Page 111 of How to Bang a Billionaire

I stared at him in sudden wonder. It seemed both bewildering and amazing that he was here with me. In my family home. In Kinlochbervie. About to help me with the washing up.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his head tilting curiously, whimsically even, like I’d suddenly become a puzzle to be solved.

“I’m just so glad you’re here with me. Are you sure you don’t want to run a mile?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know.” How to explain something I barely understood myself? “I think it’s just me being funny. You’re not always who I expect you to be.”

Oh shit, that sounded bad.

“In a good way,” I added.

He smiled his rarest, most unreadable smile. “When I’m with you, I’m not always who I expect to be either. And I like it.”

I leaned into him and went up on tiptoes—one foot flicking back Disney-style—in order to present my mouth to him in what I hoped was the most tempting, pleading fashion possible.

I would probably have got my kiss, too, if Hazel hadn’t called out, “I can hear canoodling, but no dishes.”

Caspian caught me by the belt loops before I could leap away guiltily. I was going to apologize—my folks were hard core about their piss taking—but he was laughing. He bent his head and nudged his nose to mine, a gesture so ludicrously innocent that I was utterly unprepared for its intimacy. I made a little yipping noise, shocked by the deep, fire-in-winter pleasure of such simple affection.

Aaaand I had washing up to do.

I got to it, trying not to dwell on how weird it was that Caspian Hart was helping me. At least, he helped after a while. When I was filling up the bowl and doing the first few items, he stood with his arms wrapped around me and his chin on my shoulder. He was all crazy-soft cashmere and that amazing cologne, and I could look up and see us reflected in the kitchen window. He was basically just a smudge of pale skin and dark hair, but we looked…yeah…we looked good together.

We fit.

Something I only really finally believed in this most unlikely situation.

He let me go after a bit. Got on with the drying. He wielded the tea towel with far more efficiency than I ever did and stacked everything up neatly when he was done. It was almost comical, in a way, the sheer care he could give even something utterly banal. Also kind of impressive. And so not like me it was borderline embarrassing. I always left things drippy and higgledy-piggledy.

Oh God, I was getting all starry and fuzzy over his dish-drying technique. This was getting chronic. But I could honestly have gone all night, up to my elbows in bubbles, hip to hip with Caspian in our dinky kitchen, quiet but for the occasional clatter of crockery…just being together.

He was way too efficient for that though. Ten minutes and we were back in the front room, staring into the expectant grins of my family who were sitting round the table, waiting for us.

“Oh no,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh yes.” Rabbie’s grin was the biggest of all. “It’s Friday night. You know the rules.”

Caspian glanced warily from face to face to face. “What’s going on?”

“Friday night is game night.” I gave a mortified little wriggle. “But you really, really don’t have to—”

“He shared our bread but would reject our games?” Rabbie had a great line in mock, explosive outrage. At least, I hoped it was mock.

I gave him a look. “Steady on, Rob Roy.”

“He d-doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.” That was Mum. And I was so proud of them both: her for speaking and him for making her comfortable enough to do it.

“Well, of course he doesn’t. It’s just—”

Hazel grinned at Caspian “—we’ll think less of him.”

“I’m fine to play games,” he said quietly.

“Caspian.” I made an excruciated noise. “They’re just being…themselves. You don’t have to do this.”

He might have blushed a little. “I’d like to.”