The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef: Seduction and Sin, Book 4

by Love-Wins, Bella

  A part of me blames myself for where we are now. It’s karma. Before Emily, I fucked around so damn much, sleeping with every woman in sight while being the most noncommittal son of a bitch this city has ever seen. Then Emily came into my life, and I straightened out my shit. Except I’m ready to take the next step.

  Our lives have lined up perfectly. Business is booming for Knights Capital. Emily’s restaurant is a hit, and she’s about to expand her catering business. We spend busy days doing what we love, and long night satisfying each other’s every craving. The sex has never been better. Fuck, even my mother has come around to accept that she’ll have a daughter-in-law soon. She stopped giving me grief the second she put her support behind my sister, Vanessa’s not-so-fake boyfriend, Liam—the son of a former mafia boss.

  But it’s over two years later. Emily and I are still engaged.

  We haven’t set a wedding date.

  The next step is as elusive as a unicorn.

  It’s as though the universe is telling me this is as far as I’ll make it to having my own family unit. That I took too long to get a fucking clue.

  There’s also the fact that after all this time I’ve come up short in the search for Emily’s sister. It’s at the crux of the dead stop in our relationship. Following cold trails, skirting the law and sometimes outright breaking it by gaining unauthorized access to databases, hiring private investigators to shake a few trees and look under rocks haven’t yielded any results.

  Not one fucking thing.

  The temptation to apply a little pressure on Emily is growing, but I haven’t gotten that desperate yet. She’s still fragile. That raw and emotional piece of her heart still lingers. We’ve gone over it too many times to count, and I know if I raise it again, it’ll break what we have beyond repair.

  She can’t move on without knowing. She needs closure with Joy, and I respect my fiancée’s judgment. Even if this bump in the road is frustrating as fuck.

  Every now and again, I force myself to have a reality check. Big picture, our lives together is good. Great. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

  * * *

  Two nights before Jackson and Dahlia’s wedding in the Hamptons, I receive a text from Lewis Renforth, one of my hacker buddies. He’s probably the most paranoid man I know. His message is encrypted, but the subject line grabs my attention. It reads, Progress on Project SIL.

  Lewis came up with that name. Progress Sister-in-Law.

  Finally, an update about Joy.

  Emily’s wearing two hats for this wedding. She’s not only the maid of honor, but she’s also catering the event. The timing couldn’t be worse, but in a way, if this update doesn’t lead anywhere, at least I can deal with it while she has her hands full.

  I won’t worry her with the details unless it’s good news.

  Twenty-Three

  Emily

  Dylan goes off the deep end two days before Jackson and Dahlia’s wedding. Does he realize what I have to deal with as both caterer and maid of honor? I’m caught between two huge sets of competing responsibilities, both with almost the same deadlines, sky-high expectations, and risks of embarrassment and loss of my best friend if they don’t both come off without a hitch. Smack in the middle of reviewing the meal plan with my catering and serving staff, and handling the last-minute hiccups with the wedding planner, he bursts into my kitchen.

  “You need to come with me now, Emily,” he orders me, not caring about the thirteen people who are hanging on the wedding planner’s every word.

  I try to be sweet. “We’re really busy, love, but come back in about an hour and a half. I’ll have a few minutes then.”

  “No,” he says firmly. “You and I have to leave.”

  “Why?”

  He leans down and close to my ear, he says, “There’s news about Joy.”

  I reach down to the floor, pick up my purse, and excuse myself. That’s a sound rationale for handing off this meeting to the wedding planner’s and my sous chef’s capable hands.

  I follow him out from the kitchen through the main floor of the Hamptons area resort Jackson and Dahlia chose for their nuptials.

  “What... how... when did you find out about it?” I ask, tripping over each word.

  He leads me out to his car in the parking lot. “We need to go now.”

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  “JFK airport. My contact will give us all the details then.”

  The car is silent for the entire ninety-minute drive. My hands won’t stop shaking, my tongue is heavy, and my throat is tight. I can’t think straight with the never-ending list of questions and flood of emotions that wash over me like ocean waves.

  When we arrive at JFK, Dylan drives into the short-term parking structure and sends a text on his phone.

  “Who are we meeting?” I ask. “Your contact?”

  “What I know is the person is in a violet top and blue jeans, and will be wearing sunglasses.”

  We jump out of the car and hurry into the terminal. “Are they male or female?”

  “Female.”

  I take Dylan’s offered hand, glad for the extra support to stay upright while my knees threaten to buckle and give out on me. How are we supposed to see Dylan’s contact through the throngs of travelers and airport staff? There are thousands of people moving in every direction.

  “Where are we meeting her?”

  Dylan doesn’t answer. As I glance up at him, I notice a hint of a smile on his face. “Dylan?”

  “There she is.”

  I follow his stare to look for who he’s referring to.

  Then I see her.

  All the air leaves my lungs. Tears stream down my face. My knees really do buckle, and I feel Dylan’s strong arms wrap around my waist to hold me up.

  It’s her.

  My baby sister.

  It’s Joy.

