The Billionaire's Beloved (Key to My Heart Book 4) (8 page)

Before I knew what was happening, he was making me an offer: wed him and he would save my faltering bakery. We both needed each other; I needed to fund my shop, he needed to find a bride before his upcoming birthday or lose his inheritance.

Now, our worlds are colliding and melding into one shared life, but will we be able to persevere a wedding of convenience? Will my husband ever be more than an acquaintance in my bed each night?

Between Billionaires

Chapter One

Quiet. Soft, tranquil, peaceful silence.

Nothing was better than this.

A green, brightly flowering field welcomed me, warm sun gently lapping at my flesh. In the distance, I could hear the soft bubbling of a cool creek. I couldn't quite place how I'd gotten all the way out here from the city, but whatever way I managed it, I knew I never wanted to leave.

I lay backwards, grass cushioning my body like a green blanket, just barely tickling the exposed skin of my arms. I was still in my work clothes, I realized with a slight chuckle. My black pencil skirt clung to my legs as I inspected them lazily. I was pasty, I looked like a vampire that had been sleeping underground for a millennia. There wasn't usually time for me to bask around outside like this, soaking up all the sun they afternoon had to offer. The only real time I spent outside was my morning commute into work, though that was before the sun even had bothered to poke its lazy head out from the horizon. By the time I left in the late evening, the sun had long already gone to rest.

Had I signed myself up for a vacation? Was it Lucinda? My secretary was always making plans for me without even mentioning it. Usually, it was work dinners or lunches with the corporate heads, maybe, just this once, she'd organized a nice little getaway just for me.

A sigh breezed over my lips, disturbing the silence for just a moment, a flock of low flying geese gliding over my head, their cries warbling through the tranquility with ease.

A smile tugged over my cheeks as I tilted my head back, closing my eyes to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face.

"Miranda?" A voice, distant but echoing, quietly wafted towards my ears.

I wasn't alone out here. Perhaps it was an office outing?

"Umm...Ms. Malone?"

As my eyes opened, a flickering overhead fluorescent light greeted me tiredly, buzzing of the office gradually growing around me, drowning out the distant hum of the warm breeze.

With an irritated grunt I leaned forward so my chair rocked back to face my desk, hands slamming with just enough force onto the old wood so that the young man in front of me winced visibly.

No one called me Ms. Malone. I hated that name. I could thank my adopted parents for that one. Life had been rough with those people, and if name changes weren’t so difficult to process, I would have done one a long time ago.

"Miranda." I snapped, wishing nothing more than to escape back into that overflowing field of greenery.

"S-Sorry." he whispered, eyes huge as though he were about to cry.

"Did you want something?" I muttered, rubbing the headache already growing heavily in the front of my skull, "Or did you just come to irritate me? I'm very busy you know."

Busy enough to daydream about vacations anyway.

"I'm sorry." The intern repeated, whatever task he'd been given completely sliding out of his mind as fear instead grew.

To be completely honest, I loved seeing that look of fear in my new hire's eyes. It was so utterly rewarding and refreshing. It didn't last too long, of course, I wasn't a tyrant, but it lasted long enough for me to enjoy it with my whole heart. It gave me a bit of a power rush, which I read somewhere was an indication of being a sociopath or something? I’d take it.

I wasn't truly feared among the office, not once the workers got to know me. I was a hard ass, sure, but someone had to be. I was the one who pushed our magazine onto the shelves, I was the one who was interviewed and who got all the flack when an article stepped in the wrong direction. It was up to me to keep this boat afloat and I'd do whatever I could to get us by day to day.

Especially right now, with sales at an all-time low, stocks dipping every evening, and consumer interest waning. I couldn't place my finger on exactly what had changed, but that didn't matter. We’d done everything, revamped our covers to be more modern, reached out to younger readers, reached out to older readers. Nothing we did forced any upturn on the ever diving board of our budget. All that mattered now was our survival, was making it to another day. My already small paycheck dwindled constantly in an attempt to keep my staff content and well paid. My profit margin was pitiable.

This was my dream though.

Originally, I'd always wanted to be a photographer. I'd wanted to see my photos splayed out in National Geographic or in fashion magazines. At some point during college, my interests had swayed. I no longer felt the call of my camera, I no longer held as much interest in seeing my name printed in tiny letters on a footnote.

