The Billionaire’s Secret (His Submissive #6)(11)
Author: Ava Claire

“Leila, if you’re in there–”

I rocketed to the door. Ever since he stormed out I wanted him to come back and here he was. I couldn’t let him walk away again.

Jacob. Holding a crumpled bouquet of roses.

And looking as horrible as I felt.

His dark hair was a crumpled mess with the layered locks sticking out every which way. His usually strong jaw was hidden by shadow and untouched by a razor. His blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep. His white, button down shirt had an ashen, dusty parlor and I realized with a gasp it was likely the shirt he was wearing the day before. But there was one earthquake status difference. His shirt was half tucked, half not into a pair of dark wash jeans.

Jeans.

Jacob Whitmore was wearing jeans.

I was definitely dreaming. Even on our most relaxed days in Venice, he still wore blazers with sleek cut trousers. Jacob was a walking, talking advertisement for sophistication. He just didn’t do jeans.

I must have been gawking like I was watching a train wreck unfold before my very eyes because he gestured with the roses, bringing me back. “Planning on inviting me in?”

I blushed and stepped aside, letting him past. My eyes dropped to his rear and a flash of lust echoed through me. Despite the rest of his wrinkled exterior, he looked like sex on a stick in those jeans.

He stopped in the living room area, glancing around the place with silent disapproval. “This is where you’re staying?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling defensive. “You have a lot of–” My eyes widened when I realized there was something slightly more important than defending Meg’s place. “How did you know where to find me?”

His cool gaze drunk me in. “Well I’m not stalking you if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I asked,” I fired back. “How did you find me?”

He ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I called your mother.”

“My mother?” I winced. Great, just great. I could just imagine her perched on the edge of her seat, already prepping to call her contacts. I’d have a mess to clean up by lunch.

“She’s worried about you,” he continued, clearly picking up on my wariness. “She told me that she had no idea where you were, but your friend Megan might.”

“So you just decided to show up at her house,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I’m not sure if five hundred square feet can be called a ‘house’, Leila.”

“I’m sorry you had to come to the slums,” I said, dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to school me on real estate.” I glared at him. “Should I bend over? Take my licks like a good girl?”

I saw the retort flash in his eyes before he remembered the bouquet he was holding. Or the roses that were left. Red petals made a trail from the door to where he stood, piling up at his feet.

“These are for you.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I got them last night but…” His nostrils flared. “Anyway, here you go.”

I took them, a smile tipping at my lips as I brought the fragrant flowers to my nose and breathed them in. “For me?”

He gave me a hesitant nod.

“Thank you,” I said, staring at him, wanting to feel something other than the apprehension but only remembering our argument and the hurt. Swallowing, I pushed away the slight dizziness that hit me and walked to the counter, placing the roses beside the sink. I took another step and swayed, feeling the nausea taking over.

Nonononono! I thought frantically, knowing it was coming. Knowing there was no stopping it.

I dashed to the bathroom, surprisingly making it to the toilet. My body took over, pushing the Gatorade from my system.

When I stopped gagging, I sunk back into my bones and felt sick for a whole other reason. Did I remember to shut the door? The floor creaked and I squeezed my eyes closed so tight I saw stars.

Oh God.

He just saw it. He just saw it all.

He rushed into the bathroom, throwing the water on. I felt so weak that I could barely turn my head or open my mouth to tell him I was alright. I felt his fingers rake through my hair, sweeping the curls back and pressing a wet washcloth against my temple.

You’re done, I commanded silently. You will not puke while Jacob Whitmore holds your hair back.

I fully expected my body to revolt. After all, it had been going rogue since that first wave of nausea hit last night. But somehow I kept it together, breathing in and out without feeling the vomit rise in my throat. Jacob was right there, stroking my back, his calm and zen washing over me.

Finally, I felt strong enough to stand to my feet. He took a few steps back and I closed the lid and flushed the toilet. I avoided his gaze in the mirror as I washed my hands. He offered me a towel and I pressed it to my lips. When I finally met his eyes, I saw white hot terror and an unspoken question.

“I’m not pregnant!” I blurted, squashing that assumption dead. We were mostly careful and I was on birth control. “I think Rudy’s is the culprit. Delicious going down, not so much coming back up.”

He visibly relaxed. “Food poisoning?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said with a sigh, then frowned. “You didn’t talk to Natasha? I told her I thought I had a stomach thing.”

Jacob’s jaw twitched. “She didn’t say anything when I called this morning.”

Of course she didn’t. I pushed away my frustration. I had bigger things to worry about–like my inability to keep fluids or solids down. And the fact that Jacob just had a front row seat to yuck.

I blushed every shade of red, trying to think of something to say. To do. “I’m sorry.”

He gently tilted my chin upward, his face awash with concern. “You’re apologizing for being sick?”

“But you just saw–”

“You don’t feel well. You’re human.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against my forehead. “It doesn’t make you any less attractive or make me love you any less.” He pulled back. “You don’t really think I’m that shallow, do you?”

I nibbled on my lip, shaking my head. “I think you’re amazing.”

The side of his mouth arched upward, creating a gorgeous half smile. “Amazing, huh?”

And just like that, I didn’t feel as sick and wanted to do so many other things. Most of them would require him stripping off those jeans, which really was a shame. But I was pretty sure that Jacob and I would both be scarred for life if we kissed and I…I shuddered at the very thought.