Lost (Bad Boys with Billions Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Inside, I had to make a conscious effort to keep my mouth closed.

  The view from outside had been awe-inspiring, but from the living room, the home had been cantilevered to jut out over the rocks and jagged cliff. To stand at the window wall, staring out at the glistening Pacific, made me feel as if I were flying. The floors were polished dark wood and a sofa had been built in around a central, copper-hooded fireplace. Cushions were sand-colored, with a few cinnamon and blue accent pillows tossed in for contrast. On side tables stood Tiffany lamps and bowls filled with beach finds—shells, beach glass and perfect stones. The kitchen sported custom cabinets and a commercial stove. Granite countertops had a swirled copper tone. The fridge had been camouflaged to look like just another cabinet. On the center island, someone had set out lavish trays of cold jumbo shrimp and cheeses and fruit. Champagne already chilled in an ice bucket.

  “Liam, it’s . . .” I had no words. All of my adjectives didn’t feel adequate for standing on the edge of the world. “Well . . . This is incredible.”

  “Just wait . . .” His full smile was in place when he pressed a button and outside, a stainless-steel platform slid out from a hidden compartment, forming a deck that even had popup rails. Next, the windows parted in three sections, and the sky and the home became one. He held out his hand. “Come on. We’re so high up that the experience can be daunting your first time out. The flooring has give, but I had a team of engineers assure me that’s how it’s supposed to feel.”

  I put my hand in his, trying not to notice the physical trill singing through me when our palms touched. If only things could be different between us. If only I’d met Liam before Blaine. But then, what would that have changed? By his own admission, Liam had just as many hangups as my husband; they’d just manifested in more socially acceptable forms.

  “What do you think?” he asked when we stood at the rail.

  “I feel like we’re reenacting that scene from Titanic when Jack and Rose stand on the ship’s bow.”

  “True. But weren’t they kissing?”

  I elbowed him, but not too hard, since his dimple combined with the light in his beautiful eyes proved he was teasing.

  Wind whipped my hair in my face.

  He swept it free of my mouth and nose, tucking it safely behind my ears.

  The kind gesture reminded me of the Liam I’d known that first night, when he’d run me a bath and then shut the door. He was reminding me that if I needed him, he was there, but that was the extent of his involvement. He wouldn’t press. After the day I’d had, that was exactly the reassurance I needed.

  “Do you ever sleep out here?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but I suppose I could—we could.” Again, he put me in swoon mode with his smile. I hadn’t even begun to process how much I’d appreciated him speeding me away from that pretentious salon. “But the bedroom’s pretty impressive. Come on . . .”

  He still held my hand, and after a detour to the kitchen to grab a shrimp, dredge it in homemade cocktail sauce, then feed it to me, he led me up a redwood, spiral staircase that could be classified as a piece of art.

  Three-quarters of the bedroom’s walls were windows. A wooden deck wide enough for varnished Adirondack chairs and pots overflowing with lobelia and pansies wrapped the entire level. An enormous built-in bed filled one end of the room and a circular Jacuzzi occupied the opposite end.

  The wall behind the bed and tub was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Well-worn paperbacks were stacked topsy-turvy alongside textbooks and history tomes. Persian rugs were layered at odd angles beneath a pair of overstuffed leather armchairs and matching ottomans with a side table between them. More books were stacked beneath a vintage nautical-themed ship’s-wheel lamp.

  “Like to read?” I teased.

  “Nah . . .” His slow grin was the one that formed a dimple. That grin did funny things to my stomach that I was still too mad at him to want to feel. He moved on with the tour, opening the room’s only door. “In here, you’ll find a shower and sinks, and in here”—he opened another door—”is the commode.” More windows overlooked the forest at the front of the house.

  Mirrors over twin sinks that had copper bowls showed the two of us together. It was the first time I’d seen our reflection. Same for him, and we stood there for an awkward moment, watching ourselves watch each other. He didn’t try hiding the heat behind his stare, and again I fought the sensation of wanting him. He’d told me he wouldn’t try having sex with me again until I begged him. In a setting like this, with him acting as charming as he was, the notion that his prediction might come true wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  He still held my gaze in the mirror. “I was a fool for taking you to that salon, Ell. You’re perfect just as you are.”

  Standing behind me, he combed his fingers deep into my hair, drawing it up into a loose bun, then, never dropping my gaze in the mirror, he kissed a chain around my neck. His heat combined with the approaching evening’s chill, causing me to shiver.

  “Y-you promised you wouldn’t try anything until I was ready.”

  “I’m just kissing you. What’s wrong with that?” He moved his attention to my collarbone, then up my throat, my chin, my cheeks, until I was practically panting for him to press his lips to mine. But then he reached my forehead and asked, “I’m starving. Ready for dinner?”

  No. And the fact royally pissed me off. He knew exactly what game he was playing, only, since I was a step ahead of him, I spun out of reach and said, “Now that you mention it, I am hungry. What did you have in mind?”

  Liam

  Ella stood at the deck rail, watching the surf and the hide-and-seek game the clouds played with the setting sun.

