Page 92 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

My inhale shakes with laughter as I straighten. “She is probably the most stubborn one.”

“All the others had gone in out of the rain by themselves, but she was out there with Waldo and Dave, like three idiots.”

“They didn’t come in when you banged the lid with the spoon?”

He stares at me in silence for a second. “Shit.” His eyelids slowly lower. “I forgot about that. I was so panicked about getting them inside because I’d read that their coats absorb water and getting soaked can give them pneumonia.”

Just when I thought this man had already maxed out on how hard he could tug at my heartstrings this evening, those words give them a giant twang.

“You read that?” I ask. “Like, you did donkey research?”

“To be honest, I had my assistant do the research and send me notes. But I did read them.” He rubs the side of his neck like it’s achy. “But I’m an idiot for forgetting there’s an easier way to get them inside than yelling and flapping my arms.”

I should resist him. There is no way we could ever be a real thing in the real world. But in this otherworldly place that is the sanctuary, his magnetic tug on my chest is so strong, I step close enough to touch the wet arm of his jacket.

“It doesn’t matter how you did it. You did it. And that’s all that counts.”

I squeeze his strong forearm before letting my hand drop.

We fall silent for a moment and gaze at the animals in various states of rest and relaxation around us.

“They’re a pretty damn cute bunch,” Miller says.

“They crawl into your heart even if you don’t want them to.”

His eyes land on mine and make my brain go all tingly. “They’re not the only ones,” he says.

So embarrassed by the compliment that I don’t know what to do with myself, I just wrap my wool coat tighter.

“But I need a showernow, please.” His humor shatters the tension.

“Of course, yes. Let’s go inside.”

I head toward the door, wondering if maybe this place isn’t a sanctuary for only the donkeys. Maybe it’s a sanctuary for me too.

And the man who Paige was absolutely right about—the man who I’d be crazy to turn down while I have the chance—follows me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FRANKIE

As I stand in the kitchen preparing a very late dinner, the sound of the water showering Miller’s bare skin hits me differently this time.

Because this time, I hear it with full knowledge of what his naked body looks like.

Imagining the spray pounding against his solid pecs that are dusted with dark hairs, then running over his shoulder muscles that nip in at his collar bone, before trickling into the undulating ridges of his spine and streaming lower to the backside that was so firm under my fingers heats my chilled body to the point that my towel-dried hair is probably steaming.

If I allowed myself to think about what might be happening on his front side, I’d likely make news as the first known case of spontaneous human combustion in Warm Springs for several centuries.

I grab one of the containers of homemade soup I’ve taken from the freezer and pop it into the microwave tothaw, then take a glass from a cabinet and fill it from the sink.

Taking a long draw on the water makes me aware of how dehydrated I am from the wine, the flight, and the running around here in the rain panicking because I couldn’t find Miller.

Initially when I saw he wasn’t in the house or the barn, I assumed he must have selfishly gone out, leaving the animals to fend for themselves. That’s why I ran to the stables to check on them without even taking time to put on a waterproof coat and boots.

I assumed he’d behaved like a selfish ass.

But he’d actually done the exact opposite.