Playing the Billionaire (International Temptation)

by MK Meredith

  Her impromptu visit at the orchard had only rubbed her wounds wide open, so she’d spent the past two days attempting to lose herself on the streets of Barcelona, and when that didn’t work, locked in her room with bottles of wine.

  Now, she wasn’t drunk so much as defeated. Her vacation was over, and she was headed back to reality—or her “sorry state of a life” as she liked to call it in moments of wine-induced clarity. She would be happy to see her mother, there was no question about that. But the years of hollow dating, lonely travel, and living paycheck to paycheck held no draw whatsoever. Maybe a change in employment was in order. Maria’s conversation about finding her passion at the Picasso Museum teased in her head. If only life actually worked out the way she wished it would.

  Pulling her tablet in front of her, she swiped through to finish her review documentation. She’d considered not rating the hotel, but that would only hurt her mother. In the end, if she’d received extra care, it was due to Mateu’s presence, not because they knew who she was. Besides, though it cost her a lot of sleep, she’d basically scoured the hotel amenities on her own and still received the same amazing service.

  She just prayed Mateu would keep her identity a secret. She hadn’t worked so hard for so long to lose the demand of L.M. Cipriano. Her lips pulled up at the corner at the use of one of Pablo Picasso’s many names. When she was a fan, she was a super fan.

  Now, with her written analysis complete—each activity, each room, each interaction with the staff painstakingly written in great detail—it was time to complete her rating.

  If she could rate based on the beating of her heart, it would be a big fat zero. But Huntington would not be the collateral damage to her doomed relationship with Mateu. The hotel was as impeccable as it had promised to be. Huntington Place Barcelona was heaven.

  But that didn’t mean giving Mateu exactly what he’d played her for didn’t hurt.

  With a shaky breath, she clicked the five stars.

  Then she sat still for five slow and steady breaths in silence, struggling to ease the pressure in her chest.

  Walking slowly over to the desk with its flanking mirrors that saw too much and showed so much more, she sipped from her glass. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed from too much crying, which left her face blotchy and pale. Nothing her large Breakfast at Tiffany’s sunglasses couldn’t fix. She’d parted her hair straight down the middle, then slicked it back in a severe ponytail. In the end, it made her look serious and unapproachable.

  Perfect.

  Maybe that would give the damn dippers something to think about before they tried screwing with her again. The face of the little girl from the train station popped into her mind, followed by Mateu’s, and the tears stubbornly welled in her eyes for the umpteenth time.

  With strength fueled by self-preservation alone, she shoved the sadness as far into the depths of her brain as she could and straightened her shoulders. She was mad, damn it. Even after she’d gone with him to help after his father had fallen, he had no interest in talking. She’d held out an olive branch, exposing herself, and he’d slapped it aside. Twice.

  He’d lied to her from day one, let her humiliate herself in front of him, and chose to keep up his charade. He was the ass. Then, to top it off, while she was in the business center finishing up a call to her office, she’d overheard rumblings about Espasa’s job win. And wasn’t that the icing on the cake?

  She scowled. Let it be a warning to the damn universe of thieves. Today was not the day to fuck with London Montgomery.

  Her cell rang for the hundredth time, but she refused to look at it. Mateu had been calling her since early Monday morning, but there was nothing left to say. If he couldn’t open up to her in the face of his father’s injury, he never would. And the man she loved would never be so closed-minded to the world.

  The chocolate box from Abano sat innocently along the edge of the desk, but there was nothing innocent about it. She slid her nail under the edge and lifted the lid, revealing the simple portrait of Picasso inside.

  What was she to do with it now? Looking at it caused her pain, but so would destroying it. There’d been enough of that lately.

  The million reflections in the mirror mocked her.

  Apparently, the man she loved would, in fact, lie. Because she did love Mateu. Of course, not the lying, cheating bastard Mateu, but the sensitive uncle, devoted son, and hardworking Catalan who made her laugh and listened when she spoke. At least up until the moment she really needed him to.

  That guy.

  Too bad the bastard had won.

  She didn’t completely blame him. His perspective of her actions had recalled all the pain from his previous relationship, the betrayal from the woman Clara. She hated the name out of principle.

  Maybe once he worked through his own past, he’d be open to the next woman who came into his life. She swiped at her tears.

  She lined the desk blotter up against the edge, wishing it could go sailing to the floor, and she could be surrounded by everything that was Mateu. But the reality was that she rarely got what she wanted.

  Lucky for him, it looked like he would.

  She gathered the last few things from the bathroom, then removed her heels. They had delivered—and then some. Smiling, she slipped them into the velvet bag they’d come in, then tucked them carefully amongst her clothes.

  A few minutes later and she was retracing her steps to the lobby in the same sleeveless jumpsuit she’d arrived in. Stepping up to the checkout counter, she nudged her bags to the side, then dug for her credit card.

  A few niceties from the desk clerk and her signature later, and she was on her way. She reached to grab the handle of her bag, only to have her hand sail right through thin air into nothingness.

  “What the hell?” Her bag was gone.

  She glanced around, then back to the clerk. “Did you see who took my bag?”

