The Billionaire's Courtship

by Ava Miles

  When he knocked on the door, she swung it open. There was a shy smile on his face, and he was holding a huge bouquet of pink roses, not a wilted one among the bunch this time. She tried not to panic at the sight of the flowers. They’re only flowers, Margie. Nothing super lavish about that. She stopped herself from thinking about how he’d wanted to ferret her out of this simple flat.

  “Hi,” he simply said, letting his eyes sweep over her.

  “Hi.” She’d noticed his clothes here seemed different from the ones he’d worn in Dare Valley, but now she realized why. Even though he was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a charcoal jacket, each garment fit him to perfection. They had to be tailored and designer, the kind she used to have in her closet growing up. The memory was not a welcome one.

  “You look beautiful,” he said and then stepped toward her like he was going to kiss her. But he stopped and searched her face. “I promise we’ll still leave…but I just have to kiss you now.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “You better kiss me. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

  He nodded quickly, his ears tipped red now. “Good. Me too.”

  She took the flowers from him and set them on the counter. Then she came back to him and planted her hand on his chest. His lakewater blue eyes were filled with so much love she suddenly felt warm all over.

  They both seemed to understand their talk on the quiet street had changed things between them. And that this kiss was another beginning for them both.

  She laid her hand on his jaw. The spicy aroma of his cologne reached her nose, and her belly contracted with lust. “Come here,” she whispered.

  With aching pressure, she slid her hand around his nape and pulled his mouth to hers. He was gentle at first, only rubbing his lips over hers in a way that was both frustratingly sweet and arousing. But she wanted more, had daydreamed about more all day, and when she bit his bottom lip, she felt the quiver run through his body. She opened her mouth to him, and he did the same, matching her with deep strokes of his tongue.

  Someone moaned, and she realized it was her. Then his arms came around her, and he pulled her flush against the hard line of his body. They took the kiss deeper, and soon she worked a hand between them, undid the button on his jacket, and lifted the edges of his T-shirt. She had to feel his skin. Right now. Her fingers traced the hard planes of his chest, but he grabbed them to stop her.

  “I promised you we’d leave,” he said.

  She stepped back and let her lips curve. “Oh, we’re going to leave,” she said. “But first you have an appointment with me and the hobbit door.”

  His lips twitched. “Oh, I do, do I?”

  She waggled her brows. “Do you think you’re man enough to handle me and the hobbit door all in one afternoon?” Before he could answer, she ducked through the door to her bedroom and began to take off the dress she’d just thrown on.

  “We don’t have enough room in here,” he mused in a disapproving voice after he followed her in.

  Swinging around, she pressed a hand to her breasts. She was not going to read any billionaire judgment into his tone. She wasn’t. “Maybe you could design something to make the room seem bigger,” she decided to tease. “You could call it the Lovemaking Mistress.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  Since she could hear the humor in his voice, she knew she hadn’t hurt his feelings. “Not at all. But that’s not the right name. How about the Expandable Love Room?”

  This time he tapped his foot. “Remind me not to ask you to help name any of my inventions. I had a huge breakthrough today, by the way. With the invention that’s been bugging me since I started painting your bakery in Dare Valley.”

  Since he seemed talkative all of the sudden, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a sheet over her body. Another invention that would add to the billions he already had, a dark part of her whispered. But she ignored it. Hearing him talk about his inventions usually gave her joy. She wasn’t planning on changing that.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Later,” he said, taking off his clothes. “I thought I was going to blurt it out right away. I’ve been so excited to share it with you. But then I saw you, and all I wanted to do was tell you how much I love you all over again.”

  She had to swallow the lump in her throat. “I love you too.”

  Her hand extended to him, and he took it and sat next to her on the bed. They stayed that way for a moment, staring into each other, neither of them needing to move. In his eyes, perhaps because she loved him so much, she saw all the mysteries of life: fire, starlight, water, magic, and even freshly baking bread. She wondered what he saw in hers, but in some ways she knew it didn’t matter. He saw what he needed to see.

  Then they both leaned into each other. Their mouths met, slowly this time. The sheet she’d wrapped around her unwound as his hands freed her for his touch, for his gaze. And when she lowered herself to the bed, he settled his body against hers, igniting a whole host of new sensations.

  “Evan,” she said as his hands caressed her breasts, and she moaned deep and long in her throat as she welcomed his touch again.

  He looked up and then ran one of his hands from the middle of her torso to her cheek. His mouth curved into a half smile. “I know.”

  And he really did. He knew what she needed. He knew where she needed his touch. He knew when she was close to the edge and how to take her over it. When she finally came back to herself, she opened her eyes. His head was resting on an elbow, and he was watching her, his blue eyes as dark as the sky before a storm. She reached for him, and when his body arched to her touch like the bread that rose to her every morning, she reveled in the joy of it.