  Her face is unmistakable, even after all these years. She looks almost identical to how I remember Momma.

  And goodness, she’s a woman now.

  “Joy?”

  She’s too far away to hear me, and God, my legs won’t work to save my life right now. Dylan waves in her direction, catching her eyes as they also search the crowd. Then she sees me. Our eyes lock. We stand in our respective spots, frozen, unable to move. It’s Dylan who nudges me forward, shouldering my weight as he half-carries me to her.

  “Joy?”

  “Yes. It’s me, Em. I’m so happy to see you.”

  We wrap our arms around each other, our bodies shaking as we sob, and weep, and heal. I can’t begin to guess how long we stay like that.

  I don’t know how Dylan was able to find her or what she’s been through since the day she ran away. And I don’t care.

  My sister is back.

  * * *

  Joy and I sit arm in arm in the back of Dylan’s late model Lexus RC F sports car. It’s a tight fit, but I’m not about to complain about having my sister close to me. Her carry-on luggage is in the front seat as he drives the three of us to the Hamptons. We’re headed back to the wedding, but only because I’m Dahlia’s maid of honor. I told the wedding planner to handle everything else, and she’s happy to oblige me.

  Questions about Joy’s whereabouts and abrupt reappearance fight to take control of my mind during the drive back, but I shove them down. All the details of the path life took her will surface in time.

  The answers must also appear in Joy’s mind, because she breaks the silence with, “Before you ask, I just want you to know…we were all in Wit-Sec.”

  “Sorry?” I have no idea what that means.

  “Federal witness protection.”

  I turn to her, baffled. “I don’t understand. Why… I thought you ran away?”

  “It all started about a month or so before we lost touch. My dad found a suspicious transaction at his accounting firm, and later discovered it was linked to organized crime. Although he didn’t come forward right away, he was approached by a federal prosecut
or. After a lot of coaxing, he agreed to turn state’s evidence. It put everyone in his family in danger. We were put into witness protection.”

  I don’t mask what must be a puzzled look on my face. “But… the cops told me they were searching for you.”

  “The officers who came to you about me were actually US Marshalls. The part about dad getting a job transfer to Europe, and my running away, it was a cover story. They didn’t want you or me to be put in harm’s way if we’d gone from being in communication one day to complete silence the next.”

  “Okay… but, that’s kind of how it was for me. You know that, right? I had no idea if you were on the streets, thrown into prostitution, dead. I didn’t know anything. And I did continue to look for you.”

  “I’m so sorry it happened this way,” she laments, covering my hand with hers. “Dad and I tried everything to convince the authorities to add you to the program with us, but they refused. Gosh, I’m so sorry to have put you through this, Em.”

  “It’s not your fault. So… did they change your name?”

  “Yes. They gave us new identities. The Diamond family. I carried the name Abigail over all that time. We were moved to a small town in New Mexico. For the actual court case, it took several tries and over six years to bring it to trial. Dad testified against his boss about a month ago. As soon as his boss was convicted and the threat against our family ended, we were free to take steps to resume our real identities again. And a few days ago, someone Dylan knows found me.” Her tears start to flow again, and she sobs through her words, struggling for breath. “You have to believe me, Emily. Keeping away from you all these years, it broke my heart a little bit every day.”

  “Don’t cry anymore, Joy.” I cry too, but I try to be strong for her. “It’s over. We’re back together again.”

  We hold on to each other for a long time, then I pull back a bit to see her face again. Goodness, she looks so much like Momma.

  “You’re coming to live with us, right?” I ask as the tears subside.

  She shakes her head, her face solemn. “I have the weekend, but I can’t stay. It’s my last year of college. We’re smack in the middle of the semester. But, I promise I’ll fly back on all the holidays and all the long weekends between now and my last day of senior year.”

  “I hope so. Maybe I can fly out to see you too.”

  “Yes, I’d love that. I have to wait for the end of the school year for the administrators to change my name back from Abigail, though.”

  “Okay. I’ll try to remember. What are you studying?”

  “Fine arts. My major is in contemporary music.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say with a smile. “I remember how much you loved to sing. You got that from Momma. And Grams passed down her love for cooking to me.”

  Tears flood our eyes again, and we pull into another embrace. With my eyes locked onto Dylan through the rearview mirror, I smile. I hold my baby sister tight and rub her back the way I used to console her when we were little.

  We have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time.

  I’m whole. We both are. After what I put Dylan through, maybe he is too.

  The shattered pieces at the corner of my heart have been put back together again. Thanks to Dylan. He wanted me to have this moment. I’m overflowing with gratitude. He brought my sister back to me. He reached into that hidden part of my soul and washed it clean. He prepared me for today with his unconditional love. I can’t ever thank him enough.

  I didn’t believe I could love him any more than I already do.

  But God, I really do.

  As we arrive at the Hamptons resort, I let go of Joy for a moment. Reaching over to him, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m so gonna thank you for this later,” I say for only him to hear and he smiles, kissing my cheek. “Let’s set a date for the wedding. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Emily Worthington.”

