Billionaires Dollar Series

“Hmm. I’ll take that, for now.”

“Good.” I stretch up on my tiptoes. “Because that’s all you’re getting. For now.”

He bends his head, warm breath against my mouth. The faint pause is a delicious thing. I’m the one who breaks it, pressing my lips to his. They’re warm and soft and as he kisses me, it’s like coming home.

Several weeks later

Bella flips over to the last page. “And this section? You didn’t have any comments on this one.”

I skim through the final paragraphs. “That’s because it’s excellent.”

“And you’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying that. I’ve been honest with the feedback so far, haven’t I?”

She nods, her fingers stroking down the page of her thesis. With only weeks until it’s due, Bella is polishing and re-polishing and re-re-polishing. “It’s good,” I tell her. “A few final adjustments, but after that, it’s good.”

“You’re telling me to stop tinkering with it.”

I chuckle, rising from the kitchen table. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Do you want more frozen yogurt?”

“You’re an enabler,” she says. But she holds out her bowl. I mix the flavors she likes from the freezer and when I return, I scoot my chair close to hers.

“Pregnant ladies get what pregnant ladies want.”

She hums in displeasure around her spoon.

“Pregnant ladies. I sound so old.”

“You will be a mother in a few short months,” I point out.

“Yes, but that’s the fun kind of old.”

I roll my eyes at her. “You’ll be a young mom, comparatively. Twenty-four is well below the national average.”

Bella takes another bite of the fro-yo. Her hair is braided down her back, but little tendrils have escaped, framing the beautiful cream of her skin. My hand aches, wanting to reach out and pull her close.

But we’ve been good so far.

Very, very, very good. She hasn’t made any signs that she wants more than occasional kisses, and I haven’t pushed.

Trust. Time. Go slow.

It’s driving me insane, but I’m sticking to the program.

“I don’t know when I should start applying for jobs. I’ll be done with my studies right around the time this little guy comes out.” She puts a hand on her tummy, beautifully rounded. “It seems pointless to start until a while after that, but…”

“You have time,” I say. “All the time in the world, in fact.”

Her gaze locks with mine. This is getting close to things we haven’t discussed yet, things like money and the future of our relationship.

I’ll never offer her a contract again, but she’ll never want for anything-not if she’ll let me take care of her. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to take care of anyone except my daughters, but with Bella, the desire is bone deep.

“I want to work,” she says. “Eventually, after the baby. It’s what I studied for.”

“Of course you do. It would be a shame for the industry, too, to lose someone like you.” I tap her thesis on the table. “It’s not quite Nobel-prize worthy, but it’s close.”

Bella rolls her eyes, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes. A tad biased, too.”

A sound upstairs. Bella pauses, and we both wait for the footsteps down the stairs. They don’t come.

“Evie sometimes knocks things off her bedside table,” I say. “She’s a very active sleeper.”

“Ninja dreamer.”

“Exactly. I’ll go check on her.”

Bella nods, diving deep into her dessert. I pause with my hand on the back of her chair. “It’s late. Stay the night?”

“If your master plan is that I’ll sleep in the guest room so often that I eventually forget I have my own apartment, just know that I’m on to you.”

“Of course you are,” I say. “Doesn’t mean it’s not working.”

Bella smiles up at me. Pregnancy has given her a near-perpetual flush in her cheeks, and something about her eyes, her hair… it’s different, subtle, beyond the more obvious changes in her body. Impossibly, she’s even more beautiful.

“It’s a brilliant plan,” she says.

“One you should stop actively opposing.”

Her hand comes to rest on mine on the back of the chair. Slender, warm fingers. My body tightens at the faint contact. “I’ll stay the night.”

“Thank God. I was seconds from begging.”

She shakes her head, taking her hand off mine. “Flatterer.”

“The guest room is made up,” I add, innate politeness forcing me to. But so is my bed, I want to add. Stay with me.

So far she hasn’t. Not once.

And later that night, when I’m lying in bed staring up at the dark ceiling, I go over all the fifteen reasons I shouldn’t get out of bed and walk down the hallway to her room. Things like space and time and privacy and boundaries and trust and forgiveness and pregnancy. Lyra had hated being touched when she was pregnant-she hated being pregnant at all.

Bella has been different at every turn, but maybe…

I don’t dare push it. Push us. This is too important.

But then, around midnight, someone pushes my door open just a smidge. I sit up in bed.