The Reclusive Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance)

by Lucy McConnell

  “Thanks for searching with me, Luke. That’s two good deeds in one day. You’d better be careful, or people will start to think you’re a nice guy.” Becca grabbed one of the ropes that ran from the dock to her boat and pulled it closer so she could board.

  “We can’t have that.” Lucas clutched his chest in mock horror.

  “Don’t worry,” she said over her shoulder as she stepped aboard. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Lucas smiled, thinking that it was nice to share a secret with someone as pretty as Becca Lee. But then he wondered if what she’d said had been a dismissal, as if he weren’t important enough in her day to mention.

  His system had been on sleep mode for so long that the attraction spiking through his body sent him into overload. Really, it had nothing to do with Becca. She was the catalyst, an accelerator for change, not the reason for the change itself. But for Lucas, the changes were suddenly uncomfortable, and he wanted out.

  Forcing himself not to run, he boarded the Incognito and ducked into the cabin where he leaned over with hands on knees and tried to steady his breathing.

  The walk back to his boat had been much more enjoyable than his run away from it. Maybe it was because he’d fed Fido. Or maybe it was because he’d had a terrific meal. But what he truly suspected was the reason for the lightness in his step was the way Becca looked at him like he’d done something worth feeling good about. The accomplishment both invigorated and terrified him. For the first time in a long time, much longer than Bri’s death, Lucas was not just alive—he was living.

  6

  Becca pulled off her rubber gloves with a sharp snap. With Carson taking the afternoon off for surfing lessons, Becca scrambled to cover both his duties and her own. Usually, Carson took care of things like routine shots and checkups while Becca did the heavier diagnostics and care. She’d determined that Toby Mcgior Ashworth’s liver problems were from eating the neighbor’s cat food. Thankfully, he’d only been stealing meals for about a month and the damage was fixable.

  Though her afternoon was busy, she enjoyed the time to connect with some of the animals she hadn’t seen in awhile. Rumple was not one of those animals.

  Throwing the gloves into the proper waste disposal bin, she grabbed a box of dewormer out of the supply closet in the kennel area and met Mrs. Woods and Rumple in the waiting room. “You’ll want to give him one a day for three days.”

  “Thank you so much. I can’t believe this is happening to my poor little Rumple.” Mrs. Woods made a kissy noise to her almost four-foot tall labradoodle. Rumple licked his nose in response.

  “These will get him all fixed up.” Becca pressed the box into Mrs. Woods’s manicured hands. She patted Rumple’s head. “You be a good boy, Rumple.”

  His soulful eyes stared back. Becca could imagine him saying, “You wish.” Mrs. Woods loved her dog, but he was a stinker. Like people, some animals had a penchant for finding trouble. Last month, it had been a barbed wire fence that tore Rumple’s hip open. The month before that, he’d lost a nail. They never did figure out how he managed to get his paw chewed up. Becca suspected it was a lawn mower, but Mrs. Woods insisted that her gardener loved Rumple and she never let him out of the house when the lawn mower was running. Thankfully, this time it was a simple case of worms which could be cleared up with medication. For all his trouble, Rumple was an adorable dog. Maybe that’s why he got away with so much.

  For a moment, she thought back to Luke. He had a bit of that bad-boy streak with his shaggy hair and unkempt appearance. She could easily picture him riding a Harley, surfing a monster wave, or, strangely enough, closing a million-dollar deal without a second thought. He was just . . . cool.

  Mrs. Woods gave a small tug on the leash and she and Rumple were out the door with a chorus of thank-yous and one mighty bark. Becca smiled and turned to face her last patient for the day.

  Paulo Ortiz took up more than one of the chairs in her waiting room, while his dog, Peaches, took up the space of an orange. Paulo was absorbed in some magazine while the pup perched on his round belly. If it hadn’t been for Peaches’ rhinestone collar glinting in the early evening light, Becca might have missed her completely.

  “Hey, Paulo. How’s it going?”

  “Good.” He shook Becca’s offered hand. “We’re here for shots.”

