The Billionaire's Deal: The Complete Story: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (30 page)

Damn mind reader. I nod like I'm utterly unaffected by this. Guy bought me some books. A nice gesture, but it's not like he wrote
I love you, Kat
in them. I check the front and back covers just to be sure. There are twenty books here and not a single declaration of love, well, not by Blake, at least.

It would be tacky to steal these. Especially after inheriting enough money to buy tens of thousands of books.

Really, I'd rather Blake have them. Something for him to enjoy. Something to make him think of me if this goes down in flames. Hell, it's more likely to go down with a pathetic whimper. Something awful like
I care about you
.

Suddenly, my black dress feels awkward. This relationship is one thing I'm not mourning. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. This chance should be my chance, too. I'm going to enjoy it, even if it's my last twenty-four hours with Blake.

"Excuse me," I say. I go to the sex room—I'm sure Blake calls it his spare room, but let's get real—and change into a tank top, pajama bottoms, and a hoodie. The opposite of sexy, though the tank is cut pretty low. It would be easy for him to pull it to my stomach and run his fingers over my chest.

Not. Going. There.

In the living room, Blake is on the couch. He's in his pajamas, too—a t-shirt and loose, plaid pants. Drinks are on the coffee table. Dessert, too. Berries and dark chocolate. The memorial was an orgy of casseroles—every neighbor in a three-block radius stopped by to offer their condolences and their food.

The warmth of his body hits me the second I slip onto the couch. I move closer, until the outsides of our thighs are pressed against each other. My eyelids press together, and I allow myself a minute to pretend this is more than a night of comfort.

His fingers trail over my back, pressing the soft cotton of my hoodie against my skin. He nestles his head into the crook of my neck. He slides his arms around my waist and squeezes me.

Holy hell. Flutters build in my body. My muscles go weak. Breathe, dammit. It's just a hug, just an embrace, just comfort.

I focus my attention on the flat screen TV. The thing must have cost thousands of dollars. It's that almost black color most screens are. A blank slate. It's nothing, utterly useless without electricity, utterly useless unless it's turned on.

"Thank you," Blake whispers.

Oh my. Lack of electricity is certain not a problem for me. My body is humming like a damn power line. Blake has never thanked me for anything. He's not that kind of guy.

Breathe, dammit. I clear my throat. "For what?"

"For being here."

"Sure." I shrug my shoulders to break his grip and slide a few inches towards the other side of the couch. This is way too much to take. Way, way too much.

The guy can't keep acting like we're boyfriend/girlfriend. Like there's some remote chance I'll get something better than
I care about you
.

I down half my gin and tonic in one sip. Sweet with that hint of pine. I follow with a handful of berries. They're tart and juicy.

"Kat."

I stuff another handful of berries in my mouth. No biggie. Just eating a snack. Not at all trying to avoid conversation or anything.

"You want to talk about something." He says it like a statement, not a question.

I swallow. "No thanks. Maybe we could watch a movie."

He turns to me and runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting me so we're eye to eye. "Tell me what's going on."

"Let's watch a movie," I say. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

He studies my expression. Eventually, he nods like he finds this acceptable. "Anything you want."

"It's a little silly," I say.

"Same thing you said about your favorite book." He brushes the hair from my eyes. "Why are you embarrassed by the things you love?"

"I'm not embarrassed by them." I play with the zipper of my hoodie. "It's more that it's personal."

Blake stares at me with that same intense look. Great, I'm all exposed again. My cheeks flush. He can see through me, to all these things I never share with anyone. It's scary—he might run away—but it's thrilling, too.

"
The Matrix
," I say.

He shakes his head. "You do realize who you're talking to?"

"Yes, I do realize you own a technology company, and you think you're a nerd. But that isn't what's personal. I don't really care about the movie that much." I finish the last half of my drink and shake the glass so the ice clinks. "It was the thing Lizzy and I watched when she got out of the hospital. We must have watched the whole trilogy twenty times. She loves those fucking movies. Any movie where robots try to enslave humanity, she's all over it.
Battlestar Galactica
is her favorite show by quite a measure."

