A Taste of Heaven (Billionaires' Secrets Book 3) (15 page)

“How’re you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to convince herself. “I’m with Fiona. I think she’s beginning to see the humor in the situation.” She risked a cautious glance at Fiona.

Fiona shot her a little smirk.

“Not that it’s actually funny, of course,” she backtracked. “It’s horribly embarrassing. The staff is avoiding me like I have bird flu. Tarrant’s housekeeper has been with him for twenty years and I think she’d be glad to throw me out to the reporters.”

“I’m watching TV,” Louis interrupted. “They’re broadcasting from the steps of your mansion.”

Fear shot through Sam. “Right now?”

“Yes, there’s a woman with painted on eyebrows telling the story of your life.”

“Oh, no.” Heat flooded her face. She glanced at the windows, suddenly afraid helicopters might be hovering outside, looking to snap her picture.

They’d love that. She’d probably never looked worse. It would be a great “where are they now” shot in contrast with her old beauty queen pictures.

Sam cursed herself for the vain thought. “I’m just going to sit tight. They swarmed around right after Tarrant’s death, when the news came out that he’d left me so much money, but eventually they got bored and went away.”

“How long did that take?”

She rubbed her temples. “A couple of weeks.”

“You’re going to stay locked up in that house for two whole weeks? Besides, it could be longer this time. It’s a juicier story.” A hint of innuendo colored his voice.

Oh, boy, is it ever.

“Staying inside for a few days is no big deal.”

She heard a snort of disbelief. “Sam, you can’t let them keep you prisoner.”

“Really, I have everything I need. There’s a staff of fifteen.”

“I’m coming over.”

The conviction in his voice warmed her heart for a split second, then adrenaline rocketed through her veins. “Please,

don’t! You’ll only make it worse. They’ll be all over you. You have no idea of the kinds of things they’ll say to make a story.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Louis, please.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I hate to say it, since I brought you here to meet the family, but I think you should leave town. At least for a while.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to let anyone run me out of town, least of all you.” Humor deepened his voice.

Sam found herself wanting to smile. But it wasn’t a laughing matter. “It might hurt your business. Restaurants are all about image and perception.”

“And food. Are you eating? I bet you’re not.”

Sam glanced down at her stomach. She’d run from the hotel room before her first bite of croissant and since she’d been back at the mansion she hadn’t even taken off the awful black dress from last night.

“Give me Fiona.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Louis’s tone brooked no contradiction.

Sam stared at the phone for a moment, frowning, then held it out to Fiona.

Fiona looked alarmed, but extended a pale, rather shaky hand and took it. “Hello?” she said slowly.

Sam rubbed her hands over her face. She felt quite lightheaded. She really should eat. What on earth was he saying to Fiona? She could hear the low murmur of his voice on the other end of the phone.

Fiona listened with total concentration, nodding silently. She chewed her lip. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked at last.

Sam’s stomach knotted. “Sure what’s a good idea?”

She could hear Louis’s murmur again.

After a few seconds, she handed the phone back to Sam, who rushed it to her ear only to hear the grim drone of the dial tone. “He doesn’t say goodbye politely on the phone,” she muttered, remembering the time he’d hung up after issuing orders on what she should wear for dinner.

“No.” Fiona grinned.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop it.” She couldn’t help smiling, mostly because she was immensely relieved to see Fiona smiling, too.

“Can’t. You know, you really look
awful.'''
Fiona tilted her head as if to get a better angle on Sam’s shocking awfulness. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible. You’re not even all that pretty without your makeup on. You have these funny little dark splotches under your eyes. Your hair looks like straw, and your nose is bright red, like a circus clown.” She let out a laugh.

Sam’s hand flew self-consciously to the straw. “So glad I can provide some comic relief at this moment of high drama.”

“Yeah.” Fiona chuckled. “I love it. Usually I feel like such a dumpy klutz around you. Little did I know the whole effect was painted on.”

Sam put her hands on her hips. “I should be offended.”

“Yeah.” Fiona pressed a thoughtful finger to her lips. “You know, you really should let the press get a look at you right now. I bet they’d stop being so mean.”

