Beauty and the Brooding Billionaire

by Donna Alward

  “Bran!” she exclaimed, as a wave rose up and touched her bottom, making her arch against him.

  He laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest before erupting into the evening air. His shorts were wet now, and another step had them in up to his waist. “Ready?” he asked.

  “No!” She squealed and twisted in his arms, laughing the whole time. “You are not going to drop me into the ocean. You are not—”

  He took one more step, then let her go with a splash. And then he dove under, hoping to cool his jets.

  When he surfaced about ten feet away, Jessica had come up and was still spluttering and wiping her hair away from her face. She looked so indignant that he burst out laughing. The look she turned on him was positively venomous, and then she started toward him. When she was five, maybe six feet away, she started splashing him, the water hitting him in the face and he had to stop laughing to keep from getting a mouthful. Instead he turned, stepped toward her and yanked her close, where she couldn’t splash anymore.

  “You. Are. Incorrigible.” She was still laughing but said the last word on a sigh. He kept his arm around her and she kicked up from the bottom, pointing her toes up through the surface. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Me either.” He let her go, and they bobbed around in the water for a few minutes. His cargo shorts were heavy and his T-shirt uncomfortable, and his legs were already starting to go numb from the cold. Still, he found it hard to be sorry. It had been so long since he’d done anything impulsive or...or fun. Kissing Jessica and then taking a plunge in the Atlantic had been both.

  Her dress billowed around her, moving with the waves as she ran her fingers through her hair, which was far darker now that it was wet. It made her skin glow in the moonlight, and her eyes shone at him. Quick as anything, she ducked under the water, the tips of her toes giving a little splash like a mermaid. When she surfaced, she was several feet away, standing hip deep in the water.

  The fabric of her dress clung to her skin, highlighting every curve and point, and his mouth went dry. Perhaps a dunking in the sea hadn’t been the best plan after all.

  Sex would be a mistake. For both of them. Wouldn’t it?

  To distract himself, he swam out until he started to get tired, and then turned to come back. Jess was treading water a few hundred yards away, as if waiting for him. He swam in, and then they went to shore together. The exertion had helped expend some of his restless energy, and when they got to the shore, they hurried out of the water and onto the beach.

  “Come up to the boathouse and towel off. You must be freezing.”

  No more than she was.

  The slow, meandering walk of earlier was replaced by quick steps in the sand, and a shorter angle to the path leading away from the beach. Jessica stopped and grabbed her shoes, and when she stood he noticed her lips were blue from cold. He was shivering, too. The days had been summerlike, but the nights were still chilly and being soaking wet made it even worse. In the space of a few minutes, they were at the boathouse. He stood on the mat while she disappeared into the bathroom and returned with two big, fluffy towels.

  She scrubbed her hair and rubbed it over her arms and legs. He did the same. And wished her dress wasn’t quite so see-through. It wasn’t helping his resolve to keep things nonsexual.

  “You’re freezing,” she said, looking up at him. “Let me put your things in the dryer.”

  “I don’t exactly have anything to change into.”

  Suggestion swirled around them, but Jessica was the one to break the moment. “I have a blanket. I know it’s not optimal, but you can’t go home like that. Unless you want to go to Jeremy’s and ask for a change of clothes.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “No, thanks. He’ll ask too many questions.”

  “Well, then. Hang on.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom and came out again with another towel and a soft blanket. She handed him the towel first. “You can put this on like a skirt, to cover your...sensitive bits.” Her cheeks flushed. “And then wrap the blanket around you.”

  He grabbed at the hem of his T-shirt and swept it over his head, though it stuck to his shoulders as he pulled it off. He dropped it on the floor with the first towel, and when he saw her owlish expression at his bare chest he paused with his fingers on the button of his shorts.

  Her cheeks were ruddy now and she turned away. “I’ll just go change and then put my stuff in with yours.”

  A laugh built in his chest as he took off his shorts and secured the towel away from his...what had she called them? Sensitive bits. The blanket was large enough that he wrapped it around himself like a cape. When she emerged from the bedroom, she gathered up his wet clothes and scuttled off to the laundry room. He heard a few beeps and then the low hum of the dryer.

  When she came back out, she stopped in the kitchen and put water in her kettle. She’d changed into yoga pants and a soft sweatshirt with paint stains on it. Her hair was starting to dry a little, with bits of natural curl framing her face. He felt like an idiot standing there in a towel and blanket, but what the hell. Nothing about their relationship so far had been ordinary or exactly comfortable.

  She looked over at him and laughed. “You look silly.”

  “I feel silly.”

  “How about that drink now? I have some Scotch. It might warm you up.”

  He met her gaze. “I don’t drink anymore.”

  Her face changed. First there was surprise, followed swiftly by embarrassment. Then a growing realization and acceptance. She’d been at his house. To Jeremy’s for drinks, but he’d never partaken in anything alcoholic. He didn’t make a big deal of it, but he could see her putting the pieces together.

