Shopping for a Billionaire 4 by Julia Kent Read Free Book Online

mother,” Steve hisses, bending down to whisper in my ear, “that I was not…that I…that she’s…”
    This is the part where, for two long years, I anticipated what he wanted me to say and played puppy dog to whatever he wanted. I used to wag my tail and eagerly jump up and do what he wanted, including fetching the same stick 127 times in a row.
    I got accustomed to being in a state of panic when my man was being challenged by someone else, especially when he was a douchebag who would take it out on me emotionally, later, when all the people who had a deep core that was strong enough to call him on his bull were gone. Conditioned to becoming the peacemaker, the neutralizer, she-who-must-appease-the-overinflated-ego-in-a-skinbag, I felt the cold flush of fear that he was going to overreact. 
    But that was then. And then is long gone.
    I let my heart beat once. Twice, Three times. Ten. The silence between beats is excruciating. It feels like an eternity, with Mom watching Steve with shrewd eyes that are zeroed in on him now that he’s maimed, and she’s waiting for him to bleed out enough to go in for the kill.
    And then another space between beats. Another. One more, all with Steve giving me that look . The one that holds expectations—thousands of them, carefully cultivated over years together, his well-worn reflex of knowing I’ll jump right in and—what?
    Save him?
    Silence. Heartbeats. Spaces between.
    I need to save me .
    I look him in the eye and say the exact same words he used on me, more than a year ago, when he broke up with me.
    “I’m sorry, Steve. It’s just that you were never really up to par for what I need.”
    One corner of Mom’s mouth tips up and her fingers twitch. She wants to high-five me, and the muscles in her neck tighten. She wants to say something but breathes through her nose instead, captivated but uncharacteristically quiet.
    Steve has this expression of patience that melts into disbelief, as if his brain is on a three-second delay. He’s finally realizing that I’m not going to rescue him. Coddle him. Prop up the mythology that says he’s the center of the universe, that his emotional core is radioactive and therefore must be protected from exposure at all costs. He’s trained me to believe that it’s my responsibility to buy into his idea that he’s above criticism, and anyone who dares to confront him is ignorant and worthy only of derision.
    Silence and non-movement are my weapons now. And while I’m clumsy and unskilled, I’m using them to protect my core.
    Finally.
    This is what Declan meant about Steve. Not letting him make me feel inferior. Except Declan was wrong. 
    Dead wrong.
    It wasn’t that I let Steve make me feel lesser.
    It was that I let him convince me that the order of the world demanded that I am lesser.
    And I’m seeing now that the way the world works isn’t some pre-defined set of rules that other people get to make and impose on me.
    Steve finds his voice. “I’m done.” And he just walks away with fisted hands and a tight jaw.
    “So am I,” I say in a clear, but calm voice, pushing the ice cream away.
    Mom’s speechless.
    Which means I won in so many more ways.

Chapter Seven
    The slide of his hands, soft palms with squared fingernails moving out of my vision as he cradles my face, makes me inhale slowly, devouring the taste of his breath. We’re in bed, nude, skin against skin and heat against heat, the combination turning us into a fireball of sensual desire. 
    Desire that will soon convert and combust into a licking flame.
    I’ve waited so long for this, the press of his fingertips into my belly, the slow crawl of his mouth over my breast, the warm wetness of his mouth, his tongue tracing circles that make me taut with a craving for his taste. My body is a landscape for him to explore and I sink my hands into Declan’s hair, the long strands a surprise. He’s growing it out, a stark contrast to his short, clipped look, and when he