Free Training Her Curves - London (A BBW Billionaire Domination & Submission Romance) by Christa Wick Page B

silence before I heard Dylan's sharp intake of air. "That's enough doom and gloom. Nothing gets solved sobbing about it. I need you to rein Simon in so we can launch on time and then I need your butt home so I have one less body to worry about."
    "I love you too, jerk," I said, knowing the conversation was over before the line went dead a second later.
    Wrapping the robe around me, I went into the outer room to find Simon sipping on a cup of tea and reading the morning paper. Hearing me enter, he looked up and the serene set of his beautiful mouth collapsed.
    "You've been crying." Setting down the cup and paper, he started to rise.
    "Please, don't get up." I sat down next to him, tucked my feet under me and rested my head on his shoulder. My libido had fled and I didn't know when it would be returning.
    Simon picked up his cup and handed it to me. "Drink this. I'll pour some more for both of us and fix you a plate."
    I took a sip, pleased to find it heavy on the cream and sugar. My gaze surfed over his lean body as he stretched forward and arranged a few morning cakes on a piece of china. There were several blank spots on the tray, suggesting he had already eaten some while I was on the phone.
    "I'm surprised you indulge," I said. "I figured you must be all protein smoothies and salads."
    "Well," he answered, settling against me once more. "You'd be surprised at the number of calories you can consume when you don't sleep."
    I frowned, all of the information from the day before rushing at me. "So you really haven't slept for twenty years? I can't wrap my head around the idea."
    His shoulders lifted. "There are a few medical precedents before me. One is a disease mechanism some people inherit. It doesn't hit them until middle age, when they've already passed the genes on. They usually die within two years once their sleep center shuts down."
    My chest tightened and I reminded myself that Simon had survived twenty years like this. Looking him, his body glowing with health, there wasn't any reason to believe he would be dead from his condition in the next two years.
    "I was taught adaptive techniques six months after...the incident. Once they realized I wasn't sleeping. Meditation, biofeedback. I was down to sixty pounds before I could finally trick my brain chemistry into thinking I'd had sleep."
    He stiffened against me. I put my plate and cup on the coffee table then placed my arm across his chest in a loose hug. "You don't have to talk about it -- any of it -- unless you want to."
    "Thank you." He turned to face me, our arms around one another. "I would much rather know why you were crying."
    I wanted to cry again but for a totally different reason. Or maybe the same reason. I was sad and happy at the same time. Sad because my friend was missing, sad because Simon had been hurt as a child, but happy that I was on the couch with him, that something inside me that had felt empty for so long was finally full, overflowing even.
    "I am not supposed to talk about it," I explained. "We have a friend missing and Dylan is afraid that if word gets around, it's as good as a death sentence for Mi--"
    I stopped myself before I said too much, if I hadn't already said too much.
    "Nazarov," Simon said, his amazing brain instantly filling in the information I held back. "How can he be missing, and for so long, with all the resources at your brother's disposal?"
    "He's not missing where we have resources." My face grew hot with the knowledge that I really wasn't supposed to be telling Simon anything at all. But, as smart as everyone around me was, I had the feeling he was the smartest, the one most adept at thinking of creative ways around obstacles.
    "He's in Russia?" Simon asked, extracting himself from my embrace and leaving the couch. He left the room for a second and returned with a computer case.
    "Yes." I put my hand over the case, blocking him from opening it. "What are you doing?"
    He inhaled, then shook his head, as if ridding himself