The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  He stared over at Chloe standing beside the fireplace. Her chin jutted, a fierce kind of defiance glittering in her eyes. There was still moisture on her leather jacket and her damp hair was curling in the warmth, and even though she was angry and making no attempt to hide it, there was something vulnerable about her.

  The protectiveness he’d felt as she’d gotten out of the car earlier shifted inside him again, even though he didn’t want to feel it. Christ, he couldn’t let his own issues with his father influence him here and he knew it, no matter how tempted he was simply to let her do what she wanted. The de Santis threat was real. Cesare de Santis owned the foremost weapons design and manufacturing company in the country. He was rich, incredibly powerful, and very, very dangerous, and he had good reasons for coming after Chloe.

  Van could not let that happen.

  She was his little foster sister. And even though he hadn’t seen her for nearly a decade, he still carried around that little stone she’d given him all those years ago. A reminder of home.

  He had to keep her safe.

  Slowly, he pushed himself out of his chair, skirting the coffee table and the food—which looked like he was going to have to eat himself if he didn’t want it to go to waste—coming over to where she stood. Chloe watched him approach, her gaze turning wary, her posture tensing though why he had no idea.

  He came to a stop, staring down at her, into the black depths of her eyes. Fire glowed there, a small angry blaze.

  The ranch was important to her, he got that. And he could understand it too, since his own career was pretty important to him. She was also furious, and it was obvious that some of that anger was directed at him. He didn’t blame her for that, not at all. If he’d been her and the ranch had been given to someone else, he’d have been furious too.

  Which gave him an idea.

  “You know I could pick you up, take you upstairs, and lock you up in one of the bedrooms, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

  The blaze in her eyes leapt higher. “Try it, asshole.”

  “I know you’re angry, pretty. I know you hate my guts right now, and Dad’s too, and hell, you have reason. But this shit’s real, understand?”

  She glared at him. “Don’t patronize me. I’ve lived with ‘this shit’ my entire life, and quite frankly since you haven’t been here for eight years, how would you know how ‘real’ or otherwise it is?”

  Okay, he’d assumed her anger was all about her not being left the ranch. Except it sounded right now as if she was angry he hadn’t been there. Which was strange since he hadn’t thought that their relationship had been close.

  And whose fault was that?

  Van ignored the thought. “Yeah, I get it. You’re pissed off. So what about this for a proposition? You stay in New York, let me keep you safe, and when Cesare de Santis is no longer a threat, I’ll give you the ranch and you can go back to Wyoming.”

  Chloe opened her mouth. Shut it. Glared at him a bit longer. Shifted on her feet, the wind very obviously taken out of her sails. “You don’t want it?” she asked, after a tense moment. “The ranch, I mean?”

  “Shit no. I’ve got Tate Oil to deal with first up, and then I’m planning on heading back to base after this. I don’t want anything tying me down, understand?”

  Her gaze narrowed, studying him shrewdly. “How long will it take? To deal with Cesare de Santis?”

  “I’ve got no fucking idea. Securing you was my first priority.”

  “But it could be days, right? Or weeks?” Her damp hair was starting to dry in soft black waves down her back, covering her narrow shoulders. “I can’t stay here that long.”

  But Van was used to playing hardball. He lifted a shoulder. “Then you don’t get the ranch.”

  She scowled. “But I can’t leave the place for however long it’s going to take to deal with that bastard. The new stable complex is—”

  “I don’t give a shit about the new stable complex. You don’t stay here and let me protect you, you don’t get the ranch. It’s that simple, pretty.”

  Chloe bit her lip, and for some reason he found himself watching her while she did it. Her teeth were very white, sinking into the cushiony softness of her very red lower lip.

  Something tightened right down low inside him and he had to force his gaze away.

  Jesus Christ. Whatever the hell that was, it was not welcome.

  “Okay,” she said, very clearly reluctant. “I’ll stay. But I’m going to need internet access so I can keep in touch with O’Neil while I’m here. And I want your word that you’ll sign over ownership of the ranch to me as soon as de Santis is handled.”

  Tenacious little thing, wasn’t she? Not to mention gutsy. People didn’t usually question him, still less demand his word on something. They wouldn’t dare.

  “You have my word,” he said slowly.

  “Good. Then I’ll—”

  “And in return, I’ll need your word that you’ll do exactly what I tell you when it comes to keeping you safe.”

  She gave him another narrow look, clearly not happy with that. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “No one does. But you’re not the soldier here. And if I’m in charge of protecting you, then I’m in charge. End of story.”

  Chloe let out a breath and glanced away, obviously irritated. But too bad. He was going to get her agreement on this because he didn’t want to be fighting her every step of the way. Not when that could put at risk his ability to protect her.

  “All right, fine.” Her shoulders hunched even more. “But just so you know, I’m not happy with it.”

  “I do know. And I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “You’re not?”

  He didn’t see any reason not to tell her. “You’re not the only one who had a whole pile of shit handed to them in Dad’s will.”

  “‘A pile of shit,’” she echoed, an odd note in her voice. “So is protecting me included in that pile of shit?”

