Loving the Secret Billionaire

by Adriana Anders

Beside me, O’Neal whispered something and elbowed me in the ribs. How was he doing this? The man who could barely leave his house on his own.

  Someone poked my hip on the other side. I looked down to catch Jaime Girón’s face and dipped to hear what he had to say—yeah, and also to hide.

  “Yes, Jaime?”

  “You like that man, Miss Veronica?”

  I couldn’t answer. The words were too big, too strong to fit in my mouth. I nodded instead.

  “You gonna say yes?”

  I finally managed to whisper. “Should I?”

  He nodded earnestly, and leaned into my side and I wanted to hug him hard.

  I stood and spoke aloud. “What about the school lunch debt from this year?” If I’d thought people were shocked earlier, now they tittered and pointed and overall had a cow, but frankly, I didn’t care. I had eyes only for that man up there. “Did you cover that, too?”

  Zach stood there grinning like a four-year-old. “Yes, ma’am. Set up a yearly lunch scholarship fund moving forward, too.”

  I bent my head to catch Jaime’s eye. “You think I should do it?”

  At his nod, I lifted my head and answered. “Dinner.” I said, loud and smiling, and, God, stupidly happy. “Friday.”

  “You’re on,” he responded as the crowd erupted around us.

  * * *

  Zach

  * * *

  Maybe a date wasn’t the best idea in the world—especially since word had apparently gotten around town and basically everybody spent the entire time eavesdropping on us.

  Then again, who cared? I was pretty sure I’d never been so happy in my life and it would take more than a couple onlookers to destroy that. Hell, I’d have taken her out in front of that whole school and it would have been worth it.

  “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.” Veronica was being very formal. I couldn’t tell if it was for the listeners, or because she just felt that way toward me. Please let it be the former.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “But the illegal activity—”

  “I’m done with that. All of it. I’m a philanthropist now.” I pushed out a shaky breath; even after an hour and a cocktail, I was a mess.

  “You okay? We can go to your place if you want.”

  “No.” I put a hand on the table and slid it across, palm up. “I’ve spent the last three and a half months working toward this night.

  “You have?”

  “Every day, I went out. Walked farther. Down my drive, then the street.” I tilted my head toward where Daisy sat on the floor. “Got this little lady.”

  “She’s a gorgeous dog.”

  I leaned in. “Is she?”

  I could hear the smile in Veronica’s voice. “Yeah. she’s almost entirely black, with these brown patches that look a little worn and soft…like the velveteen rabbit or something.”

  God, I loved this woman. The way she saw things, the way she felt them, her emotions so caught up in her senses that it was like she lived life deeper than everyone else.

  When she slid her hand into mine, hope swelled inside me, thick and warm as a blanket.

  “We’re doing this date thing.” I gave her a smile and squeezed her hand.

  “It can’t be easy for you.”

  “I’m not worried about them.” I tilted my head to the side and I could swear the people at the next table shuffled around hurriedly. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. You had me at… Well, honestly, you had me. I needed time.”

  “You needed to do it yourself. I get that now. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re righteous.” She made a little question of a sound and I went on. “I like that about you. You make me want to be a bigger, better man.”

  “You are a good man, Zach.”

  “And you’re a good woman.” I drew her hand to my face, breathed in the scent of her skin and kissed her knuckles. Like coming home.

  The waiter chose that moment to drop our entrées at the table before walking off, but neither of us ate right away.

  “I thought about you all the time,” her whisper came from close by, as if she’d leaned in.

  “Yeah?” I smirked. “Me too.”

  “I’d have come back eventually.” Her words shocked me. “But I needed time.”

  “Didn’t want you to, baby.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’d never have trusted me. Ever. I needed to show you that you could.” My voice went growly with emotion. I cleared my throat and went on. “I had to become a man you could trust. The man you needed in your life.”

  “I trust you.”

  I’d never been so damned thankful.

  “Thank you, Zach.”

  “No, baby. Thank you.” I sucked in a big last breath for this. She needed to understand how important she was. “Remember the honeysuckle, that first night?”

  She huffed out a laugh. “If I close my eyes, I can almost smell it.”

  “You’ve changed it for me. Forever.”

  “How so?”

  “You asked me that night how I knew you were beautiful? Well, to you, honeysuckle’s pretty to look at. Smells good and whatever else you like. To me, it’s drenched with scent—like heaven. I can’t see it, but I can hear the bees buzz around it, the birds dipping in for a taste. I can feel its beauty. When I was a kid, I wanted to eat it, to roll in all that sweetness, to soak it in through my pores.” I grinned, remembering the time I’d tried just that and been stung to hell. “I know, from experience, that a light touch is all those flowers can take. For the flower, and for me.”

  “I’m not sure I…”

  “You’re honeysuckle. You’re beautiful and strong. Everything I want. You fill up my senses and make me happy. I want to dive into you, but I know I’ve got to do it the right way or I’ll crush you.” He chuckled. “You don’t need me to survive, in fact, I need to make sure I don’t get in the way. Cause I want you to come back. Year after year.”

  “Are you saying I’m a weed?” Her laugh was the best sound in the world.

