Mom frowned. “Are you—?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I cut her off with a significant glance at Adam’s bowed head.
She didn’t look convinced. “Oh, okay. Well, Mr. Drake let me know that he had some business come up. He’s going to have to check out early in the morning.”
My eyes shot to Adam’s and we held each other’s gaze for a long moment. My heartbeat came with increasingly sharp, stabbing twinges.
My voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I cleared my throat. “Excuse me.” And I withdrew, heading straight for the shower.
I turned the water temperature up as high as I could tolerate it. I needed it to wash away the numbness, the painful emptiness inside me. Tomorrow he’d be gone and this time I’d likely never see him again. By rejecting him, by allowing him to go, he’d know that I wanted him to get on with his life. Without me.
I thought about his accusations, about the reasons why I couldn’t let him in. I knew it was because I was certain he’d hurt me. He’d leave me. All men leave. And he would, too. Just like the Bio—just like Gerard. Every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. I was agonizingly aware of the truth in his words. Adam was not Gerard. Adam was not married, was not using me. Adam wanted more. Had just told me he was in love with me and, for all that meant, I honestly felt he believed it.
Adam was not Gerard. And there were many men in the world who weren’t. And I had to stop believing, in my childish way, that because one didn’t want me—because Gerard had rejected me before I was even born—that everyone else would, too. I had to find the courage to believe it and follow a path to happiness according to that new belief.
I stayed under that pulsing hot spray until it ran tepid and Mom banged on the door in protest because there was no hot water for the dishes.
“Mia,” she said when I got out, wrapping my robe around my dripping body.
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
“Our guest…Mr. Drake—”
I panicked, heart racing. “Did he leave already?” I grabbed her arm with my urgent need to know.
Mom wrested it free from my grip and frowned. “No. I told you—tomorrow morning. You two already knew each other, didn’t you?”
I pulled back, turned and walked into my room. Of course, she followed me. “Mia, is he the guy you’ve been seeing?”
I stopped, that same old muscle knotting between my shoulder blades. I sighed. “Yes.”
“You know I’m a shitty judge of character, so you shouldn’t trust me as far as you can throw me, but—”
I turned. “Stop blaming yourself, Mom. Stop doubting yourself. You made one mistake and you shouldn’t beat yourself up for it for the rest of your life.”
Her face set into grim lines. “Wise words that you should live by. You shouldn’t be basing your entire life on my mistake, either.”
I slumped onto my bed and looked at her. I took in a shaky breath. “I’m scared.”
She sank onto the bed next to me and put her arms around my shoulders. “Growing up is a scary thing. I think I know why he came up here and I think I know what decision you are scared of making. And the only thing I can tell you is that the decision is yours and yours alone to make. But consider me. I’ve been alone for a long time by choice and I’d rather you found someone who makes you happy. Mia, if you love him, don’t choose to be alone.”
If you love him…I rested my head against her shoulder and closed my eyes, that pain throbbing deep inside me again. I sighed, knowing the truth of her words.
In nothing more than my nightshirt and underwear, I stood on his doorstep in the cool desert night, shaking but not from the chill. In the distance, I could hear a pack of coyotes calling to each other, and the ubiquitous chirps of crickets.
There was no light coming from under his door and as it wasn’t very late, I was concerned. As far as I knew from the nights we’d spent together, he was not one to retire early. But maybe he was tired tonight.
Well, tough shit, I’d wake him up, then. This couldn’t wait. I reached up and knocked loudly on the door, listening carefully for footsteps to approach on the other side. But there was complete silence.
I glanced at the window. The curtains had not been completely pulled to cover it so I pressed my face against it, cupping my hands to look inside. And I couldn’t see a damned thing because it was so dark.
“Adam?” I called through the window, giving it a bang with my fist and then waiting. Nothing.
For long moments I refused to let myself believe that he wasn’t on the other side of that door. I knocked again. Called again. My stomach twisted until it threatened nausea. Oh God—Oh God! He’d left. I gasped for breath. He’d packed up his stuff and gone even though he told Mom he wouldn’t be leaving until the morning. He’d driven away while I was in the shower. Fuck.
I had to go after him. There was no other way. I could chase him down to OC tomorrow but who knew where he’d be or how I could find him? I didn’t have his number because it was in the contacts of that damned phone I’d given back to him. I had his e-mail, but he’d just told me he was going without e-mail contact during his break from work.
I knew where he lived and could go to his house, but if he was planning a leave of absence from work, who knew where he’d be tomorrow—maybe on a plane to somewhere far away?
Tears threatened at the realization that he was gone. The tiniest of voices in the back of my head asked what if I never saw him again? What if I never heard his voice? Or felt his arms tighten around me? What if I never knew love like this ever again?
Nearly paralyzed with grief I spun and pressed my spine flat against his door, my mind racing to come up with a plan. I’d run and grab a pair of jeans and my keys. I’d get myself down the mountain tonight. He was two hours away. I’d bang on his door at one in the morning if I had to.
