Page 22 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
“And you?” I ask, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. “Where are you from?”
She looks at me for a long moment, almost as if considering how much to share. Then, slowly, she begins to talk, her voice light but filled with nostalgia.
“I grew up in a small town,” she says, “pretty much like this, actually. My mom used to take me to the park every weekend. We’d sit by the swings, and she’d tell me stories about the stars.”
Her voice trembles slightly when she mentions her mom, and I feel a rush of empathy. There’s so much about her I don’t know, but somehow, in this moment, I feel closer to her than I’ve ever felt.
“That sounds nice,” I say, my voice soft.
She nods, but then her smile fades slightly, as if the weight of the past is catching up to her. The change in her demeanor issubtle, but I can see it. And I want to know more. I want to ask her about it, about the things that make her... her.
But I don’t. I just let the silence hang between us, comfortable and quiet, as we drive toward her place.
We reach her apartment, and I slow to a stop in front of the building. The street is empty, quiet except for the sound of the car idling, the engine soft in the night.
I shift the car into park, my pulse thudding in my ears. The air between us changes — tight, magnetic. She doesn’t move to open the door right away, and neither do I.
“Well,” I say, my voice low, barely steady, “this is it.”
She turns toward me with a soft, tentative smile, and for a breathless moment, we just stare. There’s something between us now — thick and undeniable. Like gravity.
“Thanks again,” she murmurs. Her voice catches slightly. “For the ride.”
“Anytime,” I say, but my voice is rougher than I mean for it to be. I can feel it — the ache, the pull, the wanting.
She shifts in her seat, hesitates, her fingers curling tightly around the door handle. But then she turns to me again. Her eyes search mine. We’re too close. Too quiet.
“Lucy…” I say, barely above a whisper.
She doesn’t answer. Her gaze drops to my mouth. Mine to hers.
We lean in — not all at once, but like we’re being drawn by something neither of us can fight. Her breath mixes with mine, warm and shallow, and I swear the world tilts. My hand finds hers, and when our fingers brush, it’s like something raw and electric sparks through me.
Her beautiful face is inches from mine and I want to kiss her. Oh, how I want to kiss her.
But I don’t.
Instead, I catch her hand — her small, delicate hand — and lift it slowly. Her eyes widen slightly, lips parting as she watches me.
I press a kiss to the back of her hand. Soft. Reverent. Every bit of hunger in me coiled tight in restraint.
When I lower her hand, I meet her eyes again. She’s not breathing. Neither am I.
“I should go,” she whispers, and the words are almost an apology.
I nod once, tightly. “Yeah.”
She opens the door and steps out, but before she walks away, she pauses. Looks back at me over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you around, Liam.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod again. She turns and disappears into the building.
And I sit there, heart pounding, hands clenched on the wheel, tasting the ghost of her skin on my lips — and wondering if I’ll ever survive this thing I feel for her.
Chapter ten
Lucy