  Twenty-Four

  Epilogue - Emily

  Three Months Later

  I turn to see Rose as she catches my wedding bouquet. Dylan is off to the side of the cluster of unmarried women. He pats Caleb on the shoulder, probably to give him a hint about not losing his shot with Rose.

  Joy is with the single ladies. Her time will come one day too, and I’ll be there when it does. She sang as I walked up the aisle. Almost the entire wedding party was in tears. No one cried as much as I did, but tears of joy are allowed for the bride.

  Tears of joy.

  Tears for Joy.

  Even Dylan’s face was a bit damp. Once his mother and Vanessa saw his eyes get misty, they broke down too.

  It’s time to leave for our honeymoon, a trip to Paris. I can’t wait to leave, but turn to give one last parting glance at the larger than life size portraits of Grams and Momma that sit at the entrance of the reception hall. Dylan had them made for me. I don’t know how he did it or who he hired, but he found a way to blow up the pictures in my locket. Now I can say they were at my wedding, even if it’s in spirit.

  Our eyes lock, and I give him a nod toward the Audi sports car he picked to drive us to the airport, decked out with streamers and tin cans, and a big handwritten Just Married sign in the back window. He mirrors my nod.

  I make my way to Joy and hug her one more time before I go. “We’ll be back in a week,” I tell her.

  “Have a great time. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be here when you return. Love you.”

  “Love you too, little sis.”

  Dylan and I say our goodbyes to a few other guests then ride off to start our lives as a married couple.

  “Are you ready for our trip?” he asks.

  “Definitely. I’m so excited to see Paris.”

  “Great. Before we fly out, there’s just one stop I have to make.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say. “As long as we don’t miss the flight.”

  “That’s not exactly possible with a private charter. The pilot can’t leave without us.”

  “Oh, that’s right! Okay perfect.”

  I notice him turn the car onto a familiar street, and I look over at him. “Why are we stopping at my restaurant?”

  He gives me a one-sided smile and parks on the street. “You’ll see in a second.”

  With a little help to step out of the car, I head to the front entrance. I’m still wearing my cream, flowing vintage wedding dress. I love it so much I bucked the trend and opted for no reception gown.

  As he unlocks the doors, my jaw drops. The entire foyer and dining room are filled with violets. “God, Dylan. These are gorgeous!”

  “Glad you like them. I wanted to bring you here before we fly out. Want to know why?”

  “Yes. Tell me.”

  “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll show you.”

  We walk in there. Every flat surface in the kitchen is covered in violets. Every surface but one. And near that spot is a stainless-steel bucket of ice with a bottle of my favorite champagne. He stands behind me, his arms around my waist, his mouth pressed against a spot on my neck.

  “Ahhh, very nice! So, you plan to get me tipsy before our flight?”

  “Sure, but there’s a bit more to it,” he says against my neck, the hum causing heat to pool between my legs.

  “More as in what exactly?”

  His fingers find the top of the zipper of my wedding dress. Slowly, he slides it down, exposing my back to the air. “I’ll make you tipsy, then fuck you right there on the prep station counter, and after you come, I’ll do it again. And again. Until you’re sore and satisfied. Then we can fly out. Deal?”

  I love the sounds of getting kinky in the kitchen.

  “Fuck yes,” I answer, letting him lead me to a lifetime of passion in my all-time favorite place to be.

  Twenty-Five

  Epilogue – Dylan

  My wife is about to learn there are no limits to the lust and chemistry between us. I should tell her she might not be able to walk right after I’m done with her.

  We’re suppose
d to be flying over the Atlantic, but that can wait. This trip can only start when Emily knows that by marrying me, life will always be full of surprises. Most of them as sexy and kinky as fuck.

  She looks down at her wedding gown on the floor, pooled around her off-white designer stilettos.

  “Keep the shoes on, beautiful,” I tell her, kissing down her back as I undo the long row of hooks of her bustier.

  “Anything else?” she moans out the question, her mind already somewhere else, her ass pressed up against my cock until she’s bent over the kitchen counter.

  “No. Everything else comes off. And let your hair down too. I want to have something to hold while I fuck you from behind.”

  She hums out a sexy moan, doing precisely what I tell her.

  Fucking her here like this has been on my mind for weeks. I’ve taken her here before, but not like this. Not as my wife, and never surrounded by her favorite flowers while I remove something old, new, borrowed and blue from her body.

  She loves her kitchen, and she loves me. Claiming her here is my way of showing her she belongs to me.

  As her body lowers even further for me to remove the last few hooks. I can’t keep my eyes off her ass, grinding against me, making me so fucking hard.

  The late evening light starts to die down, making the remaining light cast shadows across her back and where our bodies touch.

  I let the bustier drop to the floor, and she moans, grasping the edge of the counter in a white-knuckle grip.

  Waiting for me.

  Full of anticipation.

  Still completely dressed from head to toe, I release my cock from my open zipper and position it between her upper thighs. I bury into her, driving every inch as far as it’ll go.

  She whimpers and angles her neck to one side, not quite meeting my eyes, but close. “Dylan.”