  When they could no longer wait another moment to be joined, he dug into his pants for a condom. She fitted it over him, and then he laid back and extended his hands to her. She straddled him and took his hands in hers as he sunk deep inside her.

  Meeting his gaze, she whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he said softly.

  Love flooded into her even more as she began to move, slowly at first. But soon it wasn’t enough. He rolled her onto her back and thrust into her hard.

  He stilled when she cried out, but she shook her head and said, “Don’t stop.”

  And he surged into her with renewed force until she could no longer hold back the tides rushing through her. She surrendered to the flow, calling out to him, and felt him follow her to the other side, to the place where all time stopped and began again.

  Like before, they didn’t speak. They only held each other. Her head listened to the slowing beat of his frantic heart until it thudded in his chest like an easy melody. His hands stroked her back in a soothing motion, and she allowed herself to nod off for a while.

  When she awoke, she realized he’d fallen asleep too. She took in every detail she could. He had a smattering of faint freckles on his nose she hadn’t noticed before. His hair seemed to be held in place by a stronger hair product than he’d used Dare Valley, and she wondered if that was why his hair didn’t curl as much here. Even his earlobes were adorable to her, round and heavy whereas her own were short and narrow like fairy ears.

  Then his eyes opened, and her heart seemed to grow even larger in her chest, almost as if the sun had expanded to fit the whole horizon.

  He leaned up to kiss her softly on the lips. She pressed her forehead to his, and right then, right when she was the happiest she could remember being, a desperate ache rose up inside her. She would have to leave him. Leave Paris. She took a deep breath, pressed back, and made herself smile. They had right now. That was what mattered.

  “I believe you have a date with the hobbit door,” she said finally.

  He groaned again, but this time for a different reason. She tensed, fearing he was going to complain about the inferiority of her shower.

  But then he scooped her up in his arms and stumbled to his feet. Her anxiety faded, and instead the h
umor of the situation struck her. The door did seem smaller as he carried her to it, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “If I knock myself out trying to get through this thing,” he said good-naturedly, “at least make sure you land on top of me so you don’t get hurt.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He ended up leaning back to get them both through the tiny enclosure, which caused her to squeal.

  “It’s like limbo,” he said as he set her down. His eyebrows rose dramatically when he opened the door to the narrow shower and turned on the water. “We’re not going to fit in here.”

  She gave him a playful pinch to keep things easy between them. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

  “I can’t wait to see how you plan on doing that,” he said with an equally playful leer.

  The space was beyond tiny, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the laughter between them as they both tried to wash each other in the confined space. Evan bumped his head a few times on the low ceiling and made a disparaging comment about hobbit showers. But it was what Evan the geeky inventor would say, not Evan the billionaire, who probably had a bathroom the size of her entire apartment.

  After she finished dressing in the bedroom, she walked over to the hobbit door and settled back against it like she was in a silent movie to keep the ease between them going.

  “Be honest with me,” she said, trailing her hand seductively along the wood. “You want one of these now, don’t you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “We should go,” he said, pulling on his shirt. “I probably have a parking ticket.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” she asked, rushing over to grab her shoes. Then she remembered how her parents would park in handicap spots because they could afford to rack up tickets. Her hands went lax from the memories, and the shoes clattered to the floor.

  He took them from her, then led her to the bed so he could put each one on her like Prince Charming himself. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I forgot because being with you eclipses everything.”

  She felt her lips tremble, and then she clutched her hands together when they trembled too. “I know what you mean,” she whispered. “I feel that way too.” The rest of the memory slid from her mind.

  He exhaled sharply, like he’d felt the darkness of the past rising in her. When he rose to his feet and held out his hand, she took it. Gathering it against his heart, they stood staring at each other, the rumpled sheets like mounds of whipped cream behind them.

  “You can trust me, Margie,” he told her.

  “I do,” she said and then gave a shaky laugh. “Just…be patient with me. About the money stuff.”

  He tipped up her chin to look at him. “How about we agree to be patient with each other, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I’d like to show you where I live,” he said. “When you’re ready.”

  His wince sent pain shooting through her. This…this is what she feared for them both, what she hoped to prevent.

  “I’m glad you want to show me where you live,” she said with a slow smile to reassure him.

  It was brave of him to ask, and she traced a heart on his chest to normalize them both.

  “Good,” he said cautiously. “It’s kind of a wreck right now. I’ve been…painting.”

  She was able to laugh, wondering why a billionaire would paint his own apartment. “If I’d known you would miss it so much…”

  He didn’t join in with her like he normally did. “Just tell me when you’re ready to see it. I’ll clean things up for you.”

  Delaying would only hurt him, and she couldn’t bear that. “How about you show me where you live tonight?”

  A smile filtered over his face before it fell away. “All right. After we go on our romantic outing.”

