A Billionaire for Christmas

He “got a nap.” I chuckled out loud. Either he was taking this project ultra seriously, or he was winding me up for a change. I had a feeling both were likely.

And he was sending me his car—that was...nice. Really nice. Make-my-heart-flip-in-my-chest kind of nice. He was essentially a stranger and still he cared about my safety. I’d practically been engaged to my last boyfriend, Mateo, and he’d never been the slightest bit concerned about me walking around late at night after study sessions. Certainly a university campus was at least as dangerous as a sidewalk in Midtown for a girl like me.

Grateful and glad that our plans were still on, I threw Dylan a quick text back before slipping out of Sabrina’s apartment.

Audrey: Thanks for looking out for me, Daddy. ;)His reply came when I was in the elevator.

Dylan: I sense teasing in your last message.And another followed right after, one that instantly made me feel the most taboo kind of sexy.

Dylan: Be careful. Daddy only rewards girls who show him respect.Oh, boy. Dylan was good.

When I got to the lobby of Sabrina’s building, I realized exactly how good he was—the car was already waiting for me. He must have had it on standby, ready for whenever I finally got back to him.

The ride to Dylan’s apartment was quick with the late-night quiet—eh, quieter—streets. I hummed Christmas songs from the show as we drove, and even though I still had the key Jeff Jones had given me, I texted Dylan as soon as I got there to let him know I’d arrived like he’d asked. The key got me in the front door without trouble and into the elevator, so I was bouncing down the hallway toward his unit in a matter of minutes.

All of it had happened so fast, in fact, that it wasn’t until I was outside his door with the key in my hand, lifted toward the lock, that I thought to step back and take a moment. It wasn’t that I had doubts about my plan—I didn’t. Not a one. And I didn’t have doubts about Dylan either. He was everything I wanted in a teacher. He was kind and protective and level-headed. Most importantly, he was out-of-this-world attractive. The apex of my thighs felt slippery just from the thought of being with him.

But there was me to think about. Who I was and what kind of reactions I usually had to men I was into. I fell for them, was what I did. Over and over. I’d only had two serious boyfriends in my life, but the number of guys I’d been smitten with was countless. I easily swooned over kind gestures. Butterflies resided in my stomach at all times. If a man looked too long in my eyes, laughed at my stupid jokes, or listened attentively to my rants about art, he was sure to win my heart.

The only reason I’d survived as long as I had in the world—if twenty-three was considered having survived long at all—was because I also had a level head. Because I knew not to run blindly into the arms of every guy who gave me goosebumps. Because I’d learned to tuck my feelings deep inside. I’d perfected the art of not being vulnerable, partly by making sure I didn’t jump into bed with anyone until I was sure he loved me too.

Everything about this situation with Dylan was against the Audrey Lind Code of Conduct.

So how on earth did I expect to get through this without getting burned?

The same way you always do. That was how.

I’d remind myself of the facts—that Dylan wasn’t emotionally available. That he lived across an ocean. That he wasn’t interested in any relationship with me or anyone, for that matter. I’d repeat those facts over and over until they were seared into my brain, and when I started to feel—which was highly likely considering my past—I’d bury those feelings and never mention them out loud. Then, after a while, a new guy would cross my path, and I’d get all twitterpated again and the cycle would continue until eventually I found the right guy. And finally I wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

It would happen. I believed it with all of me. And this thing with Dylan was preparing me for being ready for that guy, and it was important. And logical. And I would survive this way until that future arrived.

With my pep talk completed, I threw my shoulders back, inserted the key in the lock, and swung open the door.

Before I even had time to cross the threshold, I was grabbed by the wrist, pulled into the foyer, and pushed against the wall.

“You hesitated in the hall,” Dylan said, his mouth at my ear, his voice husky. He’d shut the door with his foot, and now the length of his body was crushed against mine. “Are you having second thoughts?”