The Billionaire's Ballet: A Contemporary Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance (Friends with Benefits) (2 page)

I knew it well, having come to visit my blue mare Jezebelle often these eight years since that fateful birthday. I stuck my hand in the grain bag and grasped a fistful, my alibi if I should be caught. Saying good-bye to my horse the night before I left might seem sentimental and silly, but it would make sense.

Laughter in the main corridor between the stalls made me pause. I cracked the door to the feed room and watched Quinn set the wine and glasses on a shelf. He took the girl in his arms.

The barn was clean and the floor smooth. A single lamp high on the wall was the only dim light.

They danced together a moment in the silence, the girl still awkward, but game to try. I closed my eyes as he leaned in for a kiss. I imagined it were me there instead.

When I opened them again, the girl was pulling away. “Too much wine already,” she said with a small laugh. “Nature calls.”

Quinn pointed down the corridor to the bathroom, just past a little break room where the horse trainers always had lunch.

I leaned farther to watch her go, trying to figure out if she was tipsy. But the door was cracked too much and flew open, dumping me unceremoniously out onto the floor.

Quinn whirled around. “What the hell?” Then he saw me and hurried forward. “Jules! Are you all right?”

My face burned hot as he knelt on one knee in front of me. He smelled like pine woods and dark beer. He held out a hand to help me up.

I took it and realized too late it still had bits of grain stuck to it. Even so, he smiled and brought me to my feet. When he let go, he brushed his palm against his jeans. “Saying good-bye to Jezebelle?” he asked.

I nodded, struck mute by my proximity to him while I was wearing so little.

“You okay?” Quinn asked. He punched me lightly on the arm. “Did you sneak some of the party liquor?”

I struggled to keep myself together. Despite my age, he viewed me as a kid. He had grown up, but I was still ten to him. The three years between us were huge now. And I was leaving home to become my own person. I had been foolish to think our situation could ever be any other way.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just a big night.”

“I’ll say,” Quinn said. “You should have come to the party. Made it a going-away thing.”

I wanted to chide him for saying that now, when it was too late, but then he had never thought of things like that. He seemed oblivious to how my birthdays were always held out in the guesthouse or on the pavilion out by the tank. Never inside the walls of the estate.

He glanced behind me, and I wondered if the girl was back. But she must not have been, because he opened the door to the feed room and grasped his own handful of grain. “Let’s go tell the old girl good-bye,” he said.

We walked along the stalls until we came to the one at the end. Quinn opened the top half of the door. Jezebelle shuffled forward, her ears pricked.

“Hello, girl,” Quinn said. “Up for a midnight snack? Last one from your lady.”

He lifted my hand and my heart stuttered. His mischievous eyes met mine for a moment, and everything I’d ever loved about him blasted at me with the power of a freight train.

I imagined him pressing a kiss to my palm, and my breath froze in my chest.

But he only poured half the grain into my hand. Then he held his out to the horse. “Here you go, old girl,” he said. “I’ll come and let you know how Jules is doing.” He glanced back at me with another twinkle of his eyes. “As long as she stays in touch.”

“Of course I will,” I said, trying to force the tremble out of my voice. I held out my hand. Jezebelle’s warm mouth nuzzled into my palm. My chest tightened. I was leaving her too. Everybody and everything I loved. I could barely stand it.

Footsteps came down the corridor. We turned to the blond girl, who looked startled to see me. Her eyes glanced at my outfit and then rested questioningly on Quinn.

“Daughter of one of the staff,” he said. “Has lived here since she was born, right, Jules?”

I nodded.

The girl seemed mollified. “You had some wine for me?” she asked.

Quinn backed away from the stall, brushing his hands together. “That I do.” He gave me a little pat on the head, like I was four. “Good luck tomorrow, Jules. You’ll do great in the Big Apple.”

They headed off down the hall, pausing only to pick up the wine and glasses from the shelf. I turned back to Jezebelle, flooded with despair. It wasn’t right. I’d known Quinn forever. How could I leave him?

Fat tears rolled down my cheeks. Jezebelle moved close and I leaned into her, resting my forehead on her nose. Long moments passed as I sobbed into her soft coat.