  The young woman looked surprised. “That handsome gentleman in the suit took it outside.”

  London sailed past the doorman with a distracted wave. A familiar town car was parked just a few feet away, and Mateu stood with her bag in hand. “Did you lose something?”

  Just everything she’d always dreamed of, but she froze in her spot and didn’t answer.

  His warm caramel eyes wavered a bit, but he stepped toward her with his shoulders back and a smile on his face. “Were you really going to leave without saying good-bye?” he asked gently.

  Every fiber in her body screamed to step into his arms and forget the past couple of days, but she straightened her spine. “I felt like your good-bye was enough for both of us,” she whispered, cursing her lips for the tremble they carried.

  He tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “A good-bye I regret and wish I could take back.”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, holding her hobo bag tightly in front of her stomach like a shield. If only adults could get away with superhero costumes. Wonder Woman’s shield would be so useful right now. Though the bikini bottoms left a lot to be desired. She shook her head as her brain made a good attempt at distracting her from her pain. What was wrong with her?

  “I guess we both wish we could take a few things back.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  Without stepping too far into her space, he gestured for her to get into the car. “Please, let me take you to the train station. It’s the least I can do.”

  The look in his eyes was not only open, but hopeful.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, lifting her chin. “I wouldn’t want to make you feel like I was just using you.”

  He winced. “I deserved that.” With a quick word to the driver to take her luggage, he continued. “I offered. Please.”

  She stared at him, wondering why he’d wish to prolong her pain. A compassionate man would let her leave in peace. She finally gave a small nod.

  Once they were settled, Mateu closed the door, leaving them in a muffled silence that se
emed surreal. Familiar yet foreign, the same but different. That’s what happened when people played games instead of being honest. They ruined the things in life that had the most potential.

  “You haven’t taken any of my calls.”

  She pressed her lips together, then met his gaze. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I have a confession to make. One I’m not proud of.” He poured a small glass of Cava, then tossed it back.

  She remained silent.

  The lines around his eyes deepened as his lips pulled at the corners with his look of contrition. “I knew who you were when I met you. I planned on making sure you had a great visit to Huntington in hopes to sway your final rating. To say it was wrong wouldn’t even begin to describe—”

  “I know.” Anger simmered beneath the layer of emotions that struggled with wanting to feel his arms around her. He was confessing to her now? After it had all been destroyed?

  People had the worst habit of being honest once they’d been caught.

  “You do?” He reached out for her hand, but she pulled it into her lap.

  “You and the hotel were trying to buy my review. A plan that was quite deceitful, and even though I admitted to the payback I’d dreamed up, you still refused to come clean. Then your dad…” She fluttered her fingers, then gripped them at her waist. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t trust someone like that. You made it perfectly clear what you thought of me. Why would I answer your calls?” There, she’d said it. Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands were clammy, but the whole truth was out in the open.

  “You really did know, and you decided to make me pay, so to speak.” He said it as if confirming it for himself.

  Well, it had all been clear to her since the beginning. His confession didn’t change a thing. She nodded. “I figured if the hotel wanted to buy me that badly, I’d let them.”

  He stretched his neck. “We have a lot to talk about. Just so you know, Huntington Place had no idea. It was only me.”

  Suddenly the door opened, and the driver was ushering them from the car.

  “What’s going on?” She dug in her heels. “This is not the train station.”

  Mateu gave her a gentle nudge toward a hot-air balloon with an intricate, swirling, striped pattern in the bright red and gold of the Catalan flag. “You still had one more item on that once-in-a-lifetime agenda of yours. I couldn’t send you home before giving you the chance to really see Barcelona. And this is the best view you’ll ever have.” Perspiration dripped from his temple, and the pale look of his cheeks was bright against the colorful backdrop of the hot-air balloon.

  Her heart dropped, both at his words and the idea that he’d be willing to go thousands of feet off the ground…for her. “You can’t. You’re afraid of heights.”

  He stepped close. “Yes, I’m afraid of heights, but I’m terrified that I’ve lost the greatest thing I’ve ever had. As my mother always said…it’s never too late for joy. I’m hoping she’s right. I figured this”—he gestured toward the balloon—“would at least allow me to give you some joy before returning home. And you’d give me a chance to talk things through.”

  Every nerve in her body leaned toward him, but her brain had a stranglehold on her heart. “But what about my train, my flight?”

  “Already taken care of.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, taken care of? I have to—”

  “Estimata, please. Come with me. Let me explain. You once said that you believed in giving people the chance to fix their mistakes. I’m trying to fix mine.” He pushed for her to go with him, though the idea of getting in the balloon basket left his cheeks sallow and his eyes hollow as if he’d already stepped from a loop-the-loop amusement park ride.

  With a sigh, and feeling only a little sorry for him, she nodded.

  Mateu said a few things in Catalan, eliciting a nod from their pilot. Within minutes, they lifted off, rising into the blue skies of Barcelona. The brilliant azure of the sea spanned out for miles on one side and the lush green foliage of the countryside on the other.

  “Sorry, he doesn’t speak English.”

  She shrugged.

