Free The Bad Boy Billionaire: What a Girl Wants by Maya Rodale Page B

understood.
    Duke wrote something on our little sheet of paper and pushed it over to me.
    I read it: Where do you see yourself in five years?
    “What is this, a job interview?” I said with a laugh. He just shrugged and pointed to my pen and paper. I was supposed to answer. For a second I tapped the pen against my lips, thinking. Then I wrote the truth:
    For the first time, I have no idea where I want to be. I have no plans. I want to be happy. Writing makes me happy.
    And then I hesitated because this was, possibly, a big question with a big answer. Then I added one more line:
    You make me happy.
    It was as close as I could come to saying that I wanted to be with him in five years. Or maybe forever.
    Duke then started to write what seemed to be a novel. I watched him as he wrote. Dark tousled hair falling forward into his eyes, fixed on the sheet of paper. His hands strong and determined. His lips parted slightly and I imagined kissing him.
    We—me and Felicity—had a thing. A relationship. But we were too young and had too much money, which led to too much trouble. She wasn’t good for me and I wasn’t good for her. We broke up years ago. She’s writing the book because she needs money for her brother’s medical bills. I offered to pay because if it weren’t for me fucking up the company, as employee #4 she’d be a millionaire. But she wanted to do this for herself. So I don’t care what she says about me. I owe her this. If you trust me, those old secrets can’t hurt me now.
    But I want you to know the really important stuff: I just want to be with you.
    I scanned the words, letting out a deep breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I knew him . . . maybe not all the details . . . but I knew the real man underneath it all and he was good. He was kind. He was generous. And we were in love. There was only one response to what he had written.
    I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. It was a slow, gentle, tentative kiss. Kind of like a first kiss when you’re still young and unsure. After what had happened . . . this was like starting over.
    My body responded to this kiss, to Duke, just like it had before. I felt everything in me soften, and I felt warm from the inside out. He reached out for me, sliding his fingers through my hair and lightly cupping my cheeks in his palms. I felt cherished. I felt loved.
    We kissed there until the candles burned down to nothing. Then we moved to the bedroom, hand in hand. We kissed—just kissed—late into the night. There was something so sweet, innocent, patient and pure about it. Tonight I needed sweet, innocent, patient and pure. So I indulged in the particular loveliness that is an exquisite and epic kiss. Just a kiss . . . but I felt it all over.

 
    Chapter Seven
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    I WOKE UP the next morning in Duke’s king-sized bed—alone. Reluctant to leave the warmth but curious about where he was, I pulled on more of his clothes—which didn’t fit at all—and padded out to the kitchen.
    “Duke?” I called out his name a few times. No answer. I checked all over the apartment. There was a pot of coffee on, but it had gone cold and he was gone. He must have left hours ago.
    “Could have left a note,” I grumbled as I heated up the coffee on the stove.
    At first I figured he’d just ventured out to the store again—perhaps he found more cash or had more stock options to give out. I sat down with my notebook, pen and mug of coffee and began to write. But when an hour or two had passed and Duke hadn’t returned, I began to get nervous.
    Where was he?
    Another hour passed. I got annoyed. So annoyed that I couldn’t concentrate on writing. I started having imaginary fights with him in my head—upon his imagined return I would rage at him for disappearing without leaving a note. That is, when I wasn’t alternating between imagining some tragedy having befallen him. What if he had fallen down the dark stairwell and broken his neck? What if a tree branch fell