The Billionaire's Heir: Billionaire Obsession (Tycoon Billionaires Book 4)

by Julie Farrell

  With the private investigator still in pursuit, Ivan pulled off the freeway, and drove them into a town that looked as if it hadn’t been renovated since the 1950s. It seemed to consist of one main road, with box-like red-brick stores and diners on either side. The storefronts were painted bright colors and had names like ‘Home Sweet Home’ and ‘Sew Simple’, suggesting that the folks around here liked to fend for themselves. Each store was proudly displaying the Stars and Stripes, as well as a few Texas Star flags too.

  The only thing that gave this place a modern feel were the shiny pickup trucks parked in front of the buildings. It was eerily quiet, as if the townsfolk were expecting trouble…

  Ivan parked the truck outside ‘Deena’s Diner’ and they both jumped out into the searing heat. Samira watched as the private detective’s car slowed and crawled past – pretending he was just casually searching for a parking space.

  She refrained from holding Ivan’s hand as they walked toward the glass-fronted diner. “Shit,” Samira said. “I’ve just realized I literally haven’t been out of the ranch in six months, other than to do the suitcase exchanges. It’s so good to see shops and civilization.”

  “Not much of that around here.” Ivan said with a chuckle. He fell serious. “But I guess by giving you your so-called freedom, Langdon actually made you a prisoner.”

  “Yeah. Fingers crossed Clara’s friend can help me to stay in America without his help.”

  Ivan held open the glass door for her. “I’ll do everything I can to ensure that happens, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you, my love.”

  It was a typical American diner – reminding Samira of the ones she’d seen on TV back in Iran. The checkerboard floor tiles were shiny, the tables were chrome, and the glass counter proudly displayed a huge array of cakes. The waitress drifted from table to table in her gingham dress and pumps, filling coffee cups to the brim and humming to the Country and Western tune on the radio.

  There weren’t many other customers, but Samira could see Clara was a Quinlan, sitting there dressed in a sharp suit, typing on her laptop, talking on her phone, and drinking coffee all at the same time. She was slim, pretty, and hardnosed – Samira was certain that any man would need to work hard to penetrate that steely exterior. She wasn’t sure what a marine biologist did, but she’d expected someone a bit more laidback – maybe a hippy with a tie-dyed kaftan and pigtails. Clara was the antithesis of that image. Perhaps she was more relaxed when she donned her waders and got down to the practical work.

  Ivan and Samira halted at Clara’s table, so she quickly finished her call, then she stood up and threw her arms around her big brother. He held her tight and they hugged hard. Ivan had told Samira earlier that he’d already been reunited with his parents and siblings, but Clara was obviously still pleased to know that her oldest brother was alive after all he’d put them through.

  Clara stepped back. “Great to see you, Ivan. You look like a cowboy – I never thought I’d see you in anything but a designer suit.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t wait to get back into it. Hey, this is Samira.”

  Clara turned and inspected her, pinning her down with steely eyes. Samira refused to feel self-conscious, so she smiled sweetly. “Hello.”

  “Hello.” Clara thrust out her hand for Samira to shake. Her grip was firm, but Samira refused to play ‘who can squeeze the hardest’.

  “Shall we sit down?” Ivan said.

  Ivan and Samira sat opposite Clara, and they ordered coffee.

  Samira glanced out the window and saw that the private investigator had found a space outside, and he was leaning against his car, pretending to read a newspaper. As if anyone would actually do that in the one-hundred degree heat out there. Samira almost felt sorry for him, dressed in his long-sleeved shirt and suit trousers. But at least he had his Stetson on to prevent heatstroke.

  Ivan followed her gaze. “Do you want to invite him in for coffee?”

  She chuckled. “No, sorry.”

  “Who is he?” Clara asked. “And can you hook us up?”

  “Try to contain your hormones,” Ivan said. “He’s some guy who’s been tailing Samira. We think Mr. Langdon’s hired him to spy on her.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t like me to have friends,” Samira said. “He’s got this strange obsession of checking that I really don’t know anyone in America.”

