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

by Mary J. Williams

  "You've enjoyed your dates with Liam."

  "Yes." Much to her surprise. "He makes me laugh."

  "A smoking hot body and a sense of humor? If he cooks, honey, you hit the trifecta jackpot."

  "Whether Liam cooks is irrelevant. I have Mrs. Finch to make my meals. Not to mention a city filled with more restaurants than I could sample in a lifetime. What I didn't have before he came along was someone who could get my motor running."

  Bryce made a happy humming sound. "You've always enjoyed a healthy sex life. You finally found a man who knows his way around a woman's chassis."

  "If you recall, I didn't always like sex."

  "Right." Sympathy lit her sister's eyes. "Your first time was a bit traumatic."

  "The books I read did not prepare me."

  "Mm." Bryce nodded. "Poor baby. Cursed with the hymen from hell."

  Destry hadn't been in a hurry to lose her virginity. She waited, not out of a sense of morality, or fear. Her problem was she didn't care for any of the candidates for the job. Once she entered college and was away from the boys she knew most of her life, she had no problem picking the right guy.

  Eager, and informed—or so she thought—Destry welcomed a man into her bed for the first time. She expected a bit of discomfort. What freaked her out was the amount of blood. When her partner rolled away, their lower bodies were covered in red fluid. And her sheets looked like she'd been with Jack the Ripper.

  For a moment, she thought the sweet young man next to her would faint. Then, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his clothes, and ran.

  "Poor guy. I think I scarred him for life. For a year, whenever he saw me on campus, he turned and walked the other way."

  "And you decided to never have sex again."

  "Can you blame me?" Destry never did get the blood out of the sheets or off the mattress. Both ended up in the trash. "Luckily, you, Andi, and Calder talked me off the celibacy ledge. I found someone with a bit more experience—"

  "Your history teacher."

  Destry took a moment to savor the memory. If not for her sisters, and the eminently qualified Professor Dyson Giles, she might have missed out on one of life's great pleasures. Hot, sweaty, endorphin-inducing sex.

  "Ever wonder what happened to him?" Bryce asked as she reached for another cookie.

  "Five years later, he married an eager co-ed who popped out three children in quick succession. She got her figure back, but he gained fifty pounds and lost his hair."

  "You kept in touch?"

  Destry was as surprised as Bryce.

  "I get a Christmas card every year." She smiled when she thought of the enclosed pictures. "They look happy."

  "All our lovers, past and present, brief or long term, influence the way we feel about sex. Now, you get to add the yummy Liam Stanton to your list." Bryce waggled her eyebrows. "Tonight."

  Destry enjoyed the time she and Liam spent together. They talked, and laughed, and kissed—boy, could he kiss. His hands roamed a little further after each date. But true to his word, he didn't push. A welcome side effect of her spontaneous five-date rule was the chance to get to know him a little better.

  Yes, Destry enjoyed the buildup. Four dates in less than four days wasn't a long time. However, now that the finish line was merely hours away, the wait seemed harder—interminable.

  Last night, when Liam left her at her door, breathless from his kisses, he whispered a promise in her ear, "I've been a very good boy. Tomorrow, I finally get my prize."

  Liam was right about one thing. Barring a disaster of epic proportions, they would have sex—tonight. But the reward wouldn't be his alone. She helped sow the seeds. Now, she was ready to enjoy the big, juicy harvest.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ~~~~

  A BESTSELLING AUTHOR in the family came with perks. One of the best was the chance to read an advance copy before her book hit the stores.

  Destry, her personal copy of Bryce's newest, THE DOUBLE TRAP, in her hand, decided the perfect place to lose herself in her sister's expertly crafted words was curled up in a comfortable chair with a roaring fire to chase away the pre-fall chill.

  Liam had a late meeting he couldn't postpone and wouldn't pick her up until seven o'clock. The story—sure to be a spine-chilling ride—was the perfect way to pass the time.

