The Secrets Between Us (Billionaire CEO Romance)

by Katie Mettner

  “That’s great, Mr. Boling,” I said sweetly because I loved him, unlike other guests in the camp right now. “Did you catch any big ones?”

  He bent down and dug around, coming back up with a huge fish, species of which I had no clue, but he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Sure did!” he exclaimed proudly. “Would you like a picture for the board?” he asked, excitedly.

  Mr. Boling lived to get on the brag board in the store. “Now that’s a fine fish, Mr. Boling! I’m almost done here and I’ll meet you at the store in ten minutes? That beauty is definitely worthy of the brag board.”

  He lowered it back to his bucket and gave me a fishy thumbs up. “See you there!”

  He stepped back so I could finish my work, and I noticed on the way by cabin four on the final lap, Mr. Wheeler, a.k.a. Mr. Rutherford, a.k.a. Mr. I’m Definitely a Dick, no longer stood there staring at me like a stalker. “Probably too cold for his tender, highly exfoliated skin,” I said sarcastically to the empty shed. “This wind is far too harsh. I bet even his expensive skincare products wouldn’t be able to repair the damage to his flawless beauty.”

  I snickered and rolled my eyes when I pictured half his face covered in a beard. That beard worked for him in a way it doesn’t work for most men, though. The fact I wanted to run my hand through it to feel its softness told me I had better check myself. He was only here a few more days and then the embarrassment and shame would leave with him. But would it?

  I jumped down off the machine and motioned for Beast to follow me. Once I had the shed locked for the night, I tromped toward the store, the fresh snow crunching under my feet. It had snowed another six inches last night and then the temps plummeted. What you get then is crunchy snow, and I love crunchy snow. It always made me feel like a kid again and I purposely made as much noise as possible when I walked on it. The holidays were upon us and with the scene set for a traditional Christmas, it was sure to be one to remember. If you celebrate Christmas, that is. I don’t, so my holiday would arrive when Mr. Rutherford drove out of the parking lot and back to his life in the big city. He’d go back to his skyscraper office building, his fancy house, and a new woman on his arm every day of the week. That was the life he led, and I had to remember I had no place in it.

  Mr. Boling was waiting for me on the deck when I arrived and I held up my finger. “Let me grab the camera,” I said, jogging into the store. I dug under the cash register for the old digital camera I’d found at a thrift store a few years back. It did the job every time.

  I snapped the picture of him holding the giant fish with the sunset over the lake as the background, and promised I’d make him a copy of it. He slid the fish back into the bucket and handed me a package wrapped in white paper.

  “Here ya go, Mercy. Merry Christmas,” he chirped, kissing my cheek.

  I grasped the package in my hand, the heft of it causing me to juggle it for a moment until I tucked it into the crook of my arm. “Walleye?”

  His eyes twinkled when he answered. “I know it’s the only kind of fish you like. I caught a couple of nice sized ones, so I cleaned them for you. I know that’s hard sometimes,” he said pointedly.

  I chuckled and hugged the fish to me. “You could say that. Fish are slippery. It’s not especially smart to try and use a knife with this condition,” I said, jokingly shaking Justice. “Thank you, Mr. Boling. I love you for always thinking about me. This means a lot to me. I’ll save it for my holiday dinner.”

  He clapped once and kissed my cheek again. “Perfect, stick it in the freezer then. Just remember to thaw it in a pot of cold water. It really brings out the flavor.”

  “I promise,” I assured him. “Are you going to your daughter’s this year?”

  He carried his bucket down the steps and paused, one foot on the bottom step. “I’m going to try. It’s a long drive, but hopefully the weather cooperates. I’ll get out of your hair now, Mercy.”

  “You’re never bothering me, Mr. Boling,” I assured him. “When are you checking out? I’ll have the picture waiting for you.”

  He held up his hands and shrugged. “The way the fish are biting, I might stick around tomorrow, if that’s okay? I’ll check out early Friday morning?”

