The Neighbor's Secret (A Secret Billionaire Romance #1)

by Kimberley Montpetit

  Allie didn’t move from the porch until her mother had slid into the passenger side.

  If her mother—or father—caught sight of this guy they’d have a fit and there was no way Allie could explain his presence. Especially this late at night. Especially when she’d just moved in. And especially when she was still crying over an ex-fiancé.

  After her parent’s car drove away, Allie walked back inside, musing on the sudden realization that she hadn’t shed a single tear all day. The first time in five days. Which shocked her. Two days ago she was sure she’d never stop weeping for the rest of her life.

  An evening breeze rattled the leaves of the tree that shaded the porch swing and she reached out a hand to stop the sway of the charming swing, dying to try it out. Because she dreaded facing Benjamin/Ethan. Or whatever his name was.

  Her face burned in mortification at the memory of thirty minutes ago. That man had seen her in the bathtub. She wasn’t sure if she’d been completely hidden under bubbles or not. She’d been too terrified to glance down. Too desperate to tear the entire shower curtain over the top of her head.

  Her heart hammered in her throat.

  Mr. Miles the III owed her. Big time.

  Despite the fact that Viola Stark had already promised a rent-free summer.

  Fatigue sagged at her. She wasn’t used to hot days on her feet anymore, not after two years in an air-conditioned bank with a comfy chair in her very own office.

  After softly closing the front door, Allie began to tiptoe up the stairs. Halfway up, she paused to speak in a firm voice, deciding it was better not to mince words. “I don’t care who you are, Mr. Miles. If you aren’t out of this house in two minutes I’m calling the police.”

  He materialized out of the darkness, flipping on the lamp sitting on the hall table. “I’m sorry, but we have a problem.”

  Allie gave a brusque laugh. “No we don’t. You have a problem. I rented the house for the summer and you have to leave now. And not come back until after I leave town to return to Toronto.”

  He cocked his head. “Toronto? I thought you were a native Heartland Cove citizen. Your family owns the Fry Shack—which has been around since I was a kid.”

  “Yes, I was born and raised here, but I went to school in Toronto and have been living there for seven years now. I’m only home to help my parents out.”

  “Surely they can hire some local teens. Nobody would quit a good Toronto job to sling fries for a couple months.”

  “I didn’t quit—”

  “Hm. Got laid off? The economy’s been bad everywhere.” A tone of sympathy warmed his voice and Allie couldn’t tell if he made her feel better, or just more irritated.

  “You know, I do not want to talk to you,” she reiterated. “Please leave. Please.”

  “Well, that’s the problem,” he said apologetically. “This is actually my house. My grandmother gave it to me. And I came here for the summer, too. Somehow Viola didn’t get the message. Or lost it. Or . . .” his voice trailed off. Meaning it wasn’t his fault. And Viola Stark wasn’t particularly bright or organized.

  Allie blinked at him from the staircase. “I paid for this house under a good-faith clause that the property was available. You can’t kick me out. I had nothing to do with yours and Viola’s lack of communication. And I have the law on my side.”

  “I never said I planned to kick you out.”

  Allie took two steps down the staircase. It was beginning to annoy her to only see the top half of his head while they talked. “Before this conversation goes any further, would you please hand over a photo ID and the key you employed to gain entrance into the house while I was, um, upstairs?”

  He studied her, a quirk of a smile crossing his lips. “Are you a lawyer by chance?”

  “No, but my fiancé was a lawyer. My ex-fiancé that is,” Allie corrected, and then regretted saying anything at all. Admitting Sean Carter existed made her feel more vulnerable. And, after a strange man had barged in while she was taking a freaking bubble bath, she didn’t want to feel any more vulnerable than she already was.

  “Aah, I see.”

  Emotion flared in Allie’s chest. “No, you do not see anything. Besides, didn’t you just get off the tour bus yesterday? That doesn’t mesh with you being a Heartland Cove descendant or heir to this house.”

  He had the good sense to look sheepish. “I, um, just pretended to be with the tour group. I didn’t want to bring attention to myself.”