"What about you?" he asks.

"I root for the robots." I set my glass on the table. Fine. I'll answer the question he was really asking. "It's not my favorite movie, but it's the most comforting thing I can watch. It feels like... like love."

There's something a little smug about his expression. He runs his hand through my hair and rests it on the back of my neck. With the other, he tilts my chin so we're face to face.

"Kat, you do realize,
The Matrix
is my favorite movie."

Figures I'd ramble incoherently when there was no need to convince him. I make eye contact with Blake, trying to figure out what's going on behind those pretty brown eyes.

The thing about watching a movie twenty times—you get a good sense of what it's
really
about. And
The Matrix
is not a movie about rebels fighting against a manufactured dream world. It's about love.

Love is the thing that saves the day.

Love is the thing that saves the world.

Love is the thing that matters.

Blake must realize that, but the question is—does he love the movie because of it, or in spite of it?

I take a deep breath, rubbing my chest in an attempt to ease the growing tension. I can't keep asking myself these questions. I can't keep wondering what he's thinking or feeling. This is a night of comfort. That's it.

No more time for this kind of thing. I brush off all my thoughts about the future. Tonight is just that—tonight. Only tonight.

"Shall we?" I ask.

He turns the TV on.

***

I fall asleep on the couch and wake up in Blake's bed. He's behind me, pressed against me, his arm resting on the curve of my waist. It's so different than last time I was with him. When I woke up alone, I felt cold and empty. Right now, my entire body is warm. The bed is warm. The world is warm.

My eyes flutter closed. One more minute to feel his arms around me. I do my best to slide off the bed without waking Blake. He looks so peaceful with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. There's no telling what goes through that gorgeous head of his. What does the guy dream about?

I creep to the bathroom and brush my teeth. There's a sound in the bedroom. He must be awake. A soft knock on the door and Blake steps inside.

His eyes fix on me. "Good morning."

I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. "Good morning."

He takes another step closer and slides his arms around me. It's been minutes since those arms were around me, but the embrace still fills me with the sweetest warmth. I bury my head in his chest and squeeze his waist. He runs a hand through my hair.

"Relax. I'll make breakfast," he says.

"Yourself?"

He nods as he reaches for his toothbrush. Quite the treat. Blake is cooking instead of spending money. I'm surprised he doesn't have an assistant who brings him breakfast and coffee in bed every morning.

No, he'd never share something that intimate. Those are the things he holds onto for dear, dear life.

I grab my sketchbook and a pen and sit on the couch. I draw a comic version of the funeral. It's a new habit—drawing comic versions of moments that beg me to capture them. Six panels for this, I think. The first is the closed casket. A little obvious, but a necessary starting point.

Blake kisses me hello on his way to the kitchen. I try to focus on my drawing. It's hard with desire whirring around my body.

The smell of coffee fills the room. That French roast with vanilla. The one he was drinking after the pool. I can't even smell vanilla without thinking about it.

Enough pretending. I drop my sketchbook, move to the counter, and watch Blake cook. A pan sizzles with oil and vegetables chopped into tiny, tiny bits. Red peppers, onions, tomatoes. All my favorites. He cracks eggs in a bowl, whisks them with a fork, and pours them onto the pan.

"You want coffee?" Blake asks.

"Yes, please."

He pours two mugs, hands one to me, and points to the cream and sugar that's already set up on the table.

I stir in plenty of each. It's damn good coffee, and it takes me right back to that night in his office after the rain. My breath hitches. My heart picks up. Beating just a little faster. I have a few moments here. It's a perfect opportunity to remember how good his body feels against mine.

"Here." Blake sets a plate in front of me. An omelet, avocado, two dozen raspberries.

I snap back to attention. The food looks and smells amazing. I pick up my fork and take a greedy bite. Fluffy eggs, and they taste damn fresh. I didn't even know eggs could taste fresh. The peppers have a tiny hint of crunch. The tomatoes are soft and a little bit sweet.

Blake sits next to me. He eats and drinks slowly. Patient as always. His eyes pass over me like he's watching me.

I try to slow down.

