Page 43 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing, and not very successfully trying to return at least some of the cheese to the bread. “That was not very dignified.”

“Dignity’s overrated.” I hopped up onto the edge of the counter to finish my sandwich.

“You’re only saying that because you don’t have any.”

I laughed. “Harsh words considering you’re in my house eating my toastie.”

“I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I don’t cope very well with messy things.”

Urgh. Having Bellerose—havingIlya—apologise to me was just weird. Maybe I was more masochistic than I thought, but I’d always secretly enjoyed his sharpness. “Then this is really not the supper dish for you.”

“I still appreciate your sharing it.”

“My mum used to make them. I don’t remember all that well because I was so young, but I can remember sneaking downstairs when my dad was sleeping. How we knew the creak in every stair. And how magical it felt, even on bad days, to have cheese toasties at midnight.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Were there are a lot of bad days for you when you were growing up?”

“Towards the end, yes. But then we left.” I swung my feet idly and peeled a piece of crust away from the bread. “And we took our toasties with us.”

“Are they still magical to you?”

They reminded me of Mum. Her strength. “Hell yes they are.”

When we were done eating, Ilya wanted to do the washing up, but I wouldn’t let him—not least because he would have had to excavate the sink before the task could even be attempted—and then we trooped past Innisfree and Ellery, who were smoking a joint, and up to my loft. Which was looking even more chaotic than usual since, in my morning panic, I had apparently taken out every item of clothing I owned from whatever receptacle that held it, be it suitcase, drawer, laundry basket, or hanging rail, and cast it across the floor.

“Um.” I picked up a sock, as if that was going to make any difference at all. “Sorry. You know, you can leave if you want to.”

Ilya gave me one of his rare smiles. “You did warn me. And I think I’ll survive.”

“But you said you didn’t like mess.”

“My own.”

“You’re not a mess, Ilya.” I dug out my hippo pyjamas and began complicatedly getting into them, trying not to be too naked at any point during the process. I mean, I’d invited him back for company and support. Not to bear witness to my wang. “You’re just in a temporary state of reorganisation.”

Another faint, fleeting smile. And, oh God help me, he was taking his clothes off, and with much less awkwardness than I had. I tried not to look but, I mean, I’m only human. I looked. Yep, he was perfect. Gold and smooth and exquisite, in that impossibly lean and muscular way that was the current fashion for male bodies. Seriously, I could have used the grooves of his abs as an inkwell. And isn’t that quite the image?

“You know you’re stunning, right?” I said.

He shrugged. “I’m glad to please.”

Tossing T-shirts and jeans and jumpers off the mattress, I de-rumpled my duvet and climbed under it. Ilya joined me a moment or two later, bringing very welcome heat, and the clean scent of his skin.

“And you’re sure,” he whispered, “this is still all right?”

“It would be a shitty time to decide it wasn’t.” I retrieved my Rainbow Dash pillow and plumped it up. “Honestly, though, it’s good. I enjoy having sleep company.”

“Would you like to have sex?”

Okay, so I hadn’t seen that coming. “Pardon me?”

He rolled onto his side, all his absurd loveliness suddenly far too close. “I have some facility at it.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but are you even attracted to me that way?”

“I’m not attracted to anyone that way. But you’ve had a difficult day and seem to have a very sensuous nature, so I thought you might appreciate a sexual release.”

He wasn’t wrong. Under other circumstances, I would definitely have been indulging in a consolation wank. However…“That’s really nice of you,” I said carefully, “except I’m kind of only into sleeping with people who want to sleep with me.”