Four Simple Words: A Badass and the Billionaires Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 4)

by Mary J. Williams

  "Stop," Destry warned. "Now that the three of you get laid on a regular basis, our conversations seem to always circle around to sex."

  Eyes, several shades darker than Destry's, twinkled as Calder grinned.

  "Good sex, correction, great sex, should be discussed—often. However, you didn't let me finish my original thought. Adam referred to me as a prime specimen after I gave him a backrub. Though, if done right, a massage can be great foreplay."

  "These days, you consider everything foreplay. Adam says, pass the salt, and the two of you can't leave the room fast enough." Destry's words weren't far from the truth. "Thank you for leaving the room, by the way. As close as we are, I really don't need to see you and your fiancé go at it like Energizer bunnies."

  "You might exaggerate, just a bit," Bryce chided gently.

  "You and Zach aren't any better," she reminded Bryce before turning her gaze to Andi. "And you."

  "Me?" Andi looked as innocent as any woman could who spent every night in the arms of the man she loved.

  "The maids giggle every time they pass the downstairs linen closet. We should make the place a historical shrine. The plaque over the door could read, Andi and Noah: The first place they shagged."

  "Oh. Shagged." Bryce sipped her orange juice. "Another great colloquialism."

  "Or euphemism," Calder offered.

  "Love the isms. In fact—"

  "Stop!" Andi held up a hand. "Before you wander off onto what I'm sure will be a fascinating tangent, don't forget where we started."

  "I already forgot." Destry knew her sisters had long memories, but she could hope.

  "Right," Calder nodded as she reached for a slice of bacon. "Destry's Irishman."

  "He isn't my—" Taking a deep breath, Destry reminded herself that the more she protested, the more she would pique her sisters' interest. "We met, we had sex, we said goodbye. End of story."

  "Except you didn't think you'd see him again," Bryce pointed out. "The moment your bearded Liam was revealed to be the Liam Stanton, multi-gazillionaire who is based in New York, your hometown, the old story has ended. But think how interesting the sequel could be."

  "Too many coincidences." Unlike her bestselling author sister, Destry wasn't a fan of mysteries. "What are the chances I'd meet Liam Stanford, a man who already has a connection to my family, in the wilds of Washington State?"

  "You think he followed you, arranged your meeting?" Andi looked skeptical.

  Destry shrugged. She spent most of last night on her computer and wasn't any closer to an answer than when she started. One thing she learned: Liam Stanton wasn't a fan of self-promotion—a fact she could relate to. She didn't trust people who willingly bared their life to the glare of constant publicity. Anyone who seemed like an open book probably had enough skeletons in his closet to fill a decent-sized cemetery.

  However, she questioned how a man as prominent as Stanton managed to keep his personal life almost entirely under wraps. His biography was sparse; she already knew he was born in Ireland. His ex-girlfriends didn't have a thing to say about him, good or bad.

  No one, no matter how they tried to remain above the fray, survived in business without getting a little dirty. And one thing she learned is that Liam Stanton had done more than survive. The man had thrived. When Bryce called him a multi-gazillionaire, she didn't exaggerate. Not that Destry took what she read as gospel. If she learned anything from Ingo Hunter, just because the world believed a man was richer than God, didn't mean he was.

  Sometimes, as in one of her favorite movies, when you look behind the curtain, The Wizard of Oz turned out to be nothing but smoke and mirrors.

  "What if you followed him?"

  "Excuse me?" Confused, Destry gave Calder a pointed look.

  "From Liam's point of view, you might be the stalker, not the stalked. After all, he was already at the bar, what was the name? The Takedown Bar and Grill?"

  Destry nodded.

  "He was at the pool table when you arrived. How could he know you'd be there? Makes more sense that you followed him than vice versa."

  "Calder's right," Bryce said.

  "She is," Andi agreed.

  Flabbergasted, Destry couldn't believe her ears.

  "Whose side are you on?"

  "Sides?" Calder frowned. "I thought the point was to toss out theories? A little fun speculation with our breakfast. When did we reach the point where we had to choose sides?"

