The Jilted Heiress And Her Billionaire Protector

Kaia reached out with a trembling hand and twisted the knob on the stove, killing the flame.

She took a deep, ragged breath, trying to force her heart to stop beating so violently against her ribs. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a white porcelain bowl.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jaxson leaning against the island. He was holding the glass of ice water, but his eyes were fixed entirely on her hands.

Kaia hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the cabinet door. Slowly, she reached back in and pulled out a second matching bowl. She hesitated. It was just a business arrangement. But he hadn't eaten either, and some deeply ingrained sense of courtesy-or perhaps a subconscious desire to neutralize the suffocating tension he brought into the room-compelled her to share.

She divided the steaming tomato pasta evenly between the two bowls. She picked them up and turned around.

She looked at Jaxson. Her eyes darted away nervously. "You only drank tonight, didn't you? Do you want something to absorb the alcohol?"

Jaxson's hand froze halfway to his mouth. The glass of water stopped moving. A flash of pure, unfiltered shock widened his eyes, followed instantly by a dark, intense surge of pleasure.

He slammed the glass down on the counter. He closed the distance between them in two long strides and took both bowls straight out of her hands.

"I'm starving," he said.

Jaxson carried the bowls into the dining room. He set them down on the long oak table, pushing two chairs out right next to each other.

Kaia grabbed two forks from the drawer and walked over. She handed him one and sat down in the chair beside him.

The dining room was mostly dark. Only the dim glow from the kitchen spilled over the table. The silence was thick, but the suffocating tension from earlier had vanished.

Jaxson stabbed his fork into the pasta. He twirled it and took a massive bite. He chewed, his movements as elegant as if he were dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Kaia watched him, her stomach twisting with anxiety. He ate caviar and truffles. This was just cheap pasta and canned tomatoes.

Jaxson swallowed. He turned his head and looked her dead in the eyes.

"This is the best pasta I have ever had," he said. His voice was entirely serious.

Kaia's face erupted in heat. She looked down at her bowl, a tiny, involuntary smile pulling at her lips. "Don't exaggerate," she mumbled.

They ate in silence. The only sound was the clinking of metal forks against porcelain. A strange, quiet warmth settled into Kaia's chest. The bone-deep exhaustion from dealing with her family finally began to melt away.

Jaxson scraped his bowl clean. He didn't leave a single drop of sauce.

Kaia finished her half. She pushed her chair back, reaching for the empty bowls.

Jaxson's hand shot out. He grabbed the rim of her bowl before she could touch it. He stacked it on top of his own.

"You cooked," Jaxson said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I wash. That's a fair trade."

Kaia sat frozen in her chair. She watched the billionaire CEO of the Wilson Group roll up the sleeves of his two-thousand-dollar shirt. He turned on the faucet and began scrubbing the bowls with a sponge. Kaia stared, her mind reeling. In her world, men like her grandfather or Jaxson Wilson didn't do things like this. They gave orders. They didn't serve. The sight of his powerful hands, the same hands that signed billion-dollar deals, methodically washing a cheap pasta bowl was so incongruous it made her feel completely dizzy.

Jaxson dried his hands on a towel. He turned around and saw her staring at him.

"Let's go," he said softly. "It's late."

Kaia nodded. She stood up and followed him out of the kitchen, heading toward the grand spiral staircase.

The stairs were covered in thick carpeting. Kaia was wearing soft-soled slippers. As she stepped up onto the third-to-last step, the toe of her slipper caught on the thick pile of the rug.

She gasped. Her center of gravity pitched forward. She threw her hands out, bracing to smash her face into the wooden railing.

Jaxson spun around with terrifying speed.

His hand shot out like a whip. His fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel vice. He yanked her forward, hard.

Kaia crashed chest-first into his solid torso. The scent of cedar flooded her nose. Her brain short-circuited.

Jaxson held her there for a second, making sure she had her balance. But when she steadied herself, he didn't let go.

Instead, he slid his hand down from her wrist. His large, warm palm swallowed her hand. He laced his fingers tightly through hers.

Kaia's breath stopped. She stared at their joined hands.

Jaxson didn't look back at her. He pulled her gently up the remaining stairs, his grip firm and possessive.

"Careful," his deep voice echoed in the empty hallway.

He led her all the way to the door of the guest bedroom. Only then did he slowly untangle his fingers from hers.

"Goodnight, Kaia," he murmured.

Kaia couldn't speak. She nodded frantically, practically diving into her room and shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the wood, pressing her hand over her violently racing heart.