Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Cove Book 5)

by Erica Penrod

  “Yes, of course.” She straightened up. “And you did very well tonight.”

  Jamon pulled her closer, or maybe she was the one who moved. Being near him was easy and their bodies fit well on the dance floor. “As long as I’ve got you by my side, I’m fine. Just don’t leave me alone anytime soon.”

  There it was, that flicker in his eyes that made her believe there was something more to his words. Or was it just the stars’ reflection shining through the glass ceiling? She couldn’t be sure. She was so analytical that she tended to miss cues, especially when it came to the subtle nuances of romance.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” The hostess called the crowd to attention. The band came to a slow, delicate stop of the song, and heads turned to the front of the room. “The auction is now closed, and I’ll announce the highest bidders.”

  They stopped dancing. Jamon kept his hand on her lower back as they listened to the names and bids being called out.

  “The first piece, by Franco Illamo, goes to Mr. Jamon West for his generous bid of 1.2 million dollars.” An audible gasp followed by applause filled the room.

  Gemma’s brow beaded up and her stomach felt queasy. “Jamon, I had no idea you bid that high. You don’t even like the painting.” Even though she’d worked with a billionaire before, spending that kind of money on a piece of art seemed insane. The purchase didn’t make sense coming from Jamon. “I had a difficult time convincing you to spend ten thousand on a tux.”

  He turned to her and slipped his hand into hers. “I’ve got a confession to make.” Jamon pulled her to the side of the dance floor. “I lied. I love the painting.”

  She furrowed her brow. “No, you don’t. I saw your reaction.”

  “Yes, but I saw yours when you saw that picture, and so I bought it for you.” He tilted his head and studied her face.

  “Jamon, I can’t accept that. It’s way too much.” She found it difficult to think when his dark eyes searched hers.

  He leaned in as her breath caught in anticipation. His full lips parted, and the air left her lungs. Her knees weakened, and her body trembled. She closed her eyes, unable to fight the heady pull drawing her to him. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew they were in public and she should pull away. All night she’d fought to find her footing. She’d come as his assistant but acted like his date. He’d held her close, like he cherished her, a sensation that she found all too pleasant. And then there was the painting. He’d bought her a painting.

  Just as his warm breath brushed her lips, his phone rang. The completely ordinary sound broke through the fairy-tale feeling. Gemma startled and stepped back. “You should answer that.” Good sense raced through her veins like a shot of diet cola. She ran shaking hands down her dress, smoothing it out. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, allowing herself to be swept up in the moment.

  Jamon’s shoulders dropped and he nodded. He pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. His mouth set in a hard line and his eyes narrowed, making him look dangerous and angry.

  “Jamon, are you okay?” The fierceness on his face was so unlike the laid-back cowboy she’d had to remind to be on time.

  “It’s my brother,” he growled as he took her arm. “And that’s the end of our evening. I’ll be right back.”

  He spoke quickly, and quietly. Too quietly for Gemma to overhear him with the conversations going on in the glass room. When he hung up, he jerked his head to the exit and they were off, the evening indeed over.

  Gemma stared out the limousine window as Charles drove through the damp streets of Seattle. Even though she shared the back seat with Jamon, she felt alone. Jamon leaned against the armrest with his head propped in his hand, looking out into the night. Whatever magic Gemma imagined was between them was gone, disappeared instantly the moment Jamon got the phone call from his brother. He’d mentioned his brother once before, and she hadn’t thought to ask him anything else about his sibling. Jamon shut down, no easygoing smile or funny remarks, and he hadn’t touched her again. He didn’t offer his arm or take her hand, and though Gemma knew she shouldn’t care, she missed his closeness.

  But all of this was nothing compared to the sadness that filled his eyes. Usually bright and brimming with an excitement, his dark eyes were overcast. Whatever the conversation had been between him and his brother, the light was gone and so was the possibility of a kiss—which, she reminded herself, was a good thing, even though her lips trembled at the thought of Jamon’s mouth on hers. Maybe it was time Gemma had a disheartening conversation of her own, not with someone on the other end of a phone call, but with the woman looking back in the mirror. Gemma needed to set herself straight: Jamon West was her boss and nothing more.

  Chapter Six

  Jamon ran the brush over the horse’s back, removing any loose debris before he put the saddle pad on the horse’s back. He tried to forget about last night’s phone call, but decided the barn was the only place he might get a second’s peace.

  Howard worked beside him. He whistled as he saddled a three-year-old bay gelding. The older man knew Jamon so well, well enough to know someone to saddle up with was all the talking Jamon needed. When it came to Waylon, no one besides Koven understood the deep rift that tore through Jamon’s soul like Howard did. Howard had known the boys since they were knee-high to a grasshopper, as he liked to say, and Howard loved Waylon too.

  That was the difference between Koven and Howard. Koven looked out for Jamon’s best interest, even if it meant protecting him from his family. Which Jamon appreciated, but his best friend couldn’t truly empathize when it came to Waylon. Jamon couldn’t explain why he still loved his brother so much after all the hell Waylon had put him through, but Howard could. Howard understood that somewhere beneath the addiction was Jamon’s older brother who got up early every morning just to make sure his Jamon had a hot breakfast before school after their parents died and put his own dreams aside to take care of the small family they had left.