  Destry felt silly, and defensive, and out of sorts. The worst part was, she didn't know why.

  "You're right. I'm sorry for jumping down your throat."

  "You didn't jump. Hopped would be more accurate," Calder teased. "I shouldn't have to, but I'll reiterate for the record. I'm always with you. Side by side, through thick and thin. No matter what."

  Bryce and Andi nodded their agreement.

  Destry knew exactly where her sisters stood. She was right there with them. Still, from time to time, the words were nice to hear.

  "He acted as though he didn't know me."

  "Ah." Andi gave her an understanding smile. "Now we reach the source of the problem. You had no reason to think you'd ever see Liam again. However, once he showed up, you expected… what? For him to fall on his knees and declare his undying devotion?"

  "Hardly." The very idea was ridiculous. "But a little acknowledgment would have been nice."

  "To be fair, you didn't exactly treat Liam like a long-lost friend," Bryce reminded her.

  "He owns the hotel. Technically, he was my host, which meant he was obligated to make the first gesture."

  "Okay. Sure. Why not." Calder snorted.

  "First? Etiquette aside? I can see why you jumped the man's bones." Bryce waggled her eyebrows. Very sexy. Second, anyone with eyes could tell he recognized you."

  "I'm with Bryce." Andi, never a breakfast eater, nibbled a piece of toast. "Liam Stanton is gorgeous, and he spent too much time not looking at you."

  "He's very charming and personable. Did you notice how he spoke with everyone? Yet, he barely said two words to Destry."

  "Of course, he recognized me." Destry hadn't been fooled by Liam's nonchalant response to her. "The question is why?"

  "Liam couldn't possibly know that we tell each other everything." Ever the bottomless pit, Bryce reloaded her plate. "Perhaps he didn't want to embarrass you."

  "Perhaps you give the guy too much credit," Destry grumbled.

  "If you're really worried about Liam Stanton's motives, get Dee Wakefield to investigate him," Andi suggested. "My instincts tell me he's okay. Still…"

  "Better safe than sorry," Calder finished.

  "I already called her." Destry was acquainted with several private investigators. The difference was that Dee Wakefield had become a friend, someone she and her sisters had come to like and trust. "She'll give me a general overview in a few days."

  "I like him," Bryce declared around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  "What's not to like? Though I preferred him scruffy to uptown chic."

  "I can't attest to his appearance when you met him. But something tells me Liam Stanton's brand of sexy works with any look, setting, or time zone."

  Destry couldn't argue. Bearded, long-haired Liam had exuded a rugged, earthy appeal. His smooth and polished persona was different, yet just as potent.

  Too bad, she thought as she cleared her dishes off the counter. A one-night stand with a hot-as-hell stranger was one thing. But sexy or not, she knew from experience that businessman Liam was not her type.

  "You could give him a chance." Andi placed their plates in the dishwasher. "Liam already proved he's different than the men you usually meet in Manhattan."

  "Is he?" Destry wasn't convinced. "At best, he lets out his mountain man side once a year. The rest of the time, he's exactly what we saw last night—smooth, polished, and…"

  Destry was about to say plastic, but she stopped herself. Unlike so many of the boys she
grew up with and the men they became, Liam's personality wasn't coated with a veneer of sophistication made brittle by generations of societal inbreeding.

  With a sigh, Destry took the back stairs at a brisk jog. She didn't know how Liam felt about her. She certainly wasn't egotistical enough to assume he would want to see her again. But she did know herself. She knew what she wanted, how she wanted to live. She would never be happy with a socially ambitious man. The idea of endless cocktail parties, boring conversation about the same three subjects, and the same bland, bored face made her shudder. Nope, not her.

  As much as Destry loved her sisters, her home, her city, she needed to be free to take off at a moment's notice. Men, even the most open minded, tended to get pissy when they rolled over to find the woman in their life gone—along with the gun she kept in the bedside table.

  If—a huge if—Destry ever tied herself to one man, his free spirit would have to equal hers. And from what she'd seen in her twenty-seven years on God's green earth, she doubted such a man existed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ~~~~

  THE MANSION WAS quiet. Too quiet.

