A Billionaire's Holiday Love - Posey Parks Page 0,14
life.
Like you know, he hated my favorite holiday. We weren’t a match. I didn’t give a shit that he had a big cock or how I’d love to stare into his seductive green eyes for a lifetime. I had standards. Dating the Grinch wasn’t of interest.
Keep telling yourself that lie, Hope.
After unloading the trucks, we got down on our hands and knees and begin laying the floor boards.
His bulging muscles flexed each time he pounded the edge of each floor board into place with the mallet.
Thirty minutes passed, then I sat back on my calves, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Noah, I’m ready to talk now.”
Resting on his knees, he peeked at me.
“Hope, I never hid who I was. My company doesn’t define who I am. Women are attracted to my money, not me.”
Hard to believe that’s true.
“Eight years ago, I pumped every dime I had into my business. I’m a self-made billionaire and I’m not forthcoming with that information.”
I scooted further away, pressing my back against the wall. “Noah, I love that you worked hard to get where you are. Funny thing.” I pointed my finger at him.
“I’m a journalist and for the first time I didn’t Google a man I met.” A smile took my lips.
“Maybe because we’ve been together since yesterday evening and I hadn’t had a chance. My sister and brother know I’m here with you. They needed to know in case you murdered me,” I sneered.
“I’m happy they know were together.” He flashed a cocky grin.
My brows rustled together. “Noah, nothing would ever become of us. We’re neighbors, nothing more and nothing less.”
A scowl took his face.
Did he really want more than sex between us? The man wouldn’t even open up to me. Not to mention he hated Christmas. How could we ever work?
“I know why I didn’t know who you were. You aren’t the face of your company. No one is.”
“It’s better that way.” He ran a tanned gloved hand over his brown hair.
“Noah, you don’t have to repair my home. I’ll pay someone to finish.”
“Nope, we’ve got this. Take a look at the job we’ve done so far.” He scanned the space.
I smiled, taking in the room. The rich wood floors gave my home life. “We still have the other half of the room to go, but you’re right, the floor looks beautiful. It’s feeling like a home.”
“Hope, I rarely let people into my world. But your stuck with me for a month. I’ll open up.”
“Thank you, it means a lot. Let’s finish up. I have to cook dinner soon. Then I’ll enjoy a long hot shower.”
“While you’re taking a shower, I’ll run next door and do the same. No cooking tonight. I’ll order carryout. How does pizza sound?”
My eyes lit up. “Sounds perfect.”
An hour later, dressed in my flannel PJ’s and my elf slippers, I stuffed my face with pizza. The warmth from the fire heated my skin.
Sitting on the floor across from me, Noah shoved half a slice of pizza into his mouth.
“They make the best pizza. My parents always ordered from Nelly’s Pizzeria when we were kids. Mom said it was a little slice of Italian heaven. Their spaghetti is outstanding.” He pressed his fingers against his lips. “Perfetto.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“Yeah.” He bit into the crust.
“What does happy home mean in Italian?”
“Casa felice.”
I smiled. “It’s important I make this a casa felice.”
“Good, I’ll teach you more.”
My eyes roamed his rock-hard frame. The black thermals clung to his muscles. I wish I could’ve been one with his body.
“Hope?”
Bringing the cup of soda to my lips, I met his gaze. “Yes.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you. Even in my Christmas gear?”
His jaw tightened as he peeked at the Santa hat on my head.
What did he have against Christmas?
“If you insist on staying, the guest room is ready for you.”
He nodded. “After breakfast tomorrow we’ll cut pieces of trim for my kitchen.”
“Ok. Hey, have you checked on your company since Sunday?”
His eyes widened. “No.” Noah sipped his coke.
My cheeks heated. There was hope for him yet.
“Tomorrow afternoon I have that interview with Delila.”
“Oh, yeah, for your Christmas story.”
“I’d like to interview you too. You spent several Christmases here.”
“No.”
He snatched up our empty plates and discarded them.
I followed him into the kitchen, carrying our empty cups. “You said you’d try.” I tossed the plastic cups into the trash can.
Noah palmed the edge of the sink. “I know what I said, Hope. Ask me something else. Talking about Christmas is off the table.”
My fingers twitched at