Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Forty-two

The deep, masculine voice runs over me like melted chocolate, my knees buck and I lean on the door for support. Is he aware of my presence? Is this a trap? Shouldn’t he have asked for my identity? I smoothen the front of my jacket, inhale and push the door open.

Brandon rises with an urgency that causes his seat to clatter to the ground, I swallow my disappointment as he halts midstride. He wasn’t expecting me. Setting my bag on the floor, I take tentative steps forward and he bridges the gap between us in a few strides.

My voice comes out shaky, a muffled whisper, “Hey.” His penetrating gaze burns holes into my forehead, weakening my resolve to taunt him. “I’m sorry for calling you stupid.”

Tilting his head, he sizes me up, takes a step back with his hand outstretched to me. My gaze lingers on his arm, I link our fingers and he pulls me close to press a kiss to my hair

“Don’t be sorry.” My eyes flit to his face, his finger swipes across my lips and he smiles. “You didn’t come home last night,” he says. I melt in my husband’s arms, welcoming his comforting scent and he pulls me into a tighter hug. His jaw connects with the top of my head, hand lingers on my lower back and I inhale, this is home for me. “I missed you.”

I missed him too, more than I care to admit. But I don’t say that, instead, my lips curve into that fake smile I am becoming familiar with. He hasn’t spoken what I want to hear. His thumb trails my lower lip, I fight the urge to let my tongue run over his fingertip. His eyes lock with mine, probably expecting me to do just that, I look away and step back.

Hunger has my insides in a twist, I place a protective hand over my stomach when he glances my way at the growls coming from it. “Why does Sophia insists I need rest?”

The subtle change in his mood doesn’t escape me, his guard covers his face like a veil, I gulp. His hands find their way into his pocket, he tilts his head as if inspecting my face for a hidden truth. We are only a foot apart but the distance seems to have tripled. I tune out the voices in my head screaming out the possibility of my fake pregnancy being the reason for his sudden need for me to rest. She must have put the thought in his head.

“I don’t know, she wasn’t very clear.” Retracting his hands from his pockets, he stalks towards me and his fingers caress my cheeks, his eyes narrow. “Is everything okay with you?”

Palming his hand on my cheek, I whisper, “What happens if I’m pregnant?”

As if hit by my words, Brandon staggers, his hand slips from my face but the heat from his touch lingers and it is harder to swallow the lump in my throat. His eyes lower to my stomach, on instinct, I fold my hands over my belly. I don’t want him feeling like I will tie him down with a baby. Since he can’t love me, no point in bringing a child into our world.

His Adam apple bobs, he lets out a sigh, his fingers run through his scalp and he offers me a sheepish smile. Looking at him doesn’t hurt as much as it did yesterday. He still looks as good as always, even in a simple white shirt and black trousers. A whole meal.

“I don’t know.”

Lines appear on his forehead, I smoothen them before I realise what I am doing and the brief smile he flashes me has me frowning. Fisting my hands to avoid a repeat, my eyes fixate on his leather shoes, if I don’t look at him, I won’t be tempted to touch him.

“El. Are...are you…” I lift my gaze to his face and shake my head. Now, I wish I was, to gauge his reactions. Will he leave for another month? Maybe two months this time. My chest tightens, I am overwhelmed by a brief feeling of suffocation when his shoulders sag and he lets out an audible sigh. He still doesn’t want kids. “Why are you asking?”