All Chapters of Indebted To The Billionaire Alpha: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

“Hmm…” He sighed, the sound of someone gathering his thoughts. “You are Freya Lomie, Twenty-five years old. Daughter of Amanda Detritus Lomie, and Spencer Noah Lomie. Your mother suffers from bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, and is currently residing at the Cavern hospital Care Home in Auburn Hills. Your father is deceased. You have one brother,Jax Liam Lomie, who is currently attending Columbia College in Chicago. Your best friend is Kelly Tori Chadoni. You have one living set of grandparents, maternal. No other immediate family. You have a bachelor’s degree in social work from Campbell University, and are currently pursuing your master’s. You are five foot seven, and your weight fluctuates between one-thirty and one-forty. Blonde hair, blue eyes. No medical conditions. You had your appendix out when you were sixteen. You have been supporting your mother and brother on your own since your father’s passing seven years ago. Your favorite color is lavender. You have a slight addiction

I closed the file and set it on the coffee table, hands shaking, stomach roiling. He’d been telling the truth. If not for him, for his interference—or help, more accurately—which I’d never even known about, I’d be another series of photographs in this file.It took a long time before I was able to stand up and finish my exploration of my rooms.I moved through the doorway beside the wet bar and found myself in a bedroom, which also featured a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass. There was a four-poster bed with a full canopy, the same thick cream carpeting under foot, an enormous armoire, and a sitting area near the glass wall, two simple but comfortable-looking chairs and a small table, the kind of furniture that is understated but insanely expensive. There was no television, which was fine by me, as I wasn’t much for TV.I opened the armoire and found it to be full of my underclothes, yoga pants, and sleep tees. A single doorway opposite the glass wall led to a marble and tile palace of

“I’m sorry about the glass,” I said.Rebecca shrugged. “It is no matter. It was just a glass.”“Just a glass? Those look like crystal.”She nodded. “Yes.”“It wasn’t, like, a family heirloom, or anything, was it?”Rebecca shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Please, do not worry. Such things are no matter to him. Possessions can be replaced, and he does not put high value on mere objects.” She gestured at the sitting room, the foyer, and the hallway leading back the way we’d come. “You’ve seen this area, then. Follow me, please.”From what I’d seen so far, Rebecca was a quiet, efficient woman. She didn’t ramble on about the artwork on the walls, or the vases on the pedestals, or the suits of armor that stood to either side of the front door. She merely led me from room to room, occasionally pointing out items of interest. Such as the original Vermeer in the formal living room, the frame encased behind thick temperature-controlled glass. Or the suit of armor from the twelfth century

"Freya you are…so gentle, so responsive. Do you feel that? I know you do, my sweetest thing. I know you feel it.” His voice was a low, murmuring thread, his breath touching my shoulder now like a sun-hot wind. “It’s lightning, isn’t it? Pure lightning, arcing between us. Every time my lips touch your perfect skin, you blush and you shiver. I’ve barely touched you, barely begun to kiss you, only just learning the secrets of your body, but already you react so beautifully. you are so beautiful. Such a precious thing, and I simply cannot wait to make you sing, to make your body hum and shiver for me.”I had no breath, heard no sound but his voice and the poetry in his words. If I’d heard anyone else speak that way, I’d mock and scoff. It would sound so contrived, but somehow with him, with his rich and melodic voice, it sounded perfect, natural. And his words, god. I couldn’t help but react to such statements. I felt my spine arch, felt my head turn to the side and my neck curve away, of

“I don’t think you would.” His voice was close, his breath hot on my ear, speaking just above a whisper.“You feel it, Freya, If I kissed you right now, I do think you might faint. You’re barely breathing as it is.”“I’m breathing just fine,” I lied. “Would you? Let me go home right now?”“No, I don’t think I would.”“Why not?” These two words slipped, breathless, from my lips.His breath moved, warming my ear, then my cheek, and then, oh god—I felt his lips on my skin, mere centimeters from my mouth. “This is why.” As close as our faces were, I still barely heard him.My heart was pounding, hammering, thudding in my chest, sending blood pulsing in my ears. My skin was tingling, my hands shaking. Nerves, anticipation…fear? Parsing what I felt was impossible. I only knew I dreaded and needed in equal measure the feel of his lips on mine. So close. Yes. There, please. A kiss, a single kiss.I’d only known this man for a matter of perhaps two hours, yet his lips were grazing mine, and he