  Ah Christ. Why had he said that?

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

  “Of course not.” She looked down at her feet. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But he had the very distinct impression that it did.

  Have you really forgotten who she once was to you?

  It had been a long time since he’d been back to the ranch. A long time since he’d seen her. But the memories he carried around with him were still there. Teaching her to ride. Her somehow seeing his nervousness before he’d left on his first deployment and pushing that stupid rock into his hand so he could take a piece of home with him. Her racing out the front doors of the ranch whenever he arrived on leave, flinging herself into his arms for a hug, then reaching for his hand, ready to drag him off to show him whatever it was that she’d been doing that day.

  His father had always treated Van like a warrior, a soldier. Treated him like he expected him to act. Hard and emotionless. But Chloe never had. She’d always treated Van like a person. A person she liked to be with. He couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t simply pretend those memories didn’t exist, that she was a stranger he didn’t know. And he’d been treating her as one from the moment she’d arrived here.

  Sure, she wasn’t that kid anymore, but she was still his foster sister and he still cared about her.

  Responding to an urge he didn’t really understand, since he wasn’t used to offering comfort, Van reached out and gently took hold of her shoulders. Then he pulled her into his arms.

  She went rigid and there was a second when he thought she was going to pull away. But she didn’t, though she didn’t relax either.

  He held her lightly, because she was very small, her head only just level with his heart. “I’m sorry.” He tried to sound gentle. “I know this is tough for you.”

  Chloe said nothing.

  He looked down. She had her cheek turned against his chest, her la
shes lowered so he couldn’t read her expression. Black hair lay across his forearms, glossy as a streak of oil in the light, and she felt fragile in his arms. Breakable even. And yet warm. Very, very warm.

  Van blinked, conscious of her scent all of a sudden, dry hay and sunshine, and for some reason it hit him like a sucker punch. Reminding him of the wide-open pastures and the soaring mountains of home, of when life had been so much simpler, so much easier. A brief moment of paradise in between the gritty streets he’d grown up on as the child of two drug addicts and the hard reality of war where he’d become a man.

  She tilted her head in that moment and looked up, and for some reason when her dark eyes met his, it felt not so much like a sucker-punch as being hit by a goddamn train. And his body, that traitorous asshole, instantly hardened.

  Oh shit. No denying this feeling, no pretending it wasn’t there or that it was something else. He knew. And it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Chloe was his foster sister. His much younger foster sister. He must be insane. It was either that or he just needed to get laid. Yeah, it had to be that. Had to be.

  With a suddenness that took them both by surprise, Van let her go, stepping back and turning away from her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Time to get out of here. They could continue this discussion in the morning. It was late and clearly he needed to go find himself a little relief.

  “Your bedroom’s on the second floor,” he said curtly over his shoulder, making for the door. “We’ll talk about the rest of it tomorrow morning.”

  “But”—she sounded almost unsure—“what do I need to do? How long am I supposed to be here for?”

  He reached the door and pulled it open. “Like I said, we’ll discuss it later.”

  “Sullivan, you can’t just—”

  “My name’s Van,” he growled and stalked out of the room before she could say another word.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Chloe opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Then she frowned, puzzled, because the ceiling was white and flat, not the dark, exposed beams of her own bedroom back in Wyoming.

  Yeah, because you’re not in Wyoming anymore, remember?

  Oh God, that’s right. She wasn’t. She was in New York, in her father’s house. And she felt like shit because she’d only had a couple of hours of sleep.

  Used to the dead silence of the ranch at night, New York was a whole new experience. Even with the excellent soundproofing, she’d still been able to hear the noises of the city outside. Apparently New York really was the city that never slept and it made damn sure that she didn’t sleep either, what with the sirens and car horns and trucks and a whole host of other sounds she wasn’t used to.

  Letting out a soft groan, she turned over, preparing to snuggle back down under the comforter, then caught a glimpse of the time on the clock on the nightstand.

  Holy shit, it was eight a.m.

  She never slept that late. Normally she woke at six, regular as clockwork.

  Sighing, she pushed back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, looking for her clothes. Automatically she began running through her head the tasks for the day, only to realize that in fact she didn’t have any tasks for the day.

  Because she was in New York.

  Because last night she’d agreed to do what Sullivan—Van—said, to let him protect her from Cesare de Santis in return for him signing the ranch over to her.

  God, she hoped she hadn’t made a giant mistake with that decision. But she simply hadn’t been able to pass it up. No, she didn’t like being away from the ranch, not with so much going on, and she really didn’t think this whole threat thing was as serious as Van said it was.

  Then again, he was certainly taking it seriously.

  “I could pick you up, take you upstairs, and lock you up in one of the bedrooms…”

  The memory of his deep voice, calm and certain, rolled through her and she had to hold herself very still to stop the shiver that threatened. Though why she should feel shivery about being picked up, taken upstairs, and locked in a bedroom she had no idea. Being outraged was way more logical.

