Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Cove Book 5)

by Erica Penrod

  “I’m not sure I’d say that just yet. I’m really fond of organizing, but you do have a point.” She scratched Butterscotch between the ears. “Although, even if I end up loving horses, I’ll never run out of my condo in shorts and a pair of cowboy boots.” She lifted a leg and pulled the stirrup up with her foot. “Even if they’re this pretty.”

  Jamon stopped beside her and rested his hand on the saddle horn. “Never say never.”

  She watched his mouth when he spoke and had to swallow back her desire to lean over and put her lips on his. Gemma didn’t understand why she found herself longing to kiss this man. She’d hadn’t entertained the thought of dating since she’d left the ballet world, and even if she had, Jamon West wasn’t her type. Or maybe that was the point: she’d never met anyone like him before, and this was a whole new experience. He was handsome, but in a rugged cowboy way, so unlike the polished, posh men she’d associated with back in New York. His boyish charm mesmerized her. Her heart and body seemed enchanted by him as she fought the yearning to reach for him.

  “What’s going on in here?” An unwelcome voice interrupted the moment. Gemma looked over and saw Waylon on the back of a big black horse.

  Jamon’s body stiffened. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I thought I’d go for a ride, see what kind of horseflesh you’ve got out here.”

  Gemma felt the strain between Jamon and his brother as Jamon’s eyes narrowed. “I told you you could stay at the house, but I didn’t give you permission to wander the grounds or ride my horses.”

  “Ah, come on, bro.” Waylon rode up and stopped a few feet in front of them on the other side of the fence. “You got plenty to share. We’re family, remember?”

  “Come on, Gemma.” Jamon lifted his reins and kissed to his horse. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes narrowed as they exited the pen and passed Waylon.

  On the way back to the barn, Gemma wanted to say something, anything to remove the hurt from his face, but she didn’t know what. Jamon retreated within himself like he had the night of the auction and didn’t utter a single word.

  Inside the barn, Jamon climbed down from the saddle. He exchanged his horse’s bridle for the halter he’d left tied to the hitching post. Gemma got down, and Jamon took the reins from her.

  “Are you okay?” Gemma stood next the horse as Jamon switched the bridle for the halter. She was amazed that Butterscotch didn’t bolt the minute he felt the leather slide off his face. He probably would have stood there all day and waited for the halter. He really was a docile animal. She brushed her hand down his neck, the hair coarse but soft.

  “I’m fine.” He undid the strap on the saddle. “I can take it from here, if you want to call it a night.”

  Gemma got a pit in her stomach. Things had changed so drastically between them in the last five minutes. Koven was right: Waylon did not bring out the best in Jamon. “You shouldn’t let him get to you like that.” The words spilled from her mouth before she had time to think, which was so unlike her. The effect this man had on her left her feeling unhinged.

  Jamon stopped and looked over at her. His dark eyes blazed with anger. “I know you’re an educated, intelligent woman, but you are obviously not a professional when it comes to relationships.”

  Moisture filled her eyes. “I guess you’re right.” She tried to bite off the rest of her thoughts, but the words tumbled out. “Because I was dumb enough to believe I may have wanted one with you.” Gemma spun around and ran out of the barn before the first teardrop fell.

  * * *

  Nothing sounded like boots on pavers, taking a beautiful woman far away. The echo of it in the rafters added insult to injury.

  You’re an idiot. Jamon cussed himself as he led the horses back to their stalls. He hadn’t meant to take his frustration out on Gemma. Once he got the horses settled, he double-checked the thermostat for the stalls to keep the barn at 70 degrees.

  “I saw Gemma headed out of here like the place was on fire.” Howard walked up the aisle. “Everything okay?”

  Jamon shook his head. “No.”

  “Let me guess: Waylon?” Howard scratched at his goatee.

  “No, it was all me.” Regret had the worst aftertaste. “I took my frustrations out on her, and I’ve got no business doing that.”

