Page 58 of No More Billionaires

The large t-shirt twisted around me as I moved. But it was so soft—probably one of those designer things that looked like a plain white tee and cost a hundred-fifty dollars.

Though he’d washed it in shampoo, it still retained some of his cologne scent, subtle and mixed with the fragrances of lavender and wood smoke.

None of it was conducive to a restful mood. In fact, as the minutes ticked on toward the time he’d be crawling onto the mattress beside me, I grew more and more restless, charged with a sort of energy I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I’d almost made up my mind to get up and pull on an oversized pair of camo pants to go downstairs when I heard the bathroom door open.

My eyelids slammed shut. My heart hammered in my chest.

He’s coming.

But Larson didn’t climb the ladder. His footsteps tracked across the main room.

I opened my eyes to a slit and rolled silently to my side, watching him walk over to the woodstove in only his boxers.

He lifted his arms and rubbed the towel vigorously through his hair, causing the muscles in his back to bunch and flex in the most fascinating way.

When he turned to face the loft, I closed my eyes completely but gradually eased them open again, taking in the sight of his long and lean body, his tight abs moving under his skin as he leaned to the side over the stove, running his hands through his hair and letting the hot air dry it.

I’d seen Mark without his clothes on. He was fine—average-guy-build, maybe a tad extra around the middle like so many frat boys who took in a few too many liquid calories.

But Larson… something warm and sweet curled inside my abdomen as I watched him so unselfconsciously displayed there.

It actually gave me pleasure to look at him.

I felt a little bit guilty. How would I like it if I was the one down there almost naked and he was secretly watching me?

And the warm, sweet thing intensified, becoming a tingle that filled me with equal parts dread and anticipation for the moment when that beautiful male body would be stretched out here beside me.

After a few more minutes, Larson padded across the room on bare feet toward the table. I heard the puff of his breath blowing out the candle there, more footsteps, another puff as he blew out the bathroom candle.

And then the creak of the wooden ladder under his feet.

My heart was rocketing now, shooting around the loft like a pyrotechnic display gone haywire.

Meanwhile, I disciplined my body to be still, fighting my own lungs, which wanted to wheeze like an asthmatic triathlete instead of breathe gently like a girl who’d been asleep for the past hour.

The floor underneath us creaked beneath his additional weight, and then there was a shift in the mattress as he slipped into the bed.

Through it all I stayed still and silent, not moving when he lifted the quilt and got under it and pulled it back up over my shoulder again.

There was an excruciating moment when he swept his fingers lightly down the quilt over my back, but he removed his hand immediately and went still in the bed beside me.

Was he asleep so soon? How did he do it?

Clearly he wasn’t nearly as disturbed by my presence as I was by his. It took everything in me to keep my breathing quiet and steady.

In fact, I might have been slow-motion hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry.” Larson’s quiet words broke the silence of the night.

Bam! My heart rate shot even higher. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut.

If I didn’t start breathing through my mouth soon, I was going to pass out. Maybe that would be a good thing—I’d just pass out and not have to—

“You were right,” he said a bit louder.

So he knew I was awake. Might as well breathe. I sucked in some air and gave up the pretense of sleep.

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