Page 32 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

Why is he telling me this? Why is he looking at me with those all-knowing eyes that imply he knows what I’m hiding. This is the second or third time he’s hinted that it’s safe for me to tell him what’s bothering me. I admire him for the courage he had to share his past; I’m just not there yet.

"If we’re going to co-parent a child, it seems important that we’re honest with each other. You can’t build a relationship on a weak foundation," he adds.

I nod. What else can I say? ‘I don’t have the courage to tell you my secret because I’ll hate how you’ll view me after that’?

Worse, I’m not sure how I’ll view myself.

And that’s the issue here. I recognize it, but am at a loss about what to do about it.

I cut off a piece of the French toast and chew on it.

The sweetness of the sugar, combined with the custardy texture of the eggs and the buttery, crispy golden edges, melt on my tongue.

It’s like eating bread and butter pudding, only much more complex.

A moan wells up.

His gaze narrows on my mouth, then he reaches out to rub his thumb at the edge of my lips. He sucks on his thumb, and my entire body feels like it’s being slow cooked… Like the French toast.

"You had some powdered sugar there," he explains. His voice is husky. He may as well as have said, "You’re going to be fucked by me." Which, oh god, I admit, I really want.

I focus on my plate and finish off the rest of the meal with gusto.

When I look up, he’s watching me with a grin.

"What?"

"Nothing like a woman with a healthy appetite."

"It helps that your cooking was not bad."

"Not bad, eh?" He laughs. His entire demeanor is relaxed. His shoulders are not tense; his features are open. There’s a general sense of contentment about him, which is so at odds with how I’ve seen him before.

I glance about the island, then back at him. "You really are not a people person, huh?"

He leans back in his chair. "They’re a necessary evil, but I don’t engage with them unless I have to."

"So why did you decide upon such a public wedding."

"You know why."

"I know you said the PR would benefit you, but I’m sure even if you hadn’t had such a public event, it wouldn’t have taken away from whatever you have planned for your company."

His gaze grows inscrutable.

"I’m right, aren’t I?"

He neither agrees, nor disagrees.

I reach for a strawberry and pop it into my mouth.

"So why did you go through with—" I stop midway into biting down on the fruit, then glance at him.

"Did you—" The piece goes down the wrong way and I cough and cough.

He pats me on the back, then slides the glass of water over.

I take a few sips then wipe the tears off my cheek.

"It’s for me. You did it for me. You knew the resulting publicity or notoriety" —I wince— "would benefit me. "

"Don’t make me out to be all that altruistic.

The publicity definitely helps with the IPO, although you’re right, it would have gone through even without the resulting PR.

" He shuffles his feet. “And yes, I knew it would be more of a help your business than not. Also, as you pointed out, it was too late to cancel the exclusives we’d promised the media, so it made sense to go through with it. "

"I… I’m not sure what to say." I begin to play with my ring, then stop when I realize what I’m doing.

"Why does the thought that I might have had your best interests at heart upset you so much?"

"Because," I swallow. "Because it’s easier to deal with you when you’re not being nice."

"And now?"

"Now…” I glance up at him. “I’m not sure what to think."

I tilt the large-brimmed hat on my head to better protect against the sun's rays. I’m wearing a one-piece maillot cut high on my thighs with a sarong around my waist. I’m on the beach in the shade of a tree.

My vantage point allows me to watch the part of the sea where Liam has gone swimming.

He asked me to join him, but I refused. Not only am I not a great swimmer but I hate getting my hair wet.

It’s a pain to dry it off later. I also hate stowing it under a swimming cap.

This way, I’m getting the best of both worlds.

I can catch up on the latest smutty novel on my Kindle while watching Mr. Sex-on-legs cut through the waves like the predator he is.

He didn’t insist I swim, for which I’m grateful.

And if he thinks it odd I prefer to sit in the shade rather than swim, he didn’t shown it.

Of course, I used the opportunity to ogle the alphahole’s gorgeous form as he walked toward the sea.

The way his broad shoulders blocked out the sun, how the sight of his narrow waist and his tight butt made my mouth water.

How the muscles under his powerful thighs undulated as he stalked into the water, then flexed as he dove into the waves.

He disappeared from sight for a few minutes, then I spotted him cutting through the breakers.

He wanted both of us to go nude on the beach because it’s a private island and there’s no one around, but I managed to convince him I’m too much of a prude for that.

I insisted we both wear our swimsuits. He looked like he wasn’t going to agree, but when I begged him he relented.

