The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 2 (The Billionaire Saga 2)

The lights automatically dimmed as the first episode started, but our games continued. A little shift here, a little squeeze there. It was incredible how nonchalant he could keep his face while absentmindedly running his fingers back and forth across my legs. It was hard to concentrate on the program when my entire body was on fire from his touch.

But all those games were seriously challenged about half an hour in.

“I don’t get it—his brother doesn’t even know he’s incarcerated?”

We were both sitting straight up now, leaning toward the screen in anticipation. I’d forgotten how addictive this show was. Amanda and I had watched it a year or so previously, so I still remembered most of the plot, but Marcus had never even heard of it. He was devouring it now with a dilated-eyes intensity.

“Rebecca.” He tapped my knee impatiently, reclaiming my attention. “Lincoln doesn’t even know? How’s Michael going to get to him if he’s in solitary?”

I fought to keep a straight face. “You’re going to have to watch and see what happens.”

“Tell me!” he demanded.

“Aww…” I teased. “Someone’s used to getting his way. Well not this time, Taylor. This time, you’re just going to have to wait and find out like everyone else did.”

“I’ll give you five thousand dollars to tell me.”

I shook my head self-righteously. “I can’t be bribed.” He shot me a skeptical look and I conceded. “Past actions notwithstanding.”

“Come on, just tell me this one—”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to talk while a television’s playing?”

“I could have my security come down and make you tell me.”

“Shh…” I cut him off, patting his head condescendingly. “Enjoy the suspense.”

He leaned back with a sullen pout, but was on the edge of the couch just a second later, tapping my arm anxiously. “What’s that guy coming through processing going to do?”

And so it was. We watched for seven hours.

Marcus—with mounting excitement. Me—with mounting exhaustion.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I opened my sleepy eyes and looked up to see him hovering over me. He didn’t see me watching. He was busy sliding a pillow behind my head and pulling up the comforter. Only when he reached up to brush back my hair did he see my eyes were open.

He pulled back his hand guiltily, and I could see his blush even in the darkness.

I don’t know what made me say it. Now, of all times. It just sort of came out. A soft whisper that held two people at complete attention.

“Why did you pay for Mrs. Diaz’s funeral?”

He froze in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

“Why did you do it?”

His face tightened for a moment before he dropped his eyes. “It was hurting you. I wanted to…fix it.”

I considered this for a second.

“And your mother? Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

There was a subtle shift as his whole body locked down. “Rebecca.”

He made to stand, but I reached up and caught his face in my hand. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I said simply, saving him a response. He gazed at me cautiously but stayed where he was, leaning subconsciously into my hand.

“I want to be a better man. It’s what my parents would’ve wanted.”

“You are a good man.”