Page 51 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

FRANKIE

Miller’s lips melt into mine, making every ounce of stress, anger, and worry that had built to a crescendo in my head and my body since Wade Skinner showed up drift away like they’re on a fluffy cloud in a calm breeze.

The scent of sweet, fresh sawdust on his cheek, the perfect pressure of his mouth on mine—gentle enough to be a little unsure, firm enough to show it’s what he wants—and the slide of his hand from my arm to my outer thigh, make me dissolve toward him, every muscle in my body relaxing, a delicious heat blooming in the most intimate part of me.

Where did this man come from? It’s as if he’s a gift that simply fell out of the sky two days ago, just when I needed him.

He’s certainly the best present my lips have ever known.

And in seconds his touch smooths away the harsh edges of the overwhelming emotions pent up inside me.

My fury at the developer, my desperation to hold onto the sanctuary, the self-doubt over whether I can do that all by myself, the bittersweet memories of Grandma, the inescapable reality of Grandpa’s aging, the fact that my time here trying to make everything right will likely jeopardize my prospects in my real job, and the embarrassment of crying in front of a near stranger who almost kissed me last night are all tempered by the fact that he is most definitely kissing me now.

Miller wraps both strong arms around me and pulls me to him at the same time as he inches closer and our mouths part, just the tips of our tongues teasing each other before they can’t bear the teasing any longer and search deeper.

Parts of my body that have been dormant for a long time don’t just stir and slowly awaken, they prick up their ears. The taste of him sets my nerve endings on fire. My right leg does what comes naturally and hooks itself over his lap.

His hand slides higher up my thigh and when it reaches my butt, he squeezes with the perfect amount of pressure, sending a shockwave right between my legs. And all the while our lips and tongues make instant magic.

There’s no getting-to-know-you period necessary here. Our mouths read each other perfectly from the first touch.

I claw my fingers into his lush, thick hair, the tears on my cheeks drying in the cool breeze blowing in through the open barn door.

On a deep inhale, I pick up the aroma of my body wash layered under Miller’s sawdust scent, and my chest trembles at the realization that he’s owned a part of me from that first moment when our eyes locked in the kitchen.

It’s like I’m pouring all the suppressed emotions thathave been swirling around inside me into him and he’s soaking them up, easing my frustration, my angst, my desperate need to make everything work out for the best.

Miller pulls back for a second to brush his mouth over mine with such a delicate touch it’s hard to tell whether it’s his lips or the breeze.

He cups my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone.

“Is it okay that I’m kissing you?” he whispers.

“I want you to.” My belly flutters. “And I don’t want you to stop.”

And I don’t want him to stop, because the hunger he’s awakened within me is a whole new sensation. It’s a new level of desire. Not just because he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but because he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t also kind and generous.

He’s the whole damn kit and caboodle, the lock, stock and barrel—the whole shebang.

And is thisshe, indeed, about to bebanged?

Would that be bad?

Should I back off?

I don’t feel like I want to back off.

Particularly not now his mouth is on my neck, sending goose bumps dancing all the way down my side to my toes.

I never thought I’d do anything like this with a man I barely know. Not after Brandon. I’d known him for six months and still didn’t spot that he was lying to me about crucial parts of his life. So how dare I trust myself that I’m judging Miller correctly?

Because he makes me feel like I’m right, that’s why. Because there’s an air of comfort about him, a real what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

There’s no logic to that, no data to prove it. But maybe sometimes you have to step away from the data and choose your own adventure.

He kisses a line up to my earlobe and sucks on it gently, sending a groan from my throat and making me aware of just how very damp my underwear is.

“This is all I’ve thought about since last night,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “I need to have a stern word with Dave about interrupting like that.”