Billionaires On the Beach: The Anderson Brothers

by Elizabeth Lennox

  Wyatt stormed into the library, picked up the Baccarat decanter and took a long pull right out of the cut crystal bottle. The slick burn in his throat felt good, it gave a point of focus to his rage. He replaced the decanter with a rattle and dropped the stopper back into the bottle. Raking a rueful hand through his hair, he headed back to his room to work.

  She crashed right into him. Smelling of salt and sun, her wet hair flicking beads of saltwater onto his face as they collided. He caught her arm to steady her and the towel around her shoulders fell away. She was wearing the yellow bikini. It was her, her full breasts straining against the triangles of spandex, the curve of her ass filling out the skimpy bikini bottoms, her slender waist and smooth skin that had made his mouth go dry and his trousers grow tight. Shaking his head, he took hold of himself, determined to hide the desire he felt, the surge of attraction that shot through him like an electric shock.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I think I got you wet,” she drew back.

  He bit back a retort about making her wet, making her scream. It was nothing. It was a fluke, he’d seen her from a distance and thought she was an alluring stranger and seeing her in that bathing suit up close simply confused him. That was all. He wasn’t interested in her.

  “Did you have a good swim?”

  “The water was a little cold, but the ocean looks so irresistible from up here I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you can’t go out there.” Laine said.

  “No. It’s fine. I’m glad you like it here.”

  “It’s like a palace. Everything is s so beautiful, but I’m gonna tell you the truth. That kitchen is like my dream come true. Anyway, I’m going to get ready and go into town. I’ll be back in time to make lunch.”

  She pulled away from him and went toward her room. He stood for a minute and looked at where her strong, warm body had been so close to him, when he had held her arm and felt her skin that was silky and cool from the ocean. A drop of water from her flesh had clung to his hand. He licked it off his thumb and shut his eyes, enjoying the taste of saltwater and sun and Laine.

  Chapter 4

  Laine placed a clean dishtowel in the bottom of the basket and carried it out to the front garden to gather some herbs for the dinner she had planned. She couldn’t get over this place and how it had everything. It was the prettiest, most peaceful spot. She wanted to sit down in the path and just soak up the sunlight and the scents and listen to that perfect music of nature.

  She made her way through the herbs careful not to tread on any of the close packed plants. Some of the more opportunistic herbs were growing in containers hung from brackets high on the garden wall. She knew for a fact that basil tried to take over the world if you grew it in an herb bed, so she understood why it was growing in a pot instead of on the ground. But it was going to be hard for her to reach. She was barely five feet tall and on her tiptoes, she couldn’t reach it.

  Determined, she looked around for something to climb on. She heard footsteps. Wyatt, fresh from his shower after a workout, strode toward her. She giggled a little nervously because somehow, even in his expensive casual wear, she could still see him naked, see the big tattoo snaking across his muscular back. When had he gotten it and why?

  “I’m trying to get some basil and it’s too high for me to reach. Would you mind?” she asked.

  “My pleasure,” he said, joining her and reaching up to pick a sprig of basil. He offered it to her. She took it and put it in the basket.

  “I’ll need lots more than that. But that’s not a very big plant. I don’t want to strip it bare for one dish.” She bit her lip wishing she hadn’t said ‘strip’ to a man she’d seen naked, a man she would like to see more of. Argh! Stupid Vanessa giving her impure thoughts about a fling with a prisoner—an actual prisoner! Down girl!

  “Then I’ll show you the basil out back. My mother loves these gardens. She put in a patch of basil in the back because it’s some special kind she likes.” He led the way through the house and out behind it.

  She trailed after him, “Does your mother still come here?”

  “Not a lot.” he said flatly.

  “I’m sorry,” Laine said, laying her hand on his arm. Sure, she avoided her mother most of the time, but she knew how it had hurt when her aunt passed away. “When my aunt died, I thought nothing made sense anymore. That there wasn’t any point in any of it. After a while I started doing puzzles again as a way to remember her,” she offered, trailing off.

