Page 66 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

It’s been a long day.

I’m in a weird position. Behind enemy lines with a man so dreamy, I want to fall into his arms and ask him to carry me upstairs so we can do this ‘repeat’ night on the roof like he mentioned. But falling asleep in Damian’s arms tonight probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Not with the way things stand,with the Silver Spring. That whole mess looms over me as I haul myself to my feet and dust off my backside.

“Okay, well, crisis averted, I guess. Bo’s back to his goofy self.”

Bo utters a perky yip, emphasizing my point. I feel along the back of the couch, slowly making my way to the door.

But my feet slow when I feel Damian’s hand slip into mine. He tugs me back toward him, gently but firmly.

“Wait,” he says.

I let him pull me in—because I want to be in his arms. I shouldn't want this, but I do.

“The last time you told me to wait, you kissed me,” I whisper, as our bodies touch. His body feels so warm against mine. “And that’s what I plan to do again if you’ll let me.”

“I’ve made some questionable decisions today, and I’m not sure I can trust my brain to figure out what’s going on with us.”

His fingertips whisper across my cheek, and he tucks my hair behind my ear. “Bella, all kidding aside, maybe you do live closer to the edge of things than I do. I’ve been stuck in a rut for a long, long time. But I want to get unstuck. With you.”

“I should warn you: it really could get more complicated than it already is.”

“More complicated than picking you up from jail?”

I think again about hiring a lawyer to pursue the right to the Silver Spring.

“Yeah.”

“More complicated than trying to figure out why, when I ask you for answers, you talk about squirrels and cannibal witches?”

“Yeah.”

“More complicated than standing here and wanting you so bad, I can barely think straight?”

He runs his hand up my back, and nowIcan’t think straight.

“Yeah…” I murmur.Deeds.

Court battles. Lawyers.

“It really could,” I whisper. Then I close my eyes and savor the feel of his hand sweeping along my shoulder. His fingers graze my neck and come to rest beneath my ear.

“Is it crazy, then, that I don’t care?” he whispers. His mouth is so close to mine, that I can feel the feathery touch of air across my lips with each word he speaks. “It can get complicated. You can do whatever you want, and it won’t change how I feel. I’m crazy about you, Bella.”

Then he kisses me, and I’m gone.

Lost.

Oblivious to anything and everything besides this kiss. He pushes his hand up through my hair, and I wrap my hand around his neck because I want to be closer to him. Even the feel of his body, fused to mine, isn’t enough.

I can’t believe I let myself get so wrapped up in my head about our future. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this exact moment, and how warm and sweet his lips are against mine. I feel the wall against my back, and I let myself fall into it.

Damian’s fingers slide along my back. His palm feels so warm against my skin. As we turn a little, I hear him bump against the wall. “Bella,” he whispers into my mouth, “Bella… did you paint the wall?”

Paint the wall? What’s he talking about? My head’s filled with fireworks and fluff, and my breathing is ragged and panty. I pull at the hem of my tank top to straighten it out and try—really try—to think straight. Now that we’re not kissing anymore, a little bit of sensory data’s edging into my mind. The wall I’m leaning back against doesn’t feel solid. It’s springy and feels like fabric. That hardly makes sense.

Damian’s right about paint, too. My back, where it was pressed against the wall—or whatever it is—feels damp as though I’ve leaned up against wet paint.

Wet paint!

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