Filthy and Rich: A Billionaire Menage Romance Box Set

by Opal Carew

  Chloe, too. It appeared she’d stopped breathing altogether.

  Sylvia fought her way out of a lust-induced haze and managed to say, “End of the block.” She inclined her head to the left. “Door’s around the corner. They’re sneaky that way.”

  One side of his mouth lifted in the sexiest, most half-assed grin she’d ever seen. “I’ll try to keep my wits about me, then.”

  “Good call. They’ll bait you with the uber-healthy fat-free bran muffin and then hook you with the overstuffed chocolate chip cannoli with the extra shake of powdered sugar on top. Happens every damn time.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” He winked.

  Her pulse shot through the roof.

  Jesus! Gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe this man. More like tall, dark, hotter than—and erotically stirring as—hell.

  She could barely form a coherent thought.

  He seemed equally taken by her as his gaze slowly slid from her loose-about-her-shoulders auburn hair to her snow leopard–print ankle boots. His grin deepened.

  Glancing back up at her face, he said, “You really ought to be careful on that ladder. You could slip in those heels. Very dangerous.”

  Thank God she was currently half-sitting on a rung because a tremor of excitement ran through her legs. “A little danger keeps the adrenaline pumping.”

  The fire surrounding his irises flared. “I tend to agree.”

  “So, do you like what you see?”

  His brow quirked.

  Chloe gaped.

  Sylvia sighed.

  What had gotten into her? Had Seth Lofton flipped the flirt switch or what last night?

  But that wasn’t exactly what Sylvia had meant . . . or maybe it was. She shook her head to try to clear it.

  “The décor,” she hastily added. “I’m opening a day spa in a couple of weeks.”

  Amusement played over all his strong facial features. Sculpted cheeks. Square jaw. A nose that would have been perfect were it not for the slight bump up by his eyes that suggested he’d taken a punch or two in his lifetime. He had straight, pearl-white teeth, and lips that were damn tempting. Not too thick. Not too thin. A mouth that would no doubt feel as amazing on her body as Seth’s had.

  Whoa!

  She’d gone from not getting any in over three years to lusting after two mouthwatering men in less than twenty-four hours?

  And he clearly did not miss the blaze in her eyes. It took him a few seconds to tear his gaze from her. He looked around, absorbing the sight of the modest space. Nodding his head, he said, “Nice and cozy. Once you have the fireplace and candles lit, some relaxing music playing, it’ll be very inviting. How many treatment rooms do you have?”

  “Four,” she said in a miraculously more professional tone—not the sultry one she’d adopted from the moment he’d stepped into the reception area. “Plus separate locker rooms with saunas for men and women. The hot tub is co-ed.”

  “It’s very comfortable. I like the walls—a warm palette to go with the wood wainscoting. Some paintings will pull it all together.”

  “I picked up several at a gallery in Santa Fe last month.”

  “There you go. Well,” his gaze slid to Chloe, who still hadn’t uttered a word—or pulled in a full breath? “I’ll get out of your way so you can finish.” Though his attention suddenly fixated on the stacks of boxes in the far corner containing various lotions and potions. His brow knitted. He frowned for perhaps half a second, then shook his head, grinned once more, and added, “Thanks for the 411 on the coffee house. You lovely ladies have a great day.”

  He strolled out as sexily as he’d come in.

  The little bell over the door chimed and Chloe sucked in a sharp breath. She finally spoke. “You, too.”

  Sylvia laughed softly. “Um, he’s long gone, Chlo.”

  The other woman sank into a chair, looking quite dazed and confused.

  “Total hottie, huh?” Sylvia prompted.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “Yeah, well. We should get back to work, don’t you think?”

  Sylvia was grateful to have something to distract her from her still-skyrocketing pulse and the tingle against her clit.

  She put her coffee cup on the ladder’s foldout tray and reached for her paintbrush. Noticed her fingers shook ever so slightly and laughed a bit heartier. “I’ll be damned. I have a libido.” Thanks to Seth’s sexual CPR last night . . . and Mr. Mystery Man’s heated gaze this morning.