  I leaned in for an extra little close-up dose and reached out to stroke the side of her face. “What makes a weed a weed, anyway?”

  I ran my thumb down her strong little nose to those plump, sweet lips and cupped her cheek. I wanted her to give me all her weight, wanted her to sink into me. I wanted her back at my place, on top of me, under me, around me.

  Her whispered “I love you,” sent a shiver through me.

  “Sure?” I could barely get that word out, my throat was so hoarse.

  “Definitely.”

  “Thank God.” I huffed out a breath full of relief, leaned over the table and kissed her like I’d never let her go. There was no better taste in this world than her lips. After probably way too long, I pulled back, squeezed her hand, and smiled. “I was worried I’d have to run for mayor to get you back.”

  Epilogue

  Veronica

  * * *

  Sixteen months later…

  “Oh my God, babe, that smells ridiculous.” I leaned over my husband’s shoulder as he pulled the turkey out to baste it for about the bazzilionth time.

  “In a good way, right?”

  I snorted. “Yes, yes, give it to me. Now.”

  “Good lord, you are ravenous.” He shut the oven door and straightened.

  “Have you forgotten about this? It’s like you don’t realize how much more of me there is to feed right now.”

  His hand settled on my belly and he did that little sigh thing I’d become addicted to recently before turning to whisper in my ear. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I’m crazy about this belly.”

  He nipped me and I had to lean into him—just for a second or two—before my phone rang.

  “Weirdo,” I whispered with a smile.

  “Mm hm. No way. You can say whatever you want, but your pregnant body is the hottest thing I’ve felt in my entire life.”

/>   I shivered, because it was true. I’d been on fire for the past four months. Well, between the bouts of sickness. But in the sack… my God, these hormones made me wild.

  My phone rang again, shaking me out of what would probably have ended in someone getting oral sex. And, if it had been anything like the last time, that someone would have been me.

  “Dammit, where’s my phone?” I pushed away from him, toward the dining room, where the table was already set for eight people. And there it was, beside a place setting. I glanced at the phone… Not a number I knew, but I answered anyway.

  “Honeysuckle Fund.”

  “Oh, good. I didn’t know if you’d answer on Thanksgiving. But I knew you’d want to know.”

  My nerves went wild. “Hang on.” I leaned over and stage-whispered to Zach. “It’s Marian, from the school.”

  He walked over and stood beside me, so I put the speaker on.

  “We’re both here, Marian, go ahead.”

  “You did it!” She was gleeful. “I mean, this isn’t official, cause nobody at the Capitol’s working today, but I talked to Bruce Herndon, and we’ve got approval. With your funding and support, the school lunch program’s happening and—” Marian paused while I whooped and jumped into Zach’s arms.

  I thanked her and got off the phone, turned to my man and told him with tears in my eyes, just how much I loved him.

  “Every kid in the state, babe.”

  He smiled and wove his fingers into the hair at the side of my head.

  “Nobody goes hungry.” He leaned in and kissed me hard. “Thanks to you,” he said against my lips.

  “No, you.”

  “No, you.”

  “Oh, God, are we—”

  The phone rang again. O’Neal.

  I put it to my ear, opened my mouth, ready to tell her the good news and stopped. Was she crying?

  “Can’t make it, V. I’m sorry.” She hiccupped and carried on, her voice weirdly nasal. “Tell your man I’m sorry. I know his turkey’s supposed to be the bees’ knees’, but I’m—“

  “What’s wrong?”

  She stopped, inhaled hard.

  “I…I can’t talk about it.” She blew her nose, breathed for a few seconds and then went on. “I…Jesus, this is crazy, right?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but this was so unlike her that it was like navigating in foreign lands. “Go on.”

  “I… Christ. I…met someone.”

  I stiffened. “What happened? You need Zach to—”

  “No! No, no, it’s not like that. He’s just. Oh God, I spent two days with him and I think I love him.”

  “And…”

  “And, he’s not in a place for me right now.”

  I bristled at that. Not in a place for the strongest, most steadfast women I’d ever known? That sounded like crap to me. Excuses.

  “Listen, come anyway and we’ll—”

  “No. No, I can’t.” She cleared her throat and came back on sounding more like herself. “Sorry, but I need some alone time.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “Okay, sweetie. I’ll drive you something to eat later and…” She tried to interrupt, but I talked through her. “Don’t even mess with the pregnant woman, lady. You know how crazy I am right now.”

  She let out a soggy half-laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” After a pause. “Thanks, V. You’re the best friend in the world.”

  “No, you are.” She laughed again. “We’re both pretty awesome, I guess.” I smiled. “But tomorrow, you’d better prepare for me to show up with wine and ice cream. Because that’s how best friends roll when these things happen, got it?”

  “You’re on.”

  “All right. Call if you need anything. And I’ll see you later.”

  “Thanks, V.”

  I hung up and looked at Zach, whose brow was drawn into that sweet little n-shape I couldn’t stop licking.

  “She met a guy.”

  “Uh oh.” His expression was almost comically worried.

  “Yeah.”