  I took dinner from the fridge. My caretaker’s wife, Penny, knew I enjoyed cooking on the beach, and she’d left a foil-wrapped vegetable packet and thick filet mignons swimming in a plastic bag with marinade. To satisfy my sweet tooth, she’d left two individually wrapped cheesecakes. I stashed all of this in a canvas bag, along with utensils and fire-starting materials.

  Usually when I stayed here, the only person I had to worry about was myself. My guest made me antsy to get everything right.

  I’m not sure why I’d brought Ella to my most private place, but let’s be real—since she was already in my head, how much more personal could I get? Did I still want her? Hell, yes. Did I think she wanted me? Absolutely. But that didn’t change the fact that the next time we shared a bed, there was no stopping. My job was to clear her past to make room for our future— whatever that meant. I wasn’t the marrying type. Forever wasn’t in my vocabulary, but I sure wasn’t opposed to having a good time—however long it lasted.

  What did that say about my character?

  I looked at her. Ella seemed so small against the soaring sky. I wanted to protect her. To heal her. To keep her, but what then? That was what I had to figure out.

  She came inside. Her long hair was wind-tousled, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. I’d never seen her more beautiful. She took my breath away. “Need help?”

  “No, thanks. I think we’re good to go.”

  “Do you mind if I call Willow?”

  My stomach sank. Ella’s friend was a detail I’d tried forgetting. She shouldn’t have come. Her presence made an already sketchy situation that much worse. I wasn’t proud about the way I’d gotten Ella to accompany me. The fact that Willow was privy to every detail didn’t improve my position. In a way, this was a game to me—a unique challenge. At thirty-two, I’d already achieved everything I’d ever wanted. Everything except Ella. I’d met a thousand girls just like Willow. I wasn’t a flesh-and-blood person to her, but a walking ATM. The fact that Ella didn’t give a shit about my money made her different. Special. Worthy of my time.

  Willow, on the other hand, was not.

  “Sure.” I nodded toward my cell, which I’d left on the counter.

  She took it, turning her back to me while dialing the number.

  Whi
le she was on the phone, I headed upstairs to change.

  I replaced my suit with khaki cargo shorts and a vintage Foreigner concert tee. I shed my socks and dress shoes for leather flip-flops. Once the sun went down, the beach grew chilly, so I tied one of my old college hoodies around my waist and grabbed another for Ella.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I paused.

  Ella was still on the phone. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure where we are . . . What do you mean? Are you hurt?”

  Hurt? What the hell had Garrett done?

  “. . .There’s a huge difference between that and being bored.”

  I felt better knowing that Willow’s problem was a personal issue versus something of Garrett’s doing.

  “. . . I already told you I don’t know. Watch a movie or something, and I’ll call you in the morning.” She hung up, then handed me the phone.

  “Everything okay?”

  She shrugged. “She’s upset because she doesn’t have anyone to play with.”

  “Swell.” My mind wandered back to the last time I’d seen Willow at play, half-naked with a redneck doing body shots off of her in the back of a truck. Bringing her was a mistake. But how was I supposed to get rid of her now? Trying not to sound too hopeful, I asked, “Think she’d want to go back to Arkansas?”

  “Next time I see her, I’ll ask.”

  “Good.” I grabbed the dinner bag from the counter, setting the sweatshirt I’d gotten her on top. “Ready?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She gripped the back of a tall bar chair. “Have any idea when that might be?”

  “You mean when you and Willow are reunited?” I hated the bitter note to my tone. Even worse, I hated that Ella’s mind was on her friend instead of me. I’d planned this whole romantic beach seduction scene and she couldn’t care less. Only what had I really done—other than make a phone call to ask someone else to do the grunt work? The realization was sobering. This was the havoc Ella created in my mind. Before her, it never would have occurred to me to care that I hadn’t prepped the meal. “Want me to take you to her now?”

  She did that thing with her lower lip that told me she was thinking, and I probably wouldn’t like the outcome. “I thought we were coming out here to be together?”

  “You and Willow?” I laughed.

  “Why is that funny?”

  Because it was so sad. Not only was I pathetic enough to have paid her to be with me, but

  she didn’t even want to be with me, but with her friend.

  I pitched the bag containing our dinner into the copper kitchen sink. “You want Willow, come on. I’ll take you to her right now.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you meant . . .”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s written all over your face. Obviously, you want to see her, or you wouldn’t have even brought it up.” I headed for the entry hall to find my keys. Or maybe I should just phone my pilot and have him pick her up? That way, I wouldn’t have to be bothered with the drive. She wasn’t worth my time. Only she was. Which was why I was so pissed. I’d brought her all the way out here because this house—more than any other—was special to me. Like her.

  She’d followed. “Did you ever stop to consider the fact that, because she’s my friend, yeah, I’m worried about her, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend every spare second with her? Why are you making such a huge production over this? Why couldn’t I have just called her and had it be no big deal?”

  Great question. One I didn’t have an answer for. Or maybe I did, but was too ashamed to admit just how self-conscious and awkward she made me feel. And because of that, I took everything she said and twisted it to fit my warped translation.

