The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery (19 page)

Chapter
Five

Sanniyah

A private airport!

So that's what this is!

I have
my epiphany as I make the turn into off the highway. I must have passed this
strip of land a million times in my usual back and forth commute from downtown
but I had never considered what it was. It was hidden in plain view, only
recognizable to those who could use it.

This is
a familiar feeling and once again I have to wonder if I will ever stop feeling
like a pretender. No matter the expensive shoes, the prestige makeup, the
polish and the poise, I can never truly blend in with my wealthy clients. And
try as I might to keep it at bay, the resentment still rears its ugly head.
That feeling of being on the outside, looking in will never leave me, no matter
how many years separate me from my childhood.

When my mother woke me in the middle of the
night and told me to grab my things. When we left the house of the man we had
been living with as quietly as we could. The months spent in and out of
shelters, my mother's exhausted sobs in the cot next to mine.
..

That is
the part of my story that I gloss over when I speak of it now. When I give my
PR statements and press releases, I always emphasize the positive outcomes. The
literal rags to not-quite riches part of my life.
How we finally scraped enough together for a studio apartment with
paper-thin walls. How I hustled to get back to grade level when I was finally
able to attend school again.
 
How I
succeeded even with the odds stacked against me.

I leave
out the difficult bits. Like how I learned to blend in and adapt by planning out
every word. How every thing I said and did became scripted and rehearsed. How I
would practice in the cracked mirror that sat on my rickety bedside table,
miming laughs and smiles; practicing a poise I didn't possess until it was a
mask I could slip into and wear comfortably.
 
My mother worked long hours and I was
left alone a lot, and I used that time alone to plan. Very soon I was able to
fit in anywhere I went. Adults praised my maturity, my poise, my professional
demeanor. They didn't know it was the only way I had survived.

I spun
those skills into a business. After working at a bridal salon, I set those
planning instincts into motion for a client, who hired me to finish everything
for her when she suddenly found herself pregnant. That was the first time and
the last time in my business that I was caught unprepared. By the time my bride
waddled up the aisle, hugely pregnant, Sanniyah Jones Events was born and I was
off and running.

Now I
can blend in effortlessly.

But
Carter Easton's wealth is on another level entirely.
 

I swing
my car into the space where I'm directed, my mind whirling. A private island,
how could someone possibly need all that space, all that privacy?
Reclusive be damned,
he has to have an ego the size of the island
itself,
I decide. A billionaire recluse, it is almost too clichéd to be
real. Deep down, he has to want to show off his fortune. That was probably why
he wanted to host the wedding. That had to be it.

I
accept the pilot's helping hand and step in to the helicopter like it is
nothing at all to me. As he runs his checks, I'm sitting in the seat, trying to
harden my heart.
This is no big thing to
me at all,
I try to say with my body language.
I ride on private helicopters every damn day.

But it
is impossible not to feel my breath catch in my throat as we lift off and zoom
out over the white-capped ocean. It shimmers below us in the summer sunlight,
showing the colors of turquoise in the shallows giving over to the deep indigo
of the depths.

Annika
Island is directly ahead, sitting like an emerald jewel in the sapphire sea,
curved like a crescent moon, the two points aimed towards the mainland. A huge
mansion sits above the bay, white and gleaming like a pearl necklace along the
throat of the island, clinging to the cliff through some marvel of
architecture. As we fly closer, I can see the white, sandy beaches in detail;
little hidden coves dotting the shoreline. My heart gives a little unwelcome
lurch both from jealousy and a twinge of fear. My hand wanders down to clasp my
cellphone. I still have full strength; I can call Tricia if I need to.

The
landing is so smooth I barely realize we are on the ground until the pilot
turns to help me exit. The helipad is attached to an air-conditioned garage,
filled with cars, at least fifteen that I can see although three or four
hulking shapes underneath tarps tell me he has even more. Where the heck does
he even drive this many cars? He lives on an island and commutes via
helicopter! The ridiculousness of Carter Easton is firmly entrenched in my
brain by now.

 
I am scoffing at him, even as the
planning wheels are turning. This is indeed an incredible location for a
wedding. I step out of the elevator into the first floor and stand stock still,
taking it all in.

The
walls are all glass, doors flung open to the sea breeze, the scents of the sea
wafting in on the light breeze. I turn my head and inhale the whisper of
jasmine and wonder if it grows wild in the tress in the wooded interior.

"Hello?"
I call into the wide-open space. There is no one there to greet me, which I
find odd. The helicopter pilot flew off immediately after dropping me off,
explaining that Mr. Easton allowed him to eat dinner with his family most
nights, and that he'd be back just as soon as I called. I try to ignore the
feeling of being trapped and tap out another message to Tricia. "Here on
the island. Will check in soon."

"Hello?"
I repeat, stepping forward. The whole first level is wrapped in an immense,
deep deck as large as the interior space. I am already moving towards it before
I realize I should probably wait to be invited. But dammit, if no one is going
to be here to greet me, how can I be invited?

