Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

We both pull up on our knees, so our bodies touch as our kiss deepens. His hand presses against my lower back and his other sweeps along my cheek and cups my jaw. As his tongue nudges my lips to part them, I run my hands up his hard belly and onto his chest. Our tongues tangle, and I wrap my arms around his neck to hold him tighter.

  Heat builds between us, our hands moving across each other's bodies as our mouths play and taste. Gavin suddenly wraps an arm around me and sweeps me against him, turning so he lays on his back with me rested on his chest. It's the same position we ended up in after sledding, but this time I can feel all of his warmth and indulge in his kiss. His hands move down to cup my ass and hold me hard against him.

  After a few seconds, he flips us over so I'm on my back, and he comes down on top of me. His hand slides into my sweater and along my ribcage, his fingertips grazing the bottom of my bra. They move down, and the tips dip under the waistband of my pants.

  I pull my mouth away from his.

  "We should call it a night," I breathe.

  Gavin ducks his head and kisses me again.

  "Alright," he says. "I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow."

  I nod, and he rolls off me, then climbs to his feet and reaches for my hand so he can help me up. One more lingering kiss, and he puts on his boots and coat to leave. I walk him to the door, and he turns to stroke my cheek before getting in his tiny rental car.

  I'm not convinced it will move across the ice that has formed over the top of the snow, but it eventually grinds its way over, and his taillights disappear down the street.

  When nothing's left but the darkness, an eerie feeling settles over me. The image of the roses and the note sitting on my porch creeps back into my mind. Alone in the quiet, I don't feel as comfortable as I did just a few minutes ago. I hurry to check the windows and make sure they're locked, then pull the drapes tight. Even though I never use the back door, I walk through the house to check it. My hand is still on the curtain over the glass in the door when I hear the front door jostle.

  My heart skips a beat, then struggles for the next. The sound gets louder. Someone is not only at my front door; they are trying to open it. I reach for my phone, forgetting my pants have no pockets.

  I'm about to head for the back door when the front bursts open.

  I scream.

  The intruder screams.

  I run for the back door and grab the knob.

  My intruder is still screaming.

  My hand stops. I know that scream. Turning back around, I look into my living room. Sylvia is pressed against the wall beside the front door; her hand pressed to her chest.

  "Sylvia!"

  "Why are we screaming?" she asks. "You scared the hell out of me!"

  "I scared you?" I sputter. "I live here! And you're supposed to be out of town."

  "I came back early," she says.

  "What was all that noise with the door?"

  She holds up the key I gave her.

  "It got stuck. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

  "What?"

  "I've called you about twenty times. I left voicemails; I sent texts. There's even a video message. I think. It might just be a video that's now saved on my phone. You didn't respond to any of them. I was getting really worried," she says.

  "I didn't hear it at all." I walk into my bedroom and dig through the pockets of my clothes. I check my purse. "It's not here." My head drops. "Damn. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was sledding."

  "You went sledding?" she asks.

  "It's February snow," I explain, grabbing my coat.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Going back to the McVey mansion to find my phone. Let's go."

  Sylvia groans.

  "No, Scarlett. Not the McVey mansion in the middle of the night. That place creeps me out," she says.

  "I need to find it. The store is not going to be so understanding this time considering the untimely demise of my last several," I tell her.

  "Well, even if you do find it, it's probably useless. It would have drowned by now."

  "Nope," I say, shrugging into my coat. "It's waterproof. Learned that lesson at the alligator park in Florida last year."

  Sylvia shudders, her body curling in on itself in a visceral reaction.

  "I do not have good memories from that excursion, and it has nothing to do with water damage to a cell phone."

  "I know you do. I promise there will be no alligators there."

  She groans again but finally relents.

  "I can't believe you went sledding by yourself," she grumbles as we climb into the car.

  "I wasn't. Gavin was with me."

  "Gavin?"

  "My masked superhero from Halloween has resurfaced."