  “Sounds odd,” Clara said.

  “Yes, he can be a bit odd at times. But he’s shown me such charity.”

  Clara tore her eyes away from the hunk outside. “So,” she said, smiling at Samira. “My brother tells me I’m an aunt?”

  Samira grinned. “That’s right.”

  “Congratulations to you both.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ivan held her hand under the table. “I’ve asked Clara not to tell the rest of the family. I’d love to get this whole thing fixed, then take you both home to meet everyone properly.”

  Nerves swirled through Samira’s body at the thought of meeting the whole Quinlan clan at once. “Okay.”

  “You should bring her to Adam’s wedding,” Clara said. “She’d be very welcome.”

  Ivan cringed. “Oh god, that’s this weekend.”

  “Ivan, don’t you dare miss it – Adam will be heartbroken, as will mom and dad.”

  “I know, it’s okay. I’ll be there.”

  The waitress plunked the coffees on the table, then drifted off again.

  Clara sat up tall. “Right, Samira, down to business. We must do all we can to ensure you don’t get deported. I spoke to my friend at immigration earlier, and he said you need to get back your passport immediately – then he can begin the process of creating an application for you to remain in this country. It might take some time to get all the paperwork done, but he thinks he can issue an emergency visa to allow you to stay until then. But he can’t do anything without your passport.”

  “What if me and Samira just get married?” Ivan asked.

  Clara sipped her coffee. “That won’t guarantee she can stay here. We’ll need to build Samira’s case – that’s what my friend said.” She glanced at her dainty Rolex. “Look, I need to get back to the boat later tonight, but why don’t we meet up the day after tomorrow. Then we can see whether my friend has any more info for us.”

  “Sure,” Ivan said. “And in the meantime, Samira can get back her passport from Langdon. And if talking doesn’t work – I’ll ty my method.”

  Clara rolled her eyes at Samira in response to Ivan’s threats of brute force. Samira chuckled, feeling connected to this hardnosed Quinlan woman. She realized there was a lovely young lady under that designer suit, who cared a lot about her brother – and his girlfriend.

  Ivan draped his arm around Samira’s shoulders, causing her muscles to melt with secure warmth. “No one’s breaking apart my family. We’ll get this fixed, I swear –just make sure you don’t marry Mr. Langdon in the meantime, sweetheart, okay.”

  Samira laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t be marrying anyone any time soon.”

  Chapter Eight

  Samira and Ivan said goodbye to Clara and stepped back into the weak evening sunshine. It was still stiflingly humid out here, and the AC in the diner hadn’t been very effective, so Samira was looking forward to sitting in the truck and enjoying an icy blast of cool air. She also couldn’t wait to be alone with Ivan – the journey back to the ranch should be fun. And hopefully they might be able to sneak off to his cabin and make love before Mr. Langdon noticed she’d been gone all evening.

  All she needed was her passport back, and then they could leave Texas...

  She almost linked her fingers through Ivan’s as they ambled toward the truck, but she remembered at the last moment that they weren’t supposed to be touching in public, because of the private investigator.

  Speaking of which, where was he?

  Samira glanced behind herself and saw him leaning against the wall of a hardware store, ligh
ting up a cigarette. He was staring right at her, not even trying to be subtle. Ivan followed her gaze, and she tried to grab his arm, but it was too late – he was already turning around and storming over to confront the guy.

  “Ivan,” she said. “Don’t.”

  Ivan ignored her and halted in front of the guy, practically growling. “I’m sick of the sight of you. Who the hell are you and why are you following her around?”

  The private investigator blew out the smoke from his cigarette and raised a cocky eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Samira had expected him to speak with a Southern accent, but he sounded as if he was from New York. There was something about him that reminded Samira of Ivan’s younger brother Dylan, who she’d met briefly once. He was tough and cool, and looked as if he didn’t smile often. His chin was covered with a five-o’clock shadow, and his disinclination to break eye contact with Ivan spoke volumes about how much he wanted to dominate the situation.