  “So, you were playing me at my own game?”

  “Can a billionaire ever really get played?”

  His smile was full of self-derision as he gripped the edge of the basket with white knuckles and kept his body away from the side. The hue of his skin was still quite sickly, though he soldiered on, filling her with admiration, welcomed or not.

  The pilot sent her a look of concern, but she gave a subtle shake of her head. The man raised a brow but turned away in a manner that would give them some semblance of privacy.

  “I was interested in your family’s orchard so I asked my best friend to look into you for me. What she came back with wasn’t quite what I’d expected.” She shrugged. “I was so angry. Partially because I believed the kind and caring facade you presented to me, and partially because I found out our insurance dropped my mom’s medication. The first vacation I’ve ever had was ending before it had even begun.”

  Keeping a smile from lifting the corners of her lips at the pathetic attempt he was making at controlling his fear, she gently peeled his hand off the edge of the basket, one finger at a time. Holding them between her own, she pulled him closer to the inside of the basket, careful not to get in the pilot’s way. She was still hurting, but the wild look of the possibility of death in his eyes softened her heart toward him.

  “Then you were so determined to help me check all my items off my agenda. I thought hell, why not? I’d get the vacation of my dreams, better than I could have ever given myself, and make you try to spend what I’m worth on the Huntington’s dime.” She challenged him with a teasing glare. “Which we both know is impossible.” Placing his hands on the center railing, she stepped back toward the side. “And that’s when it hit me. I’m worth a hell of a lot more than a fancy vacation in Barcelona. No matter how decadent. I’d set you up for failure, because there was no way for you to see the value in me if I didn’t see it in myself.”

  He grabbed her hands again, and though she tried to take them back, he held on tight. On an inhale, he joined her at the basket’s side. “But you’re wrong. I do see. I was just too blinded by my own past to show you the truth. I’m sorry, London. You didn’t deserve any of this. I wish I could go back and tell you at the restaurant. The idea that you’d used me for my money had made me self-righteous when I had no room to be. The bigger deceit was mine, but I couldn’t see past my own pain.”

  From inside his jacket, he handed her a package wrapped in a delicate handmade paper flecked with yellow and orange and wrapped in a yellow ribbon. “Please take this. The paper is made from our orchard. As were the memories. You see, you were looking for once-in-a-lifetime experiences, but they weren’t the cooking classes, the vermouth tasting, or even your tour of the Picasso Museum; the real once-in-a-lifetime is right here.” He placed her hand over his heart. “We’ve found it. Yours…and mine.”

  She blinked against the tears in her eyes and the bubble of hope in her chest.

  Carefully to preserve the paper, she opened the gift. Inside was a collection of five-by-seven photographs. The top picture was an artistic photo of the mud pies she and Felip had made. Her heart turned over at the memory of his grin. The next was her face bright with laughter and a smudge of mud along one cheek. How silly that it might be her favorite photo of her ever taken.

  Her fingers slid against the glossy finish, trailing the smile on her face.

  Another one of her, but this time sleeping on the hammock, her lips upturned and her face at peace. Her chest tightened. Just before they’d gone back to the hotel and made love. And her world had changed whether she knew it, whether he knew it, or not. The momentum pushing her toward him had been relentless from the beginning.

  Her lips trembled.

  “There’s one more,” he said gently.

  She slid the hammock photo aside and placed it under
neath the pile. The last photo was one of his family, and she pulled in a breath. “Mateu.”

  “The true once-in-a-lifetime is family, it’s love. And it’s here…for you.”

  “I don’t…” Then the landscape came into focus, and she gasped. “Oh my God.”

  With the distance, Barcelona morphed from a city of strong geometric lines to a sparkling gem off the coast of deep blue waters. But what was even more stunning was the sheer expanse of green to the east. Hills rolled from one into another as if covered by an emerald velvet cape fringed with a collar of mountains. The sight of it in addition to the sweet gesture of his gift was too much.

  “London.”

  She sniffed. “It’s just so beautiful. I never imagined…” The land, the photos, his family, her love.

  Trembling fingers squeezed her hands. “You are beautiful. You are what I never imagined.”

  Slowly pulling her eyes from the landscape below, she looked for the joke that would surely be in his eyes, but all she found there was love. She swallowed hard.

  “None of it was real,” she whispered.

  “All of it was real for me. I didn’t expect it, I didn’t even want it. But here you are, and you are more than I ever thought I could have. You challenge me and make me laugh. You show me how to love. I think I’ve loved you since you refused to let me pull your luggage at the train station, but I know I’ve loved you since I saw how you cared so deeply for my family.”

  He pulled her close. “I made a terrible mistake, and I’m trying to fix it.”

  She shook her head, wanting to believe, but reality and self-preservation held her in check. So, she pulled up her big girl panties—since she was actually wearing some this time—and said the hard thing. “I’ve loved you since realizing you got me in a way no one had before. Even with you lying all along. I knew better, but I couldn’t help it. The thing is, now I can. I have to. I won’t be used or lied to or taken for granted. I know about your job. You got everything you wanted and more. I’m afraid you just don’t like that you got caught.”