  “Hi, Peaches.” Becca lifted the miniature pup and held her close. “She looks happy. Let’s head back to Exam Room 3, and we’ll give her the once-over.”

  “Sounds good.” Paulo grunted to his feet. He wore a plaid button-up shirt with the sleeves ripped off over a pair of denim shorts and sandals. Becca smiled. Even his toes have tattoos. For all his rough edges, Paulo was a big ol’ teddy bear who doted on Peaches. One only had to see the careful pink bow on her small head or the sparkling collars she wore around her neck like gypsies wore bracelets to know how much Paulo favored his pooch.

  Becca put Peaches on the exam table. Holding her in place with one hand, she reached behind her for a fresh set of gloves.

  “Let me help.” Paulo set his magazine down on the table and put both hands around Peaches’ middle.

  “Thanks.” Becca wiggled into the gloves and then focused on Peaches. She was feeling the dog’s stomach when her eyes darted to the magazine. She gasped. The headline read “Suspected Killer Disappears,” and a picture of Luke in aviator sunglasses at what appeared to be a funeral stared up at her. At least, she thought it was him. The suspect and he had the same thick build. This guy was clean shaven with short-cropped hair, which was kind of cute in a deadlines-and-designer-suites kind of way. Her Luke was laid-back, scruffy and yeah, sexy too.

  Peaches whimpered, bringing Becca’s attention back to the exam. “She’s shaking,” observed Becca.

  “She does that a lot, but she stops if I hold her.” Paulo scooped Peaches into the crook of his arm. Her shaking did, indeed, cease.

  Becca nodded, half her mind still on that picture. She couldn’t help but glance at it again while she reassured Paulo. “It’s not uncommon for dogs to get nervous during an appointment but smaller dogs like Peaches, who don’t have a lot of hair or body fat, can get cold easily. She probably likes being close to you for the body heat.”

  Paulo’s eyes dipped as if Becca had said something that touched a nerve.

  “Of course, that’s only one reason a small dog wants to be close to her owner. She’s a pack animal. In her pack, you are the alpha male.”

  “She sees me as a dog?” Paulo asked skeptically. He brushed Peaches’ back.

  Becca smiled. “Sort of. The largest animal is usually the head of the pack, and the smaller ones try to gain their favor.”

  “Huh.” Paulo considered that.

  “She must think you’re pretty special if you’re her alpha.”

  Paulo tucked his chin down, suddenly shy. Becca continued on with the exam, her eyes straying to the magazine cover as often as they did to Peaches.

  Paulo caught her staring. “Can you believe that guy?”

  “Who is it?” Becca couldn’t help herself. She was sure that was Luke but couldn’t get the image to gel with the rumpled, aimless man who had followed her around the pier yesterday.

  “Lucas Scott. He’s some hotshot germ warrior with a god complex.”

  Becca pinched Peaches skin and inserted a needle. Peaches took it in stride. “Why do you say that?”

  Paulo shrugged. “He gave his sister a drug that wasn’t ready, and it killed her.” He shook his large head. “My mama always said what goes around comes around. This guy got what he deserved.”

  Becca’s hands stilled. “I’m not sure about that, but I’ll bet his sister didn’t deserve to die.” Becca ducked her chin into her chest. Where had her filter gone? She’d always had impeccable bedside skills and been able to hold back her politically incorrect thoughts or just plain insensitive remarks. It’s something about Luke. When he was involved, her better half disappeared.

  Paulo pulled his hand down his fa
ce. “Guess I didn’t think about that. She left behind a bunch of kids, too. See?” He flipped open the magazine to reveal a full-page picture of three boys and a man dressed in black suits with matching pale pink ties stood in front of two caskets, their heads down. Lucas was there, just behind the family in his own pink tie. His mouth turned down and his shoulders hung forward.

  Becca wanted to reach through the image as if she could bring comfort to him in some small way. Instead she checked Peaches’ eyes for cataracts—which was a slim possibility, given the dog’s age.