  “Sure, whenever you want is fine. There’s no one taking that cabin until after Christmas anyway. You can stay as long as you’d like,” I promised the old man. He was like a grandpa to me and I didn’t book his cabin tight on the weeks he was coming to fish. He never checked out on the day he said he would. He checked out when the fish stopped biting. If he stayed until Friday, that meant there would be zero days I had to be here alone with Mr. GQ Lumberjack.

  “Thanks, Mercy. Who knows, if the fish keep biting the way they have been, I might not make it to Charlotte’s this year at all.”

  He headed to his cabin, laughing the entire way. I shook my head at him, mostly because I knew he wasn’t kidding about that. I suspected one day, hopefully years from now, they’d find him dead on the lake, a fish in his hand. At least he’d die a happy man.

  I grasped the package of fish under my arm and trundled into the store, firm in the knowledge tonight Beast was in the back eating his dinner. I dropped the fish onto the counter after I took off my boots and then wiped up my mess with a towel. Time to close up for the night. Once it got dark, I didn’t see another soul until morning. The camp was empty now other than Mr. Boling and Mr. You Know Who. No one else would check in again until the twenty-seventh. I flipped off the coffee pots and dumped the leftover coffee into a thermos for me to drink later.

  I suppose most people would consider that to be rather scotch, but being scotch was how I’d managed to make money in this place. Resources are never wasted no matter what they are. Being frugal kept my books in the black. Besides, come morning, I wouldn’t mind day-old coffee one bit.

  Once the pots were cleaned and drying in the sink, I grabbed my fish and headed to the apartment. The fish went in the freezer and I noticed Beast had finished his dinner, but was missing, again.

  “Beast!” I walked into the living room while I called his name but stopped short inside the door. I screamed, my hand to my heart. “Cripes, you again? Could you warn a bitch?”

  “You really should lock the door,” he answered from where he sat by the fire, which I noticed he’d stoked. “All kinds of riff-raff might walk in.”

  “I never used to have to worry about it,” I answered, glaring at my dog who was supposed to warn me of intruders, not cuddle up to them. He currently had his head resting on the knee of our handsome and virile archenemy. Okay, archenemy might be a little drastic, but only a little. Hayes was dressed ả la sexy nerdy lumberjack, and just the sight of him made my lady parts ache. “So,” I said slowly, waiting for him to do or say something, anything.

  “So, I came by to apologize,” he said, relaxing back in the chair like he owned the place.

  I sat across from him in the other club chair and glanced around the room. I was fortunate that my cabin was bigger than the others. The Langstons had built it large enough to house their friends when they came to visit. I had two bedrooms, a large bathroom, and a generous sitting room, not to mention the beautiful kitchen, store, and deck with a private hot tub.

  “For?”

  “For being rude the other night,” he answered. “I’ve found myself in a bit of a surly mood lately and I apologize if I took it out on you.”

  I bit my lower lip and tipped my head to the right. “Same, actually. Truce?” I asked, sticking out my left hand.

  He leaned forward and shook it, somewhat awkwardly, before he leaned back. “Truce. Also, I got the tire fixed. You were right. I ran over a nail somewhere along the way.”

  “I noticed the repair truck and planned to stop by and ask what the damage was. I’ll give you cash back when you check out,” I promised.

  He waved his hand around. “Don’t worry about it. The guy said those tires always have to be replaced, they can never be repaired. By the time Beas
t got to chewing on it, the tire was already dead.”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” I said slowly, not sad I wouldn’t go in the hole by two hundred bucks.

  He nodded once. “Positive. It’s taken care of.”

  “Great, how about a drink then?” I asked before I thought about it.

  “I could definitely use one,” he agreed. “What do you have?”

  “Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, or Captain Morgan,” I answered instantly.

  His brow went up. “Clearly, you like the boys. I guess I don’t have to worry about you being a lesbian.”

  A smirk lifted one side of my lips. “I’m strictly dickly.” I stood and walked to the kitchen door. “Now, who will it be?”

  “Jack and Coke?” he asked, and I walked off to the kitchen nodding.