  “Liam . . .” She licked her lips. “This place is amazing. I . . .” She looked down, scuffing the toe of her ugly black sneaker against my twenty-thousand-dollar antique Persian rug. In that moment, I’d have traded fifty of those rugs for one of her smiles. “I want to be here.”

  “With me? Or Willow?”

  “Does it matter?” To me, it did.

  “I don’t get this about you. How one second, you seem like the most confident guy in the world. Then, the next, you’re a mess.” Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head, causing her hair to spill over her cheek. “It’s no secret I’ve got issues, but I’m guessing so do you.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Don’t deflect my question. I’m not talking about everyone, but you. What makes you tick? What about me is so important?”

  “The simple version?”

  “Please.”

  “You’re real. You have no idea how rare that is in my world.”

  Her faint smile made my chest tighten and eyes well. “Maybe you need to get out more?”

  “Probably.” I sighed. “Anyway, my offer still stands. If you want to check on Willow, I’ll call my pilot and he’ll have you to San Francisco in no time.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather stick around to see what was in that bag you threw in the sink.”

  Ella

  The longer I knew Liam, the more of a mystery he became. One moment, I considered him my protector. My knight in shining armor. The next, he was a spoiled brat in need of spanking. Would I be around long enough to understand him as a whole?

  Since he didn’t budge from the entry hall, I made the first move by traipsing back to the kitchen for the bag I assumed contained our dinner. I then found a second set of circular wooden stairs leading to a lower level.

  The open space contained the same awe-inspiring view and a large deck similar to the one off the bedroom, but it also had a fully stocked wet bar and one wall that was a movie screen. A sumptuous leather sectional with three ottomans provided enough seating for twenty, yet if what Liam reported was true, he was the only one ever here. The notion made me sad. Why have such an amazing house if you never shared it?

  From behind me, he said, “Through that door are three guest rooms and baths. My architect and engineer had to blow out part of the cliff to fit them in.”

  “Why bother if no one’s ever here?”

  He opened a bar fridge. “Want a couple beers?”

  “If there was an Olympic sport in avoidance, you’d win a gold medal.”

  “I’m not avoiding anything. Just making conversation. Beer?”

  “Yes, please.” I held open the canvas sack for him to add four bottles to our supplies. “Then you can tell me why you don’t bring anyone here. It’s the most freakishly beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”

  He winked. “If you think this is something, you should see my place on Lake Como.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “The one in Italy where George Clooney and Brangelina hang out?”

  “That’d be the one. I met them last time I was there.” He pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek. “Angelina’s got nothing on you.”

  “Uh-huh . . .”

  He reverted to excited-little-boy mode as he led me to his next toy—a copper-fronted elevator. “You’re gonna love this.”

  He pressed a button and it opened with a gentle swish. The flooring was the same hardwood as throughout the house. Two of the walls were mirrored with a waist-level, copper handrail. The third wall was reinforced glass.

  “You’ve got to be kidding . . .” I couldn’t seem to close my mouth. Liam not only had more money than Blaine, but apparently more than the entire state of Tennessee.

  He climbed in beside me and pushed the down button.

  The car lurched along with my stomach.

  On instinct, I grabbed Liam’s arm to steady me as we descended.

  “My engineer said this is the equivalent of a twenty-story building. Last August,

  Architectural Digest featured it on their cover.”

  “Cool story, bro . . .” I looked up at him and winked.

  “What do you mean? It fucking is a cool story. How many guys have you met who have their own elevator to the beach?”

  We’d l
anded, and the door swished open to a tiled, partially walled stone grotto. A waterfall’s gentle gurgle could barely be heard above the crashing surf, and a sunken hot tub was surrounded by enough boulders that it could have been a steaming tidal pool.

  For the longest time I just stood there, hands on my hips, gaping. “Honestly, I’m not sure if we’re on the set of a rapper’s video fantasy or in the exotic lair of a Bond villain. Liam, this place is crazy . . .”

  “Crazy good, though, right?” There he was again, craving my acceptance. It would have been funny if I hadn’t found it curious and sad. “When I’m not here, all of this is covered. When I called, the caretakers got it ready.”

  Because I sensed that he needed me to, I gifted him my biggest smile. “It’s crazy amazing. You should be proud.”

  “Thanks.” He returned my smile. “I think.”

  “You should know.” I knelt to dangle my fingers in the warm water, wishing I could get in. “What do your folks think of it?”

  He sobered. “They’ve never been. We don’t get along.”

  “Me, neither—I mean, I don’t much like my parents.”

  “What’s your story?”

  “Nothing too exciting.” I wished I could tell him. I wanted to, but the words wouldn’t come out. Maybe if he hadn’t put the time restraint on our relationship, maybe if money weren’t involved, I could have explained, but as it was, there was too much baggage between us.

  “Walk with me.” He got down on his knees beside me, rolling up the hems of my jeans, then gently removing one shoe and then the other. He then took off my socks, tucking one in each sneaker. He took my breