Page 109 of How to Train Your Billionaire

Frankie

His penthouse is exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined.

Yes, there’s the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Yes, there’s art on the walls that probably cost more than most people’s houses. But there are also throw pillows that don’t match, a stack of books on the coffee table, and—is that a friendship bracelet on his kitchen counter?

“Maddie made that,” Hayes says, following my gaze. “She insists I display it prominently.”

“It’s very . . . colorful.”

“That’s one word for it.”

We’re standing in his living room like two teenagers whose parents just left for the weekend. The energy between us is so charged I’m surprised we haven’t started a fire.

“Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Water? I think I have—”

“Hayes.”

He stops mid-sentence.

“Come here.”

He moves toward me slowly, like he’s afraid I might bolt. Smart man.

When he’s close enough that I can smell his cologne, I reach up and fix his crooked collar.

“This has been driving me crazy all night.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I smooth the silk against his chest. “I like that you’re not perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Good. Perfect is boring.”

Our eyes meet. The air between us thickens.

“You do something to me that I can’t explain,” he says quietly.

Before I can respond, his hands are in my hair and his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is soft at first. Tentative. Like he’s asking permission.

I give it to him by pressing closer, fisting my hands in his shirt.

That’s when he really kisses me. Deep and desperate, like he’s been drowning and I’m oxygen.

My back hits the wall. When did we move? His body cages me in, solid and warm and perfect.

Then my brain kicks in.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I break the kiss, pressing my palms against his chest.

“Wait.”

Hayes steps back immediately, his breathing ragged. “What’s wrong?”