His eyes crinkle with mirth. “Okay.”
Okay?
That’s all he has to say for himself? Inwardly, I groan. But it’s not as quiet and in my head as I thought.
Jace raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“Yes. No.” I can’t tell him the problem is that I’ve had sex dreams practically every night. I was tossing and turning, waking up, aching for the touch of a man.
And not just any man.
It’s always Jace.
“Just haven’t been sleeping very good,” I say. He’s waiting for an answer.
And I hate myself for it. As much as I don’t want him to know, a small part of me, in secret, wants him to find out. Then, maybe he’ll indulge my fantasies.
But I know that’s all they are and can’t ever be anything more.
He’s a billionaire. I’m just a girl having his kid. It’s a business transaction. That’s it. Plain and simple.
Except it doesn’t feel that way, living under his roof. It feels like more, and I know it’s all in my head, but I can’t help the way he makes me feel.
Undeniably, I’m crazy in love with my boss.
Okay, it’s probably the hormones talking. Still, it doesn’t negate the fact I dream of Jace naked daily, his body teasing mine, always hovering, never satisfying me completely.
It’s torture.
And maybe that’s why I’m frustrated with him. It’s the dream version of Jace who has worked me up and hasn’t gotten me off. It’s not the real Jace’s fault. I know, I’m crazy. Insane.
Again, blame the hormones.
We walk to the parking garage in silence. His hand rests on my lower back as he escorts me to his vehicle and opens the door for me.
Always a gentleman.
I grumble under my breath.
“Is the bed not comfortable?” Jace asks. “I can have a new mattress ordered and brought into your room.”
He slams the door shut and comes around to the driver’s side, and starts the engine. Jace glances at me, waiting for an answer.
He really is clueless. It’s sweet. Rather endearing.
My bottom lip curls between my teeth. I’m trying everything I can to refrain from speaking the truth, from telling him something that can’t be unheard. Because once it’s out in the open, that’s it. It can’t be undone. And my humiliation will be everlasting and long.
“The mattress is plenty comfortable. I promise it’s not anything with your home.”
“Then it’s me?” he asks.
He doesn’t avoid the hard questions, does he?
I exhale a heavy sigh. “Can we just not talk about it?” I glance out the window—anything to capture my attention and focus the conversation on anything else. And I mean anything. Zombies. Childbirth. Maybe not the two of those things together.
Right now, I’d settle for a zombie apocalypse to save myself from discussing my desires with Jace Barone.
But I’m not so lucky.