“Maybe I’ll go to the door right now and weep all over them.”

“Nah. Don’t give ’em the satisfaction.” Fiona slid her arm around Sam’s shoulders. “We’d better get you fixed up before Louis gets here.”

“He’s truly coming?” Panic rippled over her.

“Of course he is. Did you have any doubt?”

“We’ve got to stop him.”

Fiona laughed, as if Sam had suggested trying to turn back the tide. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

Chapter Nineteen

L
ouis marched along Park Avenue with determination surging through
him
like liquor. Sam
needed
him. And not as a stepson, either.

Thick clusters of pink coneflowers and yellow black-eyed Susans bloomed their hearts out in steel planters along the facade of a tall office block. Their honeyed smell rose into the hot air, propelling him faster toward Sam.

Every moment they spent together, he could see her opening up like a flower, shedding the molds she’d crammed herself into in the past and finally transforming into the glorious, powerful woman who’d been crouching inside all along.

Even here in the concrete-covered heart of one of the largest cities on earth, bees buzzed around the plump centers of the flowers, gathering pollen to make the delicious honey that sustained them.

Louis felt like a bee around Sam, drinking in all her powerful energy and refreshing his own life force by helping her rediscover hers.

He laughed aloud. He could intellectualize it all he wanted; the truth was they’d had
great
sex together.

He picked up his phone and punched in a number. A female voice answered.

“Margo, it’s Louis.”

“Hi, baby,” her rich voice greeted him. “Are you coming up to New York for my opening next week?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything, and I’ve found you a new student.”

“Hmm, let me guess, she’s brilliant and beautiful and you’re on a mission to help her find herself.”

He frowned. “Am I that predictable?”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “But you’re lovable, too.”

Louis shoved a hand through his hair. Okay, so he’d dated a few wealthy and beautiful women who needed help finding themselves. But somehow the idea that Sam was another in his long string of lovely ex-girlfriends scratched at someplace uncomfortable inside him.

He marched faster along the street. “Sam’s different. She’s been through a lot. She’s going to need all your encouragement just to overcome her self-doubt.”

“Ah, a project. And who’ll be mopping up her tears when you run off to Paris or Milan and don’t call when you said you would? What was it you said last time? ‘Every relationship has its season’?”

“That sounds like something my mother would say.”

“You’re more like her than you’ll admit.”

Louis dodged to avoid a cab speeding through a red light. “I am not.”

“Oh, yes, you are, sweetie. Sipping the nectar from each pretty flower, then moving on.”

Louis froze at her use of the metaphor he’d just been contemplating himself. He hated when the universe locked onto him like that. “The bee plays a valuable role in pollination. Bringing each flower to life.” He shoved a hand through his hair as he resumed his marching.

He didn’t say that since he’d met Sam, he found himself contemplating the deeper and more fulfilling pleasures of sticking around to make honey.

“My new student, is she madly in love with you?”

Louis stopped dead in the middle of the Park Avenue sidewalk. A rushing man in a suit slammed into him from behind and they muttered apologies.

“No, she’s not.”

“Or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself so you don’t feel bad when you leave her for the next pretty project.”

Her comment cut to his heart. Sam was so different from anyone he’d ever met. “Margo, I’m going to stop inviting you to my restaurants.”

“No, you won’t. You love my refreshing honesty.”

Louis laughed. Then he caught sight of a crowd of reporters gathered outside the beautiful stone mansion in the middle of the next block.

Sam’s house.

“Yeah, Margo, I rely on you to prevent my ego from getting out of control. I’ll call you.”

“I’ll clear my schedule any day for you, sugar. And if you ever decide you want a mature woman who already knows how to paint...” She hung up, leaving him with a smile on his face.

The smile faded as he wondered how to run this gauntlet of reporters and get to the door, let alone get someone to let him in.

Did he really want to stir up and inflame the reporters like that? Sam would hate it.

A
familiar
bar-restaurant on the side street between Park and Madison caught his eye, and he turned up the street.