  She wanted to soothe him, but part of her wished someone would soothe her as well. Knowing the truth about his billions was like walking a tightrope without a net. Much harder than she’d thought it would be.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 3

  The Rodin Museum was as compelling as the artist himself. Evan couldn’t be happier to be here with Margie, holding her hand and talking with her about the art.

  “What do you think…haha…he’s trying to figure out?” she asked him after they stood in front of the famous sculpture The Thinker for a long moment.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Every time I see this one, I feel like he’s trying to figure out how to unlock a person from the medium he’s working on.”

  “Oh, I like that.” She swung their hands, and it felt childlike and charming—just like her. “I’d like to think he’s contemplating the meaning of life.”

  “No wonder he looks so depressed,” he joked and then swung her hand back, like he was giving her swing a push at the park.

  Her smile made him feel like he owned the entire universe.

  “I love this place,” she said. “Some museums can be so formal and boring. The ushers hush you if you so much as laugh.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I like this place too,” he told her as they walked down the path leading through the shrubs. The roses were old canes, and their yellow, red, and pink blooms were as large as small dinner plates.

  “You also like it because he took things apart and made them new,” she said, squeezing his hand. She might as well have squeezed his heart with that statement.

  “Yes. I like seeing how he built his models. Did you know he first conceived of the figure that would become The Thinker in 1880, but the first bronze castings didn’t appear until 1904? That’s twenty-four years!”

  “I can add and subtract, Evan,” she said dryly, pushing back a lock of sable hair the wind had blown into her eyes.

  “I wasn’t trying to imply—”

  “I know you weren’t,” she said, smiling at him.

  He loved the way she seemed to just get him, even when he feared he sounded crazy, especially now that his billionaire status was out in the open. Now, if she still smiled at him like that when she saw the paint-speckled wall in his luxurious apartment, he might simply lay a white rose at her feet and offer to worship her for the rest of his life.

  Okay, maybe he needed to get a grip.

  “You feel a camaraderie with him,” she said. “He might be a sculptor, but he was kind of an inventor too. Like you. He had to see possibility where no one did.”

  Jesus, a rose was such an inadequate gesture. He would lay diamonds or gold or the rarest metal on the planet at her feet instead. Which she would hate since such gifts would definitely be on the too-lavish list. “Why is it you understand me better than most people? Even Chase…” He broke off, unable to complete the statement.

  She half hugged him, like she was trying to infuse him with her courage. “Even Chase…”

  “Thinks I’m crazy sometimes,” he admitted.

  “You don’t really paint much,” she said, stopping in front of another sculpture. “Do you? That must have been part of your Evan Murray persona.”

  He felt the lie he’d told her creep back between them. “I wouldn’t have taken the job as your painter if I didn’t think I could do an incredible job.”

  “I know that.” Her mouth looked tense at the corners. “I’m still embarrassed that I only paid you fifteen dollars an hour.”

  His belly twisted, and he turned to face her. “I’m only worth fifteen dollars as a painter,” he said. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed about that. I felt bad taking money from you in the first place. Can I give it—”

  “No,” she interrupted, looking down at the ground. “I hired you for a job, which you did. You deserved to be paid.”

  He could feel her withdrawing from their earlier ease together. “With practice, I could probably become a master painter,” he said, hoping to make her laugh. Considering all the testing he would have to do to achieve his invisible paint, he would probably get to that status.

  “I somehow don’t see that h
appening,” she said, meeting his gaze. The slight twinkle in her eyes made him want to kiss her, right then and there, smack on the lips. “You’re probably right. I could never be a master painter like you’re a master baker.”

  “I’m not a master baker yet. There are plenty of imperfections in my baguettes, and I haven’t even started croissants.”

  “There are no imperfections in your baguettes! Anyone who says otherwise needs to see someone professionally.”

  “Thank you for your faith in me,” she said in a voice so low he had to strain to hear it.

  “I have more faith in you than I do in anyone.”

  Then she rose on her tippy toes to give him a kiss. “I have faith in you too.”

  “It humbles me to hear you say it,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I promise to do my best to live up to your faith in me.”

  Her emerald eyes stared at him, and in them, he could see her love and all the questions she still had. He would have to court her harder to win her complete faith.

  They wound their way to the back of the house. The fountains surged and gurgled, and the sculptures around them seemed to be expounding the power of the water. People sat on wooden benches in the waning sunlight. Some were couples. Some were families. Some were tourists.

  And some were like he’d been—a single person sitting in the presence of the master, hoping for inspiration. During his dry spell, he’d come here a lot, hoping to feel a spark, to know what he was supposed to invent next. He’d felt nothing.

  “He had a beautiful house,” Margie commented. “It’s too ostentatious for me, but it’s so French with all the mullioned windows and sandstone.”