Page 49 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

“What do you mean?” I turn my head a little and feel the softness of his shirt against my cheek. I want to look at him, but he’s behind me and I can’t.

“I count them.” He says. Then I feel his lips on my temple as he delivers a feather-light kiss. “I always have. Since I was young. I’m glad I saw one here tonight. With you.”

I’d ask him for more details—like why he counts falling stars, or how old he was when he saw the first one—but he kisses that spot again, and I want to feel his lips on mine, not on my temple.

So, I reach my hand up, weave my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, and pull him down to me. “I think it’s cute that you count falling stars,” I whisper, after tasting his lips.

“I might start counting these kisses, too,” he whispers back.

“What are we on?”

“That was number four.”

“Then let’s see how five feels.” I close my eyes and kiss him again.

Chapter 15

Bella

I wake up with my head nestled in a very lumpy pillow. I turn to my side and reach around the back of my head to make some adjustments. Scratch that.

It’s not a pillow. It’s Damian.

He’s behind me, big-spoon style. I’m the little spoon, and Bo, on the couch at our feet, is some part of the silverware analogy that my morning brain can’t quite name. Dazzling sunlight beams over the waist-high wall across the rooftop deck… and straight into my eyes. I blink to save my retinas.

“Hrmph… Oomf.” Damian tries to roll over, which he can’t do. My body’s pinning his left arm down. With my eyes still closed, I try to figure out why I’m covered in wet dew and slumbering in the arms of a tall, handsome, dark-haired man.

I should be in my studio apartment in New York City. Waking up to the sounds of a blaring alarm clock, rush-hour traffic (including honking horns and shouting swear words), and the bumps and bangs of the kids in the apartment next door.

That’s my life.

Or itwas.

My strange, new living situation slowly surfaces in my sleep-addled brain. Right. I moved back to the country. I’m living in Damian’s house. We kissed… lots of times.

Birds chirp and twitter. I can feel the warm sunlight on my eyelids. My velour lounge pants, and cotton tank top are cool and damp, thanks to a layer of dew that settled over everything overnight. Bo snores, and then Damian gives another gentle, sleepy grunt.

“Hrmph. What… where…” With my eyes closed, I answer the question I know he’s trying to ask.

“We’re on your roof. We must have fallen asleep.”

“So… damp. Sun… too bright.” He flaps a free hand behind us, yanks a blanket off the back of the couch, and drapes it over us. When he pulls me in toward him, I sink into his warm body. Heaven. I must be in heaven.

With the blanket around us, I feel warmer. The layer of soft cotton soaks up the thin sheen of morning dew on my arms. Damian’s body is better than a space heater. I don’t dare open my eyes again, for fear the sun will blind me.

“We’re going to sleep in?” I murmur.

“The sun’s coming up, so it must be six,” he replies sleepily. “My life coach told me to lay off my routine and throw caution to the wind. First espresso today… seven o’clock.”

I’m half-asleep already. But despite the fact that my brain’s not yet on, I catch on to his joke. “Ha. Life coach. I wish.”

“She told me to take baby steps. She must think I’m neurotic.”

“And she’s probably right.”

“Today. My treatment starts today.” He slides his hand down my arm and then hugs me close again. I listen as his breathing evens out.

The next thing I know, the sun’s blazing against my eyelids again. Brighter and hotter this time. I must have fallen back asleep. My phone, somewhere, is trumpeting out Fizzy’s ringtone.

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