“He’s never going to know, is he?” I asked her. “I’m going to leave and he’ll never know how I feel.”

Jezebelle whinnied quietly.

“I can’t even tell him now, because of that girl,” I said. “But I can say it to you, Jezebelle.”

I stood up straight, my hand still on her nose. “Quinn Daniel Claremont, I am madly in love with you. I have been all my life. And I always will be!”

A sound in the stable made me jump away from my horse. God! Were they back? And laughing at me for my pronouncement? My face flamed. I couldn’t bear it.

I turned, chin high, ready to stay strong and bold. At least now Quinn would know.

But the figure standing by the feed room door wasn’t Quinn.

It was Bennett, his older brother.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said smoothly.

My cheeks burned again. I barely knew Bennett, but Quinn had always told me how uptight he was.
Couldn’t have a bit of fun if you paid him to do it
.

“I was just saying good-bye to my horse,” I said.

Bennett nodded. “She’s a lovely mare.” He stepped toward the stall.

His nearness made my skin prickle. Bennett was formidable, tall and imposing. He didn’t wear jeans, not ever, and loomed over me in his khakis and sport coat.

He smelled expensive, like aftershave and fresh linen. His eyes flitted over my outfit, and I had to resist the urge to cover myself.

His hand slid down Jezebelle’s nose. For some reason, the sight of his long fingers trailing along her muzzle made me shiver. A tingling sensation ran through my body.

“We’ll take good care of her for you,” he said.

He knew I was leaving? I couldn’t imagine he had time to pay any mind to the actions of the dance teacher’s illegitimate daughter. I felt my station acutely. I had nothing, and he had everything. My own mother’s livelihood depended on him now that his retched old father was gone. Bennett ran the family business and kept the estate.

“Thank you,” I finally managed to say. “She’s a good horse.”

“I hear you have your mother’s talent,” he said. “I’m sure you will do well.”

I took a few steps back. “Thank you again,” I said. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything I had said about Quinn. I was eager to get away.

I had only just begun to turn when he said, “My brother is not who you think he is.”

The fire that had recently set my face aflame burst hot. “Of course he is. I’ve known him since I was born! I know everything about him!” It wasn’t true, but it felt true. I hadn’t missed a single one of his birthdays. I was there when he learned to ride. When he broke his arm falling off the back fence. When he buried his father.

I wanted to say these things, but Bennett’s gaze dropped to my thin shirt again. I wanted to slap him. But I stood there as he took me in, my tiny shorts, muscled dancer’s legs, and bare feet. I wasn’t sure which I felt more like — a street beggar or a prostitute.

Bennett finally brought his eyes back to my face. “I’m sure if he’d felt tempted, he would have come to you,” he said. “Be glad he considers you the kid playmate. Your heart is still in one piece.”

My head wanted to explode with things to say to defend Quinn. But this was my mother’s boss. She loved it here. I couldn’t ruin it for her.

So instead, I ran through the stable and back to my little room.

Tomorrow, the rest of my life would begin.

Chapter 3

Six Years Later

The taxi pulled away, its tires crunching as it circled the giant fountain in front of the main entrance to the estate.

I could have gone around to the back, where staff and deliveries came in. It was much closer to my mother’s guesthouse. Technically I was here to see her.

But my visit home was also about Quinn. My life had changed a lot in the six years since I left. But my longing for him would not die. It affected everything. I hadn’t managed to have a relationship that lasted more than a week. As soon as the man wasn’t Quinn-like, my heart shriveled like the Grinch. My iPhone had more blocked numbers than a retired call girl.

So I was home. During my break between ballet seasons, I was going to get him out of my head, one way or another.

The hot breeze ruffled the tendrils escaping my intricate braided updo. I had forgotten how hot San Antonio could be in the summer. If I stood out here very long, sweat would wilt my sharp Versace suit. Already my feet felt pinched in the four-inch Louboutins.

This was stupid. What was I thinking? Showing up in fancy clothes and pricey shoes? I was just a kid playing dress-up.

The urgency to get away from the big double doors became intense. I did not want to be seen stalking the front like a crazed fan. I needed to do this the right way. Establish myself in the guesthouse. Practice ballet with my mother. Find out why she missed my last show. And watch Quinn from a distance until I figured out what to do about this annoying never-ending crush.

