Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance)

by Lemmon, Jessica

  Now left alone to nurse his second Scotch and soda—he didn’t recall needing a drink more badly in his life—he replayed his near-death experience in his head. With it came his last lucid thought.

  If I love Crickitt, why are we apart?

  It hadn’t been his life flashing before his eyes on the way down, not memories of his childhood, his parents, or even the business that had become an extension of himself over the last decade. No, what flashed before him like the reel of a never-before-seen movie was a future. A future that would never happen if he died.

  Opening his eyes in the morning to find Crickitt next to him in his bed. Her laughter, rolling through him like thunder coming from miles away. Crickitt at the end of a long white aisle in a simple, clean dress. Crickitt pressing his hand against her round stomach. Crickitt asking what names he liked for their child.

  Grief choked out his next breath as the glass rattled in his hand. He set it aside, covering his face with a shaky hand. He cleared his throat, sucking in a stuttering breath. Loss unlike any other radiated through his limbs, stronger than when he’d lost either of his parents. Pain sliced him open, left him feeling raw. Empty.

  How could he mourn a life that never was?

  He thought of Uncle Mike’s words, how he said the hard stuff brought him and Aunt Kathy closer together, made them stronger. Shane had worked hard to avoid that kind of closeness, to avoid the pain of loss should something tragic happen. If Crickitt was taken from him, the way he and his father lost his mother, how would he survive?

  But now, he considered another option. Maybe she’d live to be well into her eighties like his grandparents. Maybe they’d grow old and gray and hard of hearing together. They could retire to the cabin in Tennessee, be surrounded each holiday by a dozen grandkids. And their children didn’t have to be scarred and distant. Maybe they’d be impressive adults, with his mind for success and Crickitt’s unshakable character.

  What if a long, abundant life stretched out ahead of them? Another fifty-plus years filled with amazing memories… How many days was that? How many hours? How many minutes?

  Minutes like the ones when he’d last lain across from Crickitt in his bed. Minutes that lingered, endured, stretched out seemingly endlessly before him.

  It was a future that could’ve gone down in a ball of flames. He dropped his hand, felt an unsteady smile spread across his face. But it didn’t. Because he was still alive. Still breathing.

  And he was going to put every next breath to good use.

  Chapter 39

  Shane slid the divider in the limo to the side and addressed Thomas with an impatient, “Well?”

  Thomas, weaving in and out of traffic on the highway, the needle hovering fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, addressed him with a quick glance to the rearview mirror. “No answer on Crickitt’s office line, sir.”

  Shane knew it was a long shot to try the office on a Sunday, but when he didn’t get an answer on her cell phone, he had to try.

  “What now?” Thomas asked.

  Find her, that’s what. Find her and tell her everything.

  An idea that scared him so much, his voice came out as taut as piano wire. “Do you remember how to get to her apartment?”

  Thomas’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back at him in a gesture that was almost fatherly pride, or what Shane imagined fatherly pride might look like. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Half an hour later, Thomas pulled into Crickitt’s apartment complex, and Shane pressed a button to slide the tinted window down. Like that would make her car magically appear in the empty parking space.

  Shane scrubbed his face, swore into his hand. He’d pictured a big Hollywood finish, him telling her how he felt, her throwing herself into his arms.

  Where is she?

  With any luck, she’d run a quick errand and would be back any minute. Another call to her phone went to voice mail without ringing, which meant her phone was off or the battery was dead.

  It also means she’s not avoiding you.

  Was it completely pathetic that made him feel better?

  “Sir?” Thomas interrupted, apology in his dark eyes.

  “Home,” Shane said. “I’ll get the car and come back.” And then he’d wait for her.

  He pulled a small wrapped box from his pocket and turned it over between his fingers.

  He’d wait as long as it took.

  * * *

  After a day of shopping, dinner, and an evening movie, Crickitt dropped Sadie at her apartment, watching as Sadie wrestled her multitude of purchases through her front door. Crickitt stayed long enough to wave good-bye before heading for her own apartment.

  Crickitt glanced to the backseat at her own pile of shopping bags. She’d purchased four new pairs of pajamas today since, by her calculations, she’d be spending every nonworking moment in them. Sadie tried to convince her that a date would fix her, but Crickitt assured her she was done dating. Maybe not for forever, but for a good long while.

  “You should quit,” Sadie had said on the drive home. “Go back to Celebration, rebuild your team.”

  It was a thought Crickitt had recently entertained. Particularly during the extended, uncomfortable hours spent across the hall from the man she loved.

  “That would take a lot of committed effort,” Crickitt mumbled.

  “And seeing Shane doesn’t?”

  Touché.

  But her excuse for not going back to Celebration was just that, an excuse. Crickitt wasn’t afraid of hard work, of concerted effort. But she was afraid of moving backward. The pages of the previous chapter of her life were bookmarked by her direct sales career and dog-eared by an unsuccessful marriage to Ronald Wachowski.

  “I’m finished with that part of my life,” she’d told Sadie.

  “Well, you can’t continue to see him at work every day.”

