Page 23 of The Damaged Billionaire

It is obvious that we both want the same thing. The electricity that runs between us is high voltage.

“I know we can’t…” he starts to say, and I look up at him. I remain silent, waiting for him, my heart thudding so hard I feel the vibration across my chest. “But, Willow, I want to. I really fucking want to.” It’s so sincere the way he says it, like it’s so much more than sex he’s got on his mind, and I melt. He is laying his cards out. He flew here to me in a helicopter to rescue me from the date, because he wants me.

“We can’t. My business means so much to me. I have worked hard over these past few years, and if I fraternize with a client, that could impact everything I have worked so hard for.” My voice is merely a whisper. This is so hard. The battle between my head and my heart is fierce. But I need to pull it together. I am a professional, goddammit. I clear my throat and straighten my spine. Rolling my shoulders back, I take a deep breath.

“You’re still coming to the business dinner, aren’t you?” he asks me, and I appreciate him getting back to work talk. That dinner has been on my mind lately. Harrison and Beth are putting it together. It will be a great opportunity to meet potential new clients, spread my name further afield and away from DC to help diversify my business. I have since learned that the who is who of business will be there, so I also need to be focused on making sure that Tennyson is positioned in a good light.

“I will be there to support you and make sure everything goes smoothly. I just need to organize something to wear.” My nerves dance because it will be the first time we will be together in a formal setting.

“You could wear a potato sack and look beautiful,” he says the words low, but his statement hits me square in the chest.

“We should go. I have a town car here to pick me up. He can take you wherever it is you need to go,” I say, my feelings about everything almost overwhelming. But it must be this way. Doesn’t it? His smile is small, but it is there. He knows. He knows it is merely a matter of time before I bend.

“Lead the way.” He watches me stand before he does as well, grabbing my jacket off the waiter and draping it around my shoulders himself. He stays close as we start walking, his hand on my lower back as he guides me out of the restaurant and out onto the street, and he doesn’t lift it until I am safely in the back of the car. His protective touch isn’t making this any easier. I see him take a moment outside before he rounds the trunk and jumps in the back seat with me.

The two of us are ending the night not at all how we would like to.

* * *

“So this is where you live?” Tennyson asks as the town car pulls up to my house. I am itching to get out of this car. The tension between us has me on edge. Sitting close to each other, yet careful not to touch. Talking about business yet trying not to get too personal. I am usually excellent at keeping things professional, but it is already harder than I ever thought it would be. The way he sits with confidence next to me, the perfect conversation flowing naturally, and the way I constantly feel his eyes skirt over my body… it all has my body zinging. If I don’t climb out of the car, I’ll be climbing all over him.

“This is it.” I admire my bungalow as it sits small and proud in my street.

“Suits you,” he says before he quickly gets out of the car. I grab my purse and open the door, just as he stands there to help me out. His hand encases mine so easily it is almost my undoing. But I don’t remove it. It is like my body, mind, and heart are all pushing me to him, and I can’t seem to fully control anything anymore. My body hums for him, his hand feels nice in mine, and for once, I just want to be the girl the guy wants to hold on to. I blow out my breath slowly as the car door closes.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask him as he walks me up the path to my door. My legs shake a little as my hand still sits in his. It should feel all types of wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels too right.

“It’s small, elegant, welcoming, just like you.”

“Well… there will be no welcoming tonight.” I don’t know why I say it. Maybe to remind myself. He only smiles, but it’s the knowing kind. “Thank you for the drive home. Please get home safely.” I am not sure how safe helicopters are at nighttime, but he’s got to leave, no matter what. As we reach my porch, I make no move to pull my hand from his. The two are glued together so tight, neither of us wanting to be the first to let go.

“The car will take me home. It will only be forty minutes from here. You are closer to Baltimore on this side of town,” he says with a grin. “You sure you don’t want to show me your bed socks?” His thumb leaves my hand momentarily, stroking my upper thigh.

I laugh, smacking his hand playfully. “Good night, Tennyson,” I say, smiling as he takes a step back toward the car, his handsome grin on full display, our arms still connected and stretching between us.

“Some other time then,” he says, giving me a wink, and our hands release as I wait and watch him get to the car before I open my front door and slip inside. As I close the door, I lean back against it, my legs giving way, my body sliding until my butt hits the floor.

I have no idea how I am meant to get through this next month or so. Work comes first, it always has. It is my anchor, it is what drives me, gives me purpose. I can’t jeopardize that.

All I have is my reputation. That is all I need to get the next job. People refer me. People learn about me and my services. If I were to start sleeping with a client, that could all go away in an instant. It would also attract the wrong type of clients in the future as well. I trust Beth, but I don’t really know the Rothschild men at all. If Tennyson and I were to take that step, who knows what the governor would do.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - TENNYSON

It stinks, there are barking dogs everywhere, and my girl stops and makes a cutesy voice at every cage we pass, doing something to my insides that makes me feel like butter. My girl. I am not sure when it happened, but that is how I think of her. She is mine. I knew it the moment we met in New York. I knew it when I turned up on her date in DC. And I know it now.

“Ohhhh, look at this one! Hello, beautiful boy!” she says in a voice that makes me jealous for no other reason than she is calling something else beautiful and giving it all her attention.

“No. Too slobbery,” I mumble, looking at the massive Doberman that is currently sitting on guard, looking like he is about to bite Willow the minute the gate opens to his pen.

“Hello, little man!!” she says again as we pass by a cage that has one of the smallest dogs I have ever seen.

“It looks like a rat!” I say, scrunching up my face, not loving any of these options. Willow has talked me into getting a dog, and after serious consideration, I tend to agree with her that it is a good idea. Although no doubt an adjustment, I think it will be a positive step. A companion, a running partner, someone around the house. Something just for me.

“Well, what about this one? He is so squishy!” Her voice pitches a little, her hands making a squeezing motion as we pass a pug, the round animal snorting and scurrying. I bet he snores.

“No, too fat. He won't run with me.” I want a man’s dog. One with stamina, strength, grace.

“Which one do you like then?” she asks, looking at me, her eyes shimmering, a smile on her face. I would buy the whole damn center just to keep her smiling like that at me.

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