  “She’s not dead. I just don’t see that much of her. Busy schedules and all.” Wyatt gave a wry smile and he pointed to a triangular bed in the back corner, redolent with glossy basil leaves curling under at the edges.

  Laine stooped and began clipping basil. Without herb shears, without gloves, just his hands, big and tanned and sort of hairy, reached past her, broke off a stem halfway down and delivered the stalk of basil into the basket with perfect care. She smiled at him, feeling a rush of fondness, of liking him and of liking having him so near.

  “My mom never used shears. She did everything by hand. I remember her tearing leaves and putting them in stone bowl to mush them up.”

  “A mortar and pestle,” Laine said. “Probably making pesto.”

  “Yeah. God, she loved being out here. She used to grill these flatbread pizzas out under that pergola and she’d lay tomato slices and fresh basil on them before she served them. We’d eat out at this long table, like a picnic.”

  “That must’ve been great. What happened to the table?”

  “No clue.”

  He stood up, brushed off his chinos and took a few steps away from her, looking out the gate at the ocean beating against the shore. Laine put down her basket and went after him. She laid a hand on his shoulder and then bit her lip because she had just made a smudge of dirt on his white polo. She brushed it off,

  “Hey,” she said, but he didn’t turn around, “I’m sorry if I upset you, prying. It’s none of my business. I apologize.”

  “I’m not nine, Laine,” he said. “So don’t try to be my understanding babysitter.”

  “I know you’re not a kid,” she said softly, “I was having a nice time and I feel like I ruined it.”

  Wyatt raked a hand through his hair and crossed his arms, closed off to her again. “I’d like to know you better,” she said, and laid her cheek on his back just for a second.

  Laine wasn’t one to rub up against men, but the expanse of his strong back, and the closeness they’d shared moments ago over the basil overwhelmed her. She wanted to reach out to him. She wanted him to reach for her, to find comfort in her body and she longed to wrap her arms around him and open her lips for him. She was breathless, almost humid with the vividness of that desire, so when he turned and swept her around, his arm hooking her waist and hauling her up against him, she gasped.

  “How much better would you like to know me?” he said, his voice low and rasping. Her fingers curled into his shirt front.

  Laine felt lost in his intense hot blue gaze. He touched her cheek and she nestled into his palm. She felt as if every nerve ending was alight with the sizzle of his touch. She tried to answer him, knew somehow in the blur of desire that he had asked her a question and she ought to say something, but she couldn’t look away. She could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, his arms holding her against his hard chest. He tipped her chin up and she parted her lips, ready for him, dying for him to kiss her. She blinked, squinting as the sun came out from behind a cloud and shone right in her eyes so she had to look away from him.

  He gave that wicked half grin that made her want to drop her panties. Wyatt turned her so the sun wouldn’t be in her eyes, “I’d rather you be blinded by my charm than the sun, come over here,” he pulled her toward the shadow of the fence and she wrapped both arms around his neck, a smile curving her lips as she reached up for him and his mouth brushed hers.

  The loudest screeching sound
she’d ever heard shrieked from the spot where they were standing. They broke apart and he swore. “Fucking house arrest.” He muttered, taking a step back into the boundaries of the property, “Might as well put a goddamn shock collar on me like a dog.”

  “Wyatt—” she called after him but he was on his way back inside.

  She leaned against the pillar by the gate and caught her breath, disappointment and relief warring inside of her. She couldn’t kiss her boss because that would put her reference at risk. She couldn’t have a fling with a rich boy who was only interested in the nearest female body because that would be the worst of all, it would put her heart at risk.