  But that was just it, she could. As much as it hurt to be near him, she couldn’t imagine walking away. Even if Shane continued to ignore her, or went from harboring ambivalence to contempt, she still wanted him. She realized that made her one sick puppy, afflicted with a warped version of Stockholm syndrome, but she couldn’t help it.

  She’d come to welcome the sharp pain in the region of her heart. Pain reminding her that she hadn’t imagined the Shane August who was warm and open, regardless of how disengaged he’d become. Crickitt knew what she felt for him and what she’d had with him was as real as it got. Every heart-wrenching, beautiful, soul-stealing minute of it.

  And if she stayed broken for months, years, then she’d accept it. At least until she found someone to fill in the break left there by Shane.

  She turned into her apartment complex, trying fruitlessly to picture another man at her side. But they all had Shane’s amber eyes, dark tumble of hair, and corded, strong arms. Tears threatened again and she swallowed them down. Someone would have to fill the role someday…eventually. That’s what people did when relationships ended. Dusted themselves off, got out there, and tried again. At one point in her life she couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than Ronald, and now look at her.

  “Yeah, look at me,” she said, misery evident in her toneless voice. “Oh, my gosh.” The car jerked beneath her as she stepped on the brakes with too much force.

  There, in her numbered spot, was a gleaming black Porsche.

  Shane.

  Hands shaking uncontrollably, Crickitt maneuvered her car into the guest spot next to it, her mind whirring. What was he doing here? He couldn’t see her like this, desperate, pining for him. Did she even still have makeup on? She reached for her visor to check her reflection, then froze in place as she spotted him.

  His long frame filled her doorway as he stood sentinel in a pair of casual cargo shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. A pair of dark sunglasses covered his eyes, keeping her from seeing the love for her that wasn’t there.

  On unsteady feet, she stepped from the car, forcing herself to stand straight. She couldn’t have him here
. This was her house, her sanctuary, the only place she went that wasn’t marinating in Shane-themed memories.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said as she made her way to her apartment.

  “I didn’t realize I was on the clock,” she snapped at her reflection, irritated she couldn’t see his eyes.

  “I needed you today.”

  I needed you, too.

  “I’ll be at work tomorrow,” she said, making a show of finding her house key on the chain in her hand. “I can help you then.”

  She tried to step up to the door, but one tanned, sinewy arm launched out in front of her, successfully blocking the way. “I didn’t mean at work.”

  She meant to pretend not to hear him. Instead, she faced him and found his sunglasses perched on top of his head, his golden eyes expressive instead of flat. And, oh, what she saw there made her unable to look away. The pain, so prevalent the last time she saw him, had vanished. His eyes were bright, clear, and there was something else, too. Something she refused to acknowledge.

  “Brought you a gift from Mexico,” he said. A small wrapped box appeared in his palm.

  “Mexico?” Crickitt asked, focusing on his words rather than the box in front of her face. “You flew?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled, making a face at the same time. “Here, open it.”

  It was a simple gold foil box with a bow, but it may well have been cloaked in barbed wire and poisoned dart tips. Whatever was in there wouldn’t fix anything. It couldn’t. Could it?

  “What is it?” she asked, stalling.

  “Something to complete…”

  Don’t say me.

  “…your collection.”

  She should hand it back. Thrust it into his chest and state, unequivocally, that she was moving on. If she had any hope at all of getting their relationship back on a professional plane, then he couldn’t show up at her apartment…

  She watched as she took the box from his hand, seemingly powerless to stop herself.

  What had she been saying? Oh, right, apartment. He couldn’t show up at her apartment…

  Her fingers tugged the cream-colored ribbon tying the box closed.

  …looking all tanned and sexy, and…

  She wiggled the lid and started to lift it.

  …smelling amazing…

  She lifted the lid.

  A porcelain monkey stared up at her with wide eyes, both hands covering his mouth.

  Words failed her as her brain stalled. She plucked the tiny primate from the box, rolling him between her fingers and trying to tamp down the hope that bloomed against her breastbone. Dangerous, terrifying hope.

  Shane stepped closer, absolutely choking out the air around her that she desperately needed. She sucked in a breath on a gasp. “Crickitt?”

  “I love…” you. “It.” She refused to take her eyes off the figurine in her hand. And she couldn’t look up at Shane. She couldn’t let him see the emotions racking her. What if his being here was nothing more than a platonic gesture? Or worse. What if he’d stopped by to drop off a few files before work tomorrow? Or just happened to pick up Speak No Evil while away on business?

  She rolled the monkey between her fingers. But it had to mean more than that.

  Maybe he wanted to go back to being friends. Friends would be better than losing him altogether…wouldn’t it?

  “I’m curious to see if he matches his mates,” Shane said. She tipped her head up to look at him. His casual smile all but crushed her.

  Friends, then.

  Sometimes a monkey is just a monkey.

  He stepped aside so she could unlock the door, which, to her credit, she did in one clean motion. He caught her purse as she pulled it from her shoulder and hung it on the antique hall tree that used to be her mother’s. Refusing to look at him, she led him to the living room, and he followed, too close behind her, smelling beachy and soapy and manly.

