The Penthouse Secrets: A NYC Billionaire Romance Trilogy Boxed Set

by Amanda Horton

  She sighed in bliss. “Why haven’t I ever done this before?”

  The new Diane grinned. You were a prisoner of the norms dictated by your former life…until now. Tomorrow is entirely up to you.

  Diane laughed at the thought. “Bring it on.” Swimming naked for the first time meant there could still be other “firsts.” Will I be open to them too?

  The moon took a break from its glorious reign over the skies and hid behind a cloud. Diane turned her head towards the direction of her home. She thought she saw a black silhouette streak across the shoreline. Just the moon casting shadows. She stood in the waist-deep water a moment longer, then headed back to shore with the confidence of the goddess Venus rising from the foam.

  She went directly to the bush to retrieve her robe. It wasn’t where she left it. Diane patted the ground beneath the bush to make sure it hadn’t fallen, but she wasn’t mistaken. The robe was missing.

  Alarm prickled down her back, the lingering seawater turning to ice on her flesh. Searching in the dark was futile. Better run back to the house.

  About to make a dash for it, Diane saw a figure hurtle towards her. She screamed.

  Chapter Two

  Leon Alvaro wasn’t easily shocked. But he wasn’t expecting to find a woman screaming at the top of her voice on the usually deserted beach. He came to a sudden halt, inches from where she stood. “Lo Siento!”

  The moon emerged from the clouds, and Leon got his first glimpse of the siren. He stared, his mouth wide open in appreciation. He would not have been surprised to find that she’d emerged from a legend. Her hair, turned silver by the moon, clung to her feminine curves as rivulets of water ran down her shoulders. Even in the dark, Leon could see how her nipples puckered from the cool air. She crossed her arms protectively around her. Leon felt a surge of interest jolt through him. It was all he could do not to alarm her further by stepping toward her.

  The siren took a deep breath. “What are you doing on my property?” The spell was broken. She had an American accent.

  “I came looking for my dog. He ran away from me…” Leon saw a shadow move through the darkness. “Oh! There you are, Nomad.” The night made Nomad seem bigger than he actually was, and if Leon didn’t know better, he would have mistaken him for a black bear with a lion-shaped head. Something dragged along the sand beside him. “Nomad? What have you got there?”

  The woman turned her head in the direction Leon looked. Her eyes widened and she shrieked again. Leon found himself being used as a human shield. “Make it go away!”

  “I assure you Nomad won’t bite—”

  “I don’t want your assurance. That thing is not coming near me!”

  Leon was grudgingly impressed. Most women he knew would be screaming profanities in this situation, but though obviously terrified, his siren clung to her self-command. “Please calm down.”

  “Give me back my robe.”

  If she was blushing, the moonlight hid it. He could see glimpses of her body, but her face was masked in shadow. It tantalized him, and he wanted to see more, even as he fought the instant reaction of his body to the woman’s presence. “At once, Señora.” Leon stepped forward, snapping his fingers. “Here, Nomad. Give me that, you naughty dog.” Nomad stopped where he was, his tail wagging. Leon made a grab for the robe.

  But just as Leon’s hand closed around it, Nomad growled, pulling it back. The dog obviously thought he wanted to play a game of tug. Leon tried to snatch the robe. Instead, with an audible rip, the robe tore in half.

  He heard her gasp. Leon turned toward her, half of her torn robe in his hands. “I am so sorry, Señora. We didn’t mean…”

  “I can see that.” She put a hand to her temple, as gracious as a heroine in a black-and-white movie from Hollywood’s hey-day.

  The fear that she couldn’t quite disguise called strongly to Leon’s protective instincts, even as her beauty woke a far more primitive response in him. He was filled with a sudden impulse to impress her. In a move worthy of Clark Gable, he whipped his shirt off and handed it to her. “Here, put this on.”

  She hesitated. Would she accept his shirt—or was he about to be slapped in the face? As she stepped forward, Leon got his first glimpse of her face. He decided the risk was worth it. Her eyes flashed as they met his, but even in the moonlit night, her beauty was apparent. She took the shirt, turning her back as she pulled it on.

  Leon bit his lip as he watched her pull the shirt over her head, struggling as she searched for the neck hole. “That’s the arm hole.” He was unable to keep a tinge of laughter out of his voice. As an apology, he reached out his hands. “Here, let me help you.”

  Again, he expected to be roughly thrust away. Instead, she stood still, letting him guide her arms through the right holes. He longed to stand in front of her, drinking in her beauty as he did up the buttons one by one, but knew that would be too great a presumption. Instead he stepped back. “There.” He grabbed Nomad by his collar, hauling him away from the woman.

  She finished doing up the shirt buttons in silence. When she turned toward him, she was no longer a siren, but an ice queen, colder than the moon itself. “I demand an explanation.”