  With the exam complete, she offered Peaches a doggie treat and patted her on the head. “Okay. She’s doing great. I can tell you’re taking good care of her.”

  Paulo’s smile was full of pride. “Thanks. She’s a good girl.”

  Becca walked them out and flipped the sign on the door from “open” to “closed.” Her body relaxed against the warm glass. “What a day,” she said to Ginger the cat, who had found a patch of afternoon sun to occupy. This large-bellied, happy feline was a far cry from the howler they’d pulled out of the cardboard box in the alley. Becca squatted down and gave her a good rub behind the ears. “You’re ready for a family, I think.”

  Madison came out of the exam room waving Paulo’s magazine. “Catch him!”

  Becca opened the door, but Paulo’s motorcycle was already gone. She shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned while her heart thrummed heavily in her chest. She was dying to read that article. “Here, I’ll take that.” Becca tucked it under her arm and headed to her office in the back while Madison shut down the front office and fed Ginger.

  Becca quietly shut the door—something she rarely did—and sat at her desk. With a deep breath, she opened the glossy pages and scanned the story.

  Lucas Scott, owner and head researcher of GermTech Pharmaceuticals has gone into hiding after reports that he murdered his sister with an experimental butterfly drug began to circulate last month . . .

  There was a picture of a beautiful brunette with the same piercing blue eyes as Luke. Her straight teeth were framed by full lips, and her skin glowed as she laughed at something off camera. The caption identified her as Brianna Grace Scott Sullivan, Lucas Scott’s deceased sister. There was also a picture of a baby wrapped in a hospital blanket. She had dark hair poking up in all directions and was identified as Kayla Sullivan, the adopted daughter of Brianna and Tyler Sullivan, who also died of the butterfly flu.

  Becca’s heart crumbled a bit as she stared at the pictures of Brianna’s husband and three boys at the graveside service. Her hand covered her mouth as she thought back to the other day when she’d taken Luke’s iPad and asked him what he cared about. No wonder Lucas was reading about the butterfly flu. And what had she said? That he cared more about what was happening halfway around the world than what was happening here. That his bottom line was his main motivation. Becca curled in on herself as the guilt ripped away at her. For Luke, the butterfly flu had hit home, and she’d accused him of being callous.

  The article went on to explain that Lucas Scott had eagerly brought his pre-diagnosed sister into GermTechPharm facilities and used her as a human experiment.

  It is unknown if Brianna was conscious of the decision as she had been in a drug-induced coma when she left the hospital.

  She wondered about what Paulo had said about Lucas being a madman with a god complex. Was that the real Lucas? She leaned close so her nose practically touched the page. The man in the picture wore a suit that probably cost more than her boat and stood apart from the other mourners.

  A shiver went up Becca’s spine. They couldn’t be the same guy, could they? Was she living next to a man who could kill his own sister?

  7

  Lucas rolled over in bed and covered his face with a pillow. Not even the down filling could block out the obnoxious howling coming from his doorstep, or boat step, or whatever people who live on boats call it. Stumbling to his feet, he raked his eyes over the clothes he’d worn yesterday, wrinkled and bunched, sticking to his skin. He didn’t remember going to bed, but he could tell it wasn’t morning yet. The moon hung over the breakwater, casting light off the ocean and through his blinds. He might be unkempt, but at least he wouldn’t be arrested for indecent exposure when he stepped out on his deck.

  He slid the door open and shuffled to the railing. Sure enough, Fido was right there staring up at him. “Go away,” he growled.

  Fido tipped his head back and barked three times.

  “I don’t have any food.” Lucas held up his hands.

  The dog howled a long and lonesome sound that must have come from the depths of Tartarus.

  That was enough! Lucas hurried down the circular staircase. He waved his arms. “Go on! Go home!” he yelled.

  Fido stopped howling but didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned forward and began to bark in earnest.

  Becca’s glass door opened just enough for her to lean out. Lucas felt one side of his mouth lift in a smile as he took in her small tank top and a pair of cotton pajama pants with cats on them. She didn’t need lace or satin to be positively sexy with her hair mussed like that. He’d take her in cat pajamas any day—or night.

