Lily and the Billionaire

by Beth Michele

  “I’m looking forward to it. Did you bring her gift?”

  “Yes, I did. I can’t wait until she opens it.” I glance over. “And fair warning, Mona is a spitfire.”

  “Good.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “I happen to have an affinity for spitfires.”

  “Affinity,” I grumble. “You and your fifty-point words.”

  The sound of his laughter jumpstarts my own. “Are you being a sore loser, Lily?”

  “Of course not. I just want a rematch is all.” We exit the building and Jace’s car is waiting by the curb. With his hand on my lower back now, he guides me in that direction. We don’t quite make it there, though, because I stop a few feet away.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Do you mind if we take the subway instead?” I ask, chewing on the inside of my lip.

  A chuckle that’s more air than laughter comes out of his yummy mouth. “Only you would want to take the subway instead of riding in comfort.”

  “Hey, I love the city.” An odd shyness comes over me. “And I’m kind of old-fashioned like that.”

  His lips meet my cheek and I’m ready to melt again. “The subway it is.” He signals to Scottie that we won’t be needing him and then we begin our short walk to the train. “Now where were we?” he asks, finding my hand and lacing our fingers together. “That’s right—I believe you were talking about a Scrabble rematch.”

  How am I so excited about this? “If you think you can handle playing again.”

  “If you can give me some real competition, sure I can.” He tugs me down the subway stairs while I glare at his back. My scowl disintegrates into something fiery as I check out the jeans and black t-shirt that sculpt his body to perfection. “What’s with the jeans and t-shirt again?”

  “You don’t approve?” he asks as we weave through a maze of people underground.

  “Oh, I approve,” I say, ensuring he doesn’t miss my hungry eyes moving over his body. I hope I’m not drooling.

  “Lily,” he admonishes, his tone making me wish we were alone. “Don’t look at me like that. Not here.”

  I’m tempted to keep provoking him, but he’s right—getting freaky in the subway is not something I want to check off any list. Now the question is, how do I communicate that to my vagina? She’s not quite getting the message.

  Jace only makes it worse when he gets close to my ear and whispers, “I want to come between those beautiful breasts, slide my cock back and forth on all that smooth skin.”

  “Argh,” I groan, and he actually laughs. “I’m glad my torture is funny to you.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, you’re not the only one being tortured.” And he’s standing close enough that I feel his torture against my hip.

  I glance up at him with teasing eyes. “Wish I could help you out there, but a dirty subway isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

  “Surprising, but it’s not on mine either,” he says, and we laugh as he pulls me in close, releasing my hand to curl his arm around my shoulder. The possessive way he holds me, the protective way he shields me from the crowd—it’s as if there’s nothing more important than ensuring that I’m okay.

  I don’t know how to explain what he does to me, the tingling sensation in my chest or how my heart skips a beat when I see him smile, when he touches me. The way he makes me feel cherished is foreign, and yet, my whole being yearns for it. Yearns for him.

  By the time we make it to Brooklyn, the midafternoon sun peeks through the clouds, bathing the city in warmth. Jace and I take our time, strolling the tree-lined neighborhoods hand in hand, enjoying the feel of the multicultural community: the mom-and-pop restaurants, the hipster coffee shops, the parks around every other corner. Brick brownstones and quaint row houses adorn each block, the architecture carrying a rich history and worldly charm. Life rings out in every laugh, every shout, every smile.

  “I see the appeal of wanting to live here.” We pass by a fenced-in basketball court and he pauses, turning to watch the boys play. A quiet settles over him, and suddenly he seems a million miles away. “My brother, Chaz, used to bring me to the park when I was young because I told him I wanted to play for the NBA when I got older.” His warm chuckle is filled with nostalgia. “I don’t know where the heck that dream came from, and it certainly didn’t last, but I remember him saying, ‘Jace, if you want to be like Michael Jordan, you have to work hard, practice every day.’ And so he took me every damn day after school, without fail. He could’ve been hanging out with his friends, but instead, he’d spend hours on the court with his little brother.”