  Leon sized her up appreciatively. “Please accept my apology. I’m Le—”

  The woman stopped him cold. “I don’t give a damn who you are. You and your dog are trespassing on my property. If you do not leave, I will call the police.”

  Leon held up his hands. “We will leave. I understand that you’re upset. But please, Señora, no hard feelings. This is really no one’s fault.” He looked out at the ocean. “The sea is beautiful tonight. If I had not been walking Nomad, I would be tempted to swim too.” Glancing back, he saw her expression darken. Clearly that had been the wrong thing to say.

  “We are not having this conversation. Leave, Señor—and take your animal with you.” She pivoted, walking with more dignity than Leon would have ever believed possible from a woman wearing only a shirt. She slammed the door behind her, vanishing into the interior of the house.

  Nomad whined softly.

  Leon realized he was still staring after the woman. His body pulsed with a surge of need. He hadn’t felt this quickly attracted to anyone since he was a teenager. “You said it.” He scratched the dog’s ears. “That’s the problem with American women. They eat simple creatures like us for breakfast.”

  With a sigh, he knelt, looping Nomad’s lead through his collar. They would have to find a new place for their evening walk. But even as he led his dog away, his thoughts kept returning to the mysterious American goddess.

  ***

  Diane’s bath was cold. She released the plug, draining the tub. She shivered at the memory of the encounter as she pulled the towel close. Will I ever forget it? Being surprised when she thought herself alone, and her naked body seen by a complete stranger? It was the most unsettling thing that had ever happened to her. I need a warm shower to calm me down. But when she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a comfortable pair of pajamas, she was still shaking. I need something for my nerves.

  The Margaux was still on the kitchen countertop. She poured a liberal amount and took a generous swallow. “I’m becoming an alcoholic.” This was her second drink in less than an hour. She toasted herself with sarcasm. “To my new life.” How embarrassing would it be if she, who’d come to Barcelona to found a medical center, instead had to check into a clinic for alcohol abuse? That was as embarrassing as being caught swimming naked...

  She cringed at the memory. How could I be so stupid? If she wasn’t so impulsive about swimming in the nude, then none of those things would have happened. That man was the most infuriating creature. His dog came in a close second.

  Who could he be? Now that Diane wasn’t distracted by her lack of clothing, she thought that he looked distinctly familiar. She must have seen him somewhere in town. Not that I care. It would be embarrassing if she had to see him again. But she was adept at handling embarrassments. She’d had to deal wi
th plenty during her marriage to Bruce.

  But instead of remembering Bruce, Diane found herself remembering how the man had towered over her in the dark. When he removed his shirt, she’d caught a glimpse of rippling muscles illuminated by the moonlight. His skin had an olive tone, even beneath the moon. He must spend a lot of time outside. She remembered dark brown hair caught up in a topknot and a bushy beard. She wasn’t sure about his eyes, only that they glittered even in the dark. His nose was aristocratic, matching his gentlemanly behavior as he offered her his shirt.

  Diane was aghast. She remembered a lot for someone who didn’t care.“He must be some local fisherman who got lost.”

  But the docking bay for fishing boats was miles away. How did he even get close to her side of the beach?

  He’s an idiot that why. Diane gave herself a mental shake. “He isn’t worth another thought. Besides, I won’t be seeing any more of him…which is a good thing.”

  Ignoring the tiny bud of regret that suddenly made its presence felt, Diane entered the bedroom. She noticed she’d left the lights on inside the bathroom. As she reached for the switch, she spotted the shirt she’d hurled to the floor earlier. She frowned. Picking up the unwanted shirt, she stepped on the trash bin lever to toss it in.

  She stopped.

  A primal urge made her bury her face into the shirt. It smelled like vanilla and sandalwood combined. The words of her therapist back in New York echoed in her ear. Diane shook her head, tossing the shirt into the sink instead of the bin. “I’ll keep it. A memento of my first mistake.”

  ***

  “Bad dog! I should strangle you with your own leash!”

  Nomad knew he had done something naughty. He lay prone at the back of the sofa, huge paws covering its face.

  Leon crossed his arms. “Off the sofa!” He shook his head as the dog obeyed. “I swear to god, I'll cut your cojones off.”

  Nomad whimpered and shuffled on all fours toward his master.

  Leon rolled his eyes. “You’re grounded for the rest of your life.”

  Nomad raised his head, letting loose a soft whine.

  “I know you didn’t mean to do it. But did you really have to run away with the dressing gown?”

  Nomad lowered his head in shame.

  Leon sighed. He knew damn well that his dog would always get him into trouble with his neighbors. He was surprised to discover someone had moved into the house by the beach. He overheard the team mentioning something about a “mujer hermosa”—a beautiful woman—staying by the beach. He didn’t think anything of it. For his team of testosterone-infested boys, anything on two legs and wearing a skirt was “hermosa.”

