Page 129 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“In the best possible way.”

“I would never want anything from you that you didn’t want to give.”

“I know that. Believe me, Arden”—his voice had fallen into its deepest register, the one I usually associated with deliciously rough sex, but now it promised tenderness too, and just as effectively—“I’ve longed for this, and all it entails, as you have. I just never believed I could have it.”

“You can.”

“I trust you. Which I hope, in time, will help me trust myself.”

“You’ll get there.” I nuzzled him. “I mean, come on. You’re Caspian Hart. You consider no endeavour complete until you have not merely succeeded in it, but mastered it utterly.”

“Thank you,” he said, with a rueful look, “for reminding me how completely absurd I am capable of sounding.”

“Okay, it’s a little bit absurd. But also sexy. And true. There’s nothing you can’t do when you decide you’re going to do it. Why should this be any different?”

It was cheerleading in the guise of a rhetorical question—and I would have totally let him get away with not answering. But he did. “I suppose because I’ve never really felt that I belonged to me.”

“Well, you do.”

“Yes. And”—he gave me one of his shyest, sweetest smiles—“a little bit to you.”

“Damn straight. Well…maybe not straight. I’ve never done anything straight in my life. But you should know”—I wagged a finger at him—“I intend to take the best possible care of what’s mine.”

That earned an eyebrow twitch. “Oh?”

“Yes. You taught me such a lot, Caspian—about life and confidence and figuring stuff out and not being afraid to fuck shit up. But you also taught me how to make someone feel cherished and looked after and loved, even without the words.”

“I also made you feel confused and rejected and devalued.”

“Yeah, those times were rough.” I shrugged. “But I think on some level I knew it wasn’t what you meant to do—so it never stuck. Whereas the good always did.”

His mouth pulled tight, his eyes almost grey in the flickering lights of the city. “Don’t make excuses for me.”

“I’ll make excuses for you if I want to, dammit. But that’s not what I’m doing here.” With a tap of my finger to his jaw, I reclaimed his gaze. “I’m not trying to deny that you’ve hurt me. But I get to decide how much it matters.”

A moment of struggle and he was back with me, the tension fading from his body and the shadows from his features. I didn’t know what kind of internal battle he’d just fought, except that hehadfought it. Fought it and won it. When a handful of months ago he wouldn’t even have tried.

“Anyway,” I said, claiming the spoils of victory, “what were we talking about before?”

“What were we—oh. I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Nope.”

He made a soft sound of resignation. “I think I was trying to tell you that the truth of your love abashes me. And I’m not sure how I will ever be worthy of it. “

“Love isn’t earned, Caspian. It’s given.”

He slid a hand beneath my chin to angle my face to his, and kissed me—rough, and slightly desperate, his mouth open over mine, hot breath and the scrape of burgeoning stubble. “Then you are a gift beyond reckoning. How do…how do I show you that?”

“I’ve got to say you’re…you’re doing a pretty good job already.” My breath caught and I had to take a moment to catch up to myself. Apparentlykissed half out of my mindwas a way I could sound. “But,” I went on, with an attempt at sensible, “what do you normally do when someone gives you a gift?”

Caspian made a dismissive gesture. “I’m a billionaire. People seldom feel the need to buy me things.”

“That’s rubbish. You must know the general principle, though?”

He thought about it for far too long, his brow creasing and his eyes a little frantic, like he was living one of those nightmares where you find yourself in an exam you haven’t revised for. “You say thank you?”

“Exactly.” I grinned at him. “Shall we try it?”