Page 9 of My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

“I know that,” I grumble.

Offering a softer look, he moves the skillet away from the hot stove and comes beside me. His hand brushes my cheek, feeling my warmth, and I hold my breath while I picture him leaning in another inch and kissing me again.

“Are you okay, Kitten? That gin hits hard, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. That second drink you got me was nice, though.”

“A little sweetness never hurts the edge of alcohol. If you need to go lay down, I have a spare bed I can put out for the night.”

“No, you don’t need to set out a bed for me, I’m—”

“I didn’t say that,” he cuts in. “You can go lay down in my bed, and I’ll take the spare. Hell, I have so much work to do, I could easily sleep on the couch for a few hours and stay up working.”

“I can’t impose.”

“Do you have a car?”

“No,” I admit, my mother’s old truck is not up and running from the mechanic shop in Oregon. “I can get a cab, though. I’m not drunk, I promise.”

He shakes his head, uncaring of my please. “Eat what you can and go lay down in my bed. You’re safer staying here for the night.”

I give him a snarky look. “How do you know I don’t have someone waiting home for me, like a boyfriend who wouldn’t appreciate you kidnapping me for the night?”

He laughs under his breath. “No man would let you leave the house in that outfit, Kitten. He would be by your side to show you off, but he wouldn’t be happy knowing how fuckingdeliciousyou look and not getting to be there to see it.”

I blush even harder than before, hanging my head in slight defeat. He’s right, which is aggravating to say the least. Even though it is aggravating, I try to ignore it, picking at my plate until the cramps only get worse. I push it back, sprinting for the ensuite and finding the toilet instantly. I puke everything I have, my stomach in horrible knots while I sit back on the grey tile floors.

“Ouch,” I whimper, holding my stomach carefully.

Dimitri walks in like it’s nothing, handing me a long, button-down shirt made of silky, ivory material. He also hands me a water bottle and a toothbrush still in its package.

“Get cleaned up, take a shower if you want, and relax. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“I can handle myself,” I bite. “Been doing it for twenty-five years.”

“Yeah, well I’m thirty-six, so I have more experience being drunk and dumb, okay? You’re safer here, I swear. Plus, you’ll just end up riding that tiny little elevator all the way back to the ground floor alone, and you will feel claustrophobic again.”

I roll my eyes, the chills on my body agreeing with him.

I brush my teeth, get changed into the shirt, and fold my clothes together on the nightstand. The button-down top reaches my thighs, and I’m happy about that, but it does very little to hide the underside of my ass. In some ways, it’s worse than my skirt, the material at least sticking to my backside, unlike the silk that raises and falls as I move.

Dimitri is on the couch under a fluffy blanket when I return to the living room. His laptop is on his lap, but he shuts it and pushes it aside, the TV playing overhead as it’s hung from the wooden rafters of the penthouse. He pats the space beside him, and I abide, the blanket pushed over my bare legs where I can bring it up to my chest and hold it tight.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “Thanks for the water.”

“Of course, Kitten. If you want more just make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. Everything in there is yours for the taking tonight.”

“You’re really not going to let me leave, are you? I’m fine, Dimitri. I’m perfectly okay. Nothing is wrong with me, I swear.”

“Yeah, I know you say that, Kitten, but you don’t know this city very well. You could get lost, you could—”

“Why do you talk like that?”

“Talk like what?”

“Like you know me, Dimitri. You don’t. You have no idea who I am, or where I come from.”

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