  Once alone in the kitchen I blew out a long, slow, unsteady breath. The fact that I had a man in my living room was unnerving. The fact that it was him was fucking terrifying. And, strictly dickly? Did I say that? I groaned aloud as I poured Jack into two glasses and opened the fridge for a can of Coke. There was none. Great.

  “Gotta run to the store and grab some Coke,” I called out, headed into the dark store, and went straight to the cooler in the back. At least the commute and back would be short. I tucked two cans under my arm before I slid the door closed. Maybe I should stick with Coke and skip the Jack. I already said things I shouldn’t when I was sober, I couldn’t imagine what I’d say with a little booze in me. The potential ways for that to turn out poorly were countless. I wasn’t exactly world-class at flirting as it was. Imagine me trying to do it drunk.

  I spun around and ran straight into a brick wall. “Oomph,” I grunted, and grabbed at the object in front of me. “What the fudge balls!” I exclaimed, my hand finding a soft sweater to grab.

  “Sorry, thought you heard me come up behind you,” he whispered in my ear. “I wondered if you might need help carrying it.”

  I pushed myself off him and took a step back. “I’ve been missing a hand for years, Mr. Rutherford. I’m quite capable of carrying a can of soda.”

  I scooted around him and stomped to the kitchen, snapped open a can, and poured some in each glass. On second thought, I would have that drink, thank you very much. His hand came down on my shoulder and then I was spinning slowly to face him.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t implying you weren’t capable. It didn’t seem right to make you do all the work, that’s all. It appears you’ve figured out who I really am, but please, call me Hayes.”

  “I’m sorry for overreacting,” I sighed. “I get a little defensive when people assume I’m incapable of doing something just because I’m missing a hand. I run this place alone. I can handle more things with one hand than most people can with two.”

  He held his hands up. “You’re right, and you know what they say about assuming.”

  “It makes an ass of me, but mostly you,” I said, smirking. I watched him sort through the saying backward, which was amusing in itself.

  “That actually makes more sense.”

  I handed him the drink. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten today.”

  “At all? The whole day?” he asked as he sipped his drink.

  “Hmm,” I tapped my chin, “that’s usually what today means.”

  “No wonder you’re skinny as a rail,” he mused, his brow up.

  “You must need glasses.”

  He lowered his drink and tapped the bow of his frame. “Got them on. The eye doctor says I’m twenty-twenty now.”

  “Then I must carry all my weight in the part you didn’t see.”

  He laughed.

  It was naughty.

  It was sex in the afternoon.

  It was making out in the dark.

  It was 69 on the bed at six a.m.

  “Oh, but I saw it all.”

  I shook those thoughts away in order to stay sharp as we sparred. “I’m three-dimensional, last time I checked.” I took a long swallow of the spiked pop and waited.

  “Most definitely,” he agreed, leaning on the small island in the kitchen. “And the last time I checked, you have a mirror on the dresser in that room at the end of the hall.”

  I thought about what he said in the context of that night. My chin fell slowly to my chest. “You were checking out my ass in the mirror while I was giving you a full frontal?”

  He tipped his head and lowered his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side. “Not to worry, I took in the full frontal, every last inch of it, actually. Truth be told, nothing excites me more than a nice ass.”

  “Me too, but the one I’m looking at isn’t doing it for me.” I walked to the counter and hip-checked him on my way by.

  His laughter was wicked and I bit my lip to keep from joining him. I wouldn’t let him think he got away with being inappropriate in my home. I set my glass down on the countertop at the same time he sidled up behind me, standing so close to me you couldn’t slip a piece of paper between us. “Okay, enough teasing. Let me make it up to you. I’ll cook dinner,” he said, his breath tickling my ear.

  “You’re going to make dinner?” I asked, without turning around.

  “Well, you did say you were hungry and I definitely could eat something.”

  I didn’t need to see his face to know what he was alluding to. Little tingles of zippiness zapped their way down to my withered lady parts. They hadn’t been used in so long the feeling shocked me and I jumped.

  I cleared my throat to cover the inadvertent moan that also escaped. “Okay, Chef Ramsay, what’s your plan?”

