The Reclusive Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance)

by Lucy McConnell

  “Exactly how do you screen an octopus?” Becca was grateful she escaped her date with a sense of dignity. At first, she thought he was overly affectionate, but during dinner his “affection” got a little too personal, and Becca dumped her drink in his lap “by accident” to cool him off. He’d huffed out of the restaurant and didn’t return.

  “I’m going to make this up to you.”

  “Don’t you dare!” The closer she got to the north entrance of the harbor, the more intently she scanned for a mop of shaggy red hair. She hadn’t seen the dog she’d rescued this morning when she left for work, and she hoped he was okay. Ginger, the stray cat, had taken up residence on top of the filing cabinet. She came down for meals and allowed Emily to scratch behind her ears. Still miffed about the bath, she hissed every time Anthony passed the office door. In another week, she should be ready for adoption.

  “There’s this new guy in my building. He has the dreamiest eyes.”

  Speaking of new guys . . . Becca’s heart stammered as she remembered the man who had so easily lifted the dog out of the water and the way his soaked shirt had clung to his well-formed chest. He’d been nice enough to drag them aboard so neither one of them drowned, but he hadn’t wanted to get his precious towels dirty. Which was weird, because everyone who lived near the water had towels for dirty jobs. He’d insisted she take the dog, too. The tone in his voice brought out a streak of rebellion she hadn’t known she possessed. Normally, she was a peaceful person, having long ago come to an understanding that she was God’s child and found serenity in His world. Confrontation was not in her nature—or so she had believed. The disheveled man had proven her wrong and she wasn’t at all thankful to him for pointing it out.

  Still, when he’d gently hooked her arm, she’d felt something stir in her lower belly that she hadn’t felt for a very long time. Calling the feeling “a deep and abiding interest,” she’d been grateful for the excuse to dash off without introducing herself. Looking back, she might have been better off forcing conversation with a guy who clearly didn’t want her around than she’d been with the guy who wanted to wrap himself around her and have a jolly good time.

  With flushed cheeks, she stopped in her tracks, determined to put her foot down with Emily once and for all. “Stop, or I will be forced to fire you.”

  “Whatevs, you wouldn’t last a day without me.”

  Becca smiled. “True. But I’m off the blind date market.”

  “But—”

  “You owe me a break.”

  Emily sighed. “Fine. I guess I’ll have to vicariously date him through Madison.”

  “It’s for the best.” Emily would never cheat on Daniel. She probably wasn’t even attracted to this guy in her building. Her matchmaking drive came from some internal need to see things paired up. She did it in the office, too. The stapler and the hole punch went together. The filing cabinets were side by side. And the short Q-tips were next to the long Q-tips in all the exam rooms.

  “I’m home—gotta go,” said Emily.

  “Bye.” Becca hung up and slipped her phone into one of the bags. She heard a bark coming from the beach by the yacht club and looked up in time to see Anna in her green shorts and tan animal-control shirt chasing after the red-haired dog. Relieved the animal hadn’t drowned last night, Becca hurried to the cement wall and set her grocery bags down by her feet. Raising a hand, she shielded her eyes against the setting sun.

  “I see you found your dog.”

  Becca jumped and pressed her hand to her chest as her dashing hero appeared out of nowhere. “I wish he was. I could use a dog like him.”

  Becca turned back to the drama unfolding on the beach so she wouldn’t stare. The man was in desperate need of a haircut, but under that shaggy brush of hair falling over his brow were the most gripping pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. Despite the signals her body sent to her brain, she couldn’t afford to get caught up in them—like an undercurrent, they’d pull her to places she was better off avoiding—especially considering her conversation with Emily. He was dressed about the same as yesterday and had an iPad tucked under his arm. He was all wrinkly, like he’d slept in his clothes. What person over the age of six did that? Considering what he had to pay to keep his houseboat in the harbor, he had to have money. Becca sagged. He was just another fly-by-night business tycoon wanting to lay low until his divorce finalized. Not exactly the stuff daydreams were made of—not that she’d daydreamed about him. Okay, maybe once, but that was it.