  Sylvia considered that she should have introduced herself. But then again . . . what would have been the point? She reminded herself she wasn’t looking to hook up with anyone.

  What had happened with Seth had been one of those magical instances when all the stars had aligned in her universe and she’d finally, finally sparked with someone.

  It’d been an anomaly. An opportunity unexpectedly knocking on her door—and she’d chosen to answer. Was incredibly thrilled she’d chosen to answer.

  But that had been a one-shot deal. A clearing away of the cobwebs and a jumpstart to her system. This was a new day. And Sylvia had plenty of tasks to focus on before hanging her shingle in two weeks.

  No time or the desire for actual romance.

  Though what had happened in Seth’s bedroom the previous evening continued to tickle the back of her brain . . .

  Because, admittedly, she still wanted him.

  Chapter Four

  Before Chloe had drained her coffee and vacated her chair, Sylvia had moved onto the corner where the long wall met the one that housed the tall fireplace and the oversized archway leading to the front of the spa. All the while, Chloe’s gaze had been on the hallway—as though she were trying to will tall, dark, and devilish to return.

  As Sylvia carefully dabbed at yet another sliver of space at the top of the wall that needed touching up, she heard Chloe behind her, shuffling through the mail and murmuring, “Bills, bills, bills. Where’s the originality here, people?”

  “You know,” Sylvia mused on a whole other topic, “when faced with a hunky male specimen, it is socially acceptable to speak to him.”

  “I will leave that to you, my friend. I already have my Mr. Perfect.”

  “That beast you call a cat will gnaw your leg off in your sleep if you don’t feed it six times a day.”

  “Yet he’s still so svelte.” She sighed. “But don’t grief on Sebastian. He’s a growing boy. Either that, or he has tapeworms that have tapeworms. I should get me some of those.”

  “Chloe, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your figure.”

  “Sure, what’s not to love about these hips?”

  Sylvia grinned. “I see men checking out your hips all the time. Or rather, that very provocative sway to them that you’ve got down pat.”

  “Sylvie, I’ve been no more interested in landing a guy than you. Otherwise, I’d trade in marathon-streaming Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead for P90X.”

  “You have a hell of a lot to offer, Chloe Lockhart. But I understand the things that hold you back.”

  “Which is why you don’t push. So shut it.”

  Sylvia scoffed as she went back to her work. Chloe had her own issues. Somewhat similar to Sylvia’s, but on a much more terrifying level. So Sylvia didn’t pressure her friend to get out there and meet someone—how hypocritical would that be, really?

  Chloe was content with her Netflix subscription and her cat. Both kept her on an even keel. As did her friendship with Sylvia, since they’d been through the toughest of times together. Had weathered some shitstorms and come out on the other side. Not unscathed, but they were both dealing with their emotional and physical scars. As best as they could, at any rate.

  Chloe said, “You’ve got a letter here from Elle Spa in the Willamette Valley.”

  “The owners want me to come back and manage the facility. Since I politely declined via phone, email, and text, they’ve resorted to snail mail. I get one every week now.”

  “In such demand.” Ch
loe snickered playfully. Then she rustled the newspaper.

  And shrieked.

  Sylvia’s arm jerked in surprise and her brush smashed into the tan-colored ceiling, leaving a glob of sienna paint.

  “Fuck!” she cried out. Then she dropped the brush into its cup and whipped her head around. “What the hell, Chlo? You scared the crap out of me! You better have just seen a mouse.”

  “In Bayfront? Not a chance. And if so, it’d be wearing butler’s tails and gloves. This . . . this is much worse. Sooo much worse.”

  She’d actually gone a bit pale. Sylvia was instantly concerned.

  Carefully making her way down the ladder, she crossed to where Chloe held the folded paper tightly to her ample chest. Her eyes wide. A distraught look on her pretty face.

  “Now you’re freaking me out,” Sylvia said. She thrust her hand toward her friend. “Give it over.”

  Chloe gave a violent shake of her head.

