The Billionaire's Secret (4 page)

“Margie,” he said softly because he had to say her name just now.

And then he lowered his lips to hers as she rose on her toes to meet him.

Something electric sparked and fanned out between them, and he couldn’t hold back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to him. She gave a breathy sigh, and he moaned into her mouth, wanting more. She opened to him like a Paris rose, beautiful and delicious, and he savored every slick slide of her tongue on his. He supped at her lips like she was his last glorious feast, like she was the key to paradise itself.

She was his paradise now, and there was no end to the feast. Not even when they finally separated.

Her green eyes glowed, and inside them, he could see everything she was and would ever be. A piece of eternity seemed to hang in the air between them, and he traced her face.

He brought her hand to his chest. Let her feel his heart beat as they watched each other. It was the most passionate kiss he’d ever experienced. He saw her swallow thickly and knew she felt as lost as he did.

“Oh, Margie,” he finally whispered and buried his head in the curve of her neck, inhaling cinnamon and feeling the branches of the willow trees twirl around them almost as if in delight.

She traced another heart against his chest, and this time he understood what it meant. It was her way of giving her heart to him.

“That was the most beautiful kiss any woman could ever hope for,” she whispered.

He realized she didn’t say “first” or “Paris.” This kiss had defied time and place.

“It was the most amazing kiss anyone could ever hope for,” he said in a husky voice.

She looked up at him, and the willows seemed to cradle them in a lover’s embrace.

“How about we stay here for a little while?” he asked.

“I’d love that.”

And so they remained in an embrace as the wind wrapped the willows around them and the Seine rushed by, as powerful and special as this growing force between them.

***

Margie felt like her entire body was filled with the unctuous ribbons of river water flowing through the city. She’d never had a more magical kiss, and she didn’t think it was Paris. It was Evan.

Her head rested on his arm as they left the tiny inlet and strolled along the Seine toward Notre Dame. In the waning light, the spires of the famous cathedral looked more ominous, and coupled with the gargoyles, she found herself wondering if others before her had felt intimidated in its presence. Evan was telling her about the Île de la Cité, one of two natural islands on the Seine. It was where the original medieval city was founded and where the cathedral now towered over everything around it.

“Do you want me to take a picture of you?” he asked her when they stood in front of the cathedral.

She was tired, but the good kind of tired that came from being happy. “How about one of you and me?”

Something flashed in his eyes, and then he smiled. “I like that idea.” He fished out his smart phone and positioned them with the cathedral in the background.

“Say cinnamon rolls,” he suggested with a grin.

He caught them both laughing, and after he pocketed the phone, she threw her arms around him. “Evan, I’m so happy.”

His arms tightened around her. “I am too.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner. You’re practically asleep on your feet.”

“No, I’m not,” she protested, rubbing the back of her neck when he drew away from her. “But I could eat.”

“You’re going to love where I’m taking you,” he said, reaching for her hand again.

“I have a feeling I’m going to love everywhere you take me.”

He looked down at her, and for a moment, she could feel the swell of passion between them.

“So, as I was saying about Notre Dame…” he continued, clearing his throat.

As they walked, he told her more about the history of the cathedral and the land where it was built, recounting even the pre-Christian times when the temple of the Egyptian goddess, Isis, had sat on the island. His command of history and facts astounded her. So she asked all of the questions that popped into her mind. About how deep the Seine was, and how many bridges there were throughout the city. He had answers for every one.

When they reached a quaint street off the Quai de Montebello, he stopped in front of Le Reminet, a lovely bistro with a purple storefront. What struck her first was the profusion of candlelight she could see through the windows. When he opened the door for her, she wanted to sigh. Every table had its own candles and cut flowers. Coupled with the white tablecloths, the setting was cozy and intimate all at the same time.

“I love it,” she whispered as the maitre d’ approached them.

“I knew you would,” he said. “You struck me as a sucker for candlelight.”

“What’s not to like about candlelight?” she asked. In fact, she wished there was a way to incorporate it into her bakery, but there was the whole fire code thing to consider…and the fact that she was only open during the day.

Evan spoke French to the maitre d’, and it was the first time she’d heard him speak the language. He seemed sexier now, all of a sudden, as if the exotic words had changed him into a magician.

She’d studied French in boarding school. To piss off her parents in their never-ending war to package her into a perfect upper-crust daughter, she’d purposely tanked most of her exams at school. But she’d secretly loved French. While her language skills were rusty, she hoped to polish them up a bit now that she was in Paris.

“Your accent sounds marvelous,” she said after they were seated.

Their waiter appeared and spoke to them in French. She caught a few of the words, but was too tired to focus her brain on translating. Maybe tomorrow, once she was rested.

“What would you like to drink?” Evan asked her. “Champagne to start? Or wine?”

“Champagne sounds decadent.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and grinned. “Pink or white?”

She leaned forward. “Pink, seriously?”

“Everywhere you go, people will give you the choice of pink or white.”

“Then pink,” she said and smiled at their waiter, who gave her a flirtatious grin.

Evan ordered and then arranged his napkin in his lap. “I see how this is going to go. All the men in Paris are going to fall in love with you.”

And what about you?
she almost asked. Their kiss had told her plenty about how much he wanted her. But love? Don’t get ahead of yourself, she reminded herself. You’re only here for ten days.

“So long as everyone’s nice to me, we won’t have a problem,” she told him, setting her napkin in her lap and reaching for the menu.

When she saw the prices, she almost winced. She’d known things in Paris were going to be pricey, but this…

“Do I need to remove your menu and tell you what’s available so you won’t see the prices?” Evan asked in an aggrieved tone.

He was staring at her when she lowered her menu. “Evan—”

“I told you I’m totally fine on the money side, Margie,” he said.