I honestly didn’t think he would. He’s so alpha, I was sure he’d refuse, but when he said he’d wear his swim trunks if it made me feel more comfortable…

Well, I think I fell for him a little more in that instant.

There’s something so sexy about a man who knows when to demand and when to give in to your demands.

Now, I split my attention between reading the spicy scene in my book with keeping my gaze peeled for his return. Yet nothing prepares me for the sight of him now emerging from the waves.

Remember Daniel Craig walking out of the ocean in Casino Royale?

Multiply that by one-thousand and you have the general idea of what I’m seeing.

The water pours off of him, and the sunlight glints off the droplets that cling to his shoulders, his chest, his thighs.

He holds his arms slightly away from his torso, and sun rays slant through the space between his elbows and his waist. His chest planes are sculpted, that eight pack I’ve run my palms over thrown into relief; his waist is concave and it only serves to highlight the bulge in his swim trunks.

Heat floods my skin. My stomach twists with lust. A pool of moisture clings to my core.

Thank god, I have my sunglasses on so he can’t make out how I’m ogling him as he stalks toward me.

Those corded thighs of his are poetry in motion as he approaches me.

He comes to a stop less than a foot from me, his stance wide, feet planted in the sand.

He’s so close I can reach out and touch the hairs that curl about his calves.

My fingers tingle and I grip my Kindle tightly.

Water drips from his trunks, clings to his powerful thighs. My throat dries. I’m conscious he’s staring at me but I refuse to raise my gaze to his face. If I do, he’ll definitely discover my face is flushed, and it’s not from the heat. Sweat beads my forehead.

"How is it so warm on this island?" I mutter.

"This island has its own microclimate. It’s why I bought it. No matter how cold it gets in England, I know I can escape here and work in my shorts all day long."

"So that’s what it feels like to be rich? You can order your own tailor-made climate?"

"Among other things."

Something in his voice makes me glance up, and those colorless eyes of his snap on mine.

They seem more a mix of blue and green today, taking on the hues from the scenery around us.

There’s an expression of fierce longing on his face—something naked and hungry and vulnerable.

Something so potent it reaches out to that hidden part inside of me.

The one I’ve been guarding from him all along.

Something that makes me want to trust him.

To tell him my secret, to relieve myself of the burden I’ve been carrying for so long.

I open my mouth, then catch myself. This is why he brought me here.

There’s no escape from him here. Everywhere I turn, he’s there.

His gaze follows me wherever I go. His scent clings to that cabin, embedded in every log used to create the house.

He told me he designed it himself, and it makes sense.

The house is so much him—rough yet sophisticated, untamed yet with a finesse that flows through its veins.

I’m not imprisoned here, but I’m cut off from the world. There’s a sense of isolation that’s both seductive and scary. One that warns me I’m so close to breaking. And once I do…

I won’t be able to control this narrative. I have no idea how he’ll react. He can’t divorce me—not until he’d got his inheritance. But what if he begins looking at me with pity? I won’t be able to bear that.

If I spend any more time in his presence… I won’t be able to hold back. I’ll end up telling him everything. It’s inevitable. Doesn’t mean I can’t delay. I jump up to my feet. The expression on his face is surprised. I take a step back, and his gaze grows wary.

"Where are you going?"

"I know what you want from me."

"You do?"

"You want to fuck me, don’t you?"

He tilts his head. There’s a predatory feel to how he assesses me.

"Admit it." I hold onto my Kindle, glance to the side, then back at him. "You want to be inside me, husband. You want to feel my pussy clamp down on your cock as you shag me."

His eyes gleam. "And if I do?"

"You’ll have to catch me first."

I turn to run, but he’s so fast, he grabs a hold of my wrist. I yelp, the Kindle slipping from my grasp. He tugs and I fall against his chest. "Not so fast, LadyBird." He searches my gaze. "I take it you want to play?"

"And if I do?"

"We need some clear rules first."

"R-rules?"

He smirks. "What do I get if I catch you?"

"What do you want?"

"That’s not how it works. I ask the questions here, baby."

I scoff. "And if I don’t answer?"

His hold on me tightens. He pulls me closer until my breasts are crushed against his chest. "You can find out now, or you can answer the question and postpone the inevitable."

I tip up my chin. "If you were serious about playing, you would let me go."

"And?"

"And give me a head start."

His nostrils flare. "And when I catch you, you’ll do everything I say."

"On one condition."