A Fortune in Waiting

by Michelle Major

“Those are pretty good ones,” she teased.

  He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “You scared the bloody hell out of me with that phone call, but I’ll race halfway across the world to get to your side for that.”

  She lifted her head so she could meet his gaze. She saw the hint of amusement there but also a deep tenderness that stole her breath for a moment. Could it be that he was falling for her in the same way she was for him?

  Francesca was used to being the one to have to make a bigger effort, but she’d always craved more. After Lou, she’d promised herself not to settle for anything less than a man who loved her the way she wanted to be loved. Her heart gave a little leap at the thought that she might have found that with Keaton.

  “Ciara was only supposed to ask you to come to the apartment,” she explained, “not to scare the pants off you.”

  He laughed and drew her closer for a long kiss. “Anytime you want my pants off, Francesca-luv,” he said, “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

  Then he spent the rest of the afternoon demonstrating exactly how obliging he could be.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Keaton entered the restaurant where he was meeting Ariana Lamonte the next morning, his thoughts strayed to Francesca. Truth be told, there had scarcely been a moment since he’d left her apartment yesterday afternoon that she hadn’t been in his mind.

  He’d never experienced anything like the way the feisty waitress had invaded his senses. He caught faint traces of her vanilla scent on the air even when she wasn’t with him and just thinking of the sweet sounds she’d made under him made his body harden.

  His dinner with the developer of the Austin Commons project had gone late last night and he hadn’t seen Francesca again. He’d already texted to make sure she was available after her shift at the diner today. There was no way he could go another night without holding her in his arms. She was like a drug. With one hit he’d become hopelessly addicted.

  He scanned the restaurant for Ariana, but his gaze caught on a man rising from a table near the back.

  Gerald Robinson.

  Keaton’s biological father turned, as if he could feel the weight of Keaton’s stare. Clearly, Gerald had been perfecting his bland mask of civility for years—Keaton guessed being a serial adulterer would force a man to keep his emotions under strict control. Other than a slight widening of his cool blue eyes, Gerald didn’t immediately react to Keaton’s presence in the restaurant.

  Keaton held his father’s gaze, unsure of how to proceed. He certainly wasn’t going to talk to the man. They’d had one strained conversation last year at Zoe’s wedding to Joaquin Mendoza that Keaton wasn’t anxious to repeat. As close as he was to his Robinson half siblings, Keaton’s feelings toward Gerald weren’t so straightforward.

  Seeing Gerald in person, acknowledging his own connection to a man who seemed to leave behind a trail of unwanted children like a schoolboy discards empty candy wrappers, made Keaton’s blood run cold. After another moment, Gerald inclined his head slightly, as if he’d taken Keaton’s measure and now deigned to give his paternal approval.

  That rankled, too, and Keaton turned away. He refused to take anything from his father—even a tacit acknowledgment. An image of Francesca flashed again in Keaton’s mind, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. How had he ever believed he could be the type of man she deserved when Gerald Robinson’s blood ran through his veins?

  At Zoe’s wedding, Gerald had said one sentence to Keaton that had stuck in his head, refusing to let go.

  You remind me of myself as a younger man.

  Some small, secret place in Keaton—the angry boy who’d had something to prove to the father he never knew—had preened at the comparison. But the man in him recoiled thinking he shared anything with Gerald.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  Keaton jerked as a hand came to rest on his arm. He glanced down to see Ariana offering him a tentative smile. She searched his face then asked, “Is everything okay?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  She watched him for another moment and he offered what he hoped was a charming smile. “They’ve held a table for me in the corner,” she said finally. “It will give us some privacy.”

  As they moved through the restaurant, a busboy turned abruptly, almost plowing into Ariana. Automatically, Keaton placed a hand on her back and guided her out of the way. He couldn’t help a final glance toward Gerald, who was now watching with a knowing smile curving one side of his mouth. Keaton snatched his hand away from the reporter, hating that anyone might think he was cut from the same philandering cloth as his father. Even though he hadn’t promised anything to Francesca, he couldn’t imagine being interested in another woman.

  He enjoyed talking to Ariana but could no more conjure a physical attraction to her than he might feel toward one of his half sisters. Still, the look from Gerald was seared into his brain and he barely registered the questions Ariana asked him.

  When he walked out of the restaurant an hour later, he couldn’t have repeated any of the answers he’d given during the interview. Ariana had seemed satisfied and told him the blog would run on Friday with a follow-up in the magazine’s next issue.

  Back at the office, there was the normal barrage of meetings, questions from the contractor and the junior architects assigned to the project.

  It wasn’t until hours later when he stepped into Lola May’s and heard the familiar peal of Francesca’s bubbly laugh that the tight knot of tension in his stomach loosened. Several of the regular customers he’d come to know over the past few weeks greeted him and the scent of freshly baked apple pie made his stomach rumble. In such a short time this place and these people had come to feel like they belonged to him. Like he was part of a community—different from the friends and coworkers he’d had in London. He didn’t have to be anything but himself at Lola May’s. When Francesca turned to him, the grin that lit up her face made him feel like the queen had just knighted him.

