The Billionaire’s Naughty List (Cam Show Crush)

4. Elliot

4

ELLIOT

"I can't do that," I admit, emotion making my mouth feel dry and cottony, which is ironic given the humidity.

"What? Yes, you can. You walked in here. March right back out again."

I shake my head, pressing even closer to her. Lily backs up a step. Then another. Until her shoulder blades are pressed against the tile. I feel a momentary satisfaction when her chin tips up and a little gasp leaves those sexy lips. My inner cave man likes crowding her, which is probably a little messed up, but true nevertheless.

"Later. After we've talked." I reach over and turn the water to a warmer temperature. Then I plant my hands against the wall, next to her shoulders, caging her in.

She gives a soft little huff of indignation, but her hands come up, resting just above my hip bones. Is she holding me at bay or keeping me close? I can't quite tell.

"There's nothing to talk about?—"

"Yes, there is. I didn’t get a card from you this year.”

Her mouth drops open comically. “There’s no way you came out here because I didn’t send you a Christmas card.”

“So you admit you didn’t send one.” Maybe it’s silly of me, but I was looking forward to her card, to that connection with her. Especially since I hadn’t seen her this year. Like clockwork, a cute seasonal card has been in my mailbox on December first every year since she came out to Seattle for college.

The first of the month came and went with no word from her. No card in my mailbox. No heart dotting the I in her name.

She cocks her head to the left, staring at me with open astonishment. “Why on earth would I send you one? You crushed?—”

She bites off the words, but I know what she was going to say and I hate the truth. That I hurt her. I hurt her and then spent the whole year thinking about her. I lost count of how many times I started to text her, only to delete them. All with the misguided belief that I could survive without her.

“I was wrong."

In any other moment, the look on her face would have me doubled over laughing. There's a shocked triple blink, then her eyes widen and her lips part as her jaw drops and her head jerks back.

She snaps her lips closed, but only for a second. "What—what were you wrong about?"

Steam swirls around us, thick and seductive. This is not how I planned for this conversation to go, but I need to be flexible.

"I was wrong when I told you that what you felt was just a crush. I lied when I told you I didn't feel the same way. I lied when I told you I don't think of you, because I do. Lily, I wake up wondering if you've had your first cup of coffee yet. And I go to sleep wondering about your day."

There. I said it. I admitted it. I might burn in hell, but it'll be worth it.

She stares at me for several long seconds. Is time standing still? Why isn't she blinking?

She shakes her head. I can't be sure if it's in disbelief or she's trying to clear brain fog.

"Back up?—"

"What?" I lean away, my brittle heart cracking, but she holds tight to my hips.

"We need—you need to go back to the beginning." She closes her eyes and her nose does that cute scrunchy thing it does when she's upset or sad.

See, I know these things about her. Because I know her. And I'm sick of denying it.

I study the freckles smattered across her skin and ache to press my lips to each and every one. But that will have to wait.

She needs words, and I will find them for her.

"Last year at that party, I shut you down and I'm—" I swallow. "I'm sorry I hurt you that night. I was suffering a dump truck full of guilt for watching you move in that pretty little party dress and feeling all kinds of ways that I definitely shouldn’t have been feeling for a woman half my age. Mentally smacking myself because you’re Colt’s daughter."

Lily remains silent, almost transfixed, with those warm brown eyes watching me. I did that. Broke her trust. Bruised her heart.

Damn, that hurts more than I thought.

Because she's the same woman who trusted me to go with her for her tattoo. She trusted me with her grades and her goals and her plans to start her own business. But this last year she cut me from her life and then held me firmly on the outside. I've missed her inappropriate laughter, near constant smiles, sassy comebacks and quiet confidence more than I can convey.

"Say something—" Why isn't she saying anything? "Yell at me. Anything."

"I just… What made you change your mind?"

I hate— hate —how small and unsure she sounds. It kills me that this confident, incredible woman who is so much to so many could doubt herself.

But I'm really not sure how she's going to take this. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I need answers.

So I step back, pacing away, dodging the hot spray. Who knew all those years ago when Colt and I bought this place that this ridiculously large shower would come in handy?

"I saw your picture. On OnlySantas."

Her inhale is louder, sharper than the water raining down on the tile.

I don't know why it feels so important to me to explain that I wasn't perving on her. Well, it started innocently enough. "One of the programmers downstairs was showing me a feature on the site that he thought we should implement on ours."

"How did you know it was me?"

I turn back to her.

She's not denying her participation on OnlySantas.

I'm not sure if I was holding out hope that another beautiful woman had the same tattoo and a proclivity for playing Miss Claus. Maybe I was, in my heart of hearts. And yet, I knew it was her, didn't I? I was so fucking sure, I upended my schedule and flew out here.

"Your tattoo." I glance down at her stocking-covered foot.

Something makes me cross back to her and drop to my knees. "May I?" My fingers ghost up her calf to the edge of the striped fabric.

She's got one hand pressed to the wall next to her thigh and the other against her heart. Desire and fear swirl in her eyes and there's a cute little furrow between her dark-chocolate brows that I want to kiss away.

But first I need to see that tattoo again. Prove that I'm not crazy.

She nods, a bit shakily, but I'll take it. "Y-yes."

Without missing a beat, I roll down the stocking revealing a cute knee, smooth skin, a sexy calf. She lifts her foot as I reach her ankle and toss the sodden stocking over my shoulder.

Her nails are polished a merry red. But it's the black ink across the top of her foot that holds my attention. Delicate and detailed, the design starts between her toes and then branches out, connecting and bisecting with small swirls and dots before connecting around her ankle.

Lightly, I trace the design before wrapping my hand around her lower leg.

"Now it's your turn. Why are you on a site like OnlySantas?"