  A weighted silence, but I know there’s more to this story.

  “He got kicked out of his apartment. Apparently, he lost his job months ago, but I’m just finding out about it now.” Tension stiffens his jaw. “I’d do anything for him. And to think, I could’ve helped sooner.” He drags a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off of him in waves. “I don’t get it. I have all this money, yet he didn’t ask. He didn’t let me help him when he really needed it.”

  “But you’re helping him now.”

  “Yes.” He turns, angling his body to block my face from the sun. “He’s staying with me until he gets himself together.”

  I stroke my fingers along his stubbled jaw. “Didn’t you tell me some of your family only comes to you when they need something? Maybe he didn’t want to be one of those people.”

  “That’s exactly what he said.” A heavy breath dislodges from his chest. “And as much as I’m angry, I do understand it. I just don’t like the thought of him out there alone, you know?”

  “He’s not alone. He has you.” I get up on tiptoe and kiss the corner of his mouth. “And he’s very lucky.”

  “I feel kind of lucky myself,” he says, bringing an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

  “Is that so?”

  “It is, very much so,” he echoes before his lips touch down on my forehead, soft and feather-light, like the wings of a butterfly. I’m going to dissolve right here on this Brooklyn sidewalk. Jace Harlow is a romantic and doesn’t even know it.

  “So a baller, huh?” I ask, and he looks past me to where the kids are shooting hoops.

  “It only lasted for about two years, but yeah, I definitely wanted to be like Mike.”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Lily, I haven’t played in years.” Discomfort roughens his features as he dismisses my challenge like it’s absurd.

  “Then it’s high time. Let’s do this.” I escape from his grasp and he follows me onto the court. An extra ball sits idle against the fence, and I ask one of the boys if they mind us using it. Even after I’ve got it in my hands, Jace still looks hesitant. “If it makes you feel any better, the last time I played basketball was in high school gym,” I admit, lifting the ball in the air and aiming for the basket. By some divine miracle, it lands right in the net. “Holy shit,” I scream, running for the ball then throwing it to Jace. “Your turn.”

  “If I must,” he retorts with a bored expression.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  I catch a flicker of something in his eyes before it passes. I’m not sure what I said to change his mind, but he starts dribbling the ball like he’s been doing it his whole life. When he makes three baskets in a row from all different areas of the court, I throw up my hands.

  “Seriously? Are you just good at everything? Give me the damn ball.”

  “Language, Miss Conrad.”

  “Don’t language me.” I hold my arms out in front of me. “The ball.”

  “As you wish.” He tosses the ball, and I manage to catch it and actually make a basket, and then another. After a few minutes of back and forth, we’re laughing and dodging each other on the court. And, not for nothing, but it’s like basketball porn watching him play. The way his arm muscles bunch as he grips the ball, t-shirt riding up when he takes a shot. Oh yes, this is quite enjoyable.

  “What are you smirk
ing at?” he asks, setting up for another shot.

  I gesture toward his shirt. “I think you should lift your arms a little higher in the air.”

  Amusement dances on his lips. “Why, Miss Conrad, are you ogling me?”

  “Pretty much, and I know I said it before, but I’m digging this look. Two days in a row, too. I didn’t think you owned anything besides suits.”

  “I don’t. I didn’t,” he corrects, focusing on the basketball hoop. “I had Scottie run me over to Saks this morning to pick up a few more.”

  I can’t hide the humor in my voice. “Seriously?”

  He shoots me a glance. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Nooooo. I think it’s…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Cute.”

  Apparently, that wasn’t it. He drops the ball and charges, chasing me around the court while I laugh so hard I can barely breathe, and I’m not the only one. We’ve got an audience now, the boys on the adjoining court cheering us on.

  Of course, I let him catch me.

  He lifts me in the air from behind as I kick up my legs in mock protest. “Stop, Jace! Put me down!”

  “Apologize,” he says, holding me tighter.

