Page 36 of The Reluctant Billionaire

And on top of all that, she may be less of a blinkered princess than I’ve given her credit for.

I take a step towards her. ‘Know anything about a certain shepherd’s pie that found its way into a couple of hungry bellies last night?’ I ask in a low voice.

Her face flickers with surprise. She wasn’t expecting that.

‘Maybe.’ She leans against the door and narrows her eyes, assessing me.

‘How did you know?’ I ask.

‘I was there the other day when you were talking to them outside. Sylvie filled me in afterwards.’

‘So you sent them some food?’

She shifts. ‘Yeah. Well, I had Judy sort it out cos she said she couldn’t share their address. But yep.’

Her gaze drags over me, from my eyes to my mouth and down to my chest. I’m already covered in sawdust and grime. My vest is damp with sweat and my trousers have all sorts of crap on them. But she’s looking at me like it’s all good, like every stain is a mark of my masculinity. Like the dirtier I get, the more I do it for her.

Like she wouldn’t mind me dirtying her up, either.

Which is ironic, because with most women I fuck I’m wondering whether they’re just after my money. It’s refreshing to be objectified by this princess purely for my body and whatever bad-boy, bit-of-rough kink she’s decided I can feed for her.

Even if I’m not quite the rough diamond she sees me as.

I plant a palm against the door, next to her ear. ‘Well, thank you,’ I tell her. I look her in the eyes so she knows I mean it. I’m not messing around. That those kids touched her heart enough to galvanise her into action really fucking touchesme. ‘It means a lot.’

‘I didn’t do it to suck up to you,’ she says, a note of defiance in her voice. ‘I did it for them.’

‘I know.’ I nod. ‘Even better.’

We stare at each other.

‘You and I have unfinished business,’ I tell her gruffly, dropping my eyes to that pink, plump mouth.

She lets her head drop back against the door. ‘If byunfinished businessyou mean you owe me the orgasm you promised me, then that is correct.’

I allow myself a smirk at her lack of filter. ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

‘But if you’re looking for a peep show today, you’ll be disappointed,’ she says blithely, ‘because I’m wearing your bra and it’s hideous.’

A flush rolls over my skin at the prospect of her wearing something intimate that I bought her, even if its entire, though impossible, purpose is to render Carlotta as unappealing as possible.

‘Show me,’ I say.

She raises her eyebrows at me.

‘I don’t mean strip. Just take off this layer—you’ve got something on underneath, yeah?’

She shakes her head. ‘Nope. Too hot. Just the bra of doom. If you want to see it, you do the honours.’

I lick my lips before moving in closer, picking up the hem of her oversized t-shirt.

She nods again. ‘Go on,’ she says, her voice amused.

That does it. I tug the t-shirt straight up and yank it off over her head as she raises her arms for me.

She’s in just the bra and her cutoffs now, and I survey the picture. Fuck, the bra is ugly—a shiny, depressing beige with sensible, supportive straps and not a nipple in sight. Still, it has her tits practically on a platter and it gives her one hell of a cleavage. When I drag my eyes downwards, the soft, tanned skin of her stomach draws me in.

‘Grim, isn’t it?’ she says.