Page 80 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“Do you have any pizza preferences?” I asked instead.

“None at all.”

“Do you even like pizza?”

“Probably.”

My rummaging had miraculously failed to turn up some sexy yet sophisticated lounge wear. Mainly because I didn’t have any. “What do you mean probably?”

“I mean…probably. I haven’t had it for a long time.”

“You don’t have baths. You don’t eat pizza.” I compromised on my CHILL OUT Olaf the Snowman trousers and my I DON’T CARE I’M A UNICORN T-shirt. Okay, okay, it wasn’t a compromise. It was all I had. “What on earth are you doing with your life?”

“Well,” Caspian said mildly, “I’ve been quite busy at work.”

Wandering out of the bedroom, I found him already waiting for me. I’d seen Casual Caspian before—at Kinlochbervie when he’d come to get me back—but it was still slightly intimidating. Especially because he looked like an underwear model, in loose-fitting black sweats and a T-shirt that was practically molded to his torso. And I looked like a cartoon character.

But I guess this was life with Caspian Hart. And it made sense that things were a little bit awkward because our relationship was a frankly bonkers combination of distance and intimacy. We’d shared secrets over the telephone. He’d given me an apartment to live in. I’d crawled to him on my hands and knees. And, unless you counted dinner with my family, this was the first evening we’d ever spent together in a way that didn’t centralize destroying each other or fucking.

Not that I minded the fucking. I was a big fan of the fucking. But it was…well. It was nice that this was an option too.

I smiled at him, self-conscious suddenly. “Any thoughts about movies?”

“None.” He crossed the floor toward me, silent on bare feet, and gently turned my face up to his for the lightest of kisses. “Am I a terrible disappointment to you?”

“What? No. How could you be?”

“Because you’re asking me for things I have very little experience in giving.”

I gazed up at him. Fuck. Maybe I should have let him take me to Paris. “Would you rather fuck me and go?”

He blinked.

“Not in a bad way. Just, this is probably really boring for you, isn’t it?”

“How could I possibly be bored?” His mouth softened unexpectedly. “You nearly drowned me in the bath.”

“Yep yep. I did do that. I could also get a pizza with a topping you’re allergic to, if you like.”

“I’m not allergic to anything. Though I’m not especially fond of mushrooms.”

For some reason, this tiny piece of random knowledge thrilled me. “I won’t get one with mushrooms. If you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure I don’t like them.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” I tried to sound stern but the giggling detracted.

“Yes. I’m sure I like this. And I’m sure I like you. Now”—he turned me round and tapped me rather wickedly on the arse—“go and order pizza and then pick a film.”

I gave him a fluttery glance over my shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Hart.”

A few minutes later, pizza was on its way and I was wrestling my bedding onto the sofa. Caspian looked mildly confused again, but didn’t otherwise comment. He might have been a super powerful billionaire but there was at least one universal truth I knew and he didn’t: everything was better under a duvet.

“So, I was thinking,” I said as I snugged myself up, “we could maybe watch the new Star Wars?”

Honestly, I was more than a little bit nerve-wracked. Choosing a movie was a serious responsibility—it not only said things about you, it said things about the way you saw someone else. Two rich veins of potential humiliation. And Caspian was extra difficult because there were graven angels more into pop culture than he was. But I thought Star Wars might work. Given his fondness for sci-fi. And, y’know, the fact it was awesome.

“As it happens, I’ve seen it.” He pulled the other end of the duvet over his knees and, let me tell you, his duvet technique was majorly lacking. No curling. No tucking. Absolutely no nestling.