Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(62)

Reality started to set in. We were headed back to the city, and I knew I’d miss being wrapped up in my perfect Kline bubble. No responsibilities, no plans, just us, lazily enjoying the entire weekend together.

“Down, please.” I wanted to smell the ocean one last time. The day was beautiful, sun shining brightly and only filtered by the occasional fluffy white cloud strolling past its glow.

He rolled down the windows then leaned over the console, grabbing two pairs of aviators from his glove box and handing one to me.

“Such a gentleman.” I smiled, slipping them on and tossing my hair into a messy bun.

“For you—” he rested his hand on my thigh, squeezing gently “—always, baby.”

As we drove onto the main road, the Hamptons house slowly diminished in the passenger mirror and an unexpected surge of melancholy consumed me. I was going to miss that beautiful, rustic house. If I could’ve made a Pinterest board of my perfect home, that place would be pretty damn close. Once finished, I bet it would exceed my wildest dreams.

I was still in awe that Kline had bought a home for his mom and dad. And it wasn’t a brand new house, which he could obviously afford. It was a home he was filling with love and care and thoughtfulness by fixing it up himself.

Everything I had assumed about him had been dead wrong.

He’d rented a Ford Edge, for goodness’ sake. Nothing against that vehicle—I’d have been more than happy to drive one around—but it wasn’t the type of car you’d see a man with his kind of money drive.

A Range Rover? Definitely.

But an economy, mid-size SUV that he’d rented? Hell no.

He was so damn humble and endearing and practical. Every new facet of his personality I discovered, I adored. Kline was one of the most intriguing people I’d ever met.

“I’ll drive. You handle the music. Sound good?” He handed me his phone, iTunes already pulled up.

I nodded, scrolling through his playlists and choosing Young the Giant’s “12 Fingers.” It was the perfect song for this kind of day. I hung my hand out the window and savored the unseasonably warm wind that caressed my skin. After slipping off my flats, I moved my feet up to the seat, knees finding their way under my chin. Catching sight of each mile marker we passed, I felt a twinge of sadness as the distance grew between us and that gorgeous beach view.

I glanced at Kline out of the corner of my eye. He was softly singing the words, tapping out a beat on the steering wheel. He looked delicious—aviators, two days’ worth of scruff, handsome mouth set in a soft grin. I wanted to eat him with a spoon.

A swell of emotions tightened my chest as our weekend replayed in my mind.

It had been perfect. He had been perfect. Kline hadn’t rushed. He’d been attentive and careful and made sure my first time was good for me. And it had been. That night had been more than good. It had been amazing.

He made me feel crazy, in the greatest, most overwhelming way. It was hard to describe. Hell, it was hard to even put it into words without saying things I wasn’t quite ready to say.

Just… God, this man… He was everything.

I felt like I was on the best roller coaster ride of my life. In the beginning, when everything started with us, I had hesitantly hopped in, mind racing: What the hell am I thinking? Is this a good idea?

The guy I’d known at work was a fair, honest, friendly guy but not one I’d ever considered. But then, it had been too late to back out because I’d been moving—we’d been moving.

We’d been climbing and whirling and twisting all crazy, and my thoughts had immediately shifted. I’m pretty sure I’ll survive, because how many people fall out of roller coasters, right?

But I didn’t really know because I’d never really paid attention to theme park statistics.

Shit, I had never really been into riding roller coasters.

Until Kline.

Every corkscrew and curve was exciting. I was enjoying every nerve-wracking minute, and I started to just let go and trust. I started to truly believe that as scary as it was, I was right where I needed to be.

Then, there was that “holy shit” turn when the bottom would drop out and my stomach would fall to my feet, but I was soaring again and screaming and laughing because I had made it. I was alive, and this—Kline and me together—was the most real, amazing thing in my life. And the ride slowed just a little bit, and the turns and twists were more like reverberations of the really crazy ones from before, but I was fine with that.

I was happy with everything.

And when I pulled into the place where I had started, I felt changed—overjoyed, enlightened, and knowing, without a doubt, I was right where I’d always wanted and needed to be.

In the craziest explanation, that was what he made me feel.

Complete. Alive. Amazing. The same but somehow very, very different.

The song switched to The Used’s “Smother Me.” The lyrics and the slow, silky beat had me looking at Kline again, drinking him in.

He sensed my eyes, glancing in my direction and smiling. One hand left the wheel, reaching for mine and entwining our fingers.

I laid my head back on the seat and just enjoyed, savored, greedily soaked up this little moment. I memorized every second, locking it up tight with the rest of my Kline memories.

We’d made a lot in a short time, but they were good ones. Every single one.