Beast in the Woods: An alpha male billionaire and younger BBW romance (Filthy Rich Love Book 3)

by Sadie King

  “But it will break your sister's heart to find out you’re working in a place like this. Is that what you really want?”

  She sits down next to me, and I can tell I’m getting through to her. I press on.

  “You can come and live in the house with us if you want, or you can go away to college, or you can go traveling the world if that’s what you really want. But we’re family now, and I can’t let you work in a place like this.”

  “You’re a hypocrite too.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I don’t want you making the same mistakes I’ve made. I’m offering you another option.”

  She wraps her arms around her bare shoulders.

  “You won’t want me living in your house, cramping your style.”

  “You’re Mya’s family.” I shrug. “You’re all she has.”

  The bouncer pushes his head through the beaded curtain.

  “Hey, less talking, more dancing.”

  Brit looks at me for a moment.

  “Nah,” she says, standing up. “I’m done with dancing.”

  She pushes her way past him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The bouncer advances on me, his brow furrowed.

  “Time to leave, buddy.”

  “With pleasure,” I say.

  I drive Brit back to Mya’s.

  “How did you know I was there?” she asks.

  “I saw Karl slip you something at the party. When Mya said you’d run off, I guessed it was one of his cards. He owns half the clubs in town.”

  “I don’t want to tell Mya where I went. She’ll never forgive herself.”

  “I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to, but if she asks me directly, I won’t lie to her.”

  Brit thinks about this for a moment. “Let’s tell her you found me at Karl’s place. It’s half the truth. She doesn’t have to know it was his strip club.”

  “Fine. But you pull a stunt like this again, and I’ll lose all trust in you.”

  “Fine.”

  I pull up outside their house, and before the car stops Mya comes running out. She pulls Brit into an embrace, and they go inside the house. I don’t want to interrupt their tearful reunion, so I leave them to it and drive home.

  Later that night the buzzer to the gate rings. I check the security camera. It’s Mya. I buzz the gate open and go out to meet her. There’s a cold breeze, and I walk her to the house and into the warm kitchen.

  “I came to say thank you,” she says. “For bringing Brit home.”

  “I’m glad she came back,” I say.

  “So, she said some weird things.” She’s twisting her t-shirt nervously.

  “Like what?” I say, enjoying seeing her squirm.

  “Like we were all going to live together in this big house like one big happy family.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “She had this crazy idea that we were getting married.”

  “Would that be so crazy?”

  She laughs nervously, and I trap her hand in mine.

  “I know we’ve only just met, but I’ve never felt so certain about anything in my life. You’re the woman for me, Mya. I want you in my life forever.”

  “I feel that too,” she says. “Are we crazy?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Marry me and we’ll find out.”

  She gives me that big wide-eyed innocent look.

  “Yes.” She nods. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll marry you.”

  I scoop her into my arms and spin her around the kitchen, knocking a pan to the floor.

  My heart is so full it might burst. I have the woman I love in my arms, and this big old house is starting to feel like it might be a home after all.

  Epilogue

  Mya

  6 years later...

  “Thank you for showing us around the wolf place.” The boy hands me a piece of paper with a child’s drawing of a wolf amongst the trees.

  “That’s a lovely picture, thank you.”

  I pin it on the chalk board and turn to the children sitting around the low tables in the learning center.

  “It’s been lovely to meet you all. I hope you enjoyed the visit.”

  “What do you say to Mrs. Bancroft?” says the teacher.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bancroft.” The little voices speak in well-practiced unison.

  “Thank you for coming. I hope you come back to see us next year.”

  I waddle over to the door, because I’m at the waddling stage of my pregnancy now, and head through to the main visitor center.

  “For god’s sake, sit down and rest, would you?” Brit’s heels clack on the wooden floor as she rushes over to take my arm.

  “I’m not an invalid,” I say, waving her away.

  She folds her arms across her tailored dress and raises an eyebrow at me. “If anything happened to you, Lucas would kill me. So sit down while I make some coffee, and that’s decaf for you.”

  I roll my eyes, but I let her lead me into the office and gratefully sink into a chair.

  We opened the visitor’s center shortly after we were married. It now has over a million visitors a year and a lot of those are school groups. They come to walk the wooded trails and learn about the wolves that live in the area.

  After graduating college, Brit came to work for us as our Chief Marketing Officer. You wouldn’t recognize the confident young woman with her sharp bobbed haircut and tailored outfits. There’s no sign of the rebellious teenager she once was.

  I moved into the big house with Lucas, and it wasn’t long before we started filling it with our new family. We’ve got three children with another arriving very soon.

  We’re using the whole house now. We had to move the bats out of the empty rooms. They were re-homed beneath a rocky outcrop in the woods. We built the visitor’s center near it, and visiting the bats is one of the highlights for school children.