  She wasn’t wearing a skirt when I bumped into her. Leon replayed the memory in his mind. The image of alabaster skin glistening in the dark stayed with him. She was not a young woman. There were streaks of gray in her shoulder length hair. Her brows were perfectly contoured over eyes that resembled silver lightning, or, when they looked at him, silver glaciers. Her nose was slender and refined resulting in a perfect profile, worthy of a queen.

  Her body had the curves of a mature woman, with breasts that sloped ever so slightly downward. Her waist narrowed down to wider hips that hinted of childbirth. She had great legs and narrow feet with very dainty toes. And as much of an appeal as her body was her mystery...

  She didn’t seem the type that sunbathed with their top off, much less in the buff. Leon was familiar with those transients that came to Barcelona and displayed themselves on the beach in the hope of snagging a summer romance. The zoom lens by the terrace of his hilltop villa was witness to those sun burnt bodies along the beach. No, she is no summer tourist...

  Leon smiled, stroking his bearded chin as he pondered the mysterious woman. He doubted she ever raised her voice. There was a refinement about her that contradicted her daring behavior in skinny-dipping beneath the moonlight. She had every right to be furious with him and Nomad. The fact that she’d contained her cool suggested considerable inner strength.

  Perhaps siren was right. I’m still thinking about her, as if I’m under a spell. Leon smirked. Women didn’t have an effect on him. He read them like a book. Most were only too willing to share their hopes and desires with him. The more intimate he became, the more welcome he was.

  But lately, the game had become tedious and boring. It was too easy. Leon shook his head. “What a thing to complain about, eh, Nomad?”

  He knew he was blessed with very good looks. The product of a Basque father and a mother with gypsy blood, Leon inherited the exotic features of his mom and the proud bearing of his dad. Although he no longer played football professionally, it was his view that an owner should not expect more from his team than he expected from himself. While he did not join them for every training run, he kept in shape, jogging down the beach with his team whenever he could spare a moment from the meetings with the club sponsors, FIFA officials, and the investment team who managed Leon’s large fortune.

  To be honest, he could have left his millions in the hands of others, but Leon was a hands-on type of guy, a fact he credited to his down-to-earth childhood. Losing his beloved mother at a young age had forced him to grow up fast. For much the same reason, he preferred to interact with his players on the field rather than in boardrooms.

  Perhaps I’ll join them tomorrow...and see what the ‘mujerhermosa’ looks like in daylight. But while his pulse quickened at the thought of the beautiful woman whose naked body he couldn’t shake from his memory, he knew she would have no reason to want to see him.“Damn it.”

  Nomad stirred from his sleep and gazed at his master with soulful eyes.

  Leon glared. “You could have run the opposite direction.”

  The mastiff dismissed him with a shake of his head and resumed sleeping.

  Nomad’s got the right idea. I need to put the woman out of my mind. No woman should have such a strange effect on him. After his bitter divorce, he’d vowed no one would ever have the capacity to hurt him the way his ex-wife, Amy Mansfield, did—a vow he had kept for many bitter years.

  It would be a shame never to see her in daylight... Leon cursed. “Enough, I will forget all about her.”

  Chapter Three

  When Leon arrived for the meeting with the American dilettante who was trying to take his hospital, he discovered that Martinez, the lawyer and representative for the medical facility, wasn’t there yet. A flustered secretary ushered him into the conference room. Leon was glad to be alone. Thoughts about the mysterious woman from the beach last night were still with him. He couldn’t shake her from his mind.

  As he paced the room, he spotted a binder labeled “Torrevieja,” the town where the medical facility was located. Instantly, Leon’s focus was back on business. He guessed that the binder contained information about the medical facility and his curiosity stirred. Martinez didn’t give him much information about the woman they were meeting this morning. Perhaps this blinder will give me a clue.

  The folder contained the profile of a company in New York City called Hawkins Pharmaceutical. The report included income tax returns, annual sales, and various bank accounts all over the world. Leon whistled. Impressive.

  He turned the page to a remarkable resume of involvement with various charitable foundations by one Diane Hawkins. The list came with commendation from both the US Congress and the Senate. There was even a citation from the President of the United States. Another page listed the awards given by organizations like UNICEF, Human Rights Watch, Museum of Modern Art, and Doctors Without Borders… The list was endless.

  Leon let the papers slip from his grasp. I had no idea. This wasn’t some bored socialite with flighty ambitions. This was a way of life for his competitor. She was an authority. So much for changing her mind with sweet talk. That was no longer plausible.

  Coolly, Leon assessed his own power and influence. He had the home court advantage of being a local. This woman was a foreigner. Let her look for a project in her own country.
>
  As he returned the folder to the table, a four by eight inch photo print fluttered down to the floor. He must have missed it while going through the file. He bent down to retrieve it. The photo was a studio portrait of an elegant woman. She had no need to feign power. She wore it like second skin. Her bearing was stately and her breeding was plain to see.

  Leon gasped. Even more than the impression of exceptional power and grace, the photo rekindled the memory of drenched skin standing naked in the sand.