  “I will not.” I stand firm, though I’m being held in the air. But when he tickles my belly, it’s all over. He says something else, but his voice gets lost in my laughter. “Okay, I give, I give.”

  I’m still winded as Jace sets me down and I pivot to face him. All I get is a devious smile before he surprises the hell out of me, placing one hand behind my head and the other around my waist, dipping me backward and stealing my breath again. He plants a giant kiss on my lips then rights my body to the hoots and hollers of teenage boys. With the satisfied grin of a man who has conquered, he sends a thumbs-up over his shoulder. “I’m ready to go now, you?”

  “I…I…”

  He drags a finger across his glistening forehead and saunters away, chuckling, leaving me to follow after him once I come back down to earth.

  Which doesn’t happen for a while.

  I scoop up my purse, still floating on a cloud when I reach the sidewalk.

  “You okay there? You look a little wobbly,” he says, and I elbow his forearm before latching onto it.

  “Puh-lease. I’m fine, just a little warm, that’s all.”

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He stops when we get to the crosswalk, my lips still sizzling from his kiss. “How much farther from here is the nursing home?”

  “Two blocks over.” I point to the right. “That way.”

  “How long have you been painting with them?” he asks, pulling a pair of aviators I didn’t know he had from his back pocket and sliding them on.

  “Really? You have to put on the aviators?”

  “What?” he asks, but his mouth tips up at the corners.

  “You look like a freaking GQ model, that’s what.” I shake my head at him, because it should be illegal to look that good, that mouthwatering.

  Aviators—check.

  Stubble—check.

  Panty-dropping smile—check.

  Best kisses (unrelated)—check, check, check

  “Now what was your question?”

  His smile grows. “The nursing home?”

  “Right. I’ve been volunteering there for five years. When I started, it was more about spending time with the residents, but once they found out I could paint, they asked if I’d be willing to do some sessions. It’s strange…” I go on, recalling the first time I walked in. “It was difficult in the beginning, because these places can be hard, you know? But then I quickly realized if it was challenging for me, what must it be like for the people inside, knowing this could possibly be the last place they stay before they leave this earth? At that point, any difficulty I had went right out the window.

  “And then I met Mona,” I continue as we walk, my chest filling, “with her snarky humor and undeterred spirit, and I was a goner. Her children are all in Louisiana and they don’t visit often. I don’t know, I guess I relate to her in some odd way because my parents weren’t there for me a lot, and I remember how it made me feel,” I confess, brushing off any residual sadness. “It makes me happy coming here, seeing her smile. And it gives her something to rely on, to look forward to.” I stop in front of the building. “This is it.” The weight of Jace’s stare on the side of my face prompts me to look over at him, and when I do, he removes his sunglasses, blue gaze simmering with a warmth I feel down to my toes. “Jace?”

  “Yes?”

  “We’re here.”

  “Okay,” he responds, somewhat distracted. “I’m ready to meet the infamous Mona.”

  “Hold on to your hat.” I cackle as we walk in the door. “You’ll never be the same again.”

  Inside the lobby, I’m hit with the familiar smell of chicken soup and antiseptic. It’s a strange combination, but one I’ve become accustomed to over the years. Aides mill about, taking care of residents, and in my peripheral vision, I spot Mr. Rimero. He’s lounging on his beloved lumpy blue sofa, his body imprinted on the worn fabric from a daily ritual of reading the newspaper and drinking green tea. He offers me a wave and a smile, smoothing a hand through his thinning hair. “Hiya, Lily.”

  “Afternoon, Mr. Rimero.”

  He coughs, a dry, crackling sound that hints of an old cigarette habit. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from you on a Saturday?” He lowers his paper, bushy gray eyebrows lifting when he notices Jace’s hand in mine.

  “I have a little something for Mona and wanted to bring it by. Mr. Rimero, this is Jace Harlow.”

  “A pleasure, sir.”

  “Hmph.” He gives Jace an assessing once-over, his gaze skeptical at best. “Any friend of Lily’s is welcome here. Curious thing, though…” he says, scratching at the coarse hair on his chin. “She’s never brought anyone here before. You must be important.” His questioning eyes move over to me. “Is he important, Lily?”