  “Big Red—hush!” Becca commanded. The dog turned to Becca and began barking at her. She in turn called to Lucas. “You’ve got to quiet him down.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re the one who fed him.”

  “So that automatically makes me in charge?”

  “No, that makes you guilty of feeding stray dogs.”

  Fido continued barking. Two boats down, lights came on.

  Becca crossed her arms over her middle and hunched her shoulders, her eyes wide with fear. “Do something.”

  “Like what?” Luke waved his empty hands.

  “Feed him,” she hissed.

  “What? I don’t have any food.”

  Becca gave him a do-you-think-I’m-an-idiot look.

  He laughed. “It’s true. I eat out.”

  “Hey—take your dog inside,” yelled the guy two boats down. Luke had seen him that afternoon puttering around on deck. He wasn’t a live-in, but harbor rules allowed for up to three nights of consecutive stay, and apparently this guy had decided to stay. The buxom brunette with the full wine glass may have had something to do with his decision to bunk over.

  Becca’s eyes took on a pleading factor that Lucas was sure could talk a shark out of eating a dolphin. “Hurry! Before he calls harbor police on me again. I can’t lose my slip.”

  Lucas cocked his head. “Again?”

  Becca threw her arms up. “Fine, I’ll take him.” She hopped onto the dock and patted her leg. “Big Red, come.” The dog actually listened and stopped his ruckus. She talked him onto her boat and told him to stay while she disappeared inside.

  “And keep him quiet,” threatened the big guy.

  Lucas hurried over to Becca’s boat in case the guy decided to make an appearance. He hesitated before stepping aboard. This was Becca’s home, her place of escape, and entering without permission felt like he was invading—she hadn’t exactly liked him following her home the other day—even if he was trying to help.

  Becca appeared a moment later with a plate of something that smelled like wet dog food. Lucas crinkled his nose. When she saw him looming on her patio, she jumped and nearly spilled her load. Fido barked, and they shushed him at the same time. Becca placed the food on the deck and stepped back, closer to the open door, her eyes not meeting his. She stirred uneasily, impatient for Fido to finish or impatient for Lucas to disembark—he wasn’t sure. She kept her hands behind her and watched Fido eat.

  Lucas scratched his neck as he searched for something to say that would bring back the lighter version of the two of them from the day before. At the time, his senses had gone into overload, but now he wanted to sample the attraction—the life—once again. “You keep dog food in your cabin but you don’t have a dog?” he asked. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he tried to present a relaxed aura
.

  “I’m a vet.” Becca’s head was turned towards the dog, but she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Her neck muscles were tense. Was she upset about the dog? Was she worried about being reported? Was it him? He kind of thought it was him. Though that feeling could come from his own insecurities. Despite his desire to be with Becca, she wasn’t sending out signals that she was happy to see him. Lucas had the feeling that if he moved wrong, she’d disappear.

  “Yeah, but were you practicing out of your boat? Is that why the harbor police were after you?” He leaned against one of the posts.

  “No.” Becca placed a hand on the dog, and her muscles relaxed a fraction.

  Lucas took it as a good sign that the dog could calm her. If Fido could do it, maybe Lucas could too. “Come on. What’d ya do?”

  Becca sighed heavily as if she was being forced to use more than one-word answers. “I took in too many animals. Two of them went after a neighbor’s longboat and ended up sending it to a watery grave. Neighbor complained. I had to find homes for my pets.” She unconsciously twisted her hands together. “I’m on probation. The only way the harbor master let me stay was if I promised to be animal free for two years.”

  Lucas tipped his head back. He could totally see her surrounded by five dogs and twelve cats and loving every minute of it. Slapping his hand on the rail, he said, “See, it doesn’t pay off. Any time you stick your neck out for a dog or a person—” Or a country, for that matter. “—it comes right back to bite you in the butt.”

  She put a hand on her hip. “Excuse me. You say that like helping is a bad thing.”

  Lucas shrugged. “It can be.”