Page 83 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

"People who I thought cared for me, when actually, they were toying with my feelings. Not even my father cared enough to hang around to find out what kind of a person I’d grow up to be—"

"That’s why you became a nanny?"

"What?"

"Is that why you decided to take care of other people’s children."

"Maybe" She frowns. "That’s not the point."

"Then, what is?"

"When I work with my hands, when I can dig my fingers into a shapeless form, mold it to my liking, breathe life into it, it satisfies something primal inside of me…” She hesitates, seems to struggle with her words before whispering, “Something that I feel only when I’m with you."

"You do?" My heart begins to beat hard. "What are you trying to say?"

She swallows. "That..." She peers up into my face and peruses my features. My pulse rate ratchets up.Say it, say what's on your mind, Flower.

"That?" I hold her gaze and she glances away.

"That working with clay is the one thing that gives meaning to my life, other than taking care of kids…" She squares her shoulders, "It’s what I do for myself, and you had to go and sully it."

I stiffen, "Because I set up a studio for you?"

"Because you’re trying to buy me again."

She tips up her chin and I take in her flushed features, her erratic breath, the color that smears her cheekbones. "Why are you upset?"

"Why am Iupset?" She throws up her hands.

I nod. "You clearly missed having a space of your own where you could create, where you could give form to your dreams."

"Are you hearing yourself?" she snarls.

I scowl, "You have to help me here, Flower. I thought you’d like this."

She stares at me, then chuckles, "You thought you could simply walk in and occupy the one space in my life which is sacred, which I have kept for myself, the space where I can be myself and not worry about being judged… Or have to pretend to be someone else. You thought you could take over even that part of my life, you—”

"I thought you would appreciate it."

"No, you thought Ishouldappreciate it, that you could ingratiate yourself to me, maybe make me dependent on you," she draws in a breath, "but you know what?"

I tilt my head.

"You can’t buy me anymore."

"No?" Anger thrums against my veins, my balls harden, and fuck me, this is wrong. I shouldn’t feel so turned on. I take a step forward and she holds her ground. Bloody hell, this woman, she has the kind of strength and fire that makes me want to consume her. Bury myself in her and allow her to burn the darkness inside, fill the empty spaces and paint my blank canvas, fill my sheet with the kinds of lyrics I haven’t been able to create since...forever.

"No." She closes the distance between us, then shoves her index finger in my chest. "The deal is off."

"No, it’s not."

She tips her chin up, meets my gaze head on, "You’re not hearing me."

"I am," I glare down at her, "and I’m telling you, we’re not done yet."

Her green eyes grow stormy and golden flickers dance in their depths. So real, so vital, so bloody full of the kind of fearlessness that I had forgotten I once had myself. I inch forward until my shoes bump the tips of her sneakers, bend my knees and thrust my face into hers. "Strip."

"What?" She straightens. "No."