  The dog allowed Anna within reach and darted away—taunting her. His tongue lolled out as he ran, thoroughly enjoying the game.

  While her eyes focused on the beach, Becca’s body focused on the man standing next to her. She sensed a reserve that even she wasn’t accustomed to and a reckless abandon that surprised her. All in all, she didn’t get the same vibe from him that she got from the other live-ins at the harbor. Most people docked their boats and spent a night or two here and there, but there were a few who applied to live here full time. He must like a minimalist lifestyle, being a live-in didn’t allow for the accumulation of material items, for the plain fact that there wasn’t room to store them on a boat. Becca’s grandpa had retired to the Salty Dog, the boat Becca now owned and lived on. He’d fished, made friends, and worked on his boat. Now he was gone, but the boat was full of memories.

  The dog ran straight at Anna, who panicked and dove into the sand, her arms over her head as the animal barreled through the surf without so much as a sideways glance in her direction. Becca chuckled and caught the new guy’s amusement.

  “I’m kinda rooting for the dog on this one,” he said.

  “As long as you don’t have to hand over a towel to dry him off,” Becca teased, surprising herself.

  “Well, yeah. He has some major hair issues.”

  Becca narrowed her gaze. “He needs a good grooming, then he’d be fine.”

  “Right—I’m still pulling hair off my shirt.”

  “Maybe if you changed your shirt once in a while.” Becca’s ears burned. Rude comments weren’t normally her thing. She was sticking up for the underdog, though.

  His brow puckered in confusion. “I changed—didn’t I?” He plucked the front of the T-shirt and then brushed both hands through his hair. “I guess the dog isn’t the only one who could use a grooming appointment.”

  Becca chuckled, amused that he didn’t take himself too seriously. “Come on down to my clinic. Anthony can give you and Big Red a trim.”

  “What clinic is that?”

  Becca bit her cheek. “I have a vet clinic in town.” She should so keep her mouth shut. The last thing she needed was this guy checking up on her clinic or telling people she took in homeless animals, and telling him he should be groomed like a dog wasn’t exactly a compliment. Emily had admonished her time and again not to mention her penchant for picking up strays. She used to bring them home, but after what happened with Mrs. Fisher and the harbor master, that was no longer an option. Instead, she took them to her clinic. Animal control had a sixty-five percent placement rate, while Becca had found a home for every animal she took in. If she wanted to have a place to take animals, she’d curb her tongue. “He was pretty worn out after his swim yesterday. I’d like to make sure he’s up on his shots and healthy, is all.”

  He grunted and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  I need immediate mouth surgery—to remove my foot! Becca held her breath. Should she apologize?

  The dog took off at a run down the beach. Anna and her arthritic knees just couldn’t keep up. She threw her hands in the air and slowly made her way back to the parking lot where her truck waited.

  “Looks like he’s got plenty of energy today,” he commented.

  He wasn’t chewing her out, and he wasn’t running to the Harbor Master to complain, but was he planning to sink her boat in the middle of the night? Becca eyed him warily. “Yes, and will probably spend another night outside—poor thing.” Visions of the large do
g huddled up against a building, scared and shivering, had Becca rubbing her arms for warmth.

  “Where do dogs sleep in the wild?” asked the man.

  “It’s not the same thing.” Becca lowered her brow and scowled. “Those animals have instincts and mothers who teach them to hunt and survive. This dog is running on wits and fear.”

  “You’re right.” He rubbed his chin, mussing his beard. “Did he look thinner than he was yesterday?” he asked with a half grin.

  Becca shoved his shoulder. “You’re not funny.” Upset at herself for this off-center feeling that had her paying close attention to his dressing habits, the shaggy hair falling just next to his eye, and his big bad wolf grin, she picked up one of her bags, hooked it on her arm and snapped, “How can you not care?”

  She’d hit a nerve. Not intentionally, but nonetheless he scowled mightily. “I care.”

