Page 130 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
But as the hours and days ticked by, I thought more and more about what Paige said. That maybe Miller’s judgment was clouded by his all-consuming need to fight to stand up for his family, and that being here, being with me, opened his eyes to how he was really behaving.
The banner renaming the old Windwood barn after Grandma, and the fact he’s restoring it to its former glory, was the hammer that knocked down the final wall of my defenses. He didn’t have to do that. He did it because of who he really is.
I sure as hell still wasn’t going to go after him, though.
If anything was going to happen here, he needed to come to me.
And, boy oh boy, has he come to me.
Here he is, arms wrapped all the way around me, smelling delicious, and whispering, “I love you,” in my ear.
My whole body softens into him, finally feeling like I can actually let myself go, believe in someone, believe in myself, believe in the future that’s slowly emerging from the fog before my eyes.
It’s like a sense of calm has enveloped me.
But while I’m shrouded in a protective layer of peace, my insides are buzzing with excitement and joy and hope and desire, because, oh dear God, I want to get this man’s clothes off.
Is that what love is? This combination of peace, security, desire and a feeling that you can be yourself?
Miller moves his mouth from my ear toward my lips, and everyone around us disappears, fades away into a hazy background as he kisses me lightly enough to be decent in front of people, but firm enough to feel like a promise.
Highly indecent sensations immediately ravage my body, my nipples tightening, panties getting damp, and knees wobbling.
I’m so overcome, it takes a second before I’m aware of a hubbub in the crowd.
Miller lifts his mouth from mine, and we both look toward the audience, most of whom are now standing and facing away from us, some holding their phones high over their heads to film or take pictures. There are gasps andooohs, a certain degree of giggling, and the occasional little squeal.
“What’s going on?” Miller asks, his arms still around me.
“No idea.” I’ve definitely not planned anything to happen about now.
The two high-schoolers I’ve hired to capture social media content come belting into the back of the barn breathless, phones raised.
The crowd slowly turns as one, clearly following the path of someone walking around the outside of the seats and heading toward us.
“What the—” I dig my fingers so hard into Miller’s shoulder that he flinches. “Is that?—”
“Oh, yes,” he says with a bright laugh. “That is Prince Oliver. And let me guess who might be behind him.”
Holy shit. Following the Prince are Leo Johanssen fromLions’ Den, and oh my God, knock me dead and bury me in a bucket right now, Chase freaking Cooper.
“Is that really…” I’m unable to form any more words.
“Yup. It’s them too.” Miller slides his arms down my back as the men approach, sneaking in a stroke of mybutt on the way.
“What’s going on?” I ask, along with everyone in the crowd.
“Hi, folks,” Prince Oliver says, striding right up to me and offering his hand. “I’m Oliver, and I guess we’re a bit late.”
“Late?” While I shake his hand, my brain hops around like a rabbit on crack, wondering if I should bow or curtsy or say Your Highness or…Jesus, what the hell do you do when an actual prince walks into the barn on your donkey sanctuary where your grandpa’s just given a talk on the history of the property to a crowd of locals in the hope we can raise enough money to keep the place going?
“Yeah.” Prince Oliver beams from ear to ear and slaps Miller on the shoulder. “But it looks like this chap did okay on his own after all.”
“You mean you guys are here to help me out?” Miller asks all three of them.
“Yup,” Chase Cooper says.Chase freaking Cooper. “Ol was worried you might need some character references.”
Ol? They call him Ol?