  Talk about putting me on the spot, and Jace is no help, either. He throws me an expectant glare, the corner of his mouth already on the rise. “Yes, Lily, I’d like an answer to that as well.”

  Words fail me, but not because I don’t know the answer. It’s right on the tip of my tongue, there in the way my heart quickens its pace, the way my smile bursts like the sun whenever Jace is near.

  I focus my attention on Mr. Rimero. “He’s an important guy,” I tell him, my honesty hiding behind me. It’s a copout on so many levels it actually leaves me disappointed in myself. And I don’t need to look at Jace to know what he’s feeling. I hear his own disappointment in the sigh that follows my response. “We’re going to head off to see Mona.” I force a smile. “Enjoy your day, Mr. Rimero, and your paper.”

  Jace lets go of my hand, and I’m immediately struck by the loss. Silence fills the small distance between us, and I know I need to say something. My thoughts bounce around as we wander down the hall, but they don’t reach my lips.

  My steps slow to a halt. “This is her room.”

  Before we enter, Jace encircles my wrist with gentle fingers, his gaze intent on mine. “You avoided his question—why?”

  I swallow down emotion that is too big, that makes me afraid. “Because it was too scary to say the words.”

  “And what are they?” Jace questions, voice low, something akin to hope in his beautiful blue eyes.

  Another swallow. My gaze falls away, but Jace brings me back with a single finger lifting my chin. Be brave, Lily. “That you’ve become very important to me.”

  A single nod, eyes that glitter, but no words. That’s okay, because I think I’ve said enough for the both of us.

  We enter Mona’s room to find her sitting in her favorite chair by the window. Her silver hair is swept up in a tight bun, her crooked, larger-than-life smile breaking the intensity of our earlier moment. “Lily, dear. Hello,” she greets with the slightest hint of a southern drawl. Her expression quickly dissolves into confusion, and she squints at her
unicorn wall calendar. “It’s not Wednesday, is it?” she asks, looking to me for confirmation.

  “No, Mona. It’s Saturday,” I clarify, relief sweeping across her wrinkled features.

  She clutches her chest. “Thank heavens for that. You had this poor old woman thinkin’ she was going senile.” She taps her cane against the floor with a gravelly laugh. “And wouldn’t that be a hoot.”

  Jace steps out from behind me, and I brace myself for the inquisition. Mr. Rimero is a drop in the bucket compared to the tsunami that is Mona Norman.

  “Well, well, it must be my lucky Saturday then, because I see you brought me a present.” The defined lines around her eyes crinkle. “Who is this fine specimen of a man?”

  “Mona!”

  “Come on, dear,” she says, gripping her cane as leverage to try to stand. “My body might be slow to respond, but I’ve still got eyes.”

  “Don’t get up,” I tell her, crossing the room and giving her a peck on the cheek.

  “Sit, sit.” She gestures with a bent, arthritic finger toward the bed. “Let me have a look at you.” Then she flicks me away with her hand. “Not you, dear. I see you all the time.”

  Jace laughs softly and I send him an I warned you glare. “Mona, I’d like you to meet Jace Harlow.”

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Harlow,” she says, using every ounce of her charm. One glance at Mona and it’s easy to see glimpses of the young, attractive southern belle she once was.

  She’s not the only one laying it on thick. Jace crosses the room and takes her weathered, rough hand in his, lifting it to his mouth for a kiss. “The pleasure is all mine,” he returns, finding a place beside me on the bed. Mona nearly giggles. Yes, he seems to have that effect on women. I’m pretty sure he could charm the pants off a stone statue.

  “So are you two…” She leaves the words hanging in the air with a million different ways to complete that sentence. After the earlier debacle with Mr. Rimero, I don’t chime in for fear of putting my foot in my mouth. “I see,” she says when neither of us are forthcoming with information. “Get on with it then. Don’t be shy. Tell me how you met.”