  Ivan would never let that happen.

  He grabbed the guy by the shirt, pinning him up against the wall. Instead of flinching as Ivan had hoped, the guy laughed and threw his cigarette to the ground. “Woah, cowboy! What the hell are you doing?”

  Ivan pressed himself nose-to-nose with him. “I asked you a question. Why the fuck are you following her?”

  The guy shoved Ivan with both hands, but Ivan stood firm.

  “Following her? Are you kidding me? I’m just standing here minding my own goddamn business. Can’t a man even smoke a cigarette without –”

  “Bullshit! Listen, man, I don’t know who’s paying you, but you need to leave her alone right now. You understand me?”

  “Whatever you say, buddy.”

  “Right.” Ivan stepped back to where Samira was watching with concern. He put his arm around her. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go.”

  They walked away back to the truck in the stifling heat, and Samira slammed the passenger door. “Nice one, Ivan. Now he knows there’s something going on between us.”

  She glanced out the window at the guy and saw he was still staring at them. He smirked, then threw them both a playful little wave.

  Ivan gripped the wheel. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

  “Let’s just go.”

  “Alright. But next time I get him alone I’m going to force him to tell me who he is.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry, okay. I know I shouldn’t have bulldozed him like that, but I hate this situation. I’d love to drive us both to New York right now and never come back to Texas again.”

  “I know. But first I need my passport. And our little boy.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without him, that’s for sure.” Ivan started the engine and reversed into the road. “I know you think Mr. Langdon’s this sweet middle-aged guy who wants to help you, but I don’t like him, Samira. There’s more going on here than meets the eye.”

  “Maybe. But I think it’s best if you refrain from assaulting people in the street.” She flashed him a smile. “Okay?”

  He held her hand as he drove. “Alright.” He checked the rear-view mirror. “Oh… guess who’s also just decided to leave town.”

  Samira twisted in her seat and saw the BMW brazenly following behind. They headed down the freeway toward the ranch, then once they were back, the private investigator parked halfway down the entrance road, leaving Ivan and Samira to park in the driveway nearer the house.

  As they climbed out the car, Samira pulled Ivan by the arm to prevent him from going over to punch the guy’s lights out. “Come on, let’s go see our baby.”

  They strolled together toward the staff cottages and went to see Quin. He was sleeping, but Ivan stood and watched him for ten minutes, holding Samira in his arms and feeling the spark of love ignite in his heart. But, as Samira gazed up at him and they shared a smile, his body washed with lust, and he realized he needed to take her back to his own cottage and make love to her over and over.

  As soon as the door was closed, they were kissing passionately. He pulled her close and eased his tongue into her mouth, running his hands down her back and over her ass. She gasped with arousal.

  “You’re a goddess,” he whispered, caressing her face.

  She chuckled. “When I’m with you, I feel like one.”

  “You are one. And I need to fuck you into absolute heaven.” He kissed her tenderly on the lips, then harder, suddenly desperate to kiss her beautiful body all over.

  She stepped back and lifted her dress over her head, dropping it to the floor. “Be my guest.”

  He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms, then he lowered his face to nibble her neck, slipping his fingers between her thighs and relishing the silky feel of her wet panties.

  “Yes, Ivan,” she gasped.

  His rock-hard cock strained in his jeans, desperate to get inside her glorious tight pussy. Still kissing her wildly, he reached down to unbutton his jeans, then he let them drop to the floor – but realization struck and he stared at them with dread.

  “What?” Samira asked.

  “My jeans feel lighter than usual.” He grabbed them and delved into his pockets as his worry rose. “Shit!”

  “What is it?”

  “My wallet. That son of a bitch must’ve stolen my wallet.”