  Sylvia’s brow jumped. “Chloe. What are you wigging out about? Hand me the paper. Let me see.”

  “Oh, God,” Chloe said on a long breath. “You are going to flip out. This is horrible. Worst nightmare ever.”

  “Chloe.” Sylvia’s tone changed to a softer, sympathetic one. “We both know worst nightmares ever. Anything that’s on the front page of that paper can’t come remotely close to our nightmares. So hand it over. Please.”

  Her friend couldn’t argue the logic. Because Sylvia was right. She slowly pried the paper from her chest and held it out for Sylvia. Who ripped open the fold—and screamed bloody murder.

  “Yeah,” Chloe dryly quipped. “Like I said.”

  “Oh, my God.” Sylvia sank—or rather plopped down—into the chair Chloe had previously occupied, the bottom falling out of her world. “This can’t be right.”

  But there it was in glorious Technicolor—or whatever. An artist’s rendering of the opulent façade of a hotel and the blaring headline, “Ground Breaks Soon on Covington Collection’s Boutique Hotel.”

  Right. Here. In. Bayfront.

  “And you know what that means,” Chloe caustically said, pointing to a paragraph further down in the article. “You’ll want to read this, specifically.”

  Sylvia’s eyes scanned the first few sentences. She gasped. Her heart and stomach took a dive south. “No, no, and . . . no!” She reread the copy while shaking her head. “‘The luxury hotel will be home to a full-service, twenty-five-thousand-square-foot spa with thirty-five treatment rooms, Olympic-size indoor/outdoor pools, numerous hot tubs, and a gourmet bistro’—are you fucking kidding me?!” She leapt to her feet. “Our building is twenty-five hundred square feet. Twenty-five hundred! No pool. No bistro. A bistro? Seriously?”

  “Well . . . we do have the Jacuzzi . . .” Chloe clenched her teeth as though those were the most painful words she’d ever uttered.

  Not true, but Sylvia got her point. Because she felt the agony just as sharply.

  “This can’t be happening,” Sylvia said—cried?

  “They don’t break ground on the hotel until the beginning of January. Still a few weeks away,” Chloe offered as consolation. “And they won’t open the spa for another year.”

  “So that’s it?” Sylvia demanded to no one in particular—well, perhaps the universe. “I get one fucking year of business? Or has this impending spa put me out of business before I’ve even opened my doors? I can’t believe this!”

  “Yes, it’s bad,” Chloe said, not beating around the bush. “Really bad. But, Sylvie, not the end of the world.”

  “Love you to pieces, Chlo, but yes. It is.”

  Sylvia paced the hardwood floor. This was the absolute last obstacle she’d expected to encounter.

  Yet she said, “I should have known this was all too good to be true. I was so upset when Cal Davidson passed away. He was my favorite client when I worked at FLOAT Luxury Spa in Santa Barbara. Then his lawyer showed up and told me Cal had left this building to me, because he’d never done anything with it and he knew I’d spent some time in Bayfront. He thought I should set up my own operation here.”

  It had been a golden opportunity, despite the somber circumstances wrapped around the gift.

  Sylvia rambled on with nervous anxiety. “Mitzy Talkington, who’d previously owned the only day spa in town, had packed up shop and relocated to a larger facility in Beverly Hills. Leaving a void in Bayfront for me to fill, to capitalize on supply vs. demand.”

  “Which is pretty much shot to shit now,” Chloe grumbled. “We can’t compete with a spa ten times our size—or one with indoor and outdoor pools and full-sized hot tubs. And since it’s in Bayfront, it’ll surely be an internationally ranked spa. Damn it. ”

  “We’ll be laughed right out of town.” Sylvia felt sick to her stomach. “How could this possibly be happening?”

  Sylvia’s plan all along had been to start small—affordably—and build her way up. But a hotel with the space, resources, and bankroll of the world-renowned Covington Collection would grind her little business into oblivion with the heel of its corporate shoe.