  Laine gathered up her things and made her way slowly back to the kitchen to wash the herbs and start on the dinner preparations. He must have felt humiliated, caged here like an animal for a stupid stunt that really, when she thought about it, didn’t do any harm. It was just reckless and attention grabbing like Wyatt. If she had been on house arrest, she would have hardly peeped out the windows for fear of pushing the boundaries of the allotted area. But pushing boundaries and breaking them were second nature for him. That was why she was here. To save him from himself. But if she did that, who would save her?

  Chapter 5

  Wyatt sat back and surveyed the damage. Laine had whipped up a basil parmesan mayonnaise to stuff grilled cremini mushrooms and he had devoured every bit of it and gone back for more. It was the most melting, most irresistible thing he’d ever eaten. Still, after the way his ankle bracelet ruined the moment that afternoon, part of him didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of telling her how remarkable her cooking was. She brought out a dish of berries with a light, frothy zabaglione.

  “I know you don’t like sweets but this is mostly wine, trust me,” she said with a slight giggle that made him think she’d been sampling the Marsala while she cooked.

  “I’m full, but thank you anyway.”

  “Try one berry. My zabaglione got me out of a speeding ticket once. I had to hand over my cooking school homework but it saved me two hundred bucks.”

  “How did you trade dessert for a traffic ticket?”

  “Easy. I told the cop I was running late for class and I took the dish out of the cooler to show him and he said ‘Is that zabaglione, I haven’t had that since my grandmother’s years ago’. So I gave it to him to try and he said it was even better than his Nonna’s custard and he let me go.”

  “I’ve heard of women trading sexual favors to get out of a ticket, but never egg custard.”

  “That’s because they don’t have it to offer. My zabaglione is way better than sex.”

  “Really? Then either you’ve never had really excellent sex or your zabaglione should be outlawed.”

  “It’s like the way you think sex will be, right before you have it. The anticipation is better than reality, I guess, and my zabaglione tastes like anticipation of the best kind. Try it and see,” she said, looking up at him through dark lashes, teasing him.

  She dipped her fingertip in the sweet creamy mixture of sugar, egg yolks and wine and offered him a taste. Wyatt captured her finger in his mouth and sucked off the custard, his hot tongue flicking against her fingertip in a way that was suddenly erotic. His hand was on her bare thigh below her cut off shorts and he was seconds away from pulling her into his lap to lick custard off her when the doorbell rang.

  Laine bounded away to answer the door and she ushered in his case officer, Donnie Wiseman, who held a manila envelope and looked stern. Laine disappeared into the kitchen and returned with another bowl of berries heaped with satiny zabaglione for the officer.

  “I know I got too close to the boundary today, but after hearing that sound, I’ll remember next time,” Wyatt said. “Have some dessert. My minder here assures me it’s very satisfying.”

  “Didn’t you eat any dessert yourself?” Officer Wiseman asked.

  “I have other vices,” Wyatt said. Laine looked uncomfortable, whether it was because of the innuendo or the near-tryst the officer’s arrival interrupted, he couldn’t tell.

  “This is very good,” Officer Wiseman said after taking a bite, “But this isn’t a social call. The court has approved your religious activity period.”

  “I didn’t realize you were religious,” Laine chimed in.

  “We haven’t known each other long enough for me to discuss my very deep but private spirituality,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Laine said.

  “The office won’t tolerate any nonsense from you. We’re aware you’ve bought your way out of trouble before, Mr. Anderson, but you’d better stay on the property, and thank your lawyer for pushing through the religious period.”

  “Trust me, Officer, I need this. I can’t keep sitting around here doing nothing but staring at the walls with her. Have a good evening,” Wyatt said. He tried to ignore the flash of hurt on Laine’s face when he’d mentioned how annoying it was sitting around being bored with her.

  Laine showed the officer out and came back, hands on her hips, looking like a displeased nanny, which she probably was. “Religious practice? Are you a devout Presbyterian?”