  Barefoot, her hair clipped into a half-assed French twist, Destry meandered down the staircase. Andi was at her downtown office. Calder and Adam were in Chicago—a work trip for her, he tagged along so they could play once the business day was over. Bryce decided to use the time away from Zach and the movie to work on her latest tale of mystery and mayhem. And Mrs. Finch was at her weekly club meeting. Her family was busy and had left her no one to play with.

  On the last step before the foyer's cool marble flooring, Destry's toes curled into the Persian carpet that lined the staircase. She wore a loosely belted maxi-dress with three-quarter sleeves. Made from butter-soft rayon, the color mimicked the sea-green waters off the shore of Aruba. She and her sisters planned to visit their favorite Caribbean island over Thanksgiving—once the drama with Billie, the baby, and Ingo Hunter was resolved.

  "Too bad we can't leave today."

  Her expression wistful, she traced a finger over the ornately carved newel post. The problem wasn't a lack of company. Though a social creature by nature, she'd always been content with her own company.

  All of New York City lay at her feet, a veritable feast of possibilities. Young, healthy, with enough money to do or go anywhere her heart desired, she had no reason to mope around the house. Except, she didn't know what to do besides mope. She wasn't lonely, or bored, or tired. Worse, she was restless.

  Somewhere, someone must need her services. Destry didn't advertise, she relied on word of mouth, and until now, she had more work than she could handle. Where was a good old-fashioned kidnapping when she needed one?

  Appalled, Destry frowned into the beveled mirror that hung to one side of the solid oak front door.

  "You've turned into one sick puppy if you go around wishing misfortune on someone just to satisfy your need for adventure," she chided her image. "Get a grip, woman. And stop talking to yourself. Jeez."

  Destry glanced out the window. A light, but steady mist began to fall before dawn and continued throughout the day. Since she was a little girl, she loved to walk in the rain, preferably without an umbrella, much to Mrs. Finch's consternation.

  Briefly, she considered another trip upstairs to her room. All she needed was a pair of shoes and a jacket. Fresh air was just what she needed to clear away the cobwebs. So what if September was a slow month for villainy? While she walked, she'd think of another, less self-serving way to keep herself busy.

  Decision made, Destry felt her spirits rise. However, before she could act, all thoughts of rain and the outdoors left her head when she heard the sound of music playing on the antique baby grand piano coming from the main sitting room.

  Strange, she thought as she walked toward the source. A beautiful instrument, no one in the Benedict family played unless you counted Bryce and Calder's one inexpertly performed number—a duet of Chopsticks. Destry was no expert, but she knew enough to recognize talent neither she, nor her sisters possessed.

  Whoever sat at the keys definitely knew the black ones from the white.

  The door to the sitting room was open. Yesterday, the air conditioner ran from morning to night. Today, a fire blazed under the Cherrywood mantel, set early to chase away the chill brought by the welcome, but unexpected rain.

  Unlike the formality of the foyer, the room where Destry and her sisters did most of their entertaining offered a more casual elegance. Over the years, they'd swapped out the stiff-backed Chippendale chairs with their meticulously embroidered seats for plush, slouchy furniture. The current sofa, loveseat, and easy chairs sported a heather-gray color and practically begged family and guests to sink into the ultra-soft cushions.

  With absolute privacy afforded by a tall fence, full-grown oak trees, and a large backyard, they left the gossamer-fine curtains pulled back at all times from the floor to ceiling windows. On a cloudless day, the sun brightened the room unfiltered. Today, with the lamps and recessed lighting turned off, shadows crept across the hardwood floors. From the far corner, the music from the piano added to the somber mood.

  Debussy? Bach? Chopin? Destry didn't know—didn't really care. The melody was beautiful, expertly played.

  Wearing a crisp, white dress shirt, his red silk tie loosened, the button at his neck undone, the man's head was bent slightly forward. He didn't pound the keys but caressed the music from them like a lover would coax a sultry moan from his partner. The odd thought, so unlike her, made Destry pause for a moment and take a closer look. As she did, he raised his head.