  “You’re right. Miss Gemma seems like quite the lady. If I were a wealthy young man who needed to apologize, I think I’d come up with some grand gesture to do so.”

  Jamon considered Howard’s words. “But she doesn’t want our relationship to be unprofessional, and anything I can think of might make her think I’m trying to do otherwise. Besides, she just told me I didn’t have a chance with her.”

  Howard shook his head. “Surely, you’re not that blind, are you? I’ve seen the way she looks at you with her eyes bigger and bluer than the Texas sky.” He chuckled. “She may say she doesn’t want more, but haven’t you noticed she wears her hair down once in a while? You’re getting to that girl, and I’d imagine that’s what’s got her so upset.”

  His heart beat faster. “Do you think so? I swear there’s something between us, but every time I get close enough to find out, something goes wrong.”

  Howard reached out and put his hand on Jamon’s shoulder. “Then make it right, son.”

  “Thanks, Howard.” Jamon smiled. “I think I will.” He wasn’t about to let his chaotic relationship with Waylon smother the spark he saw in Gemma’s eyes when she looked at him. Or at least, Jamon believed an ember blazed somewhere in the pale blue, like fire on a lake. He lifted his hat and pushed back his hair. He prayed he hadn’t snuffed it out with his snide comment. Jamon was man enough to admit when he’d made a mistake, and he’d show Gemma just how wrong he’d been. A smile parted his lips and he chuckled to himself. Moments like this, it paid to be a billionaire.

  Chapter Nine

  The conversation with his brother had to happen, but it was like an amputation without any anesthetic. Jamon ought to know; he’d been through this several times before. His courage needed some encouragement, and he tried to focus on Gemma and what he had planned instead of what was sure to be another ugly scene with his brother.

  Jamon entered the guest suite and found Waylon sitting on the sofa, his vacant eyes staring at the big screen on the wall. The sound was deafening.

  “Can you turn that down?” Jamon raised his voice as he came in and sat in the recliner. Waylon didn’t acknowledge him but called out a voice command to the television, and the noise lowered. The shell of a man hardly resembled the brother Jamon knew as a child. Waylon had been vibrant, outgoing, and extremely intelligent. He had straight A’s and a scholarship for Baylor University waiting for him once he graduated, but that was before the accident. Jamon didn’t like to think about the man Waylon might’ve been without the addiction. “I want to talk to you.”

  Waylon turned to him. His face was hollow, with sharp cheekbones and dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d lost even more weight than when Jamon had last seen him. His appearance was more like an animated skeleton than a living human being. The pain in Jamon’s chest threatened to consume him, because all he wanted was for his brother to get better, to have a desire to fight his addiction. Jamon met others at the twelve-step programs, people battling addiction and living productive lives. It was doable, but at this point, Jamon didn’t know what was possible for Waylon anymore.

  “Say what you need to say, brother.” Waylon’s voice cracked. “Just tell me you’ll give me the money I need. You want to help me, don’t you?”

  Here came the hard part. “I do, and that’s why I’ve arranged a flight back home to Texas for you. There’s a job waiting for you on Calloway’s ranch.”

  Waylon’s eyes narrowed. “You know I can’t work with my bad leg. You’ve got all this; it ain’t going to kill you to help out your brother.”

  Jamon exhaled and gripped his hands together. “I am helping you. The best way I know how.”

  “I can�
�t work.” Waylon gritted his teeth.

  “Calloway’s are old friends of Dad’s, and they know about the situation.” Jamon tried to remain calm.

  “What did you tell them? That I’m a drug addict, or did you tell them the truth?”

  “Which is?” Jamon wondered if his brother’s version of reality would ever change.

  “That I’m disabled, and I live with so much pain because of my leg, I have to have medication just to make it through the day.”

  Jamon swore he heard his mother’s voice in his head. Remember you love him. He’s your brother, and it’s the addiction talking. “Calloway’s understand about your leg and will provide you with a side-by-side to get around. You’ll start out with light chores and go from there.”