  As she approached the sitting room, Destry opened the cover, started reading, and was instantly pulled into the main protagonist's journey. A shiver ran down her spine before she turned the first page and she knew Bryce had another winner on her hands.

  "You promised to spend the day with me."

  The sound of Billie's voice, loud and piercing, brought Destry to a stop. Frowning, she looked up as Ingo Hunter strode into the foyer. He'd appropriated the downstairs library for his own use. The smell of the cigars he liked so much reached her nose before he did.

  The thought of her great-grandfather's first edition books polluted by Hunter's bad habit was another thing to add to the growing list of reasons to hate the man.

  Destry braced herself for another unwanted confrontation. Distracted by Billie's wail of anger, Hunter didn't notice her.

  "You can't leave." Billie, growing baby bump covered by a flowing, two-piece, sea-green negligée trimmed in black marabou, stumbled into the room.

  Worried she might fall and hurt herself, Destry jumped to catch her. Coolly unconcerned, Hunter crossed his arms and didn't make a move to help.

  "He hates me," Billie wailed as her bright red nails dug into Destry's forearm.

  "So damn melodramatic," Ingo scoffed. "I've been shut up in that bedroom with you for two days. Damn place looks like a mutated cotton candy factory. If I don't get some goddamned air, my head will explode."

  Insensitivity to the mother of his unborn child aside, Destry was surprised by Hunter's outburst. Slick to the point of oily, he presented a cool, unruffled demeanor to the world. Until now, she never saw more than a flicker of annoyance from the man.

  Destry knew how trying Billie could be. However, his undisguised impatience—even anger—was so out of character, she had to wonder if something else had happened to set him off.

  "Calm down." Destry felt another wave of worry when the hand she placed on Billie's ribcage encountered nothing but skin and bones. For a woman about to enter her third trimester, her mother was alarmingly thin. "You don't want to upset the baby."

  "Baby! Baby!" Tears filled Billie's eyes but didn't spill over. Even in the middle of a hysterical tirade, she was cautious not to mess up her meticulously applied makeup. "The only thing anyone thinks about anymore is the baby. I'm nothing more than an incubator. If I die, you can hook me up to life support and pull the plug the second the thing comes out."

  "I've had enough." Hunter's gaze flicked over Destry. "You deal with her. I'll be at my club."

  The moment the front door slammed, Billie's tears dried up. Quite a talent, Destry thought. But her mother wasn't about to let a captive audience go. She still had another scene to act out.

  "See what I have to deal with?"

  "Why don't you go to your room and lie down. I'll have one of the maids bring you something to eat."

  "I can't eat. And I don't want a maid." Her voice faded to almost nothing as if each word would be her last. "You help me."

  Destry counted to ten and wrapped an arm around Billie's waist. But when she headed down the hall, her mother shook her head.

  "The elevator is out of order."

  Destry and her sisters preferred the stairs—good exercise. Studiously, she avoided the elevator because to her mind, the thing was nothing more than an early twentieth-century metal deathtrap. The creaks and groans gave her the creeps. She was convinced the cables might snap at any second and anyone foolish enough to enter would plunge to the basement. Splat. Flatter than a pancake.

  Other than the staff, only Billie, who refused to sweat on principle, used the elevator even though her room was just one
flight up.

  "How did you get down here?"

  "Ingo helped me."

  Resigned, Destry assisted Billie's limp body to the foot of the long staircase. Naturally, her mother made the process as difficult as possible, each step slow and laborious. Not to mention the sound effects. The whimpering hiccups, the high-pitched sighs. Jeez, talk about overkill.

  Normally, from the foyer to the second floor took twenty seconds—tops. With a less-than-cooperative person in tow, Destry wondered if they'd finish the trip in less in an hour. Rather than find out, she gave up and whisked Billie into her arms.

  Billie clung to her neck. "I had no idea you were so strong."

  At the top, Destry headed straight down the hall to her mother's room.

  "I hope you keep your muscles to yourself when a man is around. They want to dominate. Last thing you want is for him to worry you might beat him."

