The Irresistible Billionaire by Serenity Woods

Author:Serenity Woods [Woods, Serenity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-16T18:30:00+00:00

Ben

Heloise is pressed up against me, warm and soft in my arms.

At any other time, I would have found this first contact with her sensual. But right now, it’s just one human being comforting another with the healing power of touch.

It’s not the first show of affection or sympathy I’ve had since Rebecca died; all my friends and family hugged me at the funeral. But very few of them have known the truth about what happened. And because Heloise knows it all, her touch is like absolution, washing away my sins.

It’s not, of course; I’m still guilty of Rebecca’s death and always will be. But her knowing what happened and comforting me anyway lifts my guilt out of the deep, dark pit of despair, puts it in a box in my heart, and turns the key. There it will remain for me to take out and examine when I’m alone, but otherwise stay locked away.

I lift my head and open my eyes. Kora has risen to her feet. She smiles, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears, then gathers the tray of empty mugs and slips from the room.

I close my eyes again. I should release Heloise now. It’s been about twenty seconds, long enough for one friend to comfort another. But she makes no move to break it, and neither do I.

Okay, so maybe there is something sensual about it. I become conscious of her as if I’m bringing her into focus. I like that she’s tall, and I don’t have to bend to hug her. Her body is warm and soft. Her breasts are pressed against my chest like two small soft pillows. My arms are around the dip of her waist, my hands splayed on her back. I brush up to her shoulder blades and back down, wanting to touch her. It’s just an innocent gesture of comfort, but she inhales, her breasts rising, her breath cool against my neck.

I breathe in the intoxicating aroma of her, a perfume I sometimes smell around the house and the nursery—rose-based, with a touch of mandarin, light and sweet.

Her hair is the color of leaping flames against my cheek, her curls soft on my skin.

I wasn’t sure if she liked me. Usually it’s easy to tell—a woman will lean against me when she talks to me or touch me on the arm; she’ll flutter her eyelashes or play with her hair, moisten her lips, laugh at anything I say. But Heloise isn’t like that. She doesn’t flirt, and she’s very reserved. A couple of times she has held my gaze for long enough that I’ve got the tingle. I thought maybe there could be a spark of something there, if we were to tend it.

But now I’m sure. She wouldn’t stay in the embrace for this long if she didn’t like me. And not only that, but I can feel something changing between us on a chemical level. A flint has been struck, and a spark has jumped to the kindling, and now, as we blow gently on it, it catches light.

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