  Sylvia squeals again.

  "I want to hear absolutely everything. Start from the first time you saw him up until right this second."

  I grin but brace myself. I start telling the story, trying to figure out what to say when I get to the point when Gavin asked me to go to the party with him. I don't know if I'm prepared for her excitement.

  At least it gives me a few minutes without thinking about the note.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gavin

  One thing I'll say about Ruby is she hasn't let marrying into money completely change her. I only met her in passing before she married Beck in their formal wedding, but watching her prepare for this party tells me a lot about her. Elaborate parties and lavish dinners are not unusual to me. It comes with the territory. People in my circle network, cement business deals, do charity work, mingle, and show off with events. I'm known for my Christmas dinner parties and have been known to occasionally host other events. Rare, but it's been done.

  Ruby definitely shares my affinity for entertaining, but it's how she does it that sets her apart. It's not just that she pulls out all the stops when throwing her parties. It's that she does it herself. In most of the fancy events I attend back home, guests are quick to shower the host or hostess with praise at events, when in reality, they likely had next to nothing to do with them. Planners, coordinators, rental companies, and the rest of a cascading list of professionals handle everything until the gathering is almost as much a surprise to the person throwing it as the guests. Not so with Ruby. She recognizes the benefits of a caterer and baker, but I've quickly learned the rest is up to her.

  Which is why the morning of Valentine's Day, we are not at the house enjoying a leisurely breakfast, but in town scrambling to find last-minute details that popped into her head apparently while she was sleeping. She's so excited by these secret plans; it's impossible not to pick up on her excitement.

  I came along to town with her, but she ushered me away, not wanting to reveal any of the party before it starts. That's fine with me. I didn't come down here to shop for sparkly heart confetti or whatever else she might have in mind. I want to make tonight special for Scarlett, so I came into town to buy her flowers.

  Of course, it's Valentine's Day, which means flowers are a hot commodity. It seems every man, woman, and teenager in Shadow Creek has descended on the florist, decor shop, and even grocery store in search of flowers to present to loved ones today. For some of them, it's in hopes of offering fresh flowers instead of something wilted, and not realizing their mistake. For some, it's because they forgot and only this morning went on a desperate search.

  I'm among those with last-minute plans, but that doesn't save me from the shuffle from place to place, searching for something to offer Scarlett when I pick her up tonight. My fellow searchers stare through narrowed eyes at those who thought ahead and made orders, walking up to the counters without a second of hesitation and breezing out with their perfect dewy blooms in tow.

  I'm left with a potted plant.

  Not to insult the plant or its pot. Both are very nice. But they don't exactly give off the ‘Valentine's Day date with a woman who hasn't let go of my thoughts since I saw her’ vibes. It's more of the 'Welcome to your new retirement home, Grandm
a. I hope you get over your cold soon’ vibes.

  Nice, but not really what I'm going for. I don't know if it's more or less awkward than the box of fudge that's the closest thing to Valentine's chocolates left in the area. There are hours left before the party, so I'm tempted to drive out into one of the nearby cities or towns to see if I have any better luck.

  But even with that much time, I don't know if I can trust my rental to get me through the snow still on the ground. The forecast this morning mentioned temperatures dropping and the possibility of more snow. I certainly don't need to have my visit to Shadow Creek end with me frozen to my dashboard, clutching a box of half-eaten fudge because my miniature rental can't handle a few more inches of snow.

  Maybe I should bring them to her before tonight. Presenting chocolate and flowers at the beginning of a date is traditional, but considering I'm veering so far from the traditional gifts, maybe I should lean into it. Bringing her the flower and fudge at work can be a prelude to our date and also solve that uncomfortable situation at the beginning of dates when a woman stands with flowers without a clue of what to do with them.