Time to trudge around to the back where I belonged.

I picked up the handle of one of the bags and tilted it down to roll. I shouldn’t have worn the spike heels. Now I would suffer in them while I wheeled my luggage down the path in the heat.

But it had been a nice illusion, even for just a moment.

I paused. Might as well get the full effect before I gave it up. I closed my eyes and pictured another Juliet, one whose social standing would attract someone like Quinn, pulling up in an expensive chauffeured car. The butler would open the doors and greet me, sending out his young staff member to take my bags. I’d be escorted inside and given a cocktail on the patio. Quinn would come down, pleased to see me.

Stop.

I had to stop.

Enough.

I reached for the second suitcase. I had traveled as light as I could, but this was a monthlong stay. So I had a lot.

As I tried to maneuver the two bags, the strap of my purse slid off my shoulder. I let go of a suitcase, and it fell over onto the paved circle. The clever beaded charm that helped me identify my luggage smashed into pieces, the colored bits rolling across the ground.

Damn. Thankfully nobody was seeing the hot mess I was in front of the grand mansion.

I drew in a deep breath to steady myself. Nothing about this day was going to be easy. Coming back had turned me into a sniveling teen all over again.

And of course Mother didn’t even know I was coming. But she hadn’t explained why she missed my last performance in New York. Her evasion when I asked her left a tendril of unease in me. So I closed up the room in the walk-up I shared with three other girls and got on a plane.

I hadn’t been back to San Antonio since I left. Mother always traveled to me, using her savings for grand trips to L.A. and Paris and Montreal to watch me dance. Holidays were busy with
The Nutcracker
or holiday fund-raising events.

I hadn’t seen a need to come home. If this had ever been home.

But I worried Mother was out of money. Ballerinas at my level did not make a lot, especially living in the city, but I would try to help her if she’d let me.

I fastened my handbag to the handle of one of the suitcases. I’d come back to clean up the beads where they sat on the pristine gray drive like a Mardi Gras castoff. I had just gotten the luggage under control when the front doors of the estate flew open. A butler I had never seen before hurried out.

“I am so sorry, Miss Parker. We weren’t expecting you for another two hours. Did you take a taxi? We could have sent a car for you.” He hurriedly motioned to a young man I didn’t know to retrieve my bags.

“Oh!” I said. “I think there has been a mistake. I —”

I stopped short when Quinn appeared on the front porch in tennis gear. He rested a racket on his shoulder. “You’re awfully dressed up for a tennis pro.”

My voice didn’t seem to work as I took him in. I was already flustered and not ready to see him yet. He was twenty-seven now, tan and muscled in the fitted shirt over loose shorts.

It was also a Tuesday afternoon. Didn’t he work?

“Miss Parker, I’ll escort you to your guesthouse,” the butler said. “Would you like a golf cart to take you around?”

My lips were frozen. Quinn was staring right at me, but he didn’t see me for who I was.

Should I try to pull this off? Tennis pro? He obviously didn’t know this instructor very well. Maybe I resembled her picture.

I stood up straight, tugging on the bottom of the smart fitted jacket to my suit. We looked at each other, and I could see the interest in his eyes. He’d just broken off an engagement to some actress, I knew. I had a Google alert on his name.

He didn’t look particularly devastated about it. His gaze raked over my tawny gold jacket and matching skirt, down my legs to the achingly high Louboutins.

“Won’t you come in for a quick drink before we hit the nets?” Quinn gestured to his outfit. “I had planned to lob a few balls before you arrived, but perhaps we could talk strategy first. Over some champagne? Or would that ruin our training regimen?”

I still couldn’t speak. My heart hammered. He held out his hand to me. I itched to take it. It’s what I’d always wanted.

The young man stood with my bags, waiting on my order. I could go in, see the ruse through. I wouldn’t get far. The cook would spot me. Or one of the girls. Although if Quinn couldn’t see it…

“Miss Parker?” the butler asked.

I was about to admit who I was when a glossy black Mercedes pulled up to the circle drive. Probably the real Miss Parker, and I was about to be outed.