  She frowned. “Your wallet’s gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But… how do you know he stole it and you didn’t lose it?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past that asshole. I bet he swiped it when I had him pressed against the wall. A piece of shit like that wouldn’t miss an opportunity to find out more about me.”

  “Did it have anything valuable in it?”

  Ivan ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his racing thoughts. “You don’t understand, babe. My driver’s license still says I’m Ivan Quinlan. I didn’t bother to change my identity after I came back to America, because I assumed no one would know who I was – and those who did know thought I was dead.”

  “So what? That guy doesn’t know who you are, does he?”

  “No, but if he’s a private detective worth his salt, he’ll be doing background checks on me right now, meaning he’s about to find out who I really am. And then it’s only a matter of time before he tells your fiancé what he’s discovered. And then they’re going to wonder why they’ve got a dead software developer working on their ranch as a farm hand. It might make them slightly suspicious, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Nine

  Jake sat in his rundown living room listening to the ceiling fan whirring above. He took a drag on his cigarette and enjoyed the soothing sensation, but his anger simmered beneath his skin.

  He hated his one-bedroom apartment – which was up on the eleventh floor of a crumbling old building. The wallpaper was peeling, the furnishings were dilapidated, and his dusty window looked over the central courtyard, meaning – if he really wanted to – he could see directly into the opposite living rooms. The courtyard wasn’t even very nice – it was all metal fire escapes and cracked paving. And it was sweltering in here because the AC never worked properly. He’d had enough of this dump, and he’d been about to leave Texas to try his luck in another state, when Langdon had contacted him last month offering him this weird job.

  And thank goodness he had. He couldn’t believe what he was currently holding in his hand. He held it under the lamp on his rickety desk, to check again.

  Yep, it was definitely Ivan Quinlan’s driver’s license… could it really be him? Fate sure had a funny sense of humor. But it was more than fate – it was nothing short of a miracle. Apart from the fact that the eldest Quinlan brother was supposed to be dead, Jake had been digging deep into their family history for years, and finally one of the brothers had happened to show up where he was working.

  If you could call it work. This was definitely the most boring job Jake had ever taken. But Mr. Langdon was promising to
pay him handsomely, so he was happy to follow Mrs. Langdon around, for the chance to pay off the debts his late-father had left him.

  It was pure gravy. Mrs. Langdon didn’t do much so she was easy to track, and damn she was hot, so it was no hardship to shadow her all day – standing around in the sunshine. Mr. Langdon hadn’t been forthcoming with information on what he actually wanted Jake to uncover. All he’d said was “Follow my wife and give me daily updates on where she goes and what she does.”

  Well, no problem, he could do that. And once he got paid after this was over, he’d be able to live off the money for years. He rubbed his eyes, remembering how much he needed that money. Four years ago he’d been shot in the hip as a cop on a stakeout – then dismissed from the force with no compensation. He’d made the mistake of killing a scumbag drug dealer – but the dealer had been unarmed and it was deemed gross negligence on Jake’s part. The NYPD had hardly cared that he’d also been shot himself that day. His limp was hardly noticeable anymore, but his pride was still in tatters after he’d been told he should be happy no one was pressing homicide charges.

  Homicide? For taking out a heroin dealer who’d inflicted misery on hundreds of people?

  Bitter fury rose in his chest even now at how he’d been wounded in the line of duty, then brushed aside so causally. Well, his ex-colleagues back in the NYPD would be delighted to poke their noses into Langdon’s shady affairs – or at least to gloat to the Texas police as they handed him over.

  It was pretty obvious that Langdon was using his wife as a drugs mule, but Jake was prepared to turn a blind eye. He wasn’t a cop anymore – they’d made sure of that. He ground out his cigarette and scrunched up the packet, then threw it across the room, over the ironing board and toward the wastepaper bin. It landed among the empty liquor bottles and discarded newspapers – which were all full of articles about Joseph Quinlan and his new anti-drugs campaign that he’d been on since his bandmate had died two weeks ago.