  It was particularly awkward the one time my date was already outside waiting when I arrived. I handed the flowers I'd brought her, which in retrospect had a funereal appearance and scent that should have struck me as foreshadowing. She looked down at them for several seconds, then had to scramble to unlock her door, go inside, find somewhere to put them, and come back. I would happily go through that and much more hassle for Scarlett, but this way, neither of us have to.

  Ruby is meeting Beck and me at the diner later, but I have time to make my way to the real estate office. I turn the corner a few yards away and see the tiny parking lot in front of her office. It's only four parking spots lined up along the short stretch of sidewalk, so it's not difficult to do a quick scan and notice it's empty. Her gold SUV, a car that at once is so wrong for her and yet so perfect, isn't in any of the spots. In front of them, the glass door is darkened. There's something on it, and as I approach, I notice it's a sign saying the office is closed. A spot beneath that is covered with white tape probably once gave her phone number, but it's fully concealed.

  I'll have to settle for presenting her with her potted plant and fudge tonight when I pick her up. I've made it most of the way down the sidewalk toward the corner when the sound of car tires cracking through the thin layer of ice over the top of the snow makes me glance over my shoulder. It's not the sound of a car coming up behind me down the road. The crackle is too fresh and sharp to be tires following the slushy path on the road.

  A car stops across two of the parking spaces in front of Scarlett's office. A few seconds later, the driver's side door opens, and a figure climbs out. From the distance, it's difficult to tell even if it's a man or a woman. If I have to guess, I'd say it's a man, but on the smaller side. He's bundled up too much to see any features. He strides purposefully around the front of the car up to the door and reads the sign.

  It doesn't satisfy him. Rather than turning away like I did, he cups his hands around his eyes and presses them to the door to peer inside. It's just like when Scarlett and I explored around the outside of the mansion on the hill, but this feels different. That was curiosity about something old and mysterious. This feels invasive.

  I'm starting back toward the office to confront him when the man steps back from the door and gets back in his car. He backs out of the parking lot at an angle, does an awkward turn that appears to have at least thirty points, and drives off in the same direction he came.

  The strange experience has mostly left my mind by the time I get to Scarlett's house that night. I ring the doorbell and try to figure out how to present the potted plant and fudge. The second she opens the door, it doesn't matter. I've heard the term breathtaking get thrown around to describe everything from a new baby to a dessert. Never have I honestly felt the compulsion to apply it to a woman.

  Not until now. Scarlett truly takes my breath away. She looks incredibly beautiful in a sleek black dress that dips low to reveal the soft swells of her breasts and the elegant slope of her collar bones. A single ruby like a droplet of red wine hangs around her delicate neck.

  "Come in," she offers.

  I step inside and turn to her.

  "You look stunning tonight," I marvel. "This is for you."

  She takes the plant from my hand and nestles her nose into one of the small blooms.

  "It's beautiful. Thank you. It'll look nice on my desk." She peeks into the box of fudge. "Dark chocolate. My favorite."

  Her voice sounds soft, almost powdery, and I look closer at her face. She's not crying or grimacing, but there's a drawn look to her eyes, and her lips tilt down at the corners just enough to notice.

  "Is something wrong?" I ask.

  She glances over at me and shakes her head.

  "No," she says. "I'm fine."

  "Are you sure?"

  Scarlett considers my question, and her shoulders drop.

  "I got another note," she admits.

  "Another note?" Realization flickers through my mind. "Like the one you showed me yesterday?"

  She nods and crosses the room to the fireplace where we sat last night. Taking something down from the mantle, she looks down at it for a beat, then brings it over to me.

  "Sylvia and I went shopping this morning, and when I got back home, this was sitting on my front porch."

  She hands a box over to me. It's the heart shape of a traditional box of Valentine's Day chocolates but crafted from black satin. I remove the lid and take out the folded note inside. Under the note are several chocolates nestled in black paper. Each has the shape of a heart cracked down the middle.

  I unfold the note. It's the same as the last. ‘Trick or Treat.’

  "Did anything else come with it?" I ask.