  Glancing down, she noticed his iPad was open to a news article. “Let’s see what you care about.” He meekly protested as she slipped the pad out of his hand. The article centered around the recent flu outbreaks and the effect they had on the workforce. Since many American companies outsourced to India, the economy was taking a hit. “The butterfly flu? I suppose you care about what’s happening in India because it affects your bottom line.”

  He brushed his foot across the concrete. “Not like you think,” he said in a low voice.

  Becca handed him back his pad. “The butterfly flu is half a world away, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. But that dog is right here, right now. You don’t have to go around the world to make a difference.”

  He stared down at the article.

  Becca stepped closer and put her hand on his forearm. She stared at where their skin met, wondering why her hand suddenly felt glued to him, as if it had been pulled by some magnetic force and only a depolarization could break them apart. “Help me catch him. I know I can find him a home.” Lightly squeezing his arm, she flushed all the way to her toes, hoping he’d say yes.

  His gaze went out across the sand and water, clouded and churning. “I’m done caring.” He pulled away.

  Becca’s hand dropped to her side with a thud. She reached for her other bags, embarrassed to have put herself out there and been rejected. “You’re awfully callous for a guy who has ‘made it’ in this world.”

  He finally met her gaze. His eyes filled with longing, and an overwhelming sense of loss rolled off of him. There was a battle going on inside; she saw the lines of trust and self-preservation ebb and flow. The way he tucked his broad shoulders in, the curve of his back, the shuffling of his feet were familiar in an unsettling way. Becca had a sense of having stood in his shoes, of having been where he was, and the connection this created between them startled her.

  “I’m not the one who’s a jerk. The world turned its back on me.”

  “Not the whole world.” The words came from deep inside where that still, small voice, the voice that assured her throughout life that she was loved by a higher being, originated. She cared. She suddenly cared quite a bit. Nervously, she moistened her dry lips and waited for his response.

  He tossed his head. “You don’t even know my name.”

  “I don’t have to know your name to know you have worth as a human being.” Becca held her breath, wondering if she’d said too much. She couldn’t explain why she felt this need to let a stranger know the world wasn’t such a cold, dreary place.

  He stared at her in disbelief. “That’s not how the world functions,” he said as he slowly turned away. His movements were hesitant, as if he didn’t want to go but was making his feet obey. The more distance he put between them, the faster he moved.

  Becca called out, “It should!”

  Using his key fob to unlock the gate, he looked over his shoulder and then tucked his head down and hurried back to his boat.

  Not knowing if she’d gotten through to him, though suspecting she’d only made things worse, Becca hefted the heavy grocery bags over her arms. “The least he could have done was hold the gate,” she griped.

  A woman pushing a stroller glanced at her and then hurried past.

  Becca grinned. That’s why she needed a dog—so that when she talked to herself, she wouldn’t seem crazy. Pet owners talked to their animals all the livelong day, and are still considered productive and sane members of society.

  As she fumbled for her own key fob, she thought about the sadness in the man’s eyes and realized where she’d seen that kind of sorrow before. It was the same weary and heartbroken dullness an abandoned animal portrays; an animal that came from a loving home only to be forced out on its own to survive.

  He wasn’t a stray, not the kind she was used to. Nope, he was most definitely a man; a man with dark and unfathomable eyes. Too bad she couldn’t take the handsome stranger home; he could use a little TLC.

  She rolled her eyes at herself. Emily was starting to rub off on her. No boyfriends, no blind dates, and no getting caught up in a rich man’s drama. Nope, it was better to stick with four-legged companions.

  5

  The closer Lucas got to his houseboat, the louder his steps on the dock. What did she know about making a difference? She chased unwanted animals around the harbor and made grooming appointments. She had no idea what she was talking about.

  Pounding up the staircase, he tossed his pad onto the unmade bed. Glancing around, Lucas couldn’t find the shirt with dog hair. Clothes were thrown about, takeout boxes littered the dresser, and a running shoe poked out from under the bed. He looked down at his chest. Perhaps he hadn’t changed his shirt.