Shit. I struggled to breathe, tears coating my cheeks now. How could this be happening? My back slid along the door until I sat at his doorstep. I pressed my face to my knees, helpless with the loss. I’d only just managed to acknowledge that I could have these feelings—that the world would not implode if I allowed myself to love a man.
This man. This wonderful man. He was gone and I’d paid dearly for my stubbornness. This love had cost me more than three-quarters of a million dollars. It had cost me my heart.
And there was no buying it back—at any price. It belonged to him. Forever.
If he still wanted it after I’d shoved him away. Fool, Mia. Coward.
I sobbed into my hands, unable to find the strength to follow through with my plan. The will was draining out of me and threatened to leave me in a pool of misery right here on the porch of this little cabin. My shoulders shook and I was thankful that there was no one out here to hear me wailing like a baby.
And God only knows how long I would have allowed myself to sit there, a pathetic, weeping mess, if I hadn’t heard the scuff of shoes stepping across the porch, coming to a stop right beside me. I looked down at a pair of big feet in sneakers—the same ones Adam had worn when we’d gone running a couple nights before.
I froze but I kept my face covered. He didn’t move for a moment and then sank onto a knee to look into my face.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough of that for one day?”
My breath was painful in my chest and my head bounced back against the door behind me. I looked at him through swollen eyes as, humiliatingly, I hiccupped. “I thought you left.”
He frowned. “Tomorrow. I was feeling restless tonight. Went for a little walk.”
I stared at him dumbly, unable to find the words to match this jumble of feelings inside me. They were tangled, like spiderwebs all sticky and matted inside my chest.
We stared at each other for a long, tense moment and I found that I was barely breathing. My chest would rise just enough to catch a mouthful of air before it blew back out again. His gaze intensified.
“Do
you want to come in or would you rather sit out here?”
Without a word, I snuffled and struggled to my feet. Adam rose and opened the door, which, I only then realized, was unlocked. He flipped on a light and held the door for me, as if unwilling to turn his back on me for fear that I might bolt out into the night again.
And yeah, I might have been inclined in that direction, but he blocked my easy escape, so I inched into the cabin.
I threw a glance around the room, saw the stack of books on his nightstand, one opened and face down on the bed, Segment Hiker’s Guide to the Pacific Crest Trail. My eyes darted back to where he waited, just inside the closed door.
My entire body started to shake—like an unattractive shivery kind of shake. He watched me from the doorway, attentive to my every move but standing stiffly, unmoving.
Those dark eyes gave nothing of his feelings away. He was waiting for me to do the talking. I was the one who’d been blubbering like an idiot on his porch, after all.
I still had no idea what I was going to say. I took a deep breath and asked him a question instead. “Why? Why did you come into my life and completely wreck everything I knew? I thought I was happy. I thought I didn’t need anyone…” My voice faded.
His lips turned up in a humorless smile. “I could ask you the exact same thing.”
I mopped at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’ve done more crying today than I have in the past ten years combined. I’m not this much of a sniveling idiot—I swear I’m not.” I put my hands over my face. “I just—I don’t know what to do.”
He paused, shifted his weight so that he leaned a sturdy shoulder against the door. “Yes, you do.”
I dropped my hands and shook my head mutely.
“Come here, Emilia.”
And I did. I walked straight into his arms. And he pulled me to him and the tears came again. He kissed my hair, his arms tightening.
My head fell against his shoulder and my arms slid around his waist. And I breathed him in, feelings of desire and belonging coursing through me. His arms felt so good around me, so solid, so real.
My voice trembled as I took a deep breath and finally spoke. “I need you,” I said. His mouth moved to my neck and he kissed me there, bolts of electricity shooting down every nerve connected with that spot. It had taken everything in me to admit it…because I’d led my entire life until that very second firmly believing that I didn’t need anyone—not a goddamn soul. That Mia Strong was an island, a fortress.
But I needed Adam Drake. I needed him as much as I needed to breathe, eat or drink. And finally my brain allowed my heart to admit it.
“I need you so much,” I repeated. “I love you.”
He took my face between his hands, holding it still. He raised his head so he could look me in the eyes. “I can’t promise that things will be perfect, Emilia. But I can promise you that I will never give this up. Because I don’t think I knew how to live before you came into my life.”
He pushed the hair back from my face but never took his eyes from mine. I sniffled, the tears still coming, and I shook in his hold. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t so scared I could pee myself. But I’ll never deny it again. I’ve loved you for longer than I even know. I fought the good fight but I can’t fight anymore. I won’t fight it. I love you, Adam.”
And we kissed. And it was like that first time… that connection swelling between us, strengthening. In his embrace, I found comfort, closeness. And when the kiss grew more intense, presaged something more to come, I knew, too, that I was ready for that as well. Adam nudged us toward the bed and I went with him…and whether it was to make love or to just lie beside him while we talked all night, I knew that whatever happened, it would be all right. Because this was so right.