  We repaired the damage they’d done to the house and decorated the spare bedrooms. Now we open our home to visiting scientists and researchers who want to study the area and the animals. They stay for free, and we often sponsor the research.

  Because of the work my husband did in preserving the woods, the wolf population in this area is thriving again. Bird populations are growing, and of course there are the bats. He’s a good man, my husband.

  Brit brings me the coffee, and we chat for a while about an upcoming fundraising ball we’re organizing. The baby inside me kicks at my belly, reminding me not to make too many plans. I rub the protruding foot gently.

  “Don’t worry, little one, I’ll miss the ball for you if I have to.”

  The door to the visitor’s center bangs open, and Lucas strides in. His large frame means he almost has to duck to get through the door. He’s been out in the woods all day with a group of researchers. His boots are muddy, there’s dirt on his jeans, and his hair is windswept. I feel a rush of heat between my legs at the sight of him looking so rugged.

  “Shouldn’t you be at home resting?” He kisses me on the forehead and rubs my belly.

  “How’s our little man doing?”

  “He’s restless today.”

  “Must know it’s a full moon tonight.”

  He helps me to my feet. “I’m going to get you home.”

  We wave goodbye to Brit, and he leads me to the car.

  “I need you home and rested, Mya,” he whispers as we leave. “I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

  A shiver of anticipation runs through my body.

  We always go into the woods on a full moon. Once the kids are asleep, with the babysitter watching over them, we’ll creep out of the house and across the dark lawn and into the cover of the trees.

  There’s something about the darkness, the woods, and the moonlight that release the beast inside my husband.

  We’ll find a sturdy tree or a pile of leaves and make love, urgent and needy and guided by our animal instincts. With the moon full in the sky, we’ll howl out our pleasure to the dark woods and listen to the sound echo b
ack to us. Two animals, two lovers, joined by our need for each other and howling out our union.

  Conductor of Hearts

  By Sadie King

  Ayden

  I’ve returned home after years of travelling the world. But I’m getting restless and ready to move on. Then I find her, sitting at my piano. The music fills my empty house, lifts my soul, and sets my body on fire. I’ll do just about anything to keep her playing, and I’m beginning to realize somethings are worth sticking around for.

  Laila

  I’ve worked hard to get an audition at a prestigious music school. But with two days to go, I meet Ayden. Now my head’s spinning, my body’s in a fever, and I’m stumbling over the notes. Can I pull it together for the audition or will this gorgeous globe-trotting entrepreneur be my downfall?

  Conductor of Hearts is a short, steamy romance featuring an alpha male and a younger woman.

  Book four in the Filthy Rich Love series. Each book in the series is a standalone. No cliff-hangers!

  Chapter 1

  Laila

  Tap tap tappity-tap. Two notes with the pinky and down to the lower G.

  Damn. My thumb slides off the steering wheel as I turn into the wide driveway.

  I’m three days away from the most important audition of my life, and instead of practicing at home, like all the other Manhattan Music School hopefuls, I’m stuck in a white van delivering packages around the outer suburbs of New York.

  “Oh wow.” The house comes into view and I catch my breath. It’s a Georgian style mansion, the white stonework glinting in the sun. A balcony runs around the second floor, and rose vines have grown between the banisters adding splashes of bright color. It’s beautiful.

  The tires crunch on the pebbles as I pull up next to a black porsche convertible. Whoever lives here has fantastic taste in cars.

  I get out of the van and stand for a moment admiring the house. A warm tingle spreads up my neck. Despite its size, there’s a lovely feel about this place, inviting and warm.

  I wonder if there’s some old-fashioned servants’ entrance I’m supposed to use. I dismiss the idea. The wide stone steps and grand pillars are too inviting not to use. It makes a change from the suburban homes I mostly delver to.

  I grab my scanner and the package out of the back of the van, and head up the front steps.

  The door’s open a crack and I catch a glimpse of shiny white marble flooring and what could be the start of a spiral staircase. I resist the urge to push it open further and have a good nosey, and instead ring the doorbell.

  The noise echoes through the house but there’s no other sound from inside. I push it again and drum my fingers on my thighs, moving through the trickiest part of my audition piece while I wait.

  I get stuck again at the start of the crescendo. It doesn’t feel right jumping to the G. I feel like I need to hear it to check I’ve got it right. But I’ve still got half a van of deliveries to make before I can get home and to my old piano, that I need to tune every day because it’s so old the keys get stuck.

  I ring the doorbell again impatiently. In my haste I bump the door open a little more.

  “Hello?” my voice echoes back to me through the enormous entry hall.

  “Signed delivery,” I call.

  There’s a large gilt framed mirror hanging on the wall and I can see a spiral staircase reflected in it. It’s beautiful and I desperately want to get a better look.