  “I’m more of a demigod to a proto-national cargo cult in Papua New Guinea. About six years ago, I did a run for a relief agency into Papua and hung around for a couple weeks trying out the mangos and getting to know the locals. I had been scouting locations for an electronics group out of India. They had given me this huge crate of prototypes—disposable satellite smartphones, prepaid, use them for a month and throw them in the special recycling package and just open another one….I gave the lot of them to some high priest guy and, boom, they decided I was sent with material rewards for their virtue. Hello, demigod status!”

  “What the actual hell did you just tell me? You gave out phones and people worship you?”

  “They don’t worship me so much as think I’m a messenger from the gods who brings them approval and electronics.”

  “And you exploited their isolation to feed your ego?”

  “No, I exploited their adoration to get a huge party in my honor with mumu, which is this killer pork and yam dish, and I introduced them to some new outdoor sports as a form of communion with nature. So I have to practice those rituals in keeping with my beliefs. I mean, I basically founded their religious practices.”

  “You convinced a judge that you need to go surfing or whatever because of your fake religious beliefs?”

  “No, I paid my legal team tens of thousands of dollars to convince the court of that. So now, I have two hours a day of freedom. I need this, Laine. You can make it sound stupid all you want, but I can’t stay here for the next three and a half weeks. I’ll lose my mind.”

  “How am I supposed to help you keep the terms of your house arrest when you have no respect for the rule of law?” she demanded, face going red.

  “I have the utmost respect for the law, most particularly its loopholes. I’m going to check my paperwork to see how soon I can go practice my religion.”

  “Your religion is nothing more than doing whatever the fuck you want!” she hissed.

  “That’s true of most people,” he said. “If you don’t like it, you can always quit and take the reference I choose to give—that you made good mushrooms for supper but your compassion was severely lacking. I’m sure the foremost families in Wrightsville Beach will be lined up to hire you.”

  Laine groaned and stomped back to the kitchen. Wyatt read the ruling and frowned. His religious practice was approved effective tomorrow. So for tonight at least, he was confined.

  Wyatt couldn’t stand it one minute longer. He resorted to a favorite childhood trick. Wyatt rounded the side of the mansion and started to climb, thinking only of the wind up high, and the salt breeze off the water he could see but couldn’t reach. He was trapped and could hardly breathe from the strictures of his sentence. It was a powerful physical relief to walk across the roof and sit down at one of the gables.

  The sun was low in the sky and the w
ind off the water had a bit of chill to it, bracing and fresh. He was above it all, his cotton shirt whipping in the wind as he unbuttoned it. He got to his feet on the roof and threw his arms wide and laughed like a madman at the rush of feeling so free for the first time since he parachuted into this gilded dungeon. His shirt flapped behind him and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to come up here before now.

  “Wyatt?” her voice seemed small from far below him. He saw her down on the patio, from between the pergola slats, pacing and calling for him. There was a thrill from hiding in a place no one thought to look. She disappeared into the house and came back out again, cordless phone in hand.

  “Either you come out now or I call peace officer Mr. Wiseman and let him come flush you out.”

  Chuckling, Wyatt dialed. The phone in her hand chirped and she answered it, “Anderson residence, this is Laine speaking.”

  “I’m right above you, look up,” he said.

  He watched as she looked over her shoulder, then stepped back beyond the pergola’s edge and looked up to see him on the roof.

  “Are you insane? Do I need to call the fire department?”

  “I’m not a kitten stuck in a tree. I just needed some air.”

  “Yeah, crazy air. There’s plenty of oxygen on the ground level and you don’t risk breaking your fool neck.”

  “Come on up here. You might be surprised.”

  “Thanks,” she said, “But I’m placing my bet on gravity.”

  “You might surprise yourself.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re still on the property so if the case officer calls for a check in, you’ll have to scramble down and answer it yourself. I have a new Sudoku book calling my name.”

  She disappeared back inside and he rolled his eyes. She could cook, and she was slightly entertaining to try to seduce, but she sure didn’t know how to have a good time.