Once I
step out onto the deck, it hits me. This is sheer perfection. There was never a
more perfect place to hold an intimate wedding. I can already imagine the
set-up. A sunset wedding out on the beach, cocktails on the deck, the colors of
pink reflecting off of the gentle peaks of the waves, while the sky above
flames in oranges and violets. A white pergola at the shoreline, the groom
dressed in white linen, the bride's hair loose and flowing. I will suggest
maids dresses that compliment the colors of the sky above, perhaps several
different shades of the same dress.

Already
the picture is forming in my head.

I stand
on the deck, the gentle breeze lifting my hair and brushing against my skin
like a lover's caress. I am sunk so deeply in my own, solitary vision that I
startle badly when I realize I am not alone.

Chapter Six

Carter

She
barges in here like she owns the place, mouth working silently as she scans
everything with wide, keen eyes the color of topaz.

The
first thing I notice is that she is spell-bindingly, ridiculously gorgeous.
Cammy neglected to mention that part, though my little sister has never been
one to appreciate flamboyant beauty. Cammy is quiet and shy, pretty in a
subdued sort of way. This woman is none of that. She is all splashed out
glamor. I have never seen anyone look so flat-out sexy in such a simple dress.

The
second thing I notice is that this doesn't matter. I want her gone, out of my
space. I promised Cammy I would be good. No, not good. I promised her I'd be
okay.

I
offered to host out of guilt, and Cammy knows it. She was still trying to
change my mind, even as she called me after meeting Sanniyah Jones two days
ago. But she wants to have the wedding here, I can tell. And my baby sister
deserves to have the wedding she wants.

"If
you like her, then that's all that matters, Cammy," I told her over the
phone, keeping my voice nice and light and even.

"I
like her." My sister's voice was crackly, like she was farther away than
she really was. Like there was more than just a couple miles of water between
us. "She...she didn't ask questions about it, Carter." I remembered
pressing my lips together, fighting the urge to fill in Cammy's words for her.
She is over her stutter, but it still crept back sometimes, and hesitation is a
way she tries to mask it. "She didn't ask questions about...you."

I could
feel myself nodding, even as I was gripping my phone more tightly than I meant
to. "Well then that's settled," I said tightly, hoping I sounded more
sure than I felt.

"Carter?"

Shit,
she wasn't fooled. "Yeah Cam."

Her
voice was so soft I could barely hear it over the crackle on the line.
"You don't have to do this."

I had
sat bolt upright in the deck chair, that evening, as if Cammy could see me
somehow. "You're right, I don't have to. I want to Cam. My gift to
you." I swallowed. "Start the happy new chapter of your life off
right."

"I
know how you feel about letting people in, Carter."

I tried
to laugh it off. "I'm not letting them in, I'm just feeding them.
Besides," I clarified, "they aren't just anyone. They're your people.
I trust you Cam."

"I
hope you do for real, big brother. You don't have to make up for what happened.
I've told you this a million times, it's not your fault."

I stood
up from the deck chair then, and stalked into the house. "Yes, you've told
me," I repeated.

Cammy
waited for me to say something further. When I didn't add anything, she sighed
a sigh that came through the line as clear as if she was standing right here,
watching me pace. "Be kind to yourself, Carter," she said, sadly.
"Mom and Dad would want you to."

"Well,
since they aren't here to tell me that themselves..." I swear I tried to
catch myself before I said anything else, but it was too late. Cammy's voice
caught in a little sob. "Shit, Cam, no, don't cry, okay? Look, I'm okay.
I'm just going to go for a swim, now. I'll meet with your chosen wedding
planner Friday and everything will go smoothly." I looked down at my hand
and forced myself to unclench it. "You're getting married, Cam," I
said, as gently as I could. "Be happy."

"You
too," she swallowed. "I love you. Bye Carter."

"Bye
Cammy." I lingered until the line went dead. Then I turned and hurled the
phone into the couch. It bounced slightly, not nearly the effect I wanted. I
whirled and grabbed a decorative piece of crap the decorator had stuck on the
shelf and hurled that to the floor. It shattered into a million pieces and I
felt marginally better.

I can
still see one of those pieces glinting in the corner as I sit here now. It
winks at me like an accusation.
"There
is a gorgeous woman in your house...aren't you going to say hello?"

Fuck. I
turn around and start to rise, just as she makes a beeline for my deck. I make
to follow her, and then stop short.

The
sight of her standing there, leaning against the railing, her ripe, round ass
swaying slightly as she stares off into the horizon is enough to drain all of
the blood from my brain. Her elegant profile is highlighted in the setting sun,
and I am suddenly thinking about goddesses and deities and idols from ancient
times. Her forehead curves over elegant brows that swoop above her eyes like
gullwings. Her cheekbones strain against her caramel skin, showing off her
perfect bone structure.

But her
lips.

Her
lips are going to be the ruin of me, I can see that already. I want to kiss
them. No, I want to devour them, claim them. I am so hungry for them right now,
that I swear I cannot remember what my life was like before I saw them. For
one, strange moment, I move out of my shattered head and am the Carter Easton
of old. The impulsive risk-taker who always got what he set out for.

I’m
ready to be me again…

I’m
ready to meet Sanniyah Jones.

