Page 16 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Eleven

Seraphina

I hurry off the elevator as fast as my wobbly legs will carry me. The second the doors slide open, I’m gone, needing distance from Blackwell, needing to actually take a breath.

Being so close to him in the car, knees touching, and then standing near him in the confined space as we were whisked to my floor? His scent is still wrapped around me like an expensive invitation. To save myself, I have to put as much space between us as I can.

To his credit, he steps aside while I work the security system. Despite my training, I’m not as comfortable as I would like to be. But he doesn’t try to step in and do it for me.

“It will get easier.”

It better; otherwise I’ll stop using it.

He follows me inside, and he closes the door. There’s a soft click as he slides the lock into place. The sound shouldn’t make my heart skip, but it does.

Then he prompts me to set the alarm.

“We don’t really need it.”

“Not the point. You need to make it a habit. Those happen by disciplined execution of tasks.”

Maybe that explains his physique. Working out and watching every bite is obviously a habit.

Rather than argue, I do as he says. When I’m finished, I look at him. “Happy?”

“You know I always like it when you’re my good girl.”

My heart drops to my toes.

There is something about knowing he’s pleased with me that’s ultimately satisfying.

Pretending my hands aren’t shaking, I head to the kitchen.

Then I stop in the living room.

Boxes aren’t piled halfway to the ceiling, blocking the view, and it finally hits me. This is mine. Really mine. Brick walls, pristine hardwood floors, luxurious furniture.

“Hard to believe?” Not for the first time, it’s as if he’s read my mind.

“Impossible is more like it.” Though I know I have neighbors, I haven’t seen any of them, and I can’t hear people yelling at each other through the paper-thin walls.

For the first time in ages, I feel like I can relax.

Or I could, if Blackwell wasn’t with me, filling the space with his impossible presence.

“I’ll grab the champagne.”

Jolted back to the present moment, I nod. “Sounds good.”

He follows me to the kitchen, and he pulls open the fridge, making me gasp. It’s filled with food, and not just the sandwiches and such that Lila had put away. There’s fresh veggies and two containers of the creamer I like. “I had no idea you did that too.”

“Being thorough.”

Like he always is. “That was thoughtful.”

While he reaches for the very expensive bottle of champagne that’s chilling on the top shelf, I take a guess as to which cabinet the glasses are stashed in.

I find it on the first try. Lila did a brilliant job of organizing this kitchen for me. Without her, I wouldn’t feel half as settled as I do right now.

“I have to let you know, I only have wineglasses.” I pull them out and set them on the marble counter. They don’t even match. “No proper flutes.”

“Not a problem. I’ve actually resorted to drinking out of red plastic cups on occasion.”

I turn to study him, trying to figure out if he’s kidding. “You have not.”

“No.” He grins. “I really haven’t.”

I shake my head, and a laugh bubbles up before I can swallow it. The sound surprises me—it’s bright and breathless, an echo of the woman who’s been gone for a very long time.

He joins in too. And I realize we’ve never laughed together before. Everything with him is usually so razor-sharp and serious. This side of him is new and revealing, making me actually like him. That alone makes him even more lethal.

Our gazes meet, and suddenly, just for the smallest heartbeat, we’re two people on the edge of something reckless.

I blink to shatter the moment.

Blackwell coaxes the cork free without spilling a single drop. The soft pop feels celebratory and intimate.

He fills the mismatched glasses, hands me one, then picks up his own.

“Shall we go into the living room?” My suggestion allows me to put some distance between us again. Even though the kitchen is good size, his commanding body makes is tight and a little threatening.

As if I’m drawn there, I cross to the oversize windows. The apartment overlooks Buffalo Bayou. When I had the showing, I fell in love with the shimmering water and the welcome greenery, an oasis against Houston’s massive sprawl.

But tonight, the view is all velvet darkness, the city lights glittering like possibility. The Heights buzzes below. Nobody here cares that I’m the unwanted daughter, the whistleblower who lost everything. They only see where I’m headed.

Blackwell joins me, his silhouette cutting into the city’s lights. He lifts his glass.

“To new beginnings.”

We clink glasses. I take a sip. Wow. The bubbles dance across my tongue, tasting of the forbidden and stolen luxury. “Really, you did far too much.

“Mmm.” He looks over at me. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting?” I frown, wondering what he’s talking about. “For what.”