  She moved toward him, as if the same invisible magnet that drew him also pulled her.

  “You’re early,” she said. “Did you know we had warm pie?”

  He shook his head, swallowing the emotion that balled in his throat. Her caramel-colored eyes were clear and tender, the color high on her cheeks as she approached him.

  “I just wanted to see you.” He reached for her, unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her, and seared his mouth to hers, fast and hard.

  Francesca squeaked but she opened for him and he felt a shiver run through her. A few whistles and cat calls rang out through the diner, and Keaton released her with a smile. “Sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t sorry at all. He wanted to shout from the rooftops that this woman belonged to him.

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips and gave him a little shake of her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You look far too smug.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “I’ll wait for you to finish your shift.”

  “Thank you for the flowers,” she whispered. “They’re beautiful.”

  He’d had a bouquet of yellow roses sent over this morning, although it had been difficult to order only one. He wanted to fill her entire apartment with blooms, but he understood now that he’d be better off not overwhelming her. He’d settled for placing a standing order to be delivered every week for the next three months. He might have to take it slow, but he was still determined to spoil Francesca until she realized she was worthy of getting everything she ever wanted from a man. And that he was the man to give it to her.

  “Keaton, come and sit a spell at the counter,” Lola May called. “Our girl has customers and I need someone to try the first bite of this salted caramel apple pie and make sure it tastes as good as it smells.”

  “I’m
at your service,” he answered then lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Until later,” he told Francesca, “when I’m at your service.”

  * * *

  The perfect bubble of happiness that had started inside Francesca on the afternoon she spent in bed with Keaton grew over the next week until it felt like she was floating through her days in an effervescent pocket of joy and—

  Not love. She wouldn’t allow herself to consider the word love.

  But the harder she tried not to think of it, the more she felt it. Till she finally had to admit it. She’d fallen in love with Keaton—the kind of love that made her heart feel like it would beat out of her chest every time she was with the handsome Brit.

  Of course she hadn’t told Keaton she loved him. She might have lost her heart, but thankfully her mind was still functioning. Keaton felt something for her. It was evident in every touch and look he gave her. But he’d made no promises or said anything other than beguiling words whispered late at night when he held her. She knew what could happen when she gave more than someone was willing to give back. She had no interest in repeating that sort of heartache again.

  She tried to convince herself that what they had was enough. Keaton was attentive and sweet, thoughtful and funny. She’d never imagined she could be so attracted to a man and had spent every night of the past week at his apartment. He seemed to know what she wanted and how she liked to be touched even before she did. Every moment she spent in his arms was a gift, and she refused to entertain thoughts of her blissful bubble popping.

  A knock on the apartment door interrupted her musings. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten on a Saturday morning, and she didn’t have to be downstairs for her shift until noon. She’d slipped out of Keaton’s bed this morning, despite his protests, to return to her apartment and work on a paper that was due next week.

  Ciara had left to run errands so Francesca hurried to the door, assuming her roommate had forgotten the apartment key again.

  “You’re back soon,” she said as she opened the door.

  “I knew you missed me,” came the gravelly response.

  Francesca’s mouth went dry and she tried to slam closed the door but Louis Rather, aka Lou the Louse, walked into her apartment as if he owned the place. Lou’s confidence had been one of the things that had first drawn Francesca to him. Now it was irritating and unwarranted.

  She had to admit he still looked good. His dark blond hair was slicked back into an almost pompadour and he wore faded jeans and a tight black Henley under the well-worn leather jacket she’d given him their first Christmas on the road. Lou wasn’t as tall or broad as Keaton, but he’d perfected the bad-boy indie rocker look. Taming the bad boy had once appealed to Francesca, but she no longer had time for jerks in her life.

  Absently, she ran a hand over the old T-shirt and yoga pants she’d changed into for a morning of studying. It would have been nice to at least have taken a shower before a long-overdue and unwanted confrontation with her philandering ex-boyfriend.

  “Don’t bother making yourself at home, Lou,” she told him, even as he strode toward the kitchen. “You aren’t staying.”

  “I need caffeine,” he said over his shoulder. “And no one makes coffee as good as you, Frannie. Now be a good girl and point me in the direction of a mug.”

  When he turned, she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her bare foot against the hardwood floor. “Get out.”

  He gave a belabored sigh and opened cabinet doors until he found the mugs. He poured a cup of coffee and took a long drink, hitching one hip onto the counter. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he whispered and Francesca honestly wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the coffee.

  “Get out,” she repeated.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said, his blue gaze ridiculously pleading and soft as he met her gaze. It had been those tiny moments of tenderness that had made her such a fool for him. Months before she’d caught him—pants down—with the groupie, Francesca had suspected Lou of cheating on her. Then he would meet her gaze while performing one of the band’s rare ballads on stage, looking at her in a secret way that she assumed he saved only for her. Every time he’d sucked her back into trusting him.