Chapter Seven

Sanniyah

"Oh!"
I cry, my jaw dropping open in fright. I snap it shut quickly, but as I see
him, it slowly falls open again as he approaches. He lopes casually across the
deck, his strides soft and easy with an innate, athletic grace.

Carter
Easton smiles at me and extends his hand. "You must be Ms. Jones," he
says. The way he says my name, the way he tastes it on his tongue as it passes
his teeth, sends a shiver down my spine that is wholly out of place in the warm
sun.

"Mr.
Easton," I smile, "Thank you so much for welcoming me to your lovely
home." Professional poise takes hold of me, guiding me past my goosebumps
and rapidly beating heart.

I've
seen his picture, read the articles, "researched" him quite
thoroughly. But none of that could prepare me for the sight of him up close. In
all of the pages and pages of internet hits, there was no mention of the
magnetism, the easy, quiet confidence that radiated off of him in waves. That
was something I had to blushingly experience for myself, and the effect was
quite disconcerting.

He's
dressed in a white linen shirt, casually untucked, sleeves rolled to bare his
toned, tanned forearms. The whiteness of the shirt is blinding, and the
contrast with his skin makes his tan seem burnished and golden. There are
streaks of sun in his dark blond hair and his eyes are the exact same shade of
blue as the sea that surrounds us. I could drown in them just as easily.

Carefully,
I wrap my fingers around the railing of the deck. I need something to hold on
to. Otherwise I might float away. I've never had such a strong reaction to a
white man, to
any
man, before.
 

He's
wearing khakis, and my eyes wander down to see that he is barefoot. It's
strangely personal, seeing him this way.

Like he
is naked.

The
thought makes my cheeks flame and I turn quickly to look out over the water. I
wrack my brain for something safe to say, something that won't betray the
lascivious direction my thoughts are turning.
"Are you aware of how sexy you are? You look really good in those
clothes, how about out of them? Can I see your bedroom...ceiling?"

"Can
you see the mainland from here?" I ask instead.

Carter
moves closer to me, putting his hand lightly on my shoulder so that I turn as
he points. "That's Kittatiny Hill, right there," he says, indicating
the small swell on the horizon. "That's all you can see on a day like
today. Suits me just fine, honestly."

"Does
it?" I've learned that when I feel off balance, it's best to redirect the
conversation to the other person. It buys me time, plus people like talking
about themselves.

"It
doesn't suit you?" He turns and looks at me with those blue, blue eyes and
I am forced to look away.
 
Carter is
not playing by the rules. He's not supposed to be asking questions in
return.
 

"I
wouldn't know either way," I laugh. "This is the first time I've ever
been on a private island."

"Well
then," he says lightly, "let me show you around."

He puts
his hand at my elbow, a little guiding hand, nothing more, but his touch makes
me jump like he grazed me with a live wire. I dart forward, out of his reach
and summon my professional cool. "I will need to see the layout of the
space," I tell him as I cross the deck.
 
"How many guests can you
accommodate? Are you expecting them to provide their own transport? How far is
it to come via boat? Perhaps we could arrange a ferry the day of, do you have a
port anywhere?"

I take
a breath, waiting for him to respond. It isn't until a moment goes by without
an answer by that I realize he is no longer at my side.

I turn.

Carter
is still back at the railing. He is looking out over the water, a far away look
in his eyes. There is peace there, but also an incredible sadness. The kind of
sadness that makes me take an inadvertent step forward. Like I can comfort him
somehow.

He
turns a little, affording me a glimpse of his strong profile. It's a profile I
recognize from my "research," but he even more gorgeous in person,
model perfect with a kind of coolness about him that almost seems studied. Like
he takes lessons on how to be laid back.

The
sadness leaves his eyes, making me wonder if I imagined it. "Slow
down," he says. There is still that ease in his voice, but authority too.
Like he is used to giving orders. "Take it easy, okay?"

I
stammer for a moment. He's not taking this seriously at all.

"Check
it out," he grins. "Dolphins. See that fin?"

He's
not answering me and he doesn't seem in the mood to talk business. Reluctantly,
I step back to him. He takes my elbow again, steering me so that I am looking
out over the glinting water.

A
dorsal fin breaks the surface. Then another. Then another. I feel my face
stretching into a grin in spite of myself. "Wow," I breathe.

Carter
looks at me, his wide grin showing perfect white teeth. But the delight on his
face isn't studied at all. "They swing by here around this time of year. I
was afraid I was going to miss them."

I look
back out. The fins are receding, disappearing around the curve of the island.
When they finally slip completely from view, I dare sneak a look back at
Carter.
 

"I
need to show you something," he says.

"Okay,"
I say, clenching my teeth a little.

"Give
me your hand, these stairs can be a little slippery," he says.

When
his hand slips into mine, all the plans, all the questions I have for him leave
my brain in a rush. I have no other thoughts but how his skin feels; warm and
dry, a slight, unexpected callous, his fingers strong and supple in mine as he
leads me down the steps to the beach.

I stop
short. I am in heels, but Carter seems to have thought of that already.
"Lift your foot," he says in that easy, authoritative voice.