Page 93 of The Billionaire Is Back

I give him a playful shove.

He hugs me again, and I bury my face in his chest. “I missed you so much, baby.” He kisses me softly on the top of my head. “I’ve never missed anything as much as I missed holding you and sleeping next to you and waking up with you and making you come in person instead of over the phone. Although I very much enjoyed the video-call sex.”

I think my heart and all my bonesandmy panties just melted. I just shake my head. I still can’t speak properly. The man had a secure video-call app developed for his own personal use, and I never thought I could be so turned on by talk of end-to-end encryption.

He inhales deeply, arms still wrapped around me. “God, it smells incredible. What are you making?”

I manage to hold my head up to say, “I’ve been cooking—not baking, so it doesn’t count as work.”

He starts to pull me toward the kitchen. “You went overboard cooking for me, didn’t you?”

I hold on to his arm with both hands to try to stop him from going to the kitchen. “It’s not overboard—it’s just a few simple dishes!”

He kneels down, lifts me up, and pulls me over his shoulder, gripping my arm and carrying me into the kitchen the way I’ve seen my brother demonstrate how he’d save women from a flaming building at a party. But I do not want to think about my brother right now. “I’ve had some filthy fantasies about you in an apron, by the way. You weren’t wearing sweatpants, but I am not complaining.” He gives me a pat on the bum. “Jesus,” he exclaims when he sees the counters. “How many people are you cooking for?!”

I slide down the front of him and launch into a wildly defensive response. “Just us—it’s just roast chicken with roasted vegetables and sauteed potatoes and a chilled shrimp salad—which was super quick and easy to make, and now I can boil the fresh linguine to eat with the lobster I got on the way home. That’s not a lot—I didn’t even make dessert!”

He just shakes his head as he takes off his suit jacket, grinning at me. “I would fly halfway around the world every other day if I had to so I could come home to you.”

I would rather he didn’t leave town at all, but I keep that to myself because I know he meant that as a highcompliment. I remove my apron and take his jacket from him. “Can I get you a drink? Also, I lied. I made dessert, but it’s a no-bake lemon cheesecake that I made yesterday, so that doesn’t count.”

He looks down at his watch. “Shit. I have a Zoom meeting in two minutes.”

“Oh. So I shouldn’t boil the pasta yet.”

He returns to the front hall to get his laptop briefcase. “Yeah, no. It’s a quick meeting, but this is the only time we could find to connect. I’ll be done in half an hour. Forty-five minutes, tops. Then you’ll have my full attention, I promise.”

I pout. I don’t mean to, but I pout.

He glances over at me as he passes by on his way to his home office and does a double take. “Babe, I’m slammed. I’m sorry—I have to talk to this guy.”

And he disappears before I can tell him I understand.

I do.

I understand.

It’s really something that he came back to be with me for two whole days. I go back into the kitchen to check the timer. My chicken still has twenty minutes in the oven. Everything else is prepped. I might as well be productive…

I hear the deep rumble of Grady’s voice from his office and feel it vibrating between my legs.

Laundry?

I think I’ll do some laundry. I amble over to the laundry room. My sweatpants are feeling…so dirty all of a sudden. So I remove them and drop them into a laundry basket. My socks need to be washed too. I pick up a tea towel and toss that into the basket as I pass through the kitchen. I’m such a good girlfriend, I would be remiss if I didn’t do Grady’s laundry too. Since he’ssooooobusy. He still has everything at his penthouse in New York, so he doesn’t travel home with a bag full of dirty clothes like most people. But still.

Grady is staring intently at his giant computer monitor when I quietly swing into the room. His sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows, his shirt is untucked, and I find myself wishing I could crawl under his desk to take him into my mouth because that’s how hot he looks. He’s concentrating on some shared screen, probably, clenching his jaw while a man pitches him something, and now I want to do laundry even more than I did a minute ago. Now I want to do his laundry so hard.

“No. That’s a strategy they’ve tried before,” he says to his very-important-Zoom-meeting person. “Three or four years ago. Why they stopped it, I’m not sure, but we’ll have access to their internals soon, so we can…” He stops mid-sentence when he finally notices me wandering around in my tiny little tank top and panties, resting a basket on my hip like a maid in a porno.

I point to the basket, silently asking him if he has any laundry to do.

He licks his lips. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, doing a full, appreciative sweep up and down my body. Finally, he shakes his head. I am very pleased to see him struggle to hide the desire from showing on his face. Because I’ll bet it’s showing in his pants.

He turns his attention back to the monitor and clears his throat. “Sorry about that. As I was saying…”

While he’s saying whatever he’s saying, I turn around and slowly bend over to place the laundry basket on the floor and pick up a whole armful of nothing. It’s not my fault if he can see my panty-clad ass. He should be paying more attention to his Zoom meeting.

“Erickson, could you excuse me for a minute, please? I will be right back.” I turn to face him as he’s swiping at the trackpad. I assume, or hope, that he’s turning off the camera and microphone. Then he gets up, strides over to me, takes me by the shoulders and walks me backward until my back is against the wall. “What are you doing?” he growls.

---