I wanted my name to be on every page, I wanted to see it big, bold, glossy letters.

I needed to become an editor. I needed to be the one in charge.

Perhaps I had a little bit of a control issue, but I liked to label it as sheer talent.

There was only one man I had to thank for helping me discover my life's ambition, though I'd never truly gotten a chance to tell him what he meant to me.

Paul Harris; gorgeous, blue eyed, and insanely intelligent. He was way out of my league even back when we were kids in college, but now, he was basically a superstar. We'd dated off and on for our entire college career. I was too stubborn, he was too studious, and it never quite aligned correctly. We'd had to call it quits when he was shipped off overseas after graduation to work for his father's multimillion international business. I still see their logo daily, our office even implements quite a few of their devices.

At first, it stung to see his name so consistently. That first day that I walked into the office and saw his name glittering on the mantel, I almost curled up under my desk and bawled myself silly. Now, though, I tried not to think about it too frequently, and for the most part, I was successful. While there’s always a certain amount of attachment to your first love, it’d been over five years since we'd last said goodbye and I highly doubted he even remembered my name at this point. When I was at my personal crossroads, deciding which path I wanted to take for myself, he'd encouraged me to do whatever I wanted, to take every opportunity that came my way. I’d lived by those words, even now, they were my mantra.

He'd been right, of course, Paul Harris was rarely wrong. Here I was today, after all, head of a magazine. A faltering, dwindling magazine, but I would figure it out, as I always had before.

"M...Miranda?" George, the young intern, cleared his throat squeakily, shifting his feet.

I'd completely forgotten that he was still standing there. Was it almost the weekend? I needed the weekend. I needed a happy hour.

"Yes, George?" I sighed, "Have you finally remembered what you came in here to do?"

The blond man, barely out of his teens, nodded his head jerkily, extending a small cream envelope to me, "Carlos wanted me to deliver this."

"Carlos?" I murmured, glancing towards the large window that peered nosily into my cramped little office. I could see the top of his black head in his own office as he hunched over his computer, "Thank you George, weren’t you supposed to deliver coffees to everyone an hour ago?" I glanced pointedly at the empty coaster on the corner of my desk.

The intern skittered out of my office, all but slamming the door after him as he escaped. As the door frame shook, Carlos glanced up, his black eyes meeting mine as a slow smirk tugged the corners of his handsome lips. My heart thrummed quietly as I let the envelope rest on my desk, too nervous to open it.

Carlos had come to the office only last month. He, himself, was formerly an editor for a national newspaper chain. Unlike my own magazine, his paper was internationally heralded and still held high sales despite Carlos’ departure. His talents were regaled, his money was endless, and he'd chosen our little magazine as his latest, and last he insisted, project. Right now, he was content to write travel pieces about the exotic lands he'd seen and foods he'd tasted, but I had a feeling there was more to the man's plan. He'd insisted that the relaxing pieces were his choice of retirement. He no longer wanted to deal with the stresses and headaches of being in charge.

So, hoping his famous name would kindle more interest in our magazine, I'd reluctantly offered him the position. We needed all the help we could get.

His gaze often followed me when I walked by, I could always feel the heat of his stare on my back when I was near the sexy Latino man. Frequently, he was the last one to leave other than myself, though we had yet to have a real conversation outside of a work piece.

Even now, he watched me expectantly, waiting for me to crack open the envelope he'd sent over. I felt like I was in high school again, trying not to let the teacher see a note passed from a crush. Was Carlos going to invite me to the sock hop?

With tentative fingers, trying to look as though I was all business and not a sweaty palmed mess, I slowly ripped open the top of the envelope. Inside was a brightly colored sheet of paper, completely illegible scrawlings rippling across it. A frown tugged my lips as I squinted at the paper. Pictures of food sat between the strange characters. A menu? An Asian menu?

In confusion, I glanced up, almost jumping out my skin when Carlos' face greeted me from the doorway.

"You and me." He whispered quietly, "Dinner. Tonight. Chez Meng."

Shaking in my boots just like George had been moments prior, I managed to jerkily nod my head.