  “No more love him and leave hims, then?”

  “I guess not. I don’t know the details, but it sounds like this one’s different.”

  He smiled. “Good. I like O’Neal. She deserves to be happy.”

  “Ha! You like her ‘cause you know she went to bat for you.”

  “She also convinced you to stick with the campaign.”

  “True. But shouldn’t I do something? She sounds terrible.”

  He shrugged and made his way back to the kitchen when a timer went off. “She’ll be fine. I have a feeling about this.”

  I stiffened, with a shiver of unease. “A bad one?”

  “No, baby. A really, really good one. Like you arriving on my porch one day and turning my life inside out feeling.”

  My man had feelings about things. Oh wow, I needed to squeeze him right that second.

  I wrapped myself around him from behind, exactly like a honeysuckle vine on one of our fence posts, snuggled my face into his broad back, and smiled. Because when my man had feelings—about strange women or shady political opponents, or whatever else tweaked his radar, he was pretty much always right.

  The End

  Keep reading for a sneak peak of O’Neal’s story, Loving the Wounded Warrior!

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  Meet Ivan, ex-con blacksmith with a heart of gold in Under Her Skin, book 1 in the gritty, emotional Blank Canvas series, available now!

  Loving the Wounded Warrior

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  O’Neal

  I swerved and almost ran my car off the cliff, pressed my foot to the metal too late, and wound up in a ditch, all to avoid…I squinted. Why was that man pushing an empty wheelchair up the road?

  I lost my air—like a ball to the stomach—and my chest cramped where the seat belt held me back. All in the same second, shock and adrenaline spurred me to overcorrect, wrench the steering wheel hard to the right, shove my foot to the pedal and nearly crash into the rock face before the brakes finally kicked in.

  This would have been bad enough without an audience. With the man there as a witness, it was mortifying.

  What the hell was he even doing?

  By the time I got my breath under control, I turned with a start to find him bent right beside the car, peering through my window.

  “Ma’am? You okay in there?”

  I managed a shaky nod.

  “Need help?” he yelled to be heard through the glass.

  Shaking my head no, I tried to put the window down, but the car had evidently stalled. After another stunned second, I opened the door and the man was there, appearing efficient—if road worn—as he looked me up and down.

  My lips pushed out a mumbled “I’m fine,” and he stepped back.

  “Can you get it to start up again?”

  Why did he seem familiar? Shock, I guessed. I blinked at him for a few seconds before understanding set in.

  The car. Start it. Move it out of the road.

  I turned the key and nothing happened. Shit. Shit. Shit. I couldn’t afford a tow, much less repairs.

  I tried again, hands shaking so hard they jangled my keys like Christmas. Nothing. Close to sobbing, I tried to twist it a third time when the man reached through the open door and laid a warm hand over mine.

  “Put it in park.” How could he sound so calm when I'd just nearly killed him? Killed us both! My jittery eyes flew from the mountainside I'd missed by about two inches, to the hand I couldn’t hold still, to the man telling me things in some foreign tongue.

  He pointed at the gear shift.

  Park, park. Oh, right! I shoved it into Park and tried again. The car turned over with its normal hiccup, which made my eyes prick up with tears. Getting the old Forester to start was a miracle at the best of times, considering how many miles I'd put on it. And when was the last tim
e I'd had the oil changed?

  On a still-shaky breath, I turned to give the man a smile, really taking him in. Again, I had an itchy feeling, like I’d met him somewhere, or maybe seen him on a show or something.

  He was big, but I didn't think overly muscular, though it was hard to tell with the thick coat he wore. My initial impression of dirt, I realized, was actually a dark, dark tan on a sun-creased face. Only the area around his eyes revealed his original fair skin color. His hair was a shaggy dark mess and his eyes, set deep in his skull, were a flat brown. The lower half of his face sported a couple days’ worth of growth.

  “You always drive on the wrong side of the road?” He broke through my perusal.

  “No.”

  “Get killed doing that on Saint Jacob.” He paused. “Any mountain, for that matter.”

  I drove constantly for work, but the fact was I hated it with a passion. Always had. I hated maintaining this old car and hated the time spent alone on the road. It was a relief when I could bike to work. That hadn’t been feasible when the paper had sent me out here to Mount St. Jacob.

  “I’m a terrible driver,” I admitted. What was the point of prevarication?

  Apparently the words stunned the man, who let a surprised half smile slip.

  “Least you’re honest.” The look lingered and something about it made my pulse pick up. Maybe it was the way it dug those eye creases deeper, or the fresh lines that formed around his mouth, almost like dimples. Mostly, though, it was the way it took his gaze from flat and chilly to warm.

  Something about that warmth overwhelmed me; a ghost of a memory flitted by.

  “Have we met before?”

  He looked away.

  “Don’t think so.”

  I glanced behind him, to the wheelchair parked on the opposite shoulder of the curved road, its only passenger a worn backpack.

  “What are you doing out here with that thing?”

  After a second or two of confusion, he looked over his shoulder. “Climbing Mount St. Jacob.”

  “Pushing a wheelchair.” I cocked my head. “Flying an American flag.”