Page 118 of Forbidden Billionaire
He shrugs, casual as hell. “It was the right thing to do. And I didn’t want it to affect your decision about whether you wanted to forgive me or not.” He kneels beside the tub and offers a hand. “Let’s get our forever started, shall we, Mrs. Blackwell?”
Epilogue
Xavier
Seraphina’s home office is a temple of ambition.
Her sleek corner desk overlooks the fountain in the backyard. And she’s got an unorganized mess of papers and files strewn everywhere. Somehow there’s poetry in her chaos, even if I can’t see it.
Even though it’s Sunday morning, her laptop screen is glowing with charts and numbers. The candle flickering beside her smells like vanilla and victory. The victory she earned.
She’s so focused and in command that she hasn’t heard me.
And for the moment, that’s okay.
I love stolen moments, watching her, marveling that she’s mine.
She’s wearing one of my old shirts again, sleeves rolled to the elbows, legs bare. Her glasses are sliding down her nose.
Christ, she’s magnificent.
“You work too hard,” I say softly.
Startled, she glances up and turns toward me. Then her eyes soften, and the tension in my chest eases the way it always does when she looks at me like that.
“I didn’t realize you were there.” She reaches to close her laptop.
“I’ve been watching you,” I say simply, walking in, letting the warmth in my chest unfurl. “You’re beautiful when you’re ruthless.”
She smiles and stands, stretching, the hem of my shirt brushing her upper thighs. “Says the man who once told a boardroom full of billionaires to go fuck themselves.”
I shrug. “They deserved it.”
“No argument there.” She crosses to me, her curls a total mess, and rests her forehead against my chest. “Just wanted to finish the quarterly roll-out deck before the brunch meeting.”
“It’s not a meeting. It’s brunch. With mimosas. And bourbon pecan waffles.”
Her smile is tempting. “Did you say bourbon pecan?”
I dip my head. “They will be your reward for not checking your email during breakfast.”
“That’s a cruel and manipulative bribe.”
“That’s foreplay.”
She laughs, bright and real. “Give me five minutes to change?”
I tug lightly on the hem of the shirt. “Something that covers more than this.”
She rolls her eyes. “I think I learned that lesson very well, Mr. Blackwell. You do know how to get a point across.”
“A reinforcing reminder doesn’t hurt.”
Her beautiful lips part slightly, and her breathing increases. Yeah. It may definitely be time for a spanking. She needs it. I need it.
Since I’ve given Vionna the day off, we take my sports car to the Heights, windows and top down. And, well, since it’s Houston, we’re running the AC on full blast so that we can deal with the heat.
We order waffles—bourbon pecan, extra whipped cream—and an omelet for protein. She gets a caramel latte, as if the waffles weren’t enough sugar. Afraid my teeth will rot, I go for an iced Americano.