  Waylon jumped up. His leg apparently didn’t bother him now, or when he’d ridden horses earlier. “You don’t get it.” His body shook, anger seething from his lips. “You think I want to live this way? I ain’t got a choice.”

  Inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. Jamon prayed for strength. There was no point in arguing with Waylon. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He rose from the chair. “The plane leaves a week from Saturday at noon. That was the soonest Calloway’s would be ready for you.”

  Waylon’s anger seemed to diffuse. “I’m here for another week?”

  “Yes.” Jamon raised a brow. “But here, in the guest wing. You’ll have everything you need.”

  Waylon got up. “You know, if you’d just give me the money like I asked, I’d be out of your life today. No strings attached.”

  His stomach churned and burned, like Jamon had a bad case of heartburn, only this was heartache. “There are always strings attached. You are my brother, and I love you, and I will not give you any money.” Jamon turned and walked out as his eyes swam in tears. Waylon’s choice vocabulary echoed down the hallway; each cuss and curse was like a little knife hurled at Jamon’s back.

  * * *

  “You made sure my schedule was cleared for the next two days?” Jamon leaned in the doorway of Gemma’s office. She’d avoided him for the last forty-eight hours and only corresponded with him through email and texts. “You also got the message that I need you to attend this function with me?”

  Gemma looked up from beneath her thick lashes. “Yes, although I’m confused at why I wasn’t aware of anything until yesterday. I should receive the same emails concerning these sorts of things, and I didn’t see anything.”

  Jamon shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Just be ready first thing in the morning, and bring something fancy to wear. I trust you’ve picked out something appropriate for me, or do you want me to choose something on my own?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Gemma went back to the computer screen on her desk, and Jamon took that as a dismissal.

  “Very well. See you tomorrow.” Jamon left before she saw him smile. This was going to be good.

  * * *

  Gemma pulled her suitcase behind her, still bothered by this whole trip. Any event, or whatever this was, should be planned weeks, if not months ahead. She still wasn’t sure what they were doing, and that annoyed her even more than the late notice.

  Charles met her at the front walk, where the limo was parked. “Here, miss, let me take that for you.” He took the handle for her hand, and Gemma adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder.

  “Good, you’re here.” Jamon stepped out of the house, and Gemma was pleased to see he’d dressed up for the occasion with a black T-shirt. Upon closer inspection, the shirt read Got Horses? in white lettering. Maybe she wasn’t good at her job after all.

  “Nice shirt.” She crossed her arms.

  “I hoped it would make you smile.” Jamon handed Charles his suitcase, and Sophia came out holding a garment bag. “Thank you, Sophia.” He took the bag and waited for Charles to arrange the cases, before they set the dress bag gingerly on top. “Now, don’t be having any raging parties while I’m gone. You know I like to be invited to those.”

  Sophia’s cheeks blushed as she put her hands on her hips. “Mr. West, you are a tease.”

  “I know.” He grinned at her. “But someone has to keep you on your toes.”

  Sophia swatted at him and turned to Gemma. “Miss Gemma, your dress is in the bag with Mr. West’s tux. The dry cleaner brought it by today along with Mr. West’s clothing.”

  “Thank you, Sophia. I appreciate you doing that for me. With such short notice, I’m glad they were able to get it done in time.” She glared at Jamon, who smiled and started whistling a tune. The man was so infuriating. The words he’d said to her that night in the barn, about her not knowing anything about relationships, still played in her mind, adding to her anger.

  They got in the car and drove to the airport, where Jamon’s private jet waited on the tarmac. The Cove had a runway and a few hangars for smaller planes that could fit up to ten passengers. Anything larger had to be kept off-site.

  This wasn’t her first time on a private jet, but the luxuriousness of the experience never got old. Jamon followed Gemma up the stairs, where they were greeted by the pilot. Gemma stepped inside and smiled to herself; of course, Jamon’s private jet was done with a cowboy flair, with hand-tooled leather seats accessorized with silver conchos and stars. The giant big screen was framed in a dark wood with the Jamon West brand seared into corners. There were four recliner chairs, a table in between each two, and a couch ran along the other side. A master bed and bathroom were at the far end of the plane. No wonder she didn’t fly home to see her family as often as she should. Flying on a commercial line was almost unbearable after traveling like this.