  Regardless of the dread seizing her very soul and making it incredibly difficult to breathe, she forced herself to continue reading the article. “’Hotelier Noah Donovan brings exclusive luxury resorts to affluent communities, working with residents, merchants, and political leaders to ensure every hotel design is reflective of the town’s personality and economic stature.’ Well isn’t that special of him?”

  She reached the end of the next paragraph and flipped to page four to continue reading.

  Only to feast her eyes on the accompanying photo.

  Of one devastatingly handsome man who made her pulse spike.

  Tall, dark and devilish.

  He was Noah Donovan?

  Sylvia screamed again. And thrust the paper at Chloe.

  Who stared with a gaping mouth at the picture. Then bellowed, “No way!”

  “Way.”

  Noah Donovan was just being served his triple espresso by a perky twentysomething waitress when the front door of the coffee house flew open. Christmas bells jingled, a recording of Santa ho-ho-hoed, and in stalked the striking redhead from the building down the way, the one he’d stopped into on a whim.

  Well, it hadn’t been a mere whim. As he’d been passing by, trying to locate the coffee shop, he’d noticed her faux-frosty, snowflake-accented window with Bayfront Day Spa scrawled across the large pane in elegant script, along with the highlights of services offered. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. And he couldn’t say he regretted the impromptu decision to drop in.

  Though . . . she might not feel the same way. Her gaze was now steely and it bypassed the enormous, gold-and-silver decorated tree in the corner and barely skimmed the crowd before homing in on him.

  Sparks flew in those vibrant sapphire eyes of hers—not entirely of the sexual variety. But that was okay. Her fervent reaction to him sent Noah’s testosterone into the red zone anyway.

  Damn, she was something else in a tight sweater that hugged her full breasts and leggings that accentuated the shapely curve of her hips and the long line of her toned legs. And those seriously sexy boots . . . They made him hot.

  So, too, did her hair. Waves of dark auburn tumbled past her shoulders. Enhanced with gold and copper strands, which created a fiery effect that really got his blood pumping. Not to mention a stunning face with plump crimson-colored lips and her large, penetrating eyes.

  She marched toward him with her fists clenched at her sides—so she’d figured out who he was?

  When she reached his table, she stood before it and said, “You could have at least had the decency to introduce yourself.”

  She was furious. And what that did to him was just this side of explosive.

  He said, “You’re probably right. But it was an unintentional drive-by. I didn’t know anyone was planning to open a spa in Bayfront.”

  As she glared at him, he got to his feet, towering over her, and extended his hand. “
Noah Donovan. And you are . . . ?”

  She seethed. Though she was momentarily distracted by the return of his coffee companion, who’d been in the men’s room when she’d entered.

  Her wary gaze slid to Seth Lofton.

  “Sylvia,” he said with a crooked brow, obviously having overheard her intense exchange with Noah.

  “Seth.” She ground her teeth a moment, then asked, “You know this guy?”

  “As a matter of fact I do,” Seth told her in a somewhat amused tone—mostly because he was used to Noah pissing women off one way or another. Usually because Noah had forgotten to call or send flowers after he’d fucked them. Noah had a short attention span. It was never anything personal.

  “Unbelievable,” Sylvia muttered under her breath.

  “Nice to see you again,” Seth said, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then took his seat. He explained, “Noah and I are best friends. We go way back to when we were sixteen and I transferred to a prep school he was attending in San Francisco.”

  “And did your bestie tell you that he’s intending to ruin my business?” Her voice was still low, though her razor-sharp tone drew some attention from nearby patrons.

  Since her fists remained balled, Noah dropped his hand. Being all formal and professional was not going to win the popularity contest with this woman.

  “Actually,” Seth replied, “I didn’t even know what you did for a living until right now. You weren’t into divulging details last night . . . nor did you give me your card. As though you were going to pretend the whole encounter had never happened.” He gave her a pointed look.

  Noah bit back an oh, you did not! smirk. It wouldn’t diffuse the situation, only ramp up her rage.

  But still . . . Seth and this minx had gotten it on last night?

  Not that Noah was surprised. It did, however, provide an enticing twist to this intriguing new dynamic.