  In her blunt fashion, she met his gaze and asked, “Are you an alcoholic?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BRAN SHRUGGED AS he considered her question. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know if there’s an actual criteria I would meet or anything. What I do know is that I was self-medicating to deal with my grief, and I stopped.” He hesitated, then decided to be completely honest. “Jennie would be pretty angry with me if she knew I’d turned to alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

  “What took its place?”

  “Getting out of New York. Long walks on the beach. And there were times it was really hard. But I don’t keep any in my house, and it makes it easier.”

  Her lips dropped open and an expression of dismay darkened her face. “Oh, Bran. I gave you a bottle of wine that first day for stress. I’m so sorry.”

  He waved it away, and nearly dropped the blanket. “Don’t be. You didn’t know. I’ve still got it. You’re welcome to it sometime when you’re visiting.”

  Her blue eyes touched his. “Will I be visiting?”

  It was hard to draw breath. This was the moment where they were maybe becoming a thing. Maybe not sex. Maybe not ever sex. But agreeing to spend time together rather than finding ways not to or chalking it up to coincidence. He nodded slightly. “If you want to.”

  Her voice was soft. “I’d like that.”

  He was in danger of moving closer to her again, what with her soft voice and big eyes. “Can we sit down somewhere? I’m feeling kind of ridiculous here.”

  “Of course!” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. “If you can make it around the drop cloth, there’s a decent sofa.”

  He took a look at her current painting as he went by. It was the lighthouse, a full rendering of it, with the soft colors of a sunrise taking shape behind. She was so talented. Even partially completed, the painting seemed to breathe, have a life of its own. “This is beautiful, Jess.”

  She turned and smiled, then gestured toward the sofa. “Thank you. I’m playing with some colors with that one, and so far I’m liking it.”

  They sat on the sofa, the plush cushions soft and comfortable. Jess tucked her feet up underneath
herself, relaxed in the corner of the sofa. It was a bit more difficult for him to find a comfortable spot, what with the towel and the blanket. When he finally got situated, she was grinning broadly.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” he said, but his voice held a trace of humor.

  “Hey, you were the one who decided to go for the swim, not me.”

  A sigh escaped his lips. “Only because we were getting too close to...”

  His words trailed off. To what? Making a mistake? Making love? Both phrases made his chest tighten. He opted for humor. “To getting naked on Jeremy’s beach.”

  She coughed and laughed at the same time. “Oh, can you imagine if they’d seen...”

  He met her gaze evenly. “That dip was my equivalent of a cold shower. I like you, Jess. We have chemistry.” She made a sound that was the equivalent of “yeah, we sure do.” He held the blanket tightly in his fingers. “I’m not sure sex is in our best interests right now.”

  She nodded. He wished he didn’t notice how full her lips were when they were open just that little bit. Or how her eyes glowed, the little tiny striations of gold and green in the blue making him think of the water at the edge of the lake at Merrick. Or even how her chest rose and fell anytime things heated up between them. Even now, just talking about it and not touching. He was so attuned to her.

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Because of Jennie.”

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “Tell me about her, Bran.”

  He broke eye contact and looked away. Across the room was a matching love seat and one of the pillows was out of place.

  But she edged over closer to him and put her hand on his blanket-covered knee. “You need to talk about her. There’s no judgment here, Bran. Just talk. Tell me what she was like. Tell me why it’s so hard.” She squeezed his knee. “I can put on some coffee if you want.”

  He debated. It was strange thinking about telling the woman you’d almost had sex with about your dead wife. And yet not so strange thinking about telling Jess. Besides, if she knew everything, maybe this horrible, wonderful attraction between them would be nonexistent, and he wouldn’t have to worry about making a mistake.

  “I don’t need coffee,” he murmured, resting his hands on his knees. The hem of the towel cut into his pelvis, but he didn’t care.

  He’d already told her about how he and Jennie had met. But the last year of their marriage...everything had changed.

  “The year or so before they died was really different for us,” he began. “Owen had been born, and Jennie was such an amazing mother. Like Tori, you know? Loving and caring and tired and fun. She’d spend hours counting his toes and making him laugh. Or just sitting in a rocking chair with him while he slept, wanting to hold on to those first baby days forever.” Emotion rose in a wave and he fought it back, not wanting his voice to crack as they spoke.

  “Does seeing Tori make it worse for you?” she asked softly.

  “Sometimes. It just hurts, seeing Rose grow and knowing that one day soon she’ll start having the milestones that Owen never had. But it’s not their fault, and he’s my best friend. I can’t stay away, you know? That’s not fair.”

  She nodded and put her hand on his back, rubbing reassuringly, just like she’d done that day of their picnic on the rock. “But it still hurts.”

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “My career had really taken off by then. My eighth book had just released, and it was a big deal. It hit the lists in its first week, and there was a bunch of appearances set up.” He frowned. “I let it go to my head a little bit. I had to be here, there. Signing books. Doing interviews. I’d gone to our apartment in the city for a few weeks to tackle it all, planning to go home on the weekend in between. But another opportunity came up and I was so tired that I stayed in the city.” He tried not to think about the argument he’d had with Jennie about not going home that weekend. She’d been 100 percent right about how he was losing sight of his family.

