Page 28 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

And suddenly I was thinking about Gareth. About his hands, the heat of his body, the way he’d held me like I was the only thing that could keep him afloat. I thought about the kiss in the ballroom, the way my knees had turned to water, and I realized that no matter how close Leo got, he would always make me feel uneasy.

I took a breath. “No.”

Leo nodded, as if he’d expected it. “Good answer,” he said. He stepped back, giving me space. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Just a little broken.”

“We’re all a little broken,” I said.

He shrugged. “Some more than others.”

I moved around, gathering the bottles under Leo’s watchful eye.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I hope you get what you want.”

With a glance his direction, I hoped for a hint at the punchline, but he was already gone.

I carried the wine back to the kitchen, my arms numb and my mind buzzing with questions. If Gareth was obsessed, what did that make me?

Crazy. That’s what it made me. I set the bottles down, thanked Maribel, and escaped to my room, heart hammering.

I didn’t want to play games anymore. I just wanted to leave.

But I’m not the kind of woman who gives up.

I didn’t leave my room again except to answer a knock at the door. I opened it to Gareth, who gave me a once over. “Iassume you’re sick.” He bent down and picked up the handles of a beautiful silver tray loaded with comfort foods, soup, crackers, a can of sprite and one of ginger ale, toast, and jam.

He carried it to my bed and set it down, then turned to face me again as I peeked out in the hallway looking for inquisitive eyes before closing my door and turning to him. There was a crinkle at the corners of his eyes, but no smile. “I already checked,” he said.

I nodded, making my way to my bed and perching on the edge. “Thank you,” I said, but my voice caught. Clearing my throat, I tried again, stronger and louder this time. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Being sick is miserable.” There was a warmth in his eyes that had my heart thudding painfully. His hands flexed as he adjusted the sleeves he’d rolled up to his forearms. Forearms that had me practically drooling.

I couldn’t come clean now and just tell him I was avoiding him, but I was pretty sure he knew.

“Well, I’ll go now. Is there anything else you need?” His gaze met mine and my lips tingled, remembering his kiss. Some part of me wanted him to just lower me to the bed and have his way with me, a thought that sent swirling heat through my core.

There was no way I could speak with the sparks popping off within me, so I shook my head.

He hesitated, his gaze lowering to my lips as my heart began to thunder and my hands shook. Was he going to kiss me again? God, I wanted him to so bad. Instead, he stood up to his full height, nodded my direction, and left my room. Only when the quiet click of the door reached my ears did I exhale.

The food smelled wonderful, but I wasn’t hungry for a meal. I was hungry for one man. The one I couldn’t have.

So I set the tray by the door, feeling bad for wasting it, but knowing if I ate, none of it would stay down. Maybe I was reallygetting sick, after all. Instead, I went to bed, hoping to sleep away the hot, needy desire that boiled in my belly.

So I tossed. Turned. Kicked off the blankets and felt too cold. Covered up and felt too hot. And my brain? Working against me as always. Moments replayed over and over in my mind. How he’d caught me when I fell up the stairs, the way he held me as we slow-danced, the feel of his lips on mine. Oh, and a phone call with my grandmother that somehow made me feel both empowered and like I’d lost my darn mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Gareth. About the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his steady hands touched me, not afraid to break me, not so hard to hurt me. His touch was just right. I tried to will it away, tell myself it was just proximity, boredom, a classic case of working-too-close-with-your-CEO syndrome – something I’d never suffered before but sounded plausible. But my body wouldn’t listen. Every inch of me was tuned to his frequency.

I stared at the wolf above my bed and wondered which one I was supposed to be. The prey, or the predator?

A breeze slipped through the open balcony door, raising goosebumps along my arms. I could still smell him, faint but real. The woody smell of my grandma’s cedar chest, a hint of hard liquor, and topped off with something mouthwatering. I closed my eyes and let the day replay itself, scene by scene, the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d said my name in that low voice, the kind and unexpected gesture of him bringing me dinner...

It started as a daydream, just a harmless distraction. I let myself imagine what it would feel like if he knocked on my door, right now, no warning, all self-control burned away.

He’d stand at the threshold, shoulders squared, hands fisted at his sides. He wouldn’t speak. He never did, not at first. He’d just look at me, as if daring me to turn him away.

I’d say his name, soft, unsure, and he’d step forward, closing the distance in three long strides.

The first kiss would be brutal, all hunger and need, the kind of kiss you remembered in your muscles for weeks after. He’d pin me to the wall, hands everywhere, and for once in my life I wouldn’t flinch or make a joke to break the tension. I’d just let him have me. I’d want him to.