  She placed Speak No Evil next to his counterparts, where he sat a full inch taller than the other two, his painted fur black instead of brown.

  “Not perfect, I guess,” Shane muttered just over her ear. She jumped, having no idea he was standing so close. He reached out and turned the collectible so that he lined up with the others. “I was thinking about what you said about how even though the set wasn’t perfect”—he paused to face her, assaulting her with his closeness—“it was still worth keeping. And I was hoping…”

  Oh, my gosh.

  “That might apply to me as well.”

  The very air around them shifted as she tried to respond, and failed. Shane linked his hand with hers, licked his lips. A truncated sound came from his throat. He blew out a sharp laugh, giving her a bemused smile.

  “I’ve said it a hundred times in my head over the last two weeks, and I can’t speak a single syllable now that I’ve got you here.” He dropped her hand to drag his palms over his face, swearing into his hands.

  Please say what I think you’re going to, she begged with her eyes.

  Hands folded into prayer pose, he watched her over his fingers for a second before dropping his arms and speaking. “The plane that brought me home almost crashed.”

  “What?” She clutched at her heart, which came to a full stop before mule-kicking her rib cage. Almost crashed? He could have died. All of her earlier excuses about them working together, and her getting over him, and the petty, pithy thoughts about how he’d been neutral and businesslike slipped away in an instant.

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  She raked him with a glance, swept grateful eyes over his four intact limbs, the fact that he wasn’t bruised or scarred or bloody. Not a big deal? Was that a joke? She could have returned home from shopping for useless, meaningless stuff and received a phone call saying Shane’s plane had crashed. And if that had happened…she couldn’t even…

  “I was a coward,” he said.

  Mind still playing out her worst nightmare, she reached out and stroked his arm, unable to stop herself. “It must have been terrifying…awful.” She was crossing the line consoling him, but she couldn’t seem to stop touching him. She swept her hand into his. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m not talking about the plane.”

  She lifted her chin.

  His face softened as he smiled down at her. “I meant with you, I’ve been a coward.”

  She couldn’t have looked away from his face if a plane crashed into her kitchen.

  Shane squeezed her hand. “I love you, Crickitt.”

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

  “And I don’t want to lose you.”

  She stood statue still, fingers curled over her lips even though she couldn’t remember lifting her hand to her mouth. He didn’t come here because of work. Her eyes filled with tears. He’d come for her. Because he loved her.

  I’ve said it a hundred times in my head over the last two weeks.

  “Say something,” he said.

  Thoughts ricocheted off the interior of her skull. Say something? Like what? She was halfway between screaming at him for keeping this from her for so long, and kissing him senseless. She pulled her hand away, tears streaming down her face.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t die,” she choked out.

  Shane chuckled softly, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “So am I.”

  She cried harder, and he pulled her against his chest and shushed her, his hand rubbing circles on her back as her arms came around his waist. The moment reminded her of the night he sat on her desk, arms shaking as he held her. And she realized now how afraid he must have been, fearing he wouldn’t be enough for her, worried he’d come up short.

  She released him, backing away only enough to spread her palms over his chest. His heart beat strong and steady. She gazed up at him, tears drying on her cheeks. “You weren’t a coward, Shane,” she said, meaning it. He’d risked everything to get close to her, reopening a wound twenty years old to love her. “You’re the
bravest man I know.”

  He swept her curls from her face and lowered his lips to hers.

  “Wait.”

  He halted over her lips, his eyebrows pinching ever so slightly, lips poised to kiss her.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  “Thank God,” he growled, tucking her close and searing her lips with his.

  Epilogue

  Crickitt dusted her hands on her jeans and surveyed her new office. The desk and shelves were still in cardboard flat packs leaning against the walls of the room. But once they were assembled, she knew she was going to love working from home.

  Well, technically, Shane’s home. No. Technically, their home.

  Shane came up behind her then, linking his arms around her waist. “Hi,” Shane murmured into her ear, kissing her lobe. He pulled her against him, all hard, warm, male muscle. Her knees turned to jelly but he held her solidly against him.

  “Who’s gonna put all this stuff together?” he asked.

  She brought her hands up, lacing her fingers between his. “The movers?”

  He nuzzled her neck, put an openmouthed kiss over her now-racing pulse. “Hmm-mm. They’re gone.”

  “I guess that leaves you,” she breathed.

  He backed away from her neck and kissed her hair. “Bummer.”

  She turned in his arms, missing his mouth already. Linking her arms around his neck, she kissed him, humbled and nearly overpowered by how much she loved him.

  Shane wasted no time asking her to move in. She’d suspected that step was coming. They were always together, whether it was her coming here to stretch out on his ginormous bed, or it was him taking up most of her queen-size lace duvet.

  And things had been good. Better than good, great. Shane was healing a little more every day. He talked about his past, his parents, without much prompting on her part, and without bitterness on his. And he’d gotten really good at telling her how he felt. And how much he loved her, which she never tired of hearing.