  You’re not supposed to go into the houses, but the door is open, and no one answered the bell, so…? I edge it open just a bit further and take a tentative step across the threshold.

  “I’ve got a delivery for Mr. Miller.”

  Holy cow, there’s a Stein baby grand in the entryway. Nestled under the curve of the staircase. My fingers itch at the site of it. It’s propped up, open and ready as if someone’s just stepped away.

  The keys are calling to me and before I know what I’m doing, I’m inside the house and in front of the piano. I can’t seem to stop myself. I leave the package and my scanner on the floor and sit down on the plush velvet stool.

  I glance round guiltily but there’s no one here. They must be in the garden or something if they didn’t hear the bell and didn’t hear me call. It surely won’t hurt to have a little play; just to get this tricky bit fixed in my head.

  I brush my fingers over the keys. They’re smooth as silk and I bet they don’t stick like the ones at home do sometimes. I run up the C Major scale. The acoustics of the entryway give it a clear, vibrant sound.

  I take a deep breath and start to play. The notes sing out in the entryway, the high ceiling and hollow space makes an excellent chamber hall. The music spirals up the staircase and fills the room.

  The tapping I’ve been doing all day is released in these notes, the tingle starts in my fingertips and spreads through my body until I’m unaware of anything else around me. My body is taught, all my concentration focused on my fingertips as they dance over the notes. My hands fly over the keys and my heart soars. It’s the release I’ve been waiting for.

  I’m coming up to the difficult bit and I tell my mind to relax, to stay in the moment. But already I’m slowing down, my fingers are fumbling, I’m having to think about the notes rather than play them automatically.

  I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead, my heart’s racing as I reach the crescendo. I’m doing it, I’m doing it! Damn! My finger slips and I miss a note. Most people wouldn’t notice but it rings out like a funeral bell to me.

  I finish the piece slowly. My focus is shot and I’m so disappointed in myself. If I don’t get into music school, I’ll be stuck delivering parcels my whole life. It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the only option out there for me.

  I’m not like the other kids trying out. If they don’t get into music school daddy will send them to law school instead. I don’t have rich parents. I’ve gotten this far on my own, by sheer determination. No pushy parents to make me practice.

  While the other kids in my neighborhood were hanging out at the mall, learning to smoke and flirting with boys. I was sneaking into the school hall to play on the old piano they kept in the corner.

  I trawled the internet for free piano tutorials to teach myself, and when I’d exhausted those, I begged mum for lessons. She put in some extra shifts at the factory, so she was able to send me to a local teacher.

  Mrs. Hays was amazing. She never seemed to notice the over-sized hand me down clothes I wore, or how much thinner I was than the other kids. She encouraged me to keep playing and practice at every opportunity. I think she knew I broke into the school hall to practice, but she never told anyone.

  As soon as I was old enough, I got an after-school job and saved up for a second-hand piano. Mum gave her collection of Mills and Boon paperbacks to the charity shop and got rid of the bookcase, so we could squeeze the piano into the lounge. The stool was hard up against the back of the sofa, but I didn’t care. I practiced every night.

  Mrs. Hays told me about the Manhattan Music School, and how she thinks I could be good enough to be a concert pianist, but I need the training first.

  For the last three years that’s been my focus. I should have auditioned last year but Mom got sick and couldn’t work. All those years at the factory have done something to her lungs. I had to get a job and look after her.

  I kept playing though. Mrs. Hays helped me find out about scholarship programs. And this year I think I’ve got a shot at it. Moms insurance has come through, so we don’t have to worry about medical bills anymore, and I’ve been putting a bit aside, so I’ll only have to do a couple of shifts a week while I’m studying.

  It’ll be hard, the other students won’t be working while they study. But Mrs. Hays has shown me I can do anything if I work hard enough, and I’m almost starting to believe her.

  If it wasn’t for this damn section that keeps tripping me up. I come out of my daydream and realize I’m still playing. The muscle memory in my hands means I
can skip over the easy bits without thinking too much about it. I finish the piece and rest my hands on my lap.

  Clap, clap, clap.

  I spin around at the noise to find a man leaning on the doorframe watching me. He’s tall and well built, his tight t-shirt showcasing his bulging biceps as he claps slowly. The ink of a tattoo snakes out from under the fabric on his right arm. He’s dressed all in black, tight black jeans, black t-shirt and even black socks.

  His appearance is at odds with the elegance of the house and I wonder for a moment if he’s an employee here. But the way he’s smirking at me, and the casualness of his socked feet, make me think he may live here. He definitely looks like the owner of the black convertible outside, which means he’s probably Mr. Miller, who owns the house, and who I’m supposed to be delivering a parcel to.

  Oh shit. I’ve been busted breaking and entering by the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

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