  An ache, even more painful than the one he felt at the loss of his parents, resonated through his bones. His parents’ death was an accident, but Jamon felt betrayed by Waylon’s choice of drugs above all else, even though he tried not to. He knew the three “C’s”: Jamon didn’t cause his brother’s addiction, he couldn’t cure it, and he couldn’t control it. At this point, Jamon wondered if his brother was even capable of choosing anything anymore, or if the drugs had destroyed that part of his brain. His addiction dictated every move he made.

  Jamon tossed the saddle over the horse’s back and arranged the seat. He reached beneath the animal’s belly for the cinch and looped the leather strap through the buckle several times, securing the saddle in place. His dad had taught him how to work the cinch, and he wished his dad was here to tell him what to do about Waylon. Jamon attended support groups for family members of addiction and read as much information as he could.

  He never meant to be an enabler, but the line between enabling and love felt obsolete when his brother pleaded and promised things would be better. How could he not give his brother money when he had so much of it? That was the hardest part of all: the money. Waylon had become even more of a monster believing his brother could fund his addiction. Jamon paid for Waylon to enter one of the most successful rehabs around, but Waylon lasted two weeks and left. Eventually, Jamon decided distance seemed to be his only option, and he made the move to Seattle.

  “Looks like you’ve got company.” Howard’s voice surprised Jamon, pulling his thoughts from the past.

  Jamon glanced over his shoulder. He heard the click of her insensible shoes against the pavers and saw the gentle sway of her narrow hips as Gemma made her way towards them. His heart lunged, ready to take off at a dead run at the sight of her red hair coiled tightly on the top of her head, which allowed him to see every part of her face: the smooth plane of her forehead, the arched brows just a shade darker than her hair, summer sky eyes, and lips the same color
as a peach, which he imagined tasted just as sweet. Jamon leaned against the horse. His legs wanted to give out when he remembered how close he’d come to kissing her last night. Just like a lot of things, Waylon had ruined the moment.

  The memory of Gemma’s scent managed to waft through the barn smells to reach his nose. Jamon found it hard to believe that he was that in tune with her, but then Gemma seemed to affect him in ways he’d never imagined. The first day he saw her, he’d known she was beautiful, but not his type. Not that he really had a type. Before inventing Injectshox, he didn’t have time for dating. After the money came, women appeared out of nowhere, all vying for his attention with dollar signs in their eyes. Jamon never knew if they liked him or his bank account, and after a time, he ignored them.

  There was something special about this woman, and it had nothing to do with her public relations skills.

  * * *

  Gemma had spent last night, worried about Jamon. She wondered if things would be awkward today after the almost kiss, but mostly she fretted over Jamon’s drastic change in behavior and if he would still be withdrawn today. He’d dropped her off and walked her to the door, but Gemma was certain he wouldn’t remember doing so. His despondent state was so out of character, she couldn’t help but be curious as to what had happened between Jamon and his brother to cause such a drastic change.

  Her jaw had dropped as she took in the horse palace, nearly the size of the house, with a gable roof and large brick columns supporting a porch-like overhang that wrapped around as far as Gemma could see. A massive dormer, finished in the same stonework as the house, arched over the entryway. Red hardboard gave the outdoor space a pop of color, and gorgeous light fixtures in a deep brown hung every so many feet.

  But what blew her away was what waited on the other side of the gigantic sliding doors. She’d been sure the place was supposed to be the barn, but when she entered and saw the rock fireplace with a beautiful painting of horses running through a green field hanging over the generous wood mantel, with two leather chairs and a luxurious sofa gathered around, she admitted she might have gotten the wrong building. To the left of the sitting area was a giant flat-screen on the wall with dark cherry cabinets on either side. There was a thick black marbled counter with a sink and a raised bar with stools wrapped around the outside. Stainless steel appliances were in the corner.

  On the opposite side of the room, there were shelves lining the wall, with framed photographs, trophies, and buckles. Two rows of beautiful leather saddles sat on stands beneath the shelving, each a work of art, with what she assumed was hand-tooled designs. She had no idea if Jamon rode in them or not.

  There were two aisles on either side of the fireplace and stalls with wrought iron tops and wood-paneled bottoms with the JW brand carved into each door. The floor was a herringbone pattern of brick pavers, immaculately clean. Gemma heard noises to the right, so she headed in that direction, where she was greeted by the scent of hay, sawdust, and horses. Several horses were in the stalls, and small framed signs were to every side. Gemma read the first one she came to: “Fast Cat.” Gemma crinkled her brow and decided that must be the horse’s name. She read the second stall’s sign: “Spotted Lady.” She raised a brow, until she looked over the door and saw a beautiful grey horse with black spots. Well, that one makes sense. She smiled to herself as she read each horse’s name as she passed the stalls. Eventually she heard someone whistling and knew she was close. Several stalls later, she came to an open area where Jamon and another man stood with two horses tied to a railing.

