“Fuck yes it would.” I squirmed naughtily against him “Pleasekeep tally.”

His lips covered mine, half kiss, half groan—and quite a lot of teeth. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“D-don’t forget your sentimental declaration,” I said, when I had breath and wherewithal for speech.

He was silent for a long moment, just looking at me, his mouth still red from mine, and his eyes glittering with the promise of power. “Tell me you love me, Arden.”

Okay, not so much asking then, as commanding.

But while my soul knew its equal, my heart knew its master. Even when the master didn’t fully know himself.

And so, with happiness breaking inside me, like light through a prism splintering endlessly into rainbows, I obeyed.

Chapter 42

Caspian pulled his shirt back on and draped his tuxedo jacket carefully over my shoulders, which, of course, I loved. And then, heedless of masks and hand in hand, we fled the red room, through the dim corridors and down the gilt-encrusted staircase of the house, and tumbled into Caspian’s car. He murmured something to the driver and we were off—swallowed into welcome obscurity by London’s ceaseless traffic. I didn’t want to let go of Caspian, still not quite believing we were actually here, together, hoping for the same future, but I kind of had to. Partly because my nose was itchy and I needed to scratch it, but also because I wasn’t sure if George had managed to assemble her orgy and escape yet. I texted her to let her know that I was okay, going home with Caspian, and would she mind terribly taking care of my feathery cloak? She replied a couple of seconds later with “Your wings are always safe with me, poppet.”

Then I tucked my hand back into Caspian’s, leaned my head against his shoulder, and…I don’t know. Basked? In the heat of his skin and the scent of his cologne and the strength of his body next to mine. And in the perfect nothingness of the moment. Two men in a car. Going home. The simplest and most precious thing in the world to me right then. Closing my eyes, I tried to hold on to it—to that sense of peace—but the events of the evening kept fragmenting around me, vivid and unreal at the same, as if I was staring into a kaleidoscope of my own life.

Fuck, I was crying.

And despite my best efforts, there was apparently no concealing it from Caspian. “Arden, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. Nothing. Just…feelings. I’m having a lot of them right now.”

“Bad feelings?”

“No, I’m happy. So happy it’s messing me up. Like this has to be a mistake. Or maybe I’m dreaming. Or eight gazillion Hugo Weavings are about to show up because I’m in the Matrix.”

“Dear me.” He cast me a rather quizzical look. “You must be in a bad way, because that’s a reference so dated even I get it.”

I giggled in a hiccoughy way. “Oh, shut up.”

“Come here.” He pulled me back into his lap, helping me curl up as small as I could possibly be within the circle of his arms. “I promise you, this is real, and I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have to fight Hugo Weaving for you.”

“Do you know kung fu?”

“Let’s say I do.”

I thought about it. “I really like Hugo Weaving. If he wanted me that badly, it would present quite the dilemma.”

“He’s not remotely suitable for you. He’s straight, for one thing, and he must be nearly sixty.”

“So? I bet he’d let me call him Daddy.”

Caspian was frowning so ferociously that his brows had become cartoon slashes—turning him into the world’s most handsome emoji. “Are you seriously telling me you would leave me for Hugo Weaving?”

“Are you seriously telling me”—I gazed up at him, my tears lost to incredulity—“you’re jealous?”

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