It was a date. A date with a billionaire.

Chapter Two

I had a date.

A real, freaking date.

I couldn't even remember the last time I really went on a date. I didn't have time for that kind of silly thing. I had a business to run!

Carlos, of all people. Sexy, Latino Carlos whose words had just the faintest of flavored lilts to it. He was gorgeous and rich beyond belief, and he wanted to take me out?

Chez Meng was a pretty delicious place, from what I'd heard. I'd never been there, but several of the office staff went on a semi regular basis. Their sake was out of this world, apparently, as was their sushi. I was down for both of those. It was the weekend after all, I could let myself have a little bit of fun. Right?

My closet glared at me, widespread doors and crumpled clothes angrily reminding me of exactly how little I had to wear. I wasn't big on shopping. In fact, I hated shopping, I hated trying on clothes and waiting in line, and hating everything that I put on. With a pout, I slammed the rickety closet doors shut. They teetered in annoyance, threatening to collapse on me.

"I'm just going to have to go naked." I sighed to my pitiful reflection in the large vanity mirror.

Mirror Miranda winced in response. My diet hadn't been exactly perfect the last few months, the last thing I wanted Carlos to see was my naked body. Fritos and diet Pepsi had been my best friends recently. I was always way too tired to cook for myself, a bag of chips was just the right fix after a long day at work.

Almost on cue, a gentle knock rang out against my front door. I stared at myself in the reflection, eyes going huge. Carlos wasn’t supposed to arrive for another hour, I was positive. I’d been checking the clock like a lifeline. Had I heard the time wrong?

My home was cozy and quaint, though some would describe it as cramped. Right now, it was all I could afford. It was more or less a studio apartment, with a two inch bathroom and an equally small closet. The kitchen took up the entirety of the living space aside from my twin bed.

That's right, I was a grown woman sleeping in a twin bed. I had no money to spare on luxuries when I was making sure that my staff could feed their families. Pamela had just found out she was pregnant, Arthur was getting sole custody of his three kids, Susan was getting married - there was just way too much going on for me to tell them I needed to cut pay. I couldn't cut pay, it wasn't an option. That would have been to admit failure, which just wasn't going to happen. Even Carlos was getting paid much below what he had for his other newspaper, though it’d been his own salary offer that I’d accepted. I would have tried my best to pay him more.

I wrapped a towel around my still damp body, rushing to the door. When I glanced out the peephole, I saw nothing. Maybe I was being ding dong ditched? Did kids still play that game?

Cautiously, I cracked open the door, keeping it chained at the top. I'd seen way too many crime dramas and horror movies to trust a random knocking at my door.

Resting right against the withered wood was a box, wrapped in lavender paper and topped with a red bow. I stared it, confused, trying to remember whether or not it was my birthday.

Definitely not, I finally concluded.

Gingerly, I opened the door, casting a suspicious peek around before hauling the box inside and relocking the door. I stared at it, tapping my fingers against the shiny wrapping paper. There was no card, no note, nothing.

Perhaps it was from Carlos? A little present to get me ready for our big night? I was willing to put money on the box containing sexy underwear. What a beast. Men.

Finally, when my excitement for receiving a gift overwhelmed the confusion on where it came from, I ripped it open. Inside was another box. As I lifted the lid, the soft scent of flowers filled my apartment. A bouquet of sweet, white gardenias rested on top of a simple black dress. I blinked away the surprise at the lack of lingerie.

Gardenias, my favorite. How had Carlos even known?

I lifted them up, inhaling their lovely fragrance as my eyes closed. It was heavenly. I couldn't remember the last time I'd stopped and taken time to smell such beautiful flowers. There was a time when I constantly had vases full of gardenias and my home smelled as delicious as that body wash store in the mall. There was no way I could continually keep up with the flowering beauties and they’d all died rather slow and painful deaths, then sat around in the vases looking morbid for another month before I remembered to clean them up.

That was the end of my dream of getting a cat.

Next, I held up the dress, running my fingers over the elegant stitching. Carlos must have known that I wouldn't have anything to wear. Or perhaps I had a really terrible fashion sense and the Latino billionaire was just trying to protect his image?

Either way, it was gorgeous and I was grateful.