“For you to thank me.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Ulterior motives, Mr. Blackwell?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. None of this was for you to owe me anything.” He shakes his head. “I did it because I wanted to.”

Out of the goodness of his heart? Until recently, I didn’t think he had one.

“You deserve all this.” He sweeps his hand wide, taking in the windows, the skyline, the furnishings. “And more.”

Warmth flares deep inside me, right where his words land.

Right where I’m sure he wants them. Xavier Blackwell does everything with great purpose.

And yet, I am grateful. Lila and I might still be hauling boxes in if it wasn’t for him.

We wouldn’t have had kolaches or a feast waiting for us.

And I would have had to settle for weak, barely warm coffee.

Relenting, I meet his dark, jade-colored eyes. “Sincerely. I mean this…thank you.”

He smiles, slow, devastating, like he knows exactly what strings he’s pulling inside me. “Was that so difficult?”

But it was. Excruciating. Because when it comes to him, everything is difficult. My emotions, my mind, my traitorous body… They’ve been wrapped around him for years, long after he broke me open and scattered me like ash.

And now he’s turned me into Cinderella.

But if he hadn’t shattered me in the first place, what would I have been able to accomplish on my own? With that successful internship shining on my résumé, I could’ve written my own ticket. Houston, New York, anywhere. The what-ifs slip through my mind like ribbons in the wind.

I stare out the window, my reflection fractured against the city’s glittering lights.

“You look as if you’re a million miles away, Ms. Hollis.”

I sigh. It’s not like me to be this melancholy. I force a smile that feels like paper. “Sorry.”

“You were having a thought.”

Of course he notices. He notices everything.

“And you scowled.”

His voice is soft, but there’s steel beneath it. He’ll stand there forever if he has to, patient and relentless, until he has every piece of me laid bare.

And what’s the point in hiding it? He knows my financial situation, stood on the cracked floor of my old apartment, saw me in a maid’s uniform.

Lord. He even spanked me for God’s sake.

Then witnessed the horror of my humiliation when he felt my damp panties.

There’s not much left to hide. “Replaying the last three years.”

“There’s a lot of regret from me.”

Is that really true? A younger version of me would have sold her soul to hear those words.

“I owe you an apology.” He leans closer, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to brush his knuckles over my cheek, tuck that errant strand behind my ear.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hollis. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

His words hit a discordant note, and I bring up my head. “What happened to me?”

He corrects himself. “What I did to you.”

“You’re not used to saying you’re sorry.” Being that rich, an only child, he’d probably never had to.

“Is it that obvious?” Again he quirks his lips. The man does terrible things to my insides.

“You’re as uncomfortable with it as you would be drinking this champagne out of a plastic cup.”

“For you, I’m willing to try.”

Oh God.

My heart flips. I’m coming undone.

“For you, I’m willing to try.”

I’m really coming undone.

He lowers his hand slowly, without ever touching me, even though I’m reacting as if he had. “You haven’t asked. So I won’t.”

I should be relieved. But a feminine, needy part of me wants to step into his hands, melt into his mouth, drown in his ruin. I want to let him devour me whole.

“Ms. Hollis?”

Does he feel it too? This excruciating push-pull inside me? The distrust tangled up with want?

“Seraphina?”

He says my name like a promise. Like a plea.

In a suit, he’s a powerhouse. In jeans and boots, that dark henley clinging to his broad chest, outlining every sculpted line I want to run my fingers over, he’s masculine temptation.

I’m under no illusions.

I know exactly what he is and who he is.

If I give him what he wants, he’ll devour me and walk away, leaving me emptier than before. When it comes to him, I’m a storm crashing straight into the sea, knowing I’ll be swallowed whole but helpless to stop the collision.

Clutching the stem of my cheap wineglass, I tip my head back, searching his eyes for some mercy he’ll never show.

His gaze sears me alive: hot, dark, unyielding. The air between us pulses with an almost unbearable tension. He’s ready to take. And ready to give me everything I’m too afraid to ask for. But I have to say it first. And I know once I do, I’ll never be the same again.

“Tell me what you want, Seraphina.” His voice is a velvet growl of hunger, mixed with something that sounds like hope.

This matters to him. Why, I have no idea. But it does.

My breath stalls. My heart slams against my ribs. My hands shake.

He leans in closer, filling my vision, becoming my entire world.

“And tell me in explicit detail.”