  “The next week Jennie decided to surprise me by driving up from Connecticut. We’d fought about me not being home, and we didn’t fight often so it felt so very wrong and off. I had no idea what she was planning until I got the call from the police.” His chest cramped so much it nearly made him lose his breath. “I was listed as next of kin, our address the one in New Haven. By the time they reached me, the accident had been cleared and their bodies at the hospital.”

  His voice finally broke. “I can still see them there, Jess. She was cut up bad. But Owen...he looked like he’d just gone off to sleep. God, I pray he was sleeping and never felt anything. I hope it was all so fast that neither of them suffered or knew what was happening.” The well of emotion threatened to strangle him. “They shouldn’t have been on the road that night. And they wouldn’t have been, if I’d been less full of myself and had gone home as we planned. All she wanted was for us to spend time together as a family, and I was too damned important and busy.”

  Jess’s hand was still rubbing his back. “You blame yourself.”

  “Of course I do!” he snapped, then let out a breath. “She was my wife. He was my son. The two most important people in the world to me, and I let them down so badly. It should have been me.”

  “You don’t feel you deserve to live.”

  “No! Yes. I don’t know.” He shifted away from her hand. “That’s the thing, Jess. For a long time, I didn’t want to live. And now I do, and I’m left wondering if that makes me a horrible person.”

  Jess was quiet for a long moment. She finally let out a long breath and angled her body toward him. “When Ana got sick, I was so damned angry. But I didn’t cause her cancer. You didn’t cause that accident. It was an accident, and they happen.”

  “But she wouldn’t have been on the road at all if I had just gone home like she’d asked.”

  “And maybe you would have had an accident going home. Would you want Jennie to feel like if she just hadn’t asked you to come home that you’d still be alive?”

  “Of course not.”

  “She made a choice, Bran. She could have waited until the weekend. She could have taken a different route, left at a different time. Ana might not have had cancer. What I’m saying is...to think any of this is actually within our control is so flawed. But we look for explanations and blame so we have somewhere to put our grief.”

  She sniffled and Bran realized she was crying. He wasn’t, not this time, but she was, and seeing the wetness on her cheeks and the redness of her eyes nearly undid him. She was so beautiful, inside and out. And he was so very unworthy.

  He pulled her close. “You loved her very much.”

  “More than anyone ever in my life, I think. Even the guy I thought I was going to marry.”

  “Were you in love with her?”

  She lifted her head sharply, looked into his eyes. “Oh...no. Not that way.”

  He chuckled and his arm tightened around her. “Are you surprised I asked?”

  “A little. Would it matter to you?”

  He shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Why would it? It takes all kinds of love to make the world go round. I never assume anything.”

  She pushed away and turned on the sofa, sitting with her legs crossed, but she still held his hand. “You know, I didn’t expect you to surprise me more than you already have tonight, but you just did.” A sweet smile touched her lips. “And every time you surprise me, I like you a little bit more.”

  She shouldn’t like him. It made things harder. And yet he found himself rubbing his thumb over her wrist in a comforting gesture. He could still see the trails tears had made on her cheeks. “I’m sorry you lost her,” he said quietly. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

  “She was. And I’m sorry you lost Jennie and Owen. But we’re alive, Bran. You and me. Alive and we have lives to live. You can’t punish yo
urself forever. I can’t be sad forever.”

  “Jess...”

  “And I feel most alive when I’m with you.”

  If she kept it up with that soft voice and her big eyes, he was going to have to go for another dip in the sea. He should look away. But he couldn’t. Her gaze held him prisoner, his breath shortened as the moment drew out. He was still holding her hand; meanwhile the towel and blanket were feeling rather constrictive.

  “I’m not relationship material, Jess. You need to know that. I have nothing to offer someone in that way.”

  Had she somehow moved closer? “I don’t recall asking for a relationship. Or any sort of promises,” she whispered. “I don’t want them, Bran. I’m here for a matter of weeks, and then I’m going back to my life.” She lifted her other hand and cupped his jaw. “Besides, I’m trying this thing where I live in the moment.”

  In this moment he knew exactly what he wanted. But she asked him first.

  “Stay with me,” she murmured.

  He swallowed around a lump in his throat, his heart pounding with what he was sure were equal measures of arousal and fear.

  But he didn’t have time to think. Jess shifted and slid one leg over him, so that she was straddling him and he was having serious doubts about the reliability of the towel. She kissed him softly, on the crests of his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, the spot just above his lower lip, until he could hardly breathe. In less than a moment he lifted his arms, sending the blanket cape falling to the side as he wrapped her in a tight embrace. And then they kissed, long, slow, deep, until his brain was swimming with nothing but the feel of her, the scent of her skin, soft and salty from the sea.

  When the sofa grew uncomfortable, Jess slid off his lap and held out her hand. He knew what she was asking. Knew it might be a mistake. But he also knew he had never wanted something so badly. This feeling alive thing was addictive, and he needed another hit. There was one thing standing in his way, though. And it was something he’d never risk.

  “Jess, I’m not prepared.”