Page 21 of Tempted to the Billionaire's Bed

Wasn’t that the exact opposite of what they’d agreed?

This was not a relationship with a graduation of steps, not like a normal fling with benchmarking developments, such as seeing each other’s houses and meeting the parents.

“Marco,” she lifted a hand to his chest. “Why are you here?”

He lifted his shoulders, moved closer, and she caught a hint of beer on his breath.

She frowned. “Are you drunk?”

“No. I had a few drinks on the flight home.”

Of course. This was Marco Santoro. When wasn’t he out partying? Something twisted in the centre of her chest as she imagined his life when they weren’t together. It hadn’t occurred to Portia to ask if he was sleeping with anyone else, because that seemed out of step with what they were, and yet she couldn’t say with any honesty that she didn’t care.

“When did you fly home?” Her voice was hoarse; she cleared her throat.

“Just now.”

“Like—just now? What plane lands at this time?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I get it. A private jet.”

His eyes narrowed.

“So your driver brought you here?”

He nodded.

“That would be a driver who works for the company?” She reminded him stiffly.

“No. I have a private driver. Don’t worry, our secret’s safe.” He pushed out of his shirt, eyes fixed on her. “Who hurt you?”

She stared at his bare chest, heart racing.

“What?”

“You said you’re still getting over it. Who was it?”

“Marco—,”

“I’m asking because it occurs to me that what we’re doing now is linked to what he did to you then. That you’re using me to get over him, maybe to get back at him. That makes sense. But isn’t honesty part of our pact?”

“Actually, I think the only thing we agreed explicitly to be honest about was when we want to end it…”

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

“No,” she admitted unevenly, moving away from the wall and stepping deeper into her apartment. It was nothing compared to his. No palatial lounge room, no Degas, no view of the Thames. Just a small, neat as a pin Elephant & Castle flat two doors down from a very nice, if somewhat noisy, gastro-pub. It had been all she could afford when she’d moved out of the house she’d shared with Jack, and she’d loved it because it had been all her own.

But now she saw it through Marco’s eyes, and it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was a little shabby around the edges. The paint faded, the carpet lifting in one corner, her furniture a mix of the pieces she’d bought with Jack and those she’d had to supplement it with, because he’d kept half their stuff.

Only Marco wasn’t looking at her apartment. His eyes landed heavy on her face, clung there, his expression ruminating, so she realized that whatever brilliance powered that brain of his, it was currently treating her like the latest numerical puzzle he had to solve.

Portia’s heart gave a strange twist, her stomach dropped to her toes, and she stepped forward, propelled by a wave of inevitability. This was a short ride, and at times it might be bumpy, but that was okay, because they had guardrails and boundaries in place and that would mean everything was fine. They were looking out for each other. She could relax and just enjoy the ride.

“Who was he?” Marco asked, but Portia had pushed Jack way to the back of her mind. She was thinking only of Marco and how he made her feel. And maybe Marco was right. Maybe this went beyond wanting to understand the sexual side of herself Portia hadn’t even known existed until Marco awoke those feelings. Maybe there was an element of revenge here too, a getting back at Jack.

Except, if that were the case, why hadn’t she been tempted to tell him she’d moved on? Why had she cared more about secrecy even than Marco had? It wasn’t just her job. It’s that this was her private, personal life and having had her relationship breakdown be so public, known to all their friends and family, she relished this opportunity to enjoy what was happening away from any kind of scrutiny, or need to explain.

“Did you come here in the middle of the night to talk?” She asked, voice husky. “Or do you want to take me to bed?”

His eyes flared and his Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed.

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