Under His Billionaire Roof novel Chapter 6

Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe.

*Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!*

Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely.

*No worries. We'll do it another time.*

She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him.

This was getting ridiculous.

She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions.

The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid.

She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in.

An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer.

The machine was still running.

She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total.

Perfect. Just perfect.

She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top.

She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything.

Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room.

Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom.

But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know.

Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home.

She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off.

The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy.

His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn.

Perfect.

She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room.

Except her room was still freezing.

The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done.

She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here.

She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget.

The front door opened.

Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet.

Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer.

Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead.

His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button.

"Hi," she said weakly.

He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight.

"I can explain."

"You're wearing my shirt."

"My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now."

"Don't."

The word came out rough. Almost harsh.

She froze. "What?"

"Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here."

"Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..."

"How long until your clothes are done?"

"An hour, maybe?"

He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close.

He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white.

The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it.

"Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence.

"Meeting got canceled."

"Oh."

More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze.

She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking."

"I could say the same to you."

"I'm not..."

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