  "Liam?"

  "Hello, Destry. Your maid let me in."

  And didn't tell her.

  Surprising, but not unwelcome, she wouldn't say Liam Stanton was the last person she expected to see. However, she was hard-pressed to think of anyone who would pass him at the finish line.

  "Are you here to see Calder?"

  The look in his deep-blue eyes told Destry exactly why he was here. But after last night and the way he ignored her, she wanted him to say the words.

  "Calder? No." He continued to play, never missing a note. "I had a different Benedict sister in mind."

  "Andi?" Liam shook his head. "Bryce is in her office, but I warn you, when she's immersed in a story, she won't see anyone."

  "Not Bryce." He finished the piece with little fanfare, just a satisfied smile on his face. Closing the keyboard cover, he looked at her again, his head tilted to one side in a considering manner. "How's your neck?"

  Automatically, Destry raised her hand to where tendrils of hair covered the almost healed cut. Slowly, she continued toward the piano, toward Liam. She didn't know what to expect, but at least her boredom was a thing of the past.

  "You do remember."

  "Did you ever have a doubt?"

  "Briefly," she admitted. "Why didn't you say something last night?"

  Liam slid to one side of the bench, a silent offer for her to sit next to him. With a slight smile, she shook her head. Instead, she smiled as her hand lightly caressed the polished edge of the piano. Subtle, no. But she decided to give him a blatant reminder of the night they spent together—and eat his heart out.

  Liam watched the movement of her fingers, brow raised as if to say, I know what you're up to. His smile said, don't stop. He rose and carefully replaced the bench to where he found it. Destry frowned.

  "Were you always so tall?"

  "Since my last growth spurt around the age of sixteen." Liam slipped on his suit jacket, a perfect match to his crisply pleated, light-gray pants. As he adjusted his shirt cuffs, he shrugged. "Shot up like a weed, much to my relief. Until then, I'd lagged woefully behind my brothers. Thought I'd end up the runt of the litter. Now, the honor goes to Denny."

  Suspicious and ready to accuse him of slipping lifts into his pricy Italian loafers, Destry realized her feet were bare. When they first met, she wore boots with enough of a heel to bring h
er a little closer to eye level. After the minor tussle in the bar, she hadn't time to worry about the difference in their heights; all she wanted was to ravage his fine body. And she succeeded, much to her satisfaction.

  "Brothers?" Destry took a step back to prevent a crick in her neck. "How many?"

  "Four. Like you, I'm the youngest."

  The details she didn't care about when Liam was a man she never thought she'd see again, suddenly became important. New York City, at least the part she frequented, could be amazingly small. Liam was now an acquaintance and chances were good they would run into each other from time to time. Friendly—perhaps further down the line, friends, she was bound to learn little things about him. Might as well start now.

  Destry rang for the maid before she moved to the sofa and waved to the loveseat opposite.

  "Join me?"

  Liam took a seat. Blanche, with less of a deer caught in headlights look about her, entered the sitting room. When she saw who rang, her perfunctory smile bloomed.

  "Ms. Destry." Pink stained her cheeks. "I mean Destry. What can I get for you and your guest?"

  "Tea?" At her questioning glance, Liam nodded. "Tell the assistant cook to send an assortment of whatever Mrs. Finch baked this morning before she went out."

  "Apricot scones and Mexican Tea Cookies," Blanche informed her with a happy sigh. Obviously, the maid had sampled the pastries personally.

  "Perfect. Thank you, Blanche."

  "Destry." Blanche curtsied—actually curtsied! "Sir."

  "You have a fan."

  "I settle her nerves." Destry shrugged off the incident. "Once a little of the green wears off, Blanche will be less inclined toward hero worship."

  Something in Liam's expression shifted, something unreadable. More intense, more focused, the change made Destry slightly uncomfortable in a way she couldn't pinpoint.

  "You were kind—are kind." The Irish in his voice thickened—the sound was like warm honey. "I have the feeling, in Blanche, you've made an ally for life."