Deep Dive: An enemies-to-lovers billionaire romance (Deep Love Series) by Lauren Winter (good books to read in english .TXT) 📕

my fingers over the back of one of the chairs. Solid wood. The seat cushions look a little dusty, but I can easily clean that. “And the couch?” I look up and watch his face carefully.

He lowers his eyes and increases the distance between us with a small step. “Sure.” A genuine smile softens the hard corners of his lips, and he has the cheekbones that can sell designer jeans. His dark hazel eyes twinkle with flecks of gray. Damn, he’s good-looking. I take a deep breath and ignore the pounding in my chest. His smile makes me nervous.

I tug at one end of the couch. It is made of genuine leather with a heavy wooden frame. “Is it okay if I ask my friend to come in here to help me? She’ll be careful, I swear.” There is no way that I can move everything by myself.

“I’ll give you a hand.” He rolls up his sleeves and reveals tanned, muscular arms. I watch as he bends down and embraces one end of the couch. I stare at the sinews and tendons on his arms bulge with masculine strength, and I wonder how a pair of arms can look so sexy.

“Lift with your legs. Not so fast. Okay, now go faster.” I bite down on my lower lip as I try to follow exactly what he says. I am backing up while he moves forward, so I have to rely on his instructions to tell me where to go. “Watch your feet. Follow my lead. To the right. My right. The other right. Are you lifting with your legs?” I turn scarlet as I try to keep up with his deluge of verbal orders. My hands slip and I give him a warning grunt to stop so that I can adjust my grip.

“Lift with your legs,” he barks at me again, so I wince and adjust the positions of my hands.

Meghan’s eyes widen as she watches the two of us carry the couch from the house into the back of my truck. His brows raise at the sight of my beat-up truck, and I think he just upgraded his opinion of me from “idiot” to “destitute.”

I ignore the look in his eyes. The truck works perfectly fine despite how it looks.

“Here, I can help you guys load.” He ignores Meghan’s offer to help and loads the couch, four chairs, the dining room table, and a small study lamp into the truck by himself. Placing each item in just the right way, he quickly makes sure everything fits perfectly. He even pulls out the length of rope I left in the truck bed and secures everything.

“Thank you so much for giving me the furniture and helping me load. I honestly don’t know what to say. This is so generous of you, I really appreciate everything you have done for me. I don’t have any money, but is there anything I can do for you?” I ask him and blush.

He chuckles without malice, but I can tell that he is thinking dismissively that there is nothing someone like me can do for him. His shoes cost more than my car.

“Well.” I can hear Meghan impatiently tapping her foot next to me. “Thanks anyways,” I say before hitting the gas pedal and slamming my truck into his garage door. It breaks into two.

“Why are you always so stubborn? Why are you always like this?” Meghan shouts at me right before I park the truck next to our apartment. “Just let me loan you the money. I know that you’ll pay me back.”

“You need the money more than I do. You’re still in school,” I retort.

“But I’ll be working soon and make real money.” She points out.

“You won’t make much as a first-year nurse.” I counter. “And you still have your student loans.”

“I’ll make more than a barista.”

I ignore her and descend the stairs leading to my underground home.

“Mom!” I call out before entering our basement apartment. “We’re back.” The dank air hits me in the face as soon as I open the door at the base of the stairs.

I catch my mom’s frail figure, sitting in her wheelchair and slumping over the sink. She is scrubbing a few dirty dishes that I left earlier. “What are you doing? You need to rest.” I chastise her softly. “I can do these.”

Even at almost fifty, Mom is still a beautiful woman. She has ashen blonde hair, a pert nose, and big pale blue eyes. Unlike her, I have dark hair and a stocky frame that I got from my father. She drops the dish sponge into the sink and wipes her long fingers on the wool fabric that wraps around her frail, immobile legs. She gives me an apologetic smile. “I was just looking for something to do.”

I pull her wheelchair away out of the kitchen like a baby in a stroller. “You just recovered from the flu. You should stay in bed.” Mom gets sick about ten times a year. I can’t risk having her going to the ER again. I also can’t afford it.

“I’m not an invalid, my dear.”

Meghan gives her a hug as soon as she enters. “How did it go?” Mom asks the both of us.

I flash her a quick smile that I hope looks genuine. “I got a huge haul.”

Meghan shuffles her feet and gives me a knowing look, and I am thankful that she knows when to keep her mouth shut. I don’t even know how I am going to come up with the money to pay for the broken garage door. I don’t want Mom to know or worry about it.

“That’s wonderful.” Mom clasps her hands together and smiles. Meghan gives her a sheepish smile and helps me move all the furniture into our tiny studio apartment. It has never been so packed with furniture. I can barely squeeze myself between the couch and one of the dining room chairs. We have lived here for five