He
had
told her that, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it meant. Unless he’d found a new job in the past two weeks, he was unemployed. Perhaps he’d saved enough that he didn’t feel the pressure to have a constant job. She knew some artists did that—they would work long enough to save up some money in the bank and then take time off to create until they needed to replenish their reserves.

“Evan, that’s really nice of you, but I still want to contribute my share,” she said.

He frowned. “Please let me spoil you a little while you’re here. I don’t…have company much. It would mean a lot to me if we could end this struggle right now so we can enjoy all Paris has to offer.”

Again, she caught a hint of loneliness in his voice. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what had brought him to Paris and where his family was. Where his friend, Chase, lived. Like where his money came from, his whole background was a mystery to her.

Then she reminded herself of what she did know. He supported her dreams, and while his perfectionism had sometimes frustrated her, she appreciated the effort he’d poured into painting her bakery in tune with her vision. He was sweet and thoughtful and so smart she wondered how all his knowledge fit into his beautiful head. He invented weird things out of adding machines and could program a computer chip. And then there was the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing worth gazing at in the whole world. She wasn’t sure anyone else had ever looked at her that way.

“Okay,” she said as the waiter filled two crystal glasses with pink champagne. “I won’t fight you if you allow me to make you bread while I’m here. That will be my gift to you.”

“You already brought me cinnamon rolls all the way from Dare Valley. That was an incredible gift. I might have had one while you were napping.”

“I want…no, I
need
to give you something in return, Evan.” She reached for his hand. “It’s important to me.”

How could she explain that her upbringing had left her feeling like a parasite?

“You asked me earlier to tell you about…that dark time in my life. Well…”

Oh, this was going to be hard. She rarely shared her background with anyone—in part because it was in the past, like she’d told him, but also because she feared people would treat her differently if they knew she’d come from money. Or that her own parents had disowned her. But she found herself wanting to tell him, so he would know the whole of her—just like she wanted to know the whole of him. And maybe, just maybe, he would open up and share with her in return.

“My…ah…parents…It’s weird to refer to them that way now. They’re really wealthy. Old family money. They…never gave anything back in any meaningful way—not to me or to anyone in their circle. They threw money around to advertise their power and status.”

His mouth tightened. “Go on.”

“They wanted me to be just like them. To dress a certain way. To talk a certain way. To think a certain way. Do things rich people are supposed to do. Go to art gallery openings and ride horses and crap like that. They sent me to boarding school when I was seven because I cramped their lifestyle.” She took a breath. “I tried to please them in the beginning, but they didn’t even notice. So I rebelled. Hard. That didn’t work either. The calls from the school after I was caught drinking, sneaking out, or whatever were just a bother to them. One day I finally woke up and realized I was only hurting myself.”

There was a line between his brows as he listened to her. She fiddled with her napkin and made herself continue.

“I sought help in books and found a good counselor, one my parents hadn’t chosen.” There had been childhood shrinks from early on, but they’d always made her feel like she was in the wrong, like she was a bad girl like her parents called her. “A new world unfolded for me, one filled with love and generosity.”

The book that had changed everything was one she’d seen on
The Oprah Show
: Marianne Williamson’s
A Return to Love.
“I started college, but I was still struggling with what I wanted to do with my life. Then I ran into some people one night while volunteering at a local homeless shelter. They’d just come back from teaching English as a second language to children in a border town in Mexico, run by some nuns.”

His quiet intensity was making her nervous. What was he thinking? Her and nuns? It must sound crazy. He was so hard to read as he picked up his champagne glass and took what looked to be a fortifying sip.

“Something in me wanted to go down there. They talked about how giving back to this community had changed their lives. I’d never been part of a community before, and well…they made it sound so great. When I told my parents, we had the row of a lifetime. They made threats, everything from taking away my car to cutting me off. And I snapped. I told them to cut me off. That I hated them and everything they stood for and never wanted to see them again.” The ugliness wasn’t as sticky as it used to be. Now it felt like dust she could brush off with a gentle pass of her fingers over her skin.

“Oh, Margie,” he said finally, setting aside his glass and grabbing her hand.

“It’s really not as awful as it sounds,” she said, releasing the huge pocket of air in her lungs. “We were never much of a family. My mother was a party girl who married my father for his fortune. He’s twenty years older than her, and he’s spent his entire life living off a trust fund. She got pregnant with me right away to dig her claws into him. She’d run away from her own family in North Dakota to become a model or an actress, you see, but she was too lazy to pursue anything serious.”

The judgment coming through her made her seem hard, so she pressed her free hand to her chest to re-center herself. “I finally realized my mother was completely unprepared for life in the big city. She did what seemed most logical to her.”

“Does your father know that’s why she married him?” he asked, his voice taut with tension.

“Yes, but he’s a vain man. He likes having a beautiful, younger woman for a trophy wife. They have an agreement…” The time she’d found her mother in bed with one of the waiters at a party at their house was forever ingrained in her mind.

“They didn’t deserve you,” he said in a hard tone.

She shrugged. “They never had any more kids. I was only a safety net for her and a nuisance to them both. After they disowned me, I sold what I had at a pawn shop, bought a cheap car, and left Dartmouth to teach English as a second language. The people I’d met at the homeless shelter helped set it up for me.”

“And have you spoken to your parents since then?” Evan asked, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb in comfort.

The candlelight flickered on the table, and she focused on the steady flame as the old sadness rolled through her. “No. They said if I quit school to teach, it was the final straw.” She’d left without a backward glance, knowing that if she stayed on their terms, she’d be cutting off that unique part of herself that made her Margie…and she would never be able to reclaim it.

“I’m so sorry, Margie,” Evan said, his blue eyes gazing at her and not looking away, like he wanted to see all of her.