Page 64 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

“Hmm.” She titled her head thoughtfully. “What else could there be?”

Shit.The three little words.

“I’m an idiot.” Not exactly the three words he was going for, but they were the ones that spilled out.

“You’re not an idiot.” She let out a strangled laugh. “I take that back. You are kind of an idiot for thinking your money would color my perception of you. But it’s not like I can throw stones.”

“Ah, yes. Brooke Worthington, heiress.”

She winced and relaxed her hand, letting his fingers slide through hers. “You know.”

He nodded. “I didn’t expect to see you at the auction that night. Of course, maybe if I had realized it was at your family’s hotel…”

“I never meant to mislead you. It just never seemed important. And it’s not something I like to discuss.” She blushed and ducked her head, her dark tresses shadowing her face. “I guess we both made mistakes.”

“Me more than you,” he admitted. “Is it too late to fix them?”

She raised her chin and faced him head on, her green eyes clear and honest, hiding nothing. Now he understood that whole windows-to-the-soul thing. “We’ll never know until we try.”

He took a deep breath and stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Eli Ward. I’m filthy rich, and I’m buying the building you live in, but I promise not to tear it down, kick you out, or raise your rent. Oh, and I’m truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with you.”

Slowly, carefully, like she was about to touch a live wire, she took his hand, her fingers curling into the warmth of his. “Hi. I’m Brooke Worthington. My family owns a bunch of hotels, and I was raised in the lap of luxury, but that’s not really my scene. And I’m truly, deeply, madly, irrevocably in love with you, too.”

“Thank God.” He pulled her in and crushed her to him, relief swelling his chest. “I was hoping you meant it when you said you loved me in that closet at the Worthington. Hoping I hadn’t fucked it all up beyond repair.”

“You came close.” She smiled against his throat. “But lucky for you, I’m a forgiving kind of gal.”

“I can’t promise not to fuck up again.” He slid a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “But I can promise not to keep anything from you. No more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” she repeated on a shaky breath.

His hand went around to the back of her neck, and his lips brushed hers in a soft, tender kiss that, laced with two weeks of unrequited longing, almost immediately turned passionate. Their mouths clashed as he moved against her, backing her up against the wall of shelves. No shrinking violet, Brooke demanded equal participation, her hands moving up to her shoulders, digging into his shirt and tugging him closer.

He kissed her long and hard and deep, their breath coming hot and fast, until he heard a high-pitched, girlish giggle. When they pulled apart, Mrs. Feingold and Charise stood in the doorway, beaming at them.

“Don’t mind us,” the older woman said, already closing the door. “You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Although, you might want to wrap it up and save it for later,” Charise suggested. “There’s a gym full of people waiting to hear about your plans for the Chocolate Works.”

“You know,” Brooke said when the door had swung shut, her breath still coming in staccato pants, “this could be a thing for us.”

“A thing?” He nuzzled her neck.

“Yeah.” She reached up to stroke his hair. “All our declarations of love take place in a closet.”

“No way.” He raised his head, needing her to see the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke. “I fully intend to tell you I love you wherever and whenever I damn well please.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “I can live with that.”

“Good.” His lips returned to her neck. “Now, where were we?”

She laughed and pushed him away. “Hold it right there, Mr. One Track Mind. You heard Charise. You’ve got a room full of people waiting on you.”

“Waiting on us,” he corrected. “None of this would possible be if it wasn’t for you.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting.” She held out a hand to him. “The sooner we show them your brilliant ideas and convince them you’re not going to run them out of their neighborhood, the sooner we can go home and pick up where we left off.”

Home. He had plans for that, too. Ones he’d share with Brooke when the time was right. For now, it was enough that she was his and he was hers.

And if that wasn’t a damn good reason for him to feel like the luckiest man in the word, he didn’t know what was.