The Mistaken Billionaire (the Muse series) by Lexxie Couper

Author:Lexxie Couper [Couper, Lexxie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled; Indulgence; romance; Mistaken Identity; Opposites attract; Socially awkward heroine; Millionaire; Playboy; tortured hero; billionaire
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Indulgence)
Published: 2017-06-05T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

He wrote through Sunday afternoon, the evening, and most of the night.

Finding her note under his door, with its simple and to-the-point instruction, had kick-started a torrent of words he had no hope or will to stop.

He’d taken Reaper for a walk after Sebastian left, his chest still tight and heavy with an emotion he hadn’t been able to comprehend. It eluded him for the walk, teasing him, tormenting him.

A part of him wanted to be furious with Mila for running off like she had. There were who knew how many women in the world who would gladly throw themselves at him, and she’d left?

By the time he arrived back at his home, he was grinding his teeth and telling himself he was angry.

He wasn’t. But he kept telling himself he was. Better angry than…than…lost.

The second he saw her note, the instruction, all the sensations of being adrift, of being disconnected from something important, had disappeared.

He’d hurried upstairs, dropped into his chair, and began to write.

When he’d written four thousand words, he’d sent Mila a text. He’d tried to stop himself and failed miserably. Hitting send with a grin, he’d then made reservations for dinner and returned to writing.

At two thirty a.m. he cracked his back, saved the file, emailed it to himself as precautionary backup—A.K.A. a superstitious quirk he couldn’t break regardless of how sophisticated his computer was—and turned off his desk lamp.

Twenty thousand words done. Written.

If it weren’t the early hours of the morning, he’d text Mila again. Something along the lines of 20k done. Get your ass here now, muse. I need you.

But it was the wee hours of the morning. She would be asleep. So he couldn’t.

Really? Aren’t you the guy who called a hottie at three in the morning for a booty call only a few months ago?

Straightening in his chair, he walked through the darkness of his office. “Pee time, Reap.”

The soft scratch of claws on floorboards filled the silence, followed by a warm body nudging his calf and a whack of a tail.

The scent of late-spring jasmine hung heavy in the night air, threading into Thomas’s breath as he waited for Reaper to empty his bladder on the closest street light. A productive writing session usually left him wired, more than a little agitated, but with the muted soundtrack of New York and the whisper of wind through the trees in Central Park, he found himself far more relaxed than normal.

Content.

Wow, it had been a while.

With a scratch of his paws at the non-existent grass on the sidewalk, Reaper trotted back to him, up the brownstone’s stairs, and into the open front door.

“Bed time it is,” he mumbled with a chuckle.

He locked up, downed a glass of water, cleaned his teeth, stripped his clothes off, and climbed into bed. A bed he wanted more than anything to be sharing with Mila. Would she answer if he sent her a text? Would she come?

Text her. Tell her you’re finished. Ask her to come around.

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