  Allie couldn’t help herself. “So now you’re telling me that you came to Heartland Cove for the sole purpose of consuming Strickland’s seasoned fries—” she stopped, afraid it sounded like she was flirting when she was doing anything but.

  “Aha! You remembered what kind of fries I ordered.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? We only serve two kinds. It was a lucky guess.”

  Allie made a noise in her throat. She needed to shut this guy down. “I.D.,” she ordered, holding out her hand.

  “I’ll do that if you hand over your rental lease and cheque number,” he countered.

  Allie’s eyes widened. The nerve! Then she realized that he was teasing—or flirting, but she wasn’t going to take the time to figure out which one. “You’re the one that hired Viola to represent this house and rent it out. Go ask her.”

  He took out his wallet and Allie held her breath when he looked up at her through the waves of his hair. Those eyes were penetrating—and disconcerting. Why did he have to be so good-looking? So nice. It would be easier to yell at him and throw him out in handcuffs accompanied by Sergeant Bowman if he were a jerk.

  When Allie reached over the banister to take his driver’s license, their fingers brushed and she suddenly trembled.

  Snatching her hand away, Allie’s face burned. She was an idiot for appearing so nervous. Besides, she looked a wreck. Stringy wet hair from the bath, her dirty clothes thrown back on, not a smidgen of makeup. Could it get any worse?

  She stared at the ID. Yes, it was definitely Miles Benjamin Ethan the III staring back at her, a mischievous glint in those melted chocolate eyes. The address listed on his license was the very house she was standing in. Darn it. Viola Stark was right. Which meant Ethan was right, too.

  “You’ve made your point,” she said, biting at her lips when his eyes dropped to gaze at her mouth. “Now leave. I have to get up early. Fries wait for no woman,” she added, trying to make her voice light, but her voice came out more like a demented toad a mile from the nearest pond.

  “But I can’t leave,” he countered.

  What was the man’s problem? He was so darn stubborn!

  “It’s very easy,” Allie said firmly. “You walk out the door, get in your car, and drive away. Now goodnight.

  “Not so easy, I’m afraid.” He gave her a guilty smile. “The Bed & Breakfast is full. I’m too tall to sleep in my car. And this is my house. I’d planned to be right here the rest of the summer.”

  Allie stared at him in disbelief. “Doing what?”

  “I’m a photographer. I’ve been hired to take pictures.”

  “Of what? The bridge? There are probably thousands out there in the world already.”

  “Nope. I’m here on assignment. To take pictures of—well, the bridge from various angles and times of day—among other things.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I’m not going back to my parent’s house.”

  “But you could. You parents do have a room for you.”

  “That’s beside the point.” Allie was suddenly very possessive of this house. Her own Victorian dream house. Hers for the summer. So she could obsess and vent to the rooftops and weep—and, hopefully, get over Sean Carter.

  Maybe look for a new job, too. Despite what she told everyone else, she wasn’t sure she could return to Toronto, knowing she might run into Sean—even though the city had a population of two and a half million so the likelihood was pretty slim.

  Ethan raised a finger in the
air to stop her from yelling. He glanced about the shadowy living room, his eyes roaming toward the dark kitchen behind him. “I have a proposal.”

  Allie put a hand on her hip and arched one eyebrow.

  His eyes flickered over her hip and then away. “I’m going to suggest that we share the house. It’s big enough for both of us. There’s a guest room downstairs including its own en-suite bath.”

  “I already claimed and unpacked in the master suite,” Allie interjected.

  “And you shall have the master suite!” he said, his voice rising like a television announcer. He picked up his suitcase that Allie hadn’t noticed sitting near the front picture window, hidden in the folds of the thick draperies.

  Allie gulped. He was truly going to stay here. Here. In this very house. With her. “You’re kidding,” she whispered.

  He gave her a smile. “I’ll take the downstairs and you can have the upstairs. Evenly split.”

  “What about the kitchen? I have food in the fridge and cupboards already. I need to eat.” Allie thought about the five pounds she’d gained in the past five days of grief binge-eating. Maybe she should actually halt inhaling so many meals for awhile.

