Taming the Carefree Billionaire - Marie Higgins Page 0,39
told her that he was telling the truth, mainly because he looked so proud to be able to say that. “Thank you. I feel honored. And, let me tell you that although the hallway was billionaire-plain, I think your study is magnificent. I’ve not seen anything like this on the internet.”
He stroked her cheek. “I’m glad you like it, because this is my favorite room – besides my bedroom, of course.”
“I’m sure you look great sitting at your desk.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment, Miss Foster?”
“Yes, I believe it is, Mr. Powers.”
“Good. I’m happy to know I’m wearing you down.”
“Just a little.” She didn’t want him to know just how much he was wearing her down. She didn’t want to risk his ego swelling again.
Thomas led her into each room on the main floor and let her look at everything. Each room amazed her more, and she was actually rethinking her statement about this being a normal billionaire’s house. She knew she’d never see anything like this ever again.
When they walked into the kitchen, she gasped. This room alone was the same size as her whole apartment.
“Do you cook?” Thomas asked.
“I can cook.” She nodded. “I’ve been on my own for a while now. Living on a meager salary, I had to learn to cook.”
“My mom taught me, but the kitchen rarely gets used since I’m usually elsewhere for dinners. I suppose I should start eating at home more often.”
“Why have such a big home if you don’t use it all?” she wondered.
“Because it’s nice,” Thomas replied. “And speaking of nice, I have something to show you.”
When he took her hand in his and started heading toward the back of the house, her heart started hammering quickly. He hadn’t showed her his bedroom yet, and now she worried that was where he was leading her.
Her mouth suddenly turned dry. She prayed he wasn’t the type of guy who moved that fast. She didn’t want to start hating him, yet.
FOURTEEN
Thomas couldn’t wait to show her. In fact, the excitement building inside his chest had him walking faster. Thankfully, she still kept up to him as he led her outside. The backyard lights lit up the yard, and especially the rocked pathway toward one of his garages. This one was smaller than the other three. He used his phone again and typed in a code and then he opened the garage door.
He looked down at her puzzled expression. “Are you ready, Morgan?”
“Your surprise is in the garage?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged. “Then I guess I’m ready.”
He flipped on the lights and the whole garage brightened. He watched her face closely. As she realized what was in the garage, her face lit up. So far, her excited expression was exactly what he’d hoped to see. Filling his garage were several motorcycles: three different models of Harleys, a Yamaha Roadstar, BMW S1000RR, Kawasaki Ninja, and a Honda CRF450 Dirt bike.
Morgan took slow steps toward the bikes as if she were a magnet being drawn to the metal. “These look... brand new.”
“They are. I don’t have time to ride them.” He moved beside her. He didn’t want to tell her that he wasn’t comfortable driving a motorcycle, only because he didn’t want her to think any less of him.
She gingerly ran her fingers over his favorite, the BMW S1000RR. His heart flipped, loving that she focused on this bike first.
“Is this equipped with the Screaming Eagle?” she asked.
His mind drew a blank. He wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. “Um-I’m not quite sure.”
“You have six awesome motorcycles and you have no clue if it has a Screaming Eagle engine?” She laughed.
“How do you know so much about motorcycles?” He straddled one, resting his hands on the handlebars.
“I have two older brothers. They both race motorcycles – dirt and street racing. They taught me how to ride when I was old enough to learn. I’ve found that working in a busy city, having a motorcycle is more gas efficient and easier to find parking than a car.” She moved her hand over the seat. “Wind therapy is the best.”
“Wind therapy?” he questioned. “What’s that?”
“Driving fast with the wind blowing against your face. Sometimes when I’m not going very far, I’ll not wear my helmet, and I love the wind in my hair. I’m sure it would be somewhat comparable to driving a convertible.”
“Do you want to go for a ride?” After he’d asked the question, he hitched a breath. Strange that he was comfortable with