I slid into the gossamer fabric, twirling around in front of my mirror for good measure. I slid into a pair of shiny white heels, braiding one of the flowers into my hair. By the time I was finishing my pitiful attempt at make up, someone knocked on my door once more.

Naturally, it was just the doorman to the apartment building. There was no way in hell that I was letting Carlos get a glimpse of the shoddy apartment I called home. Mystery was sexy, and all that.

"Good evening, Ms. Malone." The doorman said boredly, "Your car has arrived."

Jordan, the only person who could get away with calling me by my last name. This was, of course, because no matter how much I told him I hated it, he kept using my surname anyway. He couldn't care less about my feelings on the matter.

"Thank you." I said politely, locking the door behind me as I lightly threw my purse over my shoulder. The ten year old shrunken leather bag didn't go with the outfit, but it tonight it would just have to.

I allowed Jordan to escort me all the way down to the lobby, where he pointed me in the direction of a gleaming black limo. A man in a matching black suit stood stoically by the passenger door, staring in my direction. His eyes were as bored as Jordan’s, glazed over with disdain for their jobs.

"Have a good evening, Ms. Malone." Jordan drawled with an apathetic sigh, returning to his place at the front door as I strode as quickly as possible towards the limo.

Never in my life had I ever been in a limo before. Not even for prom, I'd just driven my beaten up Honda to that. I was pretty sure I’d never even been this close to one. Under the deep dark of the evening overhead, the stars twinkled all along its ebony cage. It was gorgeous. I knew Carlos was a billionaire, but I had been expecting a taxi.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." I murmured as the man swung open the door for me.

"Why, look at you, Miranda." Carlos' voice suddenly echoed as he beamed at me, perfect teeth twinkling in the night.

A blush crept up my neck, glancing away shyly as Carlos held out a glass of crimson wine to me as I settled into the seat beside him. The driver shut the door, climbing back up front. Once he was seated, a reflective separation slid up, hiding him from us. I watched as his eyes slowly vanished in the rearview mirror.

"You look stunning.” He whispered into my ear, his hand resting on my knee, "I was almost positive you'd wear one of your pantsuits to dinner."

I giggled nervously, swallowing the huge lump that swelled in my throat. I didn’t even think to argue with him about my pantsuit. I rocked them like a boss. His hot fingers tapped against my knee possessively, his other hand delicately bringing the glass of wine to his lips as he watched me intently. My stomach did acrobatic twists and leaps inside of me, heart threatening to burst out of my very ribs.

"Well," I murmured, "It's all thanks to you."

One of my fingers lightly crept up the soft swell of the gardenia petals as he blinked quizzically for a moment before shrugging, scooting closer to me.

"If you say so." he purred, "Tell me about yourself, Miranda, I want to know everything."

His eyes, black as my dress and the limo paint, swept over me once more before settling back on my own eyes, his fingers bravely creeping towards my thigh. His hand spread over my tingling flesh, holding me still as he pressed me backwards into the corner of the limo.

Gracefully, before I could even begin to think of an answer to his question, he plucked the glass of wine from my hands, setting it into a cup holder behind us.

He had no intention of listening to the words I would speak, I realized, as his other hand slid up my side, clinging to the smooth fabric of the dress. The hand on my thigh squeezed my flesh, his breath invading my lips and nose as he moved closer and closer.

"Umm," I desperately tried to remember how to speak as he slid his burning fingers behind my neck, cradling my body as he crawled closer and closer. I couldn’t tell if it was the heat of his body or the buzz of the wine I had no chance to drink, but my head spun round and round like a merry go round. One of his knees separated mine, the fingers at my thigh sliding lower, below my knee, tugging it further apart as his body slid closer and closer.

Finally, he silenced my words as his lips brushed mine, lightly at first, returning seconds later with a ravenous hunger. Again and again he tasted my lips, his fingernails raking against my knee.

A soft moan curled my toes, as my fingers hesitantly, at first, curled into his dark brown locks.

Beneath us, I couldn't tell if the limo was even moving, or if we were just gliding along the back roads of night, or whether I was dreaming, about to be rudely brought back to reality by a trembling intern.

All I could hope was that Chez Meng lay very, very far away.