  Those days were over.

  “What do you want?” she asked him.

  He stared at her a moment, then his brows drew low, as if he couldn’t understand why his usual charm wasn’t working.

  “I’m back in Austin until spring,” he told her, setting the coffee cup on the counter. “Cowbell is recording some tracks at a local studio. We’re working with a famous producer, Frannie, and the label is putting a ton of money into the new album. It’s going to be big.”

  “I’m glad for you,” she said, and found that despite what he’d done to her, she meant the words. Lou might be a unfaithful jackass, but he was a talented musician. “What does that have to do with me?”

  He gave a boyish shrug. “I thought we could spend some time together. You know, like back in the good old days when it was just you and me.”

  “You and me and whatever fangirl you were messing around with while I was doing the band’s laundry.”

  “My clothes haven’t been that clean since you left,” he told her with a placating smile.

  She snorted. “Seriously? Is the opportunity to be your maid supposed to entice me back? You couldn’t possibly have run out of groupies so quickly.”

  “I want you,” he said firmly. “I miss you. Not as a maid.” He straightened and took a step toward her. “I’ll take you on dates this time around, Frannie. There are some new alt punk bands in town I want to check out. We can go to the shows together.”

  “I don’t like alt punk music, Lou.”

  His head snapped back as if she’d punched him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever given her true opinion on anything in all the years they were together. Shame on her for being a pushover. But no longer.

  “What’s happened to you, Francesca? You’ve changed.”

  “I’ve grown up,” she countered. “I’m not that same people-pleasing girl who was grateful for whatever crumbs of attention you were willing to throw my way. I’ve realized I deserve more. Better. I deserve to be with a man who values me and wants to make me happy.”

  He took a step toward her. “You think you’ve found that?”

  Although Francesca was reluctant to put a name on whatever she had with Keaton, there was no denying how he made her feel. “I’m in a relationship with a man,” she said quietly. “He cares about me. I’m happy.”

  Lou stared at her a few long moments. “You do deserve happiness,” he said finally. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t be the guy to give it to you.”

  She started to offer words that would absolve him of the responsibility because that was her way, but Lou spoke first.

  “But I hope you haven’t pinned your hopes on catching that new Fortune—the tech mogul’s bastard son.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Don’t talk about Keaton like that. How do you even know about him?”

  “I saw your mom yesterday,” he answered with a shrug. “She agrees with me, Frannie. You’re setting yourself up for a big fall with the Brit. I may not be perfect, but we come from the similar backgrounds. You and I fit together.”

  “You cheated on me,” she said through clenched teeth. “I would never take you back, Lou. My mom knows that even if she pretends otherwise. Keaton is more of a man than you could ever hope to be. He—”

  “Has a line of conquests in his wake longer than the line for the porta potties at a music festival.” Lou moved toward her, pulling a folded piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “I looked up your British Prince Charming and it appears he’s bedded more women than James Bond. He may have a fancier accent, but he’s going to break your heart just the sa
me as me, Frannie.”

  “No,” she whispered, unaware she’d spoken until Lou cocked a brow.

  “See for yourself, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers automatically gripped the paper he shoved into them. Then he walked past her, calling over his shoulder, “You have my number when you come to your senses, Frannie. I won’t wait forever.”

  He could wait until hell froze over for all she cared.

  She didn’t move from where she stood even after the door slammed shut and she was once again alone. Lou was a cheat and a liar. She should tear into shreds the paper he’d given her without even reading it.

  Keaton did care about her. He was a decent man, and he’d never hurt her the way Lou had. The way her father had hurt her mother. The way his father...

  The thought of Gerald Robinson—what he’d done to his family and the way that had shaped Keaton—prevented her from ripping apart the paper. After a few calming breaths, she opened the single sheet.

  As she’d expected, it was the interview done by Ariana Lamonte, the blogger and reporter from Weird Life Magazine. What she hadn’t expected was the focus on Keaton’s dating history. The article wasn’t defamatory, more like a puff piece on Keaton’s legendary charm with flattering quotes from a half dozen of his previous girlfriends. Their comments ranged from veiled praise for his skill in the bedroom to the common theme that he was destined to be “the one that got away” for any woman lucky enough to date him. The general consensus was now that Keaton had been recognized as part of the Fortune family, his popularity with the ladies would only grow.

  Although Francesca was aware of his status as part of the Fortunes, and specifically the powerful Robinson branch of the family, it had been easy to ignore the differences in their lives as they’d spent time together over the past few weeks.

  They’d both been raised by single mothers, which had felt like an important connection. Coupled with the way Keaton lavished attention on her and truly seemed to care more about who she was as a person than her station in life, Francesca had been able to ignore how very different they were. She realized now that she’d allowed herself to begin thinking about her relationship in the long term, making plans in her mind for when she finished school and where life would take them next. Together.