Free The Billionaire Next Door by Jessica Bird

deep inhales and said, “Maybe it was just hot in there.”
     
    “It was stuffy. You feel better?”
     
    “Much.” She glanced to the sky. “I heard we’re supposed to get storms tonight.”
     
    “Hot enough for it.”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    He had no idea what they were talking about. Maybe the weather? Whatever. He was caught up in her profile, most specifically her lips. Oh, man…he wanted to grab her around the waist, get her against him from shoulder to knee and kiss the ever-living breath out of her.
     
    “The car’s this way,” he said roughly.
     
    On the way back to Southie, they went without air-conditioning and both put their windows down. The summer night was gentle and warm as it flooded into the rental car and he stole glances across the seat at her as if he were sixteen.
     
    When they pulled up to the row house, he stopped the sedan and turned off the engine, but he made no move to open his door.
     
    “Thank you,” she said with a smile that melted him. “This was lovely.”
     
    “You’re welcome.”
     
    In the silence, he thought of the last time he’d taken a woman out in Manhattan. The two of them had gone to Jean Georges in his limo. She’d been wearing diamond studs the size of marbles and a dress by Chanel; he’d been in one of his Savile Row suits. They’d worked the crowd on the way to their A-lister table then flirted as sophisticates did, one-upping each other. Afterward, they’d gone back to his penthouse, but she hadn’t spent the whole night—yet another of his rules with women.
     
    It had all been very glamorous…and utterly forgettable.
     
    Tonight with Lizzie was not. Here in this Ford Taurus, with the summer air on his face and the sound of crickets in his ears and the dark night wrapped around them, this moment was totally vivid to him. He was not on social autopilot. With Lizzie…he was alive.
     
    And he wanted more. He wanted the privacy of her apartment. He wanted to be in between her sheets. Tonight, he craved the sweetness in her, needed to be naked against her kindness. And though he was very aware that he couldn’t give anything back to her other than pleasure, he vowed to make sure that was enough for her if she let him in.
     
    He pushed his door open. “Let’s move that kitchen table down.”
     
    “Are you sure?” She smiled as they went up onto the porch. “It’s late. We could do it tomorrow as I’m off.”
     
    “Won’t take long. Besides, it’ll give me some room for the boxes.”
     
    “Oh, in that case, let’s do it.”
     
    They went upstairs, and as she headed into the kitchen, he walked over to his duffel bag of clothes and took out his shaving kit. As he slipped a condom in his back pocket, he didn’t like the ache in his chest, but he didn’t stop himself. After all, if she told him no, he would absolutely back off.
     
    “Sean? You coming?” she called out.
     
    “Yeah.” He rubbed his sternum and went into the kitchen.
     
    “This is going to be a tight squeeze.” She bent to the side and eyed the table’s girth. “The stairs aren’t that wide.”
     
    “Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow.”
     
    Getting the thing down the stairwell took some maneuvering, but they managed not to mash anyone’s fingers on the railing or the doorjamb into her apartment.
     
    As they took a breather in her living room, his chest burned even more as he looked around. Everything was tidy and very clean, but thrift-shop worn: the couch had a pretty flowered blanket tucked into what undoubtedly were frayed cushions. The chair by the window had threadbare patches on the arms and was covered by a quilt. There was no TV and just one lamp. Nothing on the walls.
     
    He thought of her purse with its worn corners.
     
    “Sean?”
     
    “I’m sorry, what?”
     
    “Only a little farther.” She nodded over her shoulder. “To my kitchen?”
     
    “Right.” He picked up his end of the table.
     
    The kitchen was likewise sparkling from