  Chloe glared at the floor. Autocratic bastard. Did he really expect that she’d meekly accept the fact that she was in danger and do whatever he said? If so, he was shit out of luck. Her father had been talking about the de Santis threat for years, yet she’d never seen any evidence of it herself. Admittedly, even when she went into Blaketown, the little community closest to the ranch, she took a bodyguard with her—mainly to keep her father happy—but even so. No one had ever threatened her. Which made the thought of not being safe at the ranch seem slightly ridiculous.

  Though really, the threat wasn’t the important part. What was important was getting the ranch back under her control and if that meant she had to put up with Van ordering her around, then she’d put up with Van ordering her around. It would only be for a couple of days anyway.

  If it turned out to be a couple of days, that was.

  She really needed to talk to Van to see what his plan was for neutralizing the threat de Santis presented, perhaps get some answers as to why she in particular was being targeted. If she knew that then she could arrange for better security at the ranch, which might actually make Van happy too since he’d made it clear he wasn’t all that thrilled with having to protect her.

  Something caught inside her at the thought, but she ignored it, scanning around the bedroom instead.

  It was just as massive as the sitting room downstairs and was similarly decorated. Creamy walls, soft cream carpet, massive white bed heaped with pillows of varying sizes, all in various shades of cream. The furniture—two nightstands and a sofa pushed underneath the windows—were also white.

  Walking into it the night before had been like walking into a cloud.

  Her clothes, along with her duffel bag, were lying on the carpet in the messy heap she’d left them in the night before, and when she padded over to grab them, she realized they were still a little damp.

  She picked up the black thermal she’d been wearing underneath her blue plaid shirt, and gave it a cautious sniff. But it didn’t smell bad, which meant the rest were good to go.

  Pulling off the old T-shirt she’d brought along as a nightie, she dropped it on the floor then rummaged in her bag for a fresh pair of underwear. Five minutes later she was dressed. Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper back at the ranch, was always on her to take a bit more care in her appearance, especially since she was apparently a “beautiful girl.” But Chloe didn’t much care about how she looked. Looks weren’t important when it came to managing a ranch and besides, no one apart from Mrs. Jenkins cared what she looked like.

  Van might care.

  The thought hit her unexpectedly, making her breath catch as she did up the last button. No, that was ridiculous. Van wouldn’t care. He was her foster brother for God’s sake. And anyway, she’d gotten over worrying about what he thought a long time ago.

  You’re seriously not going to think about that hug he gave you last night?

  Chloe gritted her teeth. Great, why did her stupid brain have to remind her about that now? After she’d been doing very well not thinking about it so far.

  Not that there was anything to think about. It had simply been a hug, unexpected and very unwelcome, yes, but only a hug. And really, did it matter that she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged her?

  Her father wasn’t a hugger and neither was Mrs. Jenkins. And since she pretty much spent all her time on the ranch in the company of her horses, the ranch hands, or O’Neil, she didn’t have much in the way of friends who doled out hugs either.

  As for Jason, well, he’d purely been about the sex. There had been no hugging involved.

  But when Van had put his arms around her …

  He’d been so big, his body like a massive, granite wall, and he’d been hot too. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d been until he’d pulled her against him, completely surrounding her with hard muscle an
d male heat, and the scent of something fresh and clean, with a warm undertone to it. Like a forest after rain.

  It had been the first time he’d touched her since she’d been a kid, and even though she knew she should have pushed him away, there was a moment when all the blood had rushed to her head, and she’d felt dizzy, unable to move. Then he’d let her go, so suddenly she’d nearly fallen, turned around, and walked out of the room.

  She didn’t even know why. Had it been the hug, or something else?

  An uncomfortable feeling gathered in her gut, one she didn’t like, so she looked around, trying to find something else to focus on instead.

  Her gaze settled on the rounded lump of the snow globe sitting at the bottom of her bag.

  After a moment she reached down and took it out, gave it a shake, and watched the snowflakes whirl around inside.

  She still didn’t know why she’d brought it with her. The summons from Van had come, and she’d been so full of rage that she’d barely paid attention to what she’d stuffed into her bag. After eight years of silence, that terse email was the first time he’d contacted her—if you didn’t count that awkward meeting at their father’s funeral, and she didn’t.

  God, it had pissed her off. Yes, she’d known he’d be away doing military stuff for the Navy so any contact was always going to be sparse, but nothing at all for eight years? Not even one measly email?

  He hadn’t even contacted her about the will, and she’d been expecting him to, because surely he would have known how much the ranch meant to her. How much it would rankle her that their father hadn’t left it to her after he’d promised to. Yet Van hadn’t. No, his first contact in eight years was all about a threat she’d been living with for years already and some demand she come to New York so he could protect her better.

  Why does that matter? Why do you care so much? Sure you had a crush on him once, but it’s been years since you’ve seen him, and you’ve moved on.

  Irritated with herself, Chloe put the snow globe down on the nightstand then sat down on the side of the bed with her duffel in her lap. Grabbing her hairbrush out of it, she began pulling it through the tangles in her hair, scowling at the floor.