Page 29 of Oops Baby for the Billionaire
I whimper, my body trembling as his words hit home.
“And I know,” he continues, leaning closer, “that if I kiss you right now, you’ll kiss me back.”
“That’s presumptuous?—”
He cuts me off by pressing his mouth to mine. Not rough or demanding like I expect, but soft. Questioning. His lips move against mine gently, and my resistance crumbles.
I kiss him back. Of course I do.
My hands come up to grip his suit jacket as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that proves he does know me, at least like this. He remembers exactly what I like, and when a moan escapes, he growls in response, pressing closer until I can feel the hard length of his body against mine.
Every impressive inch.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“No more Mr. Thorne,” he says roughly.
“Okay,” I manage.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, Roman.”
He rewards me with another kiss, briefer but no less intense. Then he reaches over and releases the emergency stop. The elevator resumes its climb, and he picks up my stuff like nothing happened.
Except for the way his mouth tugs up in an almost smile. No, correction, an actual smile.
I take a deep breath, and he slides a glance across to me.
“Not completely strangers,” I murmur.
The smile broadens to a flash of white teeth, too.
“You remembered the strawberry I ate?”
Dusky heat slashes across his cheeks above his close-cropped beard. “I remember everything, Willa. Absolutely everything.”
The elevator slows and opens directly into the penthouse. It’s surreal to return to this space, this time not by the service elevator.
The last time I was here, I was sneaking around in my wine-soaked uniform. Now the billionaire CEO is holding the door open for me like I belong here.
“The bedroom is that way,” Roman says.
I choke on a laugh. “Yes. I remember.”
“Did you get a tour of the rest of the apartment?”
“Just the service kitchen and this main living space.”
“There’s a regular kitchen, as well. This way.” He puts down my bags, then steers me down a hallway I didn’t use that night. “I had groceries delivered.”
To call the space he leads me into aregular kitchenis a huge stretch.
A huge marble island dominates the middle of the long galley. It looks straight out of a glossy magazine.
And it’s overflowing with brown paper grocery bags.
“Just a few supplies?” I ask dryly. I peek in the first one. Strawberries. I lift out the container, and realize there are five more underneath. “This is too much.”