  He massaged my shoulders, his hands warm and strong against my neck. “Frozen pizza?” he asked and I snorted with laughter.

  “Wow. Are you going to add some extra cheese, too?”

  “Sure, and some peppers, because I like it spicy,” he whispered, dangerously close to my ear.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. I Like It Spicy, but I don’t have any frozen pizza.”

  “That’s okay,” he hissed. “What else do you have to offer?”

  “My guess? More than anyone else in this camp ever has before or ever will again.” I threw his words back at him and he snorted with laughter.

  I slipped away from him and opened the fridge to peer in. He came up behind me again, which was something he was sickeningly good at, and snugged his pelvis up to my ass. We were like a jigsaw puzzle piece. Our two sides snapped together perfectly. I closed my eyes against the thoughts running through my head. He braced his hands on the door and the freezer, leaned over my back, and stared into the fridge. He wanted me to think the motion was innocent, but it was as sinful as you could get. I knew exactly what he wanted and it wasn’t going to happen, no matter how badly I wanted to be underneath him.

  He pointed at the contents of the fridge. “I can work with this. Why don’t you go take a shower while I cook?” he asked, scooting me out of the way.

  “Do I look stupid?” I eyed the pile of food he was making on the counter.

  “Don’t think I ever said that.” His answer was muffled with his head in the appliance.

  “The last time I took a shower with you in this house it didn’t work out.”

  The door to the fridge closed and he held onto the handle, his eyes traveling the length of me again. “Oh, I don’t know. It worked out perfectly for me.”

  “Argh!” I yelled, throwing my hand up. “Fine, I’ll be in the shower. The door will be locked. Don’t steal the family stainless-steel. Don’t feed my dog. Don’t even think about trying to trick me out of my towel. On second thought, I’ll take my clothes into the bathroom with me.”

  He frowned with exaggeration and I bit my lip to keep from laughing at him. “You’re no fun, anyone ever tell you that?”

  “All the time,” I answered, spun on my heel, and left a man I didn’t know standing in my kitchen chopping peppers. Why? I guess he liked it spicy.

  I stared at my bed and a shiver ran through me, but it wasn’t because I was cold.

>   CHAPTER SIX

  MERCY

  I cut up the last bite of smothered chicken and set the plate on the floor for Beast to enjoy. I was stuffed, but he always had room for chicken and rice. He snarfed it happily, his nose pushing rice around the plate to get to the chicken.

  I sipped my wine and eyed the surprisingly hard to read man who sat across from me. He was confident, astute, stimulating … I paused. I bet he was stimulating. Stimulating in many spectacular and phenomenal ways. I hadn’t had sex in almost five years, since Moses decided I wasn’t worthy of sleeping with him once we were married. The guys before him never did it for me either. Sex was nothing more than expected. Required. A necessary part of being a woman. However, the hours I’d spent with Mr. Hayes Rutherford tonight gave me the inkling that sex with him would be nothing less than continually orgasmic.

  I snorted at the thought and nearly choked on my wine. He lifted his head from his plate to eye me, a smirk on his lips as though he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “It was wonderful,” I choked out to cover my dirty thoughts. “You can cook. I’m duly impressed.”

  “You don’t get to be thirty-five and single without knowing how to cook for yourself.”

  “Some do, surprisingly,” I corrected him. “It depends on the guy. You’re thirty-five? I didn’t put you down for a day over thirty.”

  He rubbed his face gently. “It’s the hundred-dollar skincare regimen my assistant insists I use. It keeps me youthful.”

  “I had you pegged for an expensive skincare kind of guy,” I agreed. “Thanks for verifying.”

  “Smart-ass,” he laughed. “Your skin is beautiful. What’s your secret living out here in the cold?”

  “I’m not old,” I answered immediately. I wasn’t expecting his rich laughter to fill me with a kind of incurable longing the way it did.

  You can’t even think about letting this guy get under your skin, Mercy, I told myself. Black widow, remember?

  “How old are you, Mercy?” he asked, his wine near his lips.