Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(64)

Like a deer in the headlights, I froze. I blurted, “Slap, slap, kiss.”

She looked confused for a moment, then her face cleared. “You mean the old romance trope where two total opposites fight like cats and dogs until they suddenly realize they’re crazy about each other?”

After a second of shock so profound it felt like a cannonball had blown through me, I started to laugh. I laughed so hard I started crying. “Exactly!” I howled.

She shrugged. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

And just like that, it was done.





TWENTY-THREE

JACKSON

Though she only lived a few blocks away from her mother, Bianca was in no shape to walk home. I wouldn’t have let her walk anyway, not when I had a car, but she had a blank, stunned look when she came out of the house that made me think she’d stumble aimlessly around the neighborhood for hours before finally realizing she was lost and lying down in the gutter for a nap.

I’ve seen someone hit in the head with a shovel who had more presence of mind than she was displaying.

I held the car door open for her. She inserted herself into the seat with the grace of a zombie, all jerking legs and stiff arms, the opposite of the way she normally moved.

“I didn’t think having me meet your mother would be so traumatizing for you,” I said once I was seated behind the wheel.

Bianca laughed. It was the noise a dog made when you stepped on its tail. “You asked my mother for permission to marry me,” she said.

“I did.”

She looked at me with eyes so wide the whites showed all around her irises. “What would you have done if she’d said no?”

I answered truthfully. “Become one of those panhandlers on the boulevard you said I reminded you of.”

“We wouldn’t get married?”

I wanted to attribute her horrified tone to desperate disappointment that I wouldn’t be her husband, but I knew what she was thinking. And it wasn’t about me.

“I would’ve paid for your mother’s surgery, and then I would’ve found a nice, comfortable bridge to live under.” I started the car and drove off, feeling her eyes on me like laser beams.

After a long time, she asked, “Why?”

Because I’d do anything to have you look at me the way you looked at me when I kissed you, even if it was only for one more time.

Aloud I said, “No one should have to die because they’re broke.”

She studied me in silence as we drove. I liked it, having her attention focused on me like that. It felt natural to have her riding beside me, sharing the same air. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but didn’t want to push my luck. Instead I turned on the radio.

A song came on. “Like A Virgin.” Madonna crooned, “Feels so good inside.”

I turned the radio off.

“Wait.” Bianca looked out the window in confusion. “We’re going the wrong way.”

“No. We’re going home.”

“But my home is—”

“We’re going to our home,” I said. “I want you to pick out your room before we leave this weekend. We need to get you settled. And I don’t want to have to lie to my parents when they ask if we’re living together.”

She made a small, strangled noise in her throat, then rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

“You’re terrible for my ego,” I said drily.

“I’m sorry. This is all just so . . . surreal.”

Her voice was muted. When I sent her a surreptitious glance, I saw that her face was pale and her knee was bouncing up and down. She really was traumatized.

Had I been a less selfish man, I would’ve turned around, driven her home, paid for her mother’s surgery, and ripped up our contract. But now—aside from the fact that I dearly loved my house and my car collection and all the things my father’s money bought me—I had to admit that the thought of us living under the same roof had me as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

I’d get to see those long-lashed doe eyes every day. I’d get to hear that voice, a jazz singer’s honeyed, husky timbre. I’d get the indescribable pleasure of watching her move among my things, warming all the cold marble surfaces with her fire and her laugh and her vibrancy.

In short, I’d be the luckiest fucking man on earth. I wasn’t giving that up over a simple thing like decency.

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

After a moment, she sat up straighter and blew out a breath. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s me who’s acting silly. You were right, this is a business deal that we’re both benefiting from.” She sent me a weak smile. “I’m grateful to you.”