  “And you shall have kitchen privileges,” he added.

  “So generous, aren’t you, Mr. Ethan?” Allie retorted with a huge dose of sarcasm.

  “Done, then. And please call me Ethan, not Mr. Ethan.”

  “But isn’t your surname actually Miles?” Allie asked sweetly.

  He grimaced. “A name I’ve been straddled with my entire life. My great-grandfather’s mother had an attachment to that name, but I do not. While I’m here I’m Ethan Smith.”

  Allie’s eyes narrowed. “Smith? So creative. Where did that come from? Viola Stark said you wanted to be incognito this summer, but a pseudonym of Smith portends nefarious activities. Believe me, I shall endeavor to learn why.”

  He gave her a grin. “And I’m sure you shall Miss Strickland.”

  Holding her head high, Allie ascended the staircase, one hand gripping the banister. Despite her grungy clothes and tangled hair, the last exchange with Benjamin Ethan Miles/Ethan Smith reminded her of a conversation out of a Jane Austen novel.

  Once inside her room, she firmly locked the door.

  “What have I done?” Allie muttered after she pulled a clean nightgown over her head and slipped between clean sheets. “I’m sharing a house with a man I thought was a rapist an hour ago.”

  Quickly, she threw back the covers and stomped over to the door, double checking that it was locked. Then she took one of the replica Victorian chairs with scrolled filigree encased in a rich maroon velvet and stuck it firmly under the door handle. “There, Mr. Ethan Smith. You can go jump off the Heartland Cove Bridge for all I care.”

  Chapter 8

  On her lunch break the next day, Allie went to the hardware store and bought rope. A lot of it.

  At the local variety store, she purchased several cheap white sheets—flat, not fitted, and good for hanging.

  She met up with Marla for sodas at the gas station, bringing a bag of hot fries to share. They sat in a couple of cheap plastic chairs in front of Allie’s parent’s house that overlooked the Saint John River, between the second and third tour bus of the day. It was good to get away from the smell of burning oil and the stuffy truck.

  While they ate, Allie dipping her fries into a puddle of ketchup, she told Marla about Mr. Ethan Smith, incognito photographer lurking about town.

  “I think I’ve seen him,” Marla said, sipping at her soda.

  “And look at this.” Allie reached for the morning paper still sitting on the porch, opened by her father and then dropped to the ground. His footprint still marked the newsprint when he stomped on it in fury at the headline.

  Mayor Jefferies in Discussions with The Ministry of Transportation. Proposal for new highway bypass voted on soon.

  “You might as well kill off the town,” Allie seethed, skimming the article. “They’re going to bypass the town? Two hundred years of history will disappear into the hills. Everybody’s livelihoods will dry up—the bridge, the tourists, the fishermen—just like that.” She snapped her fingers and threw the paper down, kicking it away with her sandaled foot.

  Marla swallowed the last thick fry, closing her eyes in salty ecstasy. “It is disturbing, but I didn’t think you cared that much for Heartland Cove. We were both so eager to leave town as soon as we graduated, we would have paid the mayor to never return.”

  “It might be a claustrophobic town with annoying tourists who leave trash everywhere and nothing for teens to do, but it’s my hometown. This will devastate my parents. So many families who’ve been here for generations.”

  “Hopefully there’s a petition and we can get all 899 citizen signatures and shove it in Mayor Jefferies face.” She gave Allie a discerning look. “If I’m not mistaken, I think you’re ticked off about more than just political talk and highway shenanigans.”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Allie said, her sarcasm thick as molasses during December. “Just the mayor, the bridge, my parents, Sean Carter, Ethan Smith, and my house. Well, my new rented house,” she amended.

  “Goodness, girl, smooth out the furrowed brow, please!” Marla said with a laugh. “All that pent-up anger. Maybe we need to have a movie and wine night.”

  “Soon, please!” Allie smiled half-heartedly, and then stuck out her tongue like she used to when they were girls and fighting over everything and nothing.

  “So Mr. Ethan Smith,” Marla said, returning to the previous subject. “The man is a hunk of the highest order—and I know you won’t contradict me. But I also hate him.”