  Scarlett shakes her head.

  "No. Just that."

  The strange gift is obviously upsetting her, but I set it aside and rest my hands on her shoulders.

  "It's just a sick joke," I tell her. "Just someone's idea of dark humor. Either that, or you have a secret admirer who knows your love of Halloween and is trying to impress you."

  Her eyes lift to mine, and I smile. "It's not me. I would be far more creative than that. Besides, I don't think it's much of a secret I'm your admirer."

  Scarlett's lips twitch, and I lean forward to brush a kiss across them. She returns it, and I indulge in a few moments of enjoying her before stepping back.

  "You're probably right," she says.

  I nod. "Let's just go enjoy the evening together. From what Ruby has allowed me to see, which admittedly isn't much, Valentine's Day has exploded in their home. If nothing else, it will be an experience."

  She takes my hand, and I lead her out to the car. As we pull away, the thought of the odd man at her office rises up in my mind again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gavin

  "Would it be distasteful if I said I feel like we're lost somewhere in the underpinnings of a saloon girl?"

  I pull my glass away from my lips and press the side of my hand against it to stop my cocktail from spewing out of my mouth as I laugh. When I swallow safely, I turn to look at Scarlett. Her fingertips run along the gold fringe edging of a red velvet curtain hanging in the archway between two rooms as she takes in the decorations around her.

  "I really like that you used the word 'underpinnings'," I comment. "That just really brings it home for me."

  She grins. "It's just this room. The rest of the party has been lovely."

  I know that tone. It's the sound of someone not entirely comfortable in their surroundings but trying to hold back. She fits in seamlessly. There isn't a woman here who compares to how gorgeous she is, and the way she carries herself is as elegant and confident as anyone else. Every room we go into falls under her spell instantly. Eyes turn to her and watch as she maneuvers around the space, drawn into her and transfixed in wanting to know what she'll do next. I complete
ly understand their feeling.

  But Scarlett doesn't feel at ease here. She feels out of her element and hasn't been able to fully relax and have a good time. This party isn't quite to the same extreme as the Halloween extravaganza Ruby created. They didn't take over any of their property to design an elaborate ode to Cupid or have the caterer make everything in the shape of a heart. But it’s still a lot.

  Guests mingle through their home and indulge in tiny savory snacks and indulgent sweets. It might draw attention to mouths and encourage suggestive finger licking, but it's not exactly as filling as the sets overflowing with food. Ruby might not have changed how she acts or thinks because of her husband's money, but she certainly has learned an affinity for what it can afford.

  The surroundings of the party are a study in opulence. Waiters serve drinks in cut crystal glasses, and truffles sit on silver platters. Diamonds drip from the women, and the men wear custom tailored suits. Scarlett is seeing a sliver of my world, and she's having as much difficulty adapting to it as I did to sledding.

  "Not enjoying yourself?" I ask.

  "It's… a lot," she says.

  "It is," I agree.

  "I feel like I'm betraying my bank account just breathing."

  I laugh. "It's not quite that serious. Come on. There's another room I want to show you."

  She lets me take her hand and bring her through the next room into the ballroom. I laughed when Beck told me he was designing a house for his wife and child and wanted it to have a ballroom. That's not exactly a modern feature. But his desire to spoil Ruby in any and every way he possibly can won over, and the ballroom became a reality. I imagine it will one day see a tremendous amount of use as a roller rink and bicycle track for their son George. But for now, it is fulfilling its destiny, something Scarlett realizes with a gasp as attendants open the large double doors, and we step inside.

  Candlelight, crystal chandeliers, and gold create the feeling that we've stepped out of our time and into the glamour of the past. A cliched sentiment, perhaps, but an appropriate one. Music sweeps down from the musicians positioned on a stage at the far side of the room, and couples flood the shining wood floor. Light from the chandeliers overhead reflects off sequins and satin on some, creating an ethereal glow that only furthers the sense that we're not where we began.