  Jamon sat down in a recliner. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.”

  Gemma found herself in a predicament. She was still furious—well, more hurt than mad—over the way Jamon had treated her, and she wanted to sit in the back bedroom if possible, but it was her job to be his assistant and she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his flight crew.

  “I’ve got a confession to make.” Jamon leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “We’re headed to New York, not a fundraiser.”

  Gemma’s eyes widened. “New York?”

  “Yes, to the ballet. It’s my apology for the way I treated you.” He looked up at her, hope filling his deep eyes.

  Gemma’s anger mounted until her chest heaved up and down. How dare he think he could buy his way out of his harsh words. And to take her back to New York, the place she’d avoided because of the lost dreams that came with it? Presumptuous. That’s what he was. Totally presumptuous. Just like a billionaire!

  “And while we’re there, I thought you’d like to see your parents. I’ve contacted them, and they’re planning on spending the day with you tomorrow.”

  And like that, her fury subsided. She sank into the recliner next to him. Calling her parents was the kind of gesture that separated Jamon West from any man she’d ever known. Suddenly, sitting next to Jamon didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter Ten

  The limousine pulled up to the Four Seasons Hotel, where Gemma and Jamon were escorted to a private elevator.

  “I still can’t believe we’re here.” Gemma gazed around the lobby. The elevator door opened, and a gentleman in a red hotel suit welcomed them. “I’ve always wanted to see this hotel. I arranged for Mr. Moreau to stay at the Ty Warner Penthouse suite when he had business in New York, but I’ve never actually been inside the Four Seasons. And it’s not like I needed a hotel when I lived in New York—not that I could have afforded this, anyway.”

  Jamon smiled. “Sounds like I made the right choice.”

  “Yes, thank you.” She hoped he saw the appreciation in her eyes.

  His brown eyes reflected the gold finishes in the elevator, and Gemma was grateful they weren’t alone, or she might’ve thrown her arms around his neck and thanked him properly.

  “Which floor are we going to?”

  The attendant, with a receding hairline, a ge
nerous belly, and James inscribed on his name tag, looked over at her. “This is the Ty Warner Penthouse elevator. We’re headed to the fifty-second floor.”

  Gemma felt her stomach plummet, her insides landing on the ground floor. Her eyes widened, and she pulled on Jamon’s arm. “You didn’t tell me it was the Penthouse.” She tried to calm herself and not make a scene. She turned so her back was to the attendant. “I’ve booked this place. I know how much this costs. It’s over fifty thousand a night,” she whispered. There were a lot of things she could do with fifty thousand dollars.

  Jamon shrugged his shoulders. “So, it’s the best, then?” His mouth curved into a smile. “I called and said I wanted the best.”

  “You called?” The gesture went straight to her heart. He’d called. He hadn’t asked Sophia to take care of it, or Koven. He’d taken the time to make the call.

  “Yes, I did. What did you think I was, all hat and no cattle?”

  Gemma giggled and shook her head. “I’m not sure what that means, but I know this means a lot, to know you did this for me.”

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gemma put one foot on the marble travertine floor and froze. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered the most breathtaking view of Manhattan Gemma had ever seen. “You sure know how to apologize.” Everything was so pristine, she hesitated to touch anything.

  Jamon took her by the arm, urging her forward. “Come on. Let’s see what this place has to offer.”

  Gemma couldn’t find her words. She’d been in exquisite places before, but for her job as an assistant, never as a guest. The hand-lacquered walls with the mother of pearl inlay, the throw pillows done in 18th-century Japanese green silk, and the four-foot chandelier of cut glass were more beautiful than she’d imagined when she’d done her research for Mr. Moreau.