"You don't have to do that." He sips his coffee. "I like you messy."

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. Sure enough, there's something to wipe. I'm a messy eater. I'm messy. Not a fit for this perfect, clean apartment. For his perfect, clean life.

Okay. No need to jump to conclusions. I take a not quite so messy bite. "Thank you, I guess."

"You remember what I said that first night at my office?"

"That was a long time ago."

He brushes his thumb against my chin, wiping off a drop of coffee. "When you're with me, you won't want for anything."

Heat spreads through my body. Wanting. Yep, that describes it very well. I focus my attention on my breakfast. "I haven't." Mostly. There is one thing he can't give me, but Blake was always clear about love being out of the question.

I finish my eggs and coffee. Damn, quite the plate of raspberries left. These things are so good. It's almost wrong. I place a berry on my tongue and press it against the roof of my mouth. It's so soft, it nearly dissolves. Sweet and that perfect hint of tart.

Blake watches me. He steals a berry off my plate and pops it into his mouth.

Well, two can play that game. There are orange slices on his plate. I grab one and tear into it. Orange juice drips down my chin. There's a drop on my pajama bottoms. So I'm messy when I eat fruit, so what? I toss the peel on my plate, grab another orange slice, and do the whole thing again.

Blake laughs. A little laugh, but the sound is still damn sweet. He runs his thumb over my chin and brings it to his mouth.

His eyes find mine. He does it again, licking his thumb like it's some part of me he wants to consume. Desire whirs around me. I need that mouth on me.

I slide off my stool so I'm right in front of Blake. He presses his palm into my lower back. The other slides through my hair.

He kisses me hard, like he's sucking every bit of fruit juice off my lips. His hand digs into my hair. The other sides under my tank top.

Want rushes through me. I tug at his t-shirt. I slide my tongue into his mouth.

Blake shifts off his stool. His body presses against mine. Any lingering tension inside me relaxes. He feels so damn good.

Without breaking our kiss, he slides his hands under my ass and lifts me onto the kitchen island. My legs part to make room for him.

He pulls my tank top over my head. His hands go right to my breasts and he rubs my nipples with just enough pressure. Desire shoots through me. I need him now. I'm utterly void of patience.

I run my fingers through his hair. I groan into his mouth. His thumb brushes against my nipples. Yes, oh, God, yes.

He breaks our kiss. Sinks his teeth into my neck with a loud groan. "Plant your hands behind you."

I do. I press into my palms so my back arches. I'm at a perfect diagonal, my sex pressed up against his cock. Stupid pajamas pants in the way.

He pulls my pants to my feet and kicks them aside. No waiting, Blake does away with his t-shirt, his pajamas, his boxers.

I gasp. There he is, hard and ready for me.

He grabs my hips and pulls me to the very edge of the counter. His hands slide over my outer thighs, to just under my knees. He holds me there as he enters me.

Wow. Wow. Wow. My body is on fire. It's the best thing in the damn world. I arch my back to bring him deeper.

His eyes close. The look on his face is pure ecstasy. He groans. No teasing this time. No slow. He squeezes my knees and thrusts into me. Pleasure pools inside me. It's hard. It's deep. It's perfect.

He does it again. Again. Again. My body careens towards bliss. It shouldn't be possible for this to feel so good, but it does. He always feels so damn good.

Blake's breath catches. His eyelids press together. A perfect groan escapes his lips. He's close. He's almost there.

I shift my hips, something to push him over the edge, to force him to lose control. His nails sink into my skin. Yes, fuck me, use me, come inside me.

His eyes burst open with an intense as all hell look. "On your back," he says.

I lower myself onto my elbows then my back. The marble counter top sends a rush of cool down my skin, but it's quickly replaced by the heat coursing through my body.

Blake grabs my hips. He pulls me just a little bit closer to the edge then takes my legs and places them against his chest. He holds my ankles against his shoulders.

He thrusts into me. Pleasure shoots through me. A hint of pain, too. This position feels so much deeper. I pull my arms over my head, reaching for something to grab on to. They hit other side of the counter. That does the job. I squeeze it like I'm holding on for my life.