  "With a whip?" Keeping a straight face, Destry laid her mother on the bed.

  The joke either went over Billie's head or, as usual, she chose to ignore the salty side of her daughter's sense of humor.

  "Arm wrestling. Or tennis. Something athletic. Men like to win. They need to win. If you haven't learned by now, let me tell you. A man's ego is a fragile thing and needs to be treated with the utmost care."

  "What about my ego?"

  "You can't have one. Not around a man. Not if you want to hold onto him."

  Yikes. So much for the modern woman. Destry realized how lucky she was that her mother kept her distance during her formative years. The damage Billie might have done on her developing psyche, and sense of worth was too horrifying to contemplate.

  Destry hadn't been in her mother's room in years. The last time, she vaguely remembered lavender walls. And purple, lots of purple. As she looked around, she realized Hunter hit the nail on the head when he referenced cotton candy. Pink, pink, and more pink. From the bed to the carpet, everything screamed Pepto-Bismol overload.

  "About Ingo." As long as the creep was on her mind, Destry figured she should broach the subject. She might not get another chance. "Why him? You could do so much better."

  "Miller, for example?"

  Billie loved to throw Destry's father in her face as though she were somehow responsible for her parents' failed marriage. The way her mother liked to rewrite history to make herself look better, chances were she believed her own narrative.

  "Forget the past. You're a beautiful woman who doesn't have to settle for second best."

  "Once, when I was younger, I could have any man with the snap of my fingers. And did." Surrounded by fluffy pink pillows, Billie closed her eyes, her smile wistful. "Even the ones I didn't want, I took simply because I could. Those days are over."

  "I realize you're in love with Hunter, but—"

  "Love?" Billie's laughter, sharp and biting, filled the room. "Who said anything about love?"

  "You did." Destry remembered her mother's words vividly. Even now, the idea made her stomach heave.

  "Oh, well. Perhaps I did, briefly."

  "Not anymore?"

  Had Billie finally come to her senses? After months of worry as Destry and her sisters searched for some way to rid themselves of Hunter, would their mother take the initiative and toss the snake out for good?

  The burst of hope Destry felt turned out to be brief and fleeting.

  "Passion is for the young and foolish. I'm not old." Billie reached for the hand mirror she kept by her bed at all times. One new wrinkle or sag and she called her plastic surgeon immediately. "However, wisdom has taught me love is fleeting. Now, I need a man who wants me for a different reason than my physical appearance."

  "Money?"

  Destry expected Billie to object. Instead, she shrugged.

  "Why not? I have plenty to go around."

  "Except Ingo Hunter wants more than your inheritance. He wants the entire Benedict fortune. And until your son turns eighteen, Hunter will control everything."

  Billie's hand rested on her stomach. Again, she didn't protest, she smiled.

  "Ingo was right."

  "Doubtful." Destry leaned against the door, arms crossed. "He isn't terribly bright, you know?"

  "Smart enough to figure out why you and your sisters resent our relationship." Her mother's gaze sharpened. "My darling daughters. The plan was for one of you to give birth to the Benedict heir. Thought I was past the age when I posed a threat. Turned out I wasn't as dried up as you believed. My child will be king. Not yours. Not your sisters'."

  King? Since when did the Benedict fortune come with a crown? Destry let the bizarre comment drop. She had a more important point to make.

  "Hunter's a lousy businessman, Billie. By the time your son reaches his majority, he might not have anything left to inherit."

  "Ingo promised if I gave him a son, he'd never leave me."

  Finally, the truth was out. Destry knew her mother was needy and afraid to be without a man. After a lifetime of lovers who desired the woman more than her money, why, if she were ready to settle on just one, did she have to root around until she hit the bottom of the barrel?

  With a dramatic flair honed by years of practice, Billie threw one arm over her head. The other, she draped over her eyes.

  "I don't expect you to understand. Go. Look at yourself." One languid finger pointed to where a full-length mirror dominated the far wall. "Go on!"

  "I know what I look like." But to keep the peace, Destry did as Billie asked. "Okay. What am I supposed to see other than the same face I've looked at all my life?"