  “Hello.” She approached the horses with trepidation in her steps. “Sophia said I would find you out here.” Gemma bit the corner of her lip and gazed around. “I thought the barn wasn’t finished yet.”

  “This part with the stables and tack room is, but the indoor riding arena isn’t completely finished.”

  “I didn’t know barns looked like this.” Gemma continued to gaze at the vaulted ceilings with tongue and groove finish, custom chandeliers lighting up the walkway between the stables. Jamon watched her, and her heart sped up, her lips curved in a nervous smile.

  Howard laughed. “Most barns don’t.” He offered Gemma his hand. “Hi, I’m Howard.”

  Jamon shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners.” He watched as Gemma took Howard’s hand and smiled. “Gemma, this is Howard. A longtime family friend who was kind enough or pitied me, one of the two—” Jamon gave Howard the slighted glance. “—to come with me from Texas to help run my horse business.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Howard shook her hand and gave her a big, toothy grin.

  “Gemma Stonewall,” she replied, grateful to Howard for interrupted the awkward moment.

  After the introductions, Howard turned to Jamon. “I’ll be out in the round pen.” Howard tipped his hat to Gemma. “It was nice to meet you.” He untied the horse and led the animal away.

  Gemma stepped back, unsure how to act around the big animals. They were so powerful, their muscles moving under their hides even as they shifted positions. The memory of the horse running down the driveway, the force she created and the way she could have easily trampled over Gemma, was enough to keep her cautious.

  She watched Howard leave before turning back to Jamon. “There are just a few things I need to go over with you and wondered when the best time would be?” If Jamon thought it strange she’d made a personal appearance instead of texted or called, he didn’t let on. Yes, she could’ve taken either route, but she’d wanted to see him again, to see if he’d recovered from last night—if they had. An almost kiss could be a problem for two people who worked as closely as they did. Or it could be forgotten in a snap, if that’s how they decided to play it.

  “I’ll be back to the house in about an hour or so.” Jamon turned to her. “I’m going to ride this morning; I need to clear my head.” His eyes searched hers. “You understand, right?”

  Gemma nodded. She knew what it was like to love something so much; no matter what else was going on in her life, she’d had her passion to turn to. Ballet had been that for her, and watching Jamon with the horses was a painful reminder of all she’d lost. Even though a few years had passed, nothing seemed to fill the void. “Yes, I do.” Her words were filled with emotion, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She didn’t intend to be so personal, to have their short meeting go deep.

  Jamon smiled softly. “You really loved ballet.” She couldn’t answer, but he continued. “You should come ride the horses sometime. I know it sounds strange, but just being near these animals is therapeutic. Not that I’m saying you need therapy.” He grinned, and all at once, the light was back in his eyes.

  Gemma laughed. “I don’t think you know me well enough to determine that just yet.”

  “Maybe not.” Jamon stroked the animal’s neck. “But I’d like to.”

  She cocked a brow. “You want to determine my mental status?” Gemma tried to hold a straight face, but her lips quivered.

  “No.” Jamon glanced down at the ground, then looked back up at her. “I’d like to take you out. Not because I pay you—wait …” His face flushed bright red. “That didn’t sound good.”

  “I understand.” Gemma chuckled. “At least, I think I do.” She exhaled, relieved to know that Jamon must’ve felt something last night too. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “But that won’t bother me. How about a compromise? What if we spend some time with the horses and I teach you how to ride? We can keep it as professional as you want.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t been working for you that long, and I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our working relationship.”

  “I promise you, learning to ride won’t change anything between us professionally.”

  Gemma hesitated to answer. He’d promised things wouldn’t change professionally, but he hadn’t promised they wouldn’t change personally
. And personally was a whole different type of worry. In the few minutes she’d been with Jamon in the barn, she was willing to abandon her common sense and forget about the decision she’d made earlier to regard Jamon as her boss and not the man she’d suddenly found herself attracted to. If she spent any more time with him outside of work, she had no idea what she might end up doing.

  “Come on, I know you’ll love working with a horse. Plus, if you look at it from a professional standpoint …” He winked and gave her a lopsided smile. “… you’ll understand more about the world I live in, and it might make your job easier.”

  The man was difficult to argue with, because she didn’t want to. “Okay. If I agree to this, it’s strictly part of my job. I think you’re right: if I learn more about horses, I might understand what you’re talking about.” She folded her arms. “At least some of the time.”

  “Deal. You have my word. I won’t do anything unprofessional.” He offered his hand, and she took it. “Until you ask me to.” He smiled while his eyes traveled from hers down to her lips.

  Gemma’s knees weakened. “That won’t happen. I’ll be in my office.” She spun around and took off. Another second longer and heaven knows what she might have asked him to do.

  Chapter Seven

  “Give them as much as they need.” Jamon leaned back in the overstuffed chair the next day. He and Koven were in the great room, having an informal meeting about the construction of his research building. “I want the facility up and running as soon as possible.”