Page 79 of The Billionaire Is Back

“Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 20

Multiple S’moregasms

Claire

When we reachthe second floor of the penthouse and the elevator doors open, I know even before Grady puts his arm around me that he’s going to pick me up and carry me to his bedroom. I’m holding my Prada heels in my hands, but I let them drop to the floor when he lifts me up. He is such a damn cheeseball, I’m not even going to roll my eyes at him because I was really hoping in my heart of hearts that he would carry me like this.

This is it. It’s happening, and I’m letting it happen. This thing that I’ve wanted for half of my life and resisted for the other half of it is finally happening. As promised, Grady has worn me down with classy determination, bacon-y shirtlessness, thoughtful gifty-ness, and sexy smellitude. God, his cologne has been making me want to rub up on him all night. He smells like he spilled vanillaextract on a leather sofa and then took a nap on it while burning incense and snuggling with a damp cedar log.

I am going to give in to all of it.

But I won’t pretend that I’m not nervous and slightly terrified.

I take a deep, shaky breath, and begin to visualize…I’m by myself making s’mores, all by myself, middle of the night, in my bakery kitchen. There are so many different recipes I’m going to try. I will take my time and relieve so much stress.

“Claire. You’re thinking too much,” he states very plainly as he crosses the threshold into his bedroom. A few weeks ago, I would have taken it as a reprimand, but I hear the amused concern in his voice now.

“Yup. Let’s do this.”

He sets me down near the bed. I stand to face him. Tilting my chin up, he grazes his lips against mine, so softly. So lovingly. I melt into him like marshmallow and chocolate melt into each other when sandwiched between two crispy graham crackers.

Snickers. I’m placing sliced bars of Snickers on top of a graham cracker. Now I’m piercing my homemade marshmallow with a skewer and slowly roasting it over my portable grill that is just for marshmallow roasting.

“Beautiful girl…”

Oh, dear lord, he’s letting my hair down. Removing the bobby pins and hair tie from my hair, so carefully, as if they aren’t easily replaceable. He could literally buy the companies that make them, but he’s transferring them to the palm of one hand and then placing them on top of the nearest bedside table as if he were holding a babybird. If he’s going to be that precious with me, I will not be able to endure it. I will not. My knees almost give out at the thought of it. I take a step back to lean against the wall for support.

Salted caramel. I’m so laid back I’m just using store-bought items this time. Because sometimes your schedule doesn’t allow for homemade marshmallows and graham crackers and you just have to chill. But high-quality sea salt is a must.

“So beautiful…”

He runs his hands through my hair as he kisses me. Not quite frantic, but not as controlled as he usually is. He pulls away from me for a second, taking off his jacket and tossing it aside. He already removed his bow tie in the limo. He tossed it aside on the back seat, but I leaned over him to pick it up, carefully folded it, and placed it in his jacket pocket. I don’t know if he’s in love with me, but the look he had in his eyes when I did that—if that isn’t love, then I don’t think I could handle what is.

He pulls away from me for a second, and my insides quiver when I see that look in his eyes again.

Nutella. I’m spreading one tablespoon of Nutella over a graham cracker. Good old-fashioned milk-chocolate Hershey square over that. Coconut-flavored marshmallow this time…

He gently turns me to face the wall. “You’re mentally baking right now, aren’t you?”

I try to laugh seductively, but I sound like I’m trying to lift a washing machine. “Technically I was mentally assembling a confection.”

“Claire…put your hands against the wall and keep your head in the game,” he orders.

We’re back to ordering again.

My girly bits are not sad about this.

I put my hands against the wall.

Grady gathers my hair and places it over my left shoulder. Then he drags his fingertips from the nape of my neck, down to my back, and unzips my gown past my waist. It wasn’t tight, but I exhale loudly because…I am not wearing a bra—this is it. He’s going to see me naked. The lighting in here is dim. Almost like firelight. But he’ll be able to see my everything.

“Hands off the wall and turn around,” he says.

Waffle cookies. I’m using waffle cookies instead of graham crackers. And warming up strawberries in a pot…

“You need me to turn off the lights?” he asks in a kind voice as he pulls the delicate dress straps down my arms.

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