He eased under the yellow awning and greeted the statuesque maître d’ with a hug. “Hey, Venetia, the boss here today?”

“He’s out on his boat, but I know he’d want me to take care of you. The filet mignon is shockingly good today.”

“I’ve got something a little different in mind. Is there an alley behind this place?”

“Kind of an air shaft.” She raised an elegant brow. “Why?”

“Do you have any experience with breaking and entering?”

Sam flashed the mascara wand over her lashes one more time for luck. Sitting at her dressing table, back in her familiar element, she’d managed to calm down considerably.

And embarrassing as it was to admit, she did feel better with her familiar “face” on.

“Ugh. You look disgustingly gorgeous again.” Fiona lounged on a chaise in the corner. “I hate you.”

A tapping sound on the window made them both turn.

Another familiar face appeared behind the casement. “Louis,” they gasped in unison.

Sam darted from her chair. “This is the fourth floor. What the heck?” She yanked open the casement and gripped his arm. “Are you insane?”

“Obviously. If you’ll excuse me.” With a polite smile, he pulled himself through the opening and climbed down onto the carpet. Followed by a shower of black dirt.

“You need to clean up that wall back there. It’s covered with soot from my friend Vincent’s kitchen exhaust.” Louis’s white shirt was filthy, and he had black smudges on his annoyingly handsome face.

Sam cocked her head and tried to prevent a smile sneaking across her lips. “Then don’t you think Vincent should clean it up?”

“I’ll leave it to you guys to duke it out.” He winked. “So, how’s everyone doing?”

“Surprisingly well, under the circumstances.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest. Mostly to hide the thickening of her nipples inside her blouse. “But I have no intention of letting the press see you here. How did you know which room it was?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been crawling about on your fire escapes for fifteen minutes.”

“And no one saw you?”

“You need better security.”

“I guess the staff are all hunkered around the front windows, staring out at the reporters.” She squeezed her arms to stop the tingling in her breasts. How could she still be attracted to him even now?

Chemistry, perhaps. Or some other destructive force leading her down the road to ruin.

“You’re getting soot on the carpet.”

“What kind of nut chooses a white carpet?”

“It’s very popular these days. All the chichi designers are
ins
tallin
g
them.” She couldn’t fight the smile that snuck over her mouth. “I guess you’d better strip off so we can scrub you clean.”

“What a pleasant idea.”

Louis reached for the button below his collar.

“I’m out of here.” Fiona leaped from the couch, grabbed her phone, and strode for the door.

No one tried to stop her.

Sam narrowed her eyes as the next button revealed an enticing strip of well-toned chest. “That wall has got to be twenty feet high.”

“I’d put it closer to thirty.” Louis mouth tilted up at one corner. “But it’s got quite a few bricks missing.”

“Good footholds, huh?”

“Almost like the climbing wall at the gym. You should put some razor wire on top or something.”

He tugged his shirt off and heat flashed through Sam. “I guess I should turn the shower on,” she rasped. It was only a few hours since she’d been held by those sturdy arms.

So much had changed since then. Panic flickered through her. “Did any of the reporters see you?”

“I don’t think so, but it’ll make a good story if they did.” He grinned and unbuttoned the fly of his dark pants.

Sam swallowed. “There are helicopters, you know.” She could hear vibrating rotors right now.

A knock on the door made them both swing to face it. Louis hesitated, his pants already halfway down his powerful thighs.

Sam dashed forward. “Hold on! Who is it?”

“Mrs. Hardcastle, the security has been breached!” She recognized the high pitched voice of Beatrice, the housekeeper who’d been avoiding her all morning. “The alarms have gone off. There might be an intruder on the premises.”

Sam put her hand on the handle to prevent Beatrice from opening it. “I don’t hear any alarms.” She glanced back at Louis.

Who had the nerve to wink at her as he slid his pants all the way off.

“They’re silent.”

Sam frowned. “What’s the point of that?”

“To alert the staff, of course,” said Beatrice, as if talking to an imbecile. “We’ve summoned the police and they’ll be here any moment.”