The Billionaire's Touch (The Sinclairs #3)(33)

What if she panicked? What if she thought he was a jerk for not telling her that he, S., was actually Evan Sinclair long ago? Maybe she’d feel betrayed that he hadn’t corrected her assumption that S. was just some person who worked for the Sinclair Fund. Okay . . . maybe he’d even lied to let her keep thinking he was a normal guy. He’d lose both of them, his best friend and the woman he wanted more than he’d ever wanted another female in his life. Okay, yes, they were the same person, but that made it all the more difficult for Evan to tell the truth. There was twice as much at stake.

Evan had already blended the two women together, seeing so much of the Randi he was getting to know in person in her mysterious emails.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he leaned back in his comfortable office chair and put his hand on Lily’s head, stroking her silky fur without even thinking about it. Randi had fallen asleep on the couch after working on some things for her teaching job, and Lily had followed him down to his office. He was beginning to become accustomed to having a dog in the house, and, to his surprise, he was starting to like Lily’s company. It was funny how the animal seemed ecstatically happy just because she got affection and food. Really, dogs were fairly easy to please.

Evan didn’t want to admit he’d spent far too long just watching Randi sleep, fighting the temptation to touch her, move to the couch and strip off her clothing so that he could slake the frustrated, animalistic urges he kept experiencing to claim her—hard and completely.

“I’ll tell her pretty soon,” he whispered huskily to Lily. The dog looked up at him, her eyes dark and serious as she cocked her head sideways as though she understood. “Is she going to be pissed?” he questioned the canine as Lily looked at him with an empathic gaze.

Fuck! I can’t believe I’m talking to a dog.

Evan knew he had it pretty bad if he was using a golden retriever as his advice counselor. But he was way out of his comfort zone right now, and he was uncertain as to what the hell to do.

He could talk to his brothers, but they’d probably give him hell, and rightfully so. When they were wooing their women, he hadn’t exactly been there for them and sympathetic. He’d been the one to try to discourage both Dante and Grady from marrying so quickly, and he’d been a real bastard to Jared when Evan had actually wanted him to get together with Mara.

Hope had told him to fess up to Randi immediately and see where things went from there. She said if they already had good communication, things would evolve.

He hadn’t taken his sister’s advice, holding off on telling Randi the truth. The longer he procrastinated, the harder it was going to be to blurt out the secret. He knew it, but his concern about her reaction held him back.

Maybe the sexual part of their relationship had developed too quickly, but Evan couldn’t regret the most earth-shattering night of his life even if he tried—and he didn’t want to. He and Randi had been circling around each other with sparks flying since the first time they’d met. Honestly, he’d thought that maybe once they’d fucked each other senseless, the gut ache he had every time he saw her would go away.

It hadn’t.

Now he was pretty sure he had a full-blown ulcer eating away at his stomach every time he looked at her.

Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a roll of antacids and popped several of them into his mouth. The way he’d been popping the chewable pills since he’d found out he was going to have to see Randi again, he really needed to think about buying stock in the company.

“She’s so damn beautiful,” he shared with Lily quietly as he swallowed the chalky substance that he hoped would take away the burning ache in his chest and his gut.

Snapping out of his fixation with Randi long enough to shut down his computer, Evan decided he wasn’t going to be able to work. He was too damn distracted. He’d go check out the weather and see if Randi was awake. It was getting to be late afternoon and she still hadn’t eaten anything.

He stood and brushed down the soft denim of the jeans he was wearing. Really, the casual clothes that Hope had bought for him after they’d visited the supermarket weren’t all that bad. In fact, he was pretty comfortable. The sweater was warm, and it was nice not to have a shirt and tie around his neck. Granted, it felt strange, but not altogether unwelcome. The only time he hated the jeans was when his dick got hard, which was almost every time he saw or thought about Randi. The material had very little give, and for a man his size, an erection was highly uncomfortable pressing against the unforgiving fabric.

Hope had taken him shopping after they’d bought groceries, telling him he needed to loosen up and try to make himself more approachable with some casual clothing. He was willing to do just about anything to get Randi to communicate better with him, even if it meant giving up his usual attire. The items weren’t as well made as his usual clothing, but if it meant getting Randi to notice him as something other than an asshole, he’d wear them.

He was just opening the office door when he heard an audible scream from upstairs.

Miranda!

A cold chill raced down his spine, and he sprinted up the steps like an Olympic champion, his heart racing as he imagined someone hurting her . . . or worse.

He came to an awkward, abrupt stop as he saw that she was still sleeping on the couch, but her body was flailing restlessly on the leather.

“I’m not a whore. I’m not a whore,” she kept repeating in a muffled voice. “No. Please. I can’t.”