Shit.How had he come to know her so easily even while he remained such an enigma to her?
After taking a silent deep breath, she managed to ask evenly, “Why did you call?”
“I’ll need to leave Amsterdam late tonight.”
Oh.
He was leaving.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, and she supposed it didn’t. She had started researching about him, and one of the things she had found out was how his work took him everywhere in the world.
So no, that he would have to fly out of Amsterdam from time to time wasn’t a surprise. What did shock and disturb her was that him leaving actuallymattered...when it shouldn’t have.
“Ilse?” When she didn’t speak, the billionaire asked tautly, “Can you cancel your tours or get someone to sub for you?” Knowing how much her work meant to Ilse, it was the first time for him to ask such a thing, and the billionaire couldn’t help tensing as he waited for Ilse to answer.
Four weeks.The billionaire’s mind once again dwelled on that fact. It was the longest he had been with any woman, and yet even now he still didn’t know where he fucking stood with Ilse.
The knowledge was as maddening as it was exhilarating, but right now, he would probably prefer that she at least gave him the tiniest inkling he was more important to her than her precious bike.
The continued silence was frustrating, and the billionaire said fiercely, “Say yes.” And as if introducing new emotions weren’t enough, Ilse now became responsible for adding a new word to his vocabulary as Jaak heard himself say tautly, “Please.”
“Oh, Jaak.” The words came out very, very softly, Ilse knowing that saying ‘please’ couldn’t have come easy for the billionaire. She knew he was probably thinking that she had him where she wanted him, wrapped around her tiny finger—-
“Say yes,” he urged her thickly.
She squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block the effect of his voice, but it was pointless, her surrender inevitable.
“Yes.”
And this was what the billionaire didn’t realize and she hoped he never would.
He had her wrapped around his finger, too.
Chapter Six
De Wallenwasn’t supposed to be romantic at night, but that was the thing about sexual attraction. It came with a glossy filter, bringing all five senses to life so that everything became more vivid, more enchanting.
And so as Ilse hurried to their meeting place, she found herself wondering about the most embarrassingly sentimental things. Had the moon always been this shade of silver? Had the wind always hummed to the rising beat of her heart? Had the world always feel this...right?
The billionaire spotted Ilse before she saw him, and he had to forcibly crush the flash of possessiveness that gripped him at the way other men stared at her. Even with a years-old gray coat thrown over a simple frock and knee-high boots, even with her dark hair swept up in a careless bun, several locks escaping to frame her face, Ilse Muir was still the epitome of careless elegance—-
And she would be his, could only be his.The thought was nothing but possessive, and that it was so disturbed the billionaire even more.
Ilse craned her neck hopelessly to see past the crowd, but it was only when she reached the corner leading to Café Alles that she finally saw the billionaire, and her heart skidded to a stop as their gazes collided.
He stood taller over most other men, his powerful built emphasized by the magnificent cut of his pea coat, and when hestarted striding towards her, Ilse stilled, unable to do anything but stare at the billionaire’s elegant, graceful movements.
Around him, women blatantly tried to catch his eye, and a conflicting mix of emotions struck her at sight. She shouldn’t be mad, but she was. She shouldn’t be jealous, but she was.
Oh, how absurdly unreasonable her feelings had become ever since the billionaire had come into her life.
“You look cold,” were his first words when he reached her.
“I’m not,” she lied.
The billionaire didn’t answer, was already in the process of unweaving the white scarf around his neck.
Ilse frowned. “What are you—-” She stopped in surprise as the billionaire carefully placed the cashmere scarf around her. “I don’t need—-” But she stopped speaking again, Ilse sucking her breath in as, in the process of knotting the scarf, his fingers brushed her collarbone.