  "So young. No lines. Everything firm. Gravity hasn't taken its toll. Yet."

  "The idea of aging doesn't frighten me."

  "Talk to me again in twenty years." Billie laughed. "You won't always be twenty-two with perky breasts and a naturally tight backside."

  Destry gave herself a critical once over. Tits and ass were damn fine if she did say so. As for her age…

  "You're right. I won't always be twenty-two—for a very good reason. I'm twenty-seven."

  Billie's eyes flew open, panic written on her face.

  "You're twenty-two," she insisted. "I should know since I was there the day you were born."

  "You should know," Destry conceded. "Obviously, you don't."

  "But… No. You must be wrong."

  "Want to see my birth certificate?"

  "If you're twenty-seven, I have to be— Noooo!"

  Billie curled into a ball and sobbed. Destry knew she should feel sympathetic. She even tried to summon the slightest ounce of the emotion—and failed.

  She could have walked away—probably should have gone to her room and left her mother to wallow. But after years of pent-up resentment and thinly veiled animosity on both sides, the chance to rub a little salt in Billie's self-inflicted wound was too good to pass up.

  "Guess you did the math. Come December, you, mommy dearest, will turn the big 5-0."

  The sound of crying increased. Destry chastised her lack of impulse control. The momentary bout of pettiness was more Billie's speed—and the last thing she wanted was to be anything like the woman who gave her life, but little else.

  "You need to eat something."

  "No." Petulant, Billie tossed a pillow in Destry's direction. Lousy aim and little arm strength meant the intended weapon traveled to the end of the king-sized bed and no farther. "Go away."

  "I'll send some hot soup. And a sandwich."

  "Want cocoa."

  Who was the child and who was the mother? Destry rolled her eyes.

  "Fine. If you eat the main meal first."

  Destry closed the bedroom door behind her. The woman was exhausting. For the briefest moment, she felt a wave of sympathy for Ingo Hunter. The feeling turned to anger when she remembered why the leach attached himself to her family.

  Affection and love had nothing to do with the relationship. Billie needed a man as a balm to her fading youth. Hunter ne
eded money. Always money.

  Worst of all, Billie was a willing participant in Hunter's bid to gain control of the Benedict fortune. Perhaps Destry should have seen the twist in the plot coming, but she hadn't.

  The money didn't matter to Destry or her sisters. They had more than they would ever need, and if they lost everything, they had the skills to make a good living. However, the need to get Ingo Hunter out of their lives was more important than ever. The soul of an innocent child was at stake.

  If Billie wouldn't protect her son from the devil, the task was up to the Benedict sisters.

  "We won't let you down," Destry promised her unborn brother. "You're ours. We love you. And we always will, forever, no matter what."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ~~~~

  TIMING WAS EVERYTHING. In business and in life, a few seconds here or there could be the difference between success and failure.

  On the night Liam and Destry met, he was on the last day of his vacation. Tired, in a good way from a month of hiking and fishing, he could have spent the evening in his motel room and been none the wiser as to what he missed.

  After a shower, Liam lay on the lumpy mattress and stared at the ceiling. Who knows what he might have done if the TV had worked or the cell phone service didn't cut out every thirty seconds. Bored, he took the keys to his rented truck and tracked down the nearest bar. The place was a dive, but he'd seen worse. A few drinks, some pool, and he'd be ready for a good night's sleep.

  Timing. If Liam stayed in his room or hadn't talked himself into one more beer, he never would have met Destry. She shot into his life like a whirlwind. Unexpected, unpredictable, disruptive, she left a trail of men in her wake, gave him the hottest sex of his life, and disappeared without a trace.

  One wild night, an unexpected meeting, one afternoon talk over tea, and four crammed together, but utterly memorable dates didn't add up to a lot in the scheme of things. Yet, he felt the time they spent together was significant.

  If asked, he would have sworn he knew everything about Destry and nothing at all. She was an open book and a baffling mystery.