  I’m falling to pieces.

  Spent and shaken, Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, shivering against a sudden intense chill. Words. They were just words. In the harbor, even he had a sense of security despite the sickness floating around out there, waiting and watching.

  The images in the article were strangers, and yet every one of them reminded him of Bri.

  The butterfly flu was personal—it was very personal.

  Bri had filled his life with purpose and family. Five years his senior, she’d married the year he graduated high school and proceeded to have three boys. For some people, that may have been a lot, but for Bri, four wasn’t enough. It wasn’t that she wasn’t capable of doing something else with her life other than being a mother—she had all the brains Lucas had used to build a conglomerate—it was that she found purpose in mommy-hood, and her dedication to her little ones ran deep. She always swore that when she had kids, she’d make them her whole world.

  If only she hadn’t flown to that orphanage in India or had waited until after the Butterfly epidemic was contained. But nothing Lucas or his brother-in-law, Tyler, had said made a difference.

  “That’s my daughter!” she protested as she climbed out of the car at the airport. Her heart had already grown to accommodate the child, and her mind was set on holding that baby in her arms. “I can’t leave her there one more hour.”

  Seventy-two hours later, Bri returned with a three-month-old girl and a bacteria incubating in her body. Both she and the baby died in quarantine at GermTechPharm. They shared a memorial service and burial plot.

  If it had been anyone else who’d shown up on his doorstep with the butterfly flu, Lucas might have considered himself lucky—in an odd sense—to have a live subject to take samples from. He hung his head in shame. How perverse had he become? How driven in his quest to be the first to unlock the secrets of the world’s newest killer that he would consider even one person’s death sentence lucky? He would have argued that one person’s life didn’t balance the scales when there were millions saved . . . except that for him, his brother-in-law, and his nephews, that one life was everything.

  Exhausted, Lucas fell into bed and pulled the blankets over his head to block out the setting sun.

  * * *

  Groggy and grumpy from sleeping over fourteen hours, Lucas struggled out of his shirt and groped for another one. He’d spent so many
years in business attire that he hadn’t understood the shackles he wore. The sprite may not appreciate his attire, but he sure liked the feel of soft cotton and loose shorts.

  Grunting in disgust that she was once again in his thoughts, Lucas snagged the toothpaste and loaded his brush. His preoccupation with the woman was understandable, considering the fact that he had nothing else to do.

  Time to make an effort.

  With no desire to pick up his room, he headed out to the local market. Wandering the aisles like a lost child, he grabbed whatever had a shiny wrapper and didn’t require a can opener—he wasn’t sure if he had one. Watching his items cross the scanner at checkout, Lucas counted more granola bars and peanut butter cups than one man should consume in a week, but his earlier determination to try was spent.

  By the afternoon, he was back in the lounge chair on his upper deck where he guzzled four cans of soda. Needing to get rid of his caffeinated energy and feeling tired, like a prisoner walled in by his grief, Lucas slipped on his running shoes and headed east. The sidewalk was curvy in some cheesy attempt to mimic the tide coming in and rolling out. Musicians relaxed on the three-foot wall that separated the sand from the city. They played everything from harmonicas to guitars. No one sang—which, coupled with their drawn faces, gave even the upbeat tunes a lonely quality.

  Or maybe that was him. Wasn’t music interpreted through a person’s soul? He ran his hand down his face. He really needed to get out more.

  Pausing at the corner, he took in the construction on State Street and decided to head out to the end of Stern’s Wharf instead of dodging construction workers. The aged timbers groaned and creaked beneath his feet but were strong enough to support cars, a museum with a life-sized whale hanging from the rafters, and several restaurants and businesses.

  For a brief moment, the sound of waves crashing on the beach below overwhelmed everything else, and then it grew quiet. A compact car passed on his left, the techno music bouncing through the closed windows. Lucas licked the salt off his lips and pressed on, trying to ease the feelings his pixie had stirred up. She’d been confident in her statements about people and the world, and it was her confidence that hounded him.