Page 53 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“Ignore it,” he repeats more firmly, before swiftlylowering the cup of my bra and taking my nipple in his mouth.

At this point, if the barn around us was going up in flames, I’d ignore it if he asked me to.

There is nothing but shimmering stars behind my eyelids, nothing but need where his hand continues to press and slide between my legs.

I’m vaguely aware of the buzzing stopping and being swiftly followed by a sharp beep.

“For fuck’s sake,” Miller says, lifting his head and planting a soft kiss on the end of my nose. “Let me check it, then turn it off.”

I lift my leg off him so he can get to his phone. And then our bodies are no longer in contact. We’re sitting side by side on the stair just as we were a few minutes ago. Before everything changed. Before my panties were soaked and the cup of my bra was hooked under my right breast.

“Shit.” Miller says, looking at his phone.“Shit.”

“Bad news?” I ask, suddenly feeling cold without him pressed against me.

He rubs his forehead, then slides his sexy, veined hand into his hair. “It’s my assistant. She’s texted too. It’s urgent. I’m sorry. I have to call her back.”

Then his haste fades as he turns to me and slowly tucks my hair behind my ear again. “I know this is terrible timing. I’m so sorry.”

He plants a soft kiss on my temple, and I can’t help but lean into it.

“You made me forget who I am for a moment,” he whispers, before rising and jogging up the stairs behindme to the loft.

I wrap my arms around myself against the cold reality that’s settling on me.

I’ve never felt so lonely in my life.

This is why I don’t do things like this. Why I vowed after Brandon I would trust no one, let no one in until I was absolutely one hundred percent sure about them. Because this is always how it ends up feeling.

I push up off the step, tuck my breast back into its cup and, giving my damp face one last swipe with my sleeve, head toward the giant to-do list on the kitchen table.

I can’t go around kissing a man I barely know, can’t take the drain on my emotional energy when every ounce of it needs to be trained like a laser on one crucial thing.

Iwillfigure out how to make this place survive before I have to go back to Chicago.

Because I have to.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MILLER

“What the fuck do you mean, I missed the Seaport meeting?” I whisper-shout at Brooke on the other end of the phone.

Not that there’s anyone around to hear me. I know Frankie’s already left the barn because I’m watching through the loft window as she walks back to the house.

My entire body is still vibrating from having my hands on the perfect ass that’s swinging gently from side to side as it gets farther and farther out of my grasp, from having my mouth on her perfect lips and from her leg draped across my screaming cock.

The last thing I wanted was to break off what we just had going on, but the text from Brooke jolted me back to reality, reminded me that I’m not here to get all touchy-feely with the woman whose property I’m trying to buy.

I am not Miller McSweeney, the digital nomad investor looking for meaning in his life at the bottom of a pile of donkey shit.

I’m Miller fucking Malone, who already has plenty of meaning in his life in the form of billions of dollars of luxury condos scattered across the Boston skyline and a fun side gig as part-owner of the city’s most beloved soccer team.

Focus, Miller. For fuck’s sake, focus on the task at hand.

And not on the two delicious butt cheeks that are now disappearing into the house.

I need to remember why the fuck I’m here—and that’s definitely not to let the contents of my pants get the better of me.