  “Why do you hate him? I’m the one with the hate rights.”

  “Because he’s a professional photographer with some high-falutin’ magazine like National Geographic and he’s going to steal all my new business.”

  Marla had returned to Heartland Cove hoping to turn her photography into a full-fledged business and Allie had thought they’d use the Victorian house to get started because it had a good address and was easy to get to from anywhere along the river.

  Then, when she returned to Toronto she’d leave Marla to continue after helping her make contacts and schedule gigs. Marla had already made up a flyer and business cards. She hoped to do not only weddings, but family portraits, wedding anniversaries, birthdays, and set up a daily stand at the bridge to snap pictures for romantic couples kissing on the bridge—or all those smiling families with unruly children.

  Kissing was a tradition on the Heartland Cove Country bridge. Practically an institution that dated back to horse-and-buggy days. Couples would furtively pause halfway through the bridge and steal a kiss at a day and age when chaperones were the usual order of courting.

  Allie and Marla were toddlers when the first couple took their wedding vows on the bridge. All traffic stopped and the interior of the bridge was packed with family and curious spectators.

  Couples came from all over New Brunswick to tie the knot. Marla wanted to capitalize on those, too, including traditional weddings in churches and backyards.

  She and Allie had it all planned out. With Allie’s computer skills, she’d do the photo-shopping on the images, pop them into frames and voila, The Kiss would be born—an instant gift or souvenir.

  “I had originally thought we could use the guest suite downstairs in my new—old—house and the closet for a dark room,” Allie said. “If you want to do old-fashioned developing.” She made a face. “But nooooo, Mr. Ethan Smith, some dude who inherited one of the best Victorian homes in town from his dear old dead granny, just had to show up.”

  “In your bathroom no less.” Marla made an ugly-face, which set them to giggling as they tried to outdo each other. Face-making was a pastime of their childhood, when they were bored to tears all summer. That and blowing the biggest bubbles with pink Bazooka bubble gum.

  “My brother has been working on a sign for my photography business,” Marla
said once they stopped laughing.

  “You mean to like, literally hang out a shingle?”

  Marla widened her eyes. “Of course. Like a real business.”

  “That’s perfect. Have you decided on a name?

  “How about Marla’s Magical Moments?”

  Allie waggled her eyebrows. “Folks might mistake you for an escort service.”

  “You would think of that, Allie!”

  “Well, maybe I’m scarred by my canceled honeymoon. I’m certainly missing my magical moments.” There was a pause as Allie’s voice choked for a moment. “Good grief, I feel like such a baby crying again.”

  Marla leaned over to hug her. “Hey, it’s going to take time, honey. Give yourself a break. It’s barely been a week.”

  “It will be much easier when I can full-on hate Sean. I’m getting there, but not quite yet.”

  A flush of intrigue crossed Marla’s face. “Don’t look now, but Mr. Ethan Smith is in that far thicket of trees and looking quite furtive—but mighty fine.”

  Her best friend’s words pricked at Allie in the most odd manner. “I suppose you’d feel a kinship with the guy. Both being photographers and all.”

  Marla threw her a shrewd glance. “And he’s dripping with good looks,” Marla said, rubbing it in.

  “I suppose if you like tall, dark and handsome men. Of course I don’t feel any sort of ownership over the man. Quite the opposite. He’s a jerk making me share the house with him. A car could be quite comfortable, I think. I should have thrown him a blanket and pillow last night and made him sleep on the porch swing.”

  “Try that tonight and see what he says because I want to claim his guest bedroom. Tell him I’m your long-lost sister.”

  “Yeah, like he’ll really believe that. Me, a blond, and you a redhead with highlights.”

  “Long-lost cousin then?” Marla slipped her arm through the crook of Allie’s elbow. “Come on, let’s take a little walk.”

  “Furtive, eh?” Allie rose to her feet, catching sight of Ethan’s figure weaving in and out of the trees. “Let’s follow him, and then I have to get back to work. But I have a strong suspicion Ethan Smith is up to no good.”