Adam and Mia’s story continues in At Any Turn book 2 in the Gaming the System series. Buy it at Amazon.
There are SEVEN other sexy alpha billionaires in this box set. Want to discover another heartthrob? Read on.
Most Eligible Billionaire
Annika Martin
OMG the cute little dog I adopted turned out to be a billionaire!
I’m Vicky, the dog whisperer. (Not really, but that’s what my elderly neighbor always says.) When she dies, she surprises everybody by leaving a corporation worth billions to her dog, Smuckers. With me as his spokesperson.
Suddenly I go from running my Etsy store to sitting in an elegant Wall Street boardroom with Smuckers in my lap. And my neighbor’s son, Henry Locke, aka New York’s most eligible bachelor, glaring across the table at me.
Rumor has it Henry’s a business genius who’s as talented in the bedroom as he is in the boardroom. Sure, he’s gorgeous. Sex-in-a-seven-thousand dollar suit. But…
He’s arrogant and infuriating.
He refuses to listen to me when I insist I didn’t con his mother.
He thinks he can bully me, buy me off, control me, even seduce me.
Henry may have the women of Manhattan eating out of the palm of his hand, but I’m so over entitled rich guys who think they own the world.
No way will his wicked smile be charming ME out of my panties.
His wicked...devastating...impossible-to-resist smile.
Oh well, who needs panties anyway?
Table of Contents
Most Eligible Billionaire
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter One
Vicky
I’m smuggling a tiny white dog named Smuckers into a Manhattan hospital to see his owner, Bernadette Locke. Thanks to a standing appointment at a chandelier-draped dog salon on Fifth Avenue run by a woman who ostensibly loves dogs but might secretly hate them, Smuckers’s facial fur is blow-dried into such an intense puff of white that his eager black eyes and wee raisin of a nose seem to float in a cloud.
There are three things to know about Bernadette: She’s the meanest woman I ever met. She believes I’m some kind of dog whisperer who can read Smuckers’s mind. (I can’t.) And she’s dying. Alone.
The people in her condo building will probably be glad to hear of her passing. I don’t know what she did to earn their hatred. That’s probably for the best.
Bernadette has a son out there somewhere, but even he seems to have washed his hands of her. There is a photo of the son on Bernadette’s cracked fireplace mantel, a toddler with a scowly little dent between fierce blue eyes. Surrounded by people, the little boy manages somehow to look utterly alone.
Back when Bernadette got her terminal diagnosis, I asked her if she’d told her son and whether he might finally come to visit. She brushed off the question with a contemptuous wave of her hand—Bernadette’s favorite way of responding to pretty much anything you say is a contemptuous hand wave. He won’t be coming, I assure you.
I can’t believe he wouldn’t visit her, even now. It’s the ultimate dick move. Your mother is dying alone, jackass!
Anyway, put all of that in a pot and stir it and y
ou have the strange soup of me clicking past a guard, smiling brightly—and hopefully dazzlingly—enough that he doesn’t notice the squirmy bulge in my oversized purse.
Smuckers is a Maltese, which is a toy dog that’s outrageously cute. And Smuckers is the cutest of the cute.
Smuckers and Bernadette Locke made a notorious pair out on the sidewalk in the Upper West Side neighborhood where my little sister and I have our very sweet apartment-sitting gig.
I remember them well. Smuckers would attract people with his insane fluff-ball cuteness, but as the hapless victim drew near Bernadette would say something insulting. Kind of like the human equivalent of a Venus flytrap, where the fly is attracted to the beauty of the flower only to be mercilessly crushed.
Locals learned to stay away from the two of them. I tried—I really did.
Yet here I am, slipping down another chillingly bright hospital hallway, smuggling the little dog in for the third time in two weeks. It’s not on my top ten list of things I want to do with my day. Not even on my top hundred, but Smuckers is Bernadette’s only true friend. And I know what it’s like to be hated and alone.
I know that when you’re hated, you sometimes act like you don’t care as a survival method.
And that makes people hate you more, because they feel like you should look at least a little beaten down.
Bernadette’s hatred was real-life neighborhood hatred; mine was real life plus a fun national online component, but it works the same way, and heaven forbid you should have a cute dog. Or that a picture of you smiling should ever appear on Facebook or Huffpo or People.com.
I know, too, how being hated can build on itself, how sometimes you do things to make people hate you more because it’s better in a certain perverse way. I think only people who have been hated in their life can truly understand that.
I push into the room. “We’re here,” I say brightly, relieved no medical personnel are around. While Smuckers enjoys being in a purse, he prefers to ride with his head out, like the fierce captain of a pleather airship. Needless to say, he’s achieved maximum squirminess. I take him out. “Look, Smuckers—your mom!”
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