Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance 1)

They arrived at the design group building and Shane stepped out of the limo behind her, cuffing his sleeves as a light sheen of sweat glazed his forehead. Even with the sun setting, Tennessee was humid and ten degrees warmer than Ohio. Crickitt patted herself on the back for having the foresight to change into the light dress.

She paused under the sign over the door, a graffiti-style logo that read Gusty’s Design.

“I have been meaning to ask you who came up with this name.”

He paused, holding the door open, a memory flickering across his face. “Nickname when I was a kid,” he answered, then he pressed his hand to her back gently.

Without asking him to clarify, she allowed him to guide her inside.

* * *

The meeting stretched into its third hour and Crickitt stifled another yawn. Richie and Angel hunched in the mod red chairs around the glass conference room table.

Shane was showing an impressive knack for dead-horse beating, having exhausted the topic a good hour and a half ago. Angel and Richie nodded their agreement whenever Shane circled the carcass, but Crickitt couldn’t hold back any longer. “Maybe we could continue this tomorrow,” she interrupted.

Shane tilted his head in her direction, and she suspected an argument. Instead, he said, “Yeah, we’d better get to the cabin.”

Angel’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. Crickitt felt hers do the same. She’d assumed they’d be staying in a hotel. A cabin sounded so…tempting…intimate.

“I have a vacation cabin about half an hour from here,” he told her as they stepped outside. He gazed up at the midnight sky dotted with stars before angling a glance down at her. “It doesn’t get much use, as you’ve probably guessed.”

She rubbed her bare upper arms, gooseflesh popping up on her skin as she pictured sharing a bed with him.

“Sounds nice,” she croaked, leaning her head back and tracing the Big Dipper with her eyes.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I can sleep in the limo.” His tone was hesitant, as if asking for her permission.

“I’m—it’s your house,” she said with a shake of her head.

“The bedrooms are on opposite sides of the living room, each with its own en suite bathroom. You’ll have plenty of space. Privacy,” he added.

So much for sharing a bed.

He reached for her, tipping her chin and piercing her with an intense look. “If you’re not okay staying there for any reason, I need you to tell me.”

She pulled out of his grip and walked toward the limo. “I can handle it,” she said, unable to explain away her disappointment. She should be relieved her boss wasn’t trying to seduce her, that he was being respectful. Professional.

Irritatingly professional.

Thomas dropped them at the main cabin and then proceeded to the guesthouse down the lane. Shane lifted his duffel as well as Crickitt’s small suitcase and followed her into the cabin.

Crickitt swallowed a gasp as the door swung aside. The cabin was the polar opposite of Shane’s expressionless house. Tall, uncovered windows showcased the secluded forest and the mountain view beyond. Rounded logs made up the walls, stained a burning orange the color of the setting sun. A slate fireplace stood in front of a cushy couch, a flat-paneled television hanging over the mantel.

Who decorated this?

“I did,” Shane said, and she realized she’d asked the question aloud. “It’s not as suave as the house, I know. But this is the mountains. Rocks and logs double as décor,” he said, his tone teasing.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, meaning it. Every square inch suited him. The real him. It struck her that she knew him well enough to say that.

Shane tossed his keys onto the table next to a fresh vase of wildflowers. He walked to the bedroom just beyond the kitchen. “Your room,” he said, seeming to debate whether or not to enter. He dropped her suitcase in front of the doorway and tossed his bag onto the couch. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in an adorably nervous gesture.

Here they were. And she’d bet his thoughts were gliding along the same rogue path as hers. She gauged the distance between them, wondering what he’d do if she took the twelve to fifteen steps separating them and covered his lips with hers. Then she regrouped, choking down on her self-respect with both hands.

“I had food delivered,” he said. “The cabinets and fridge are fully stocked.” He pointed at the television. “There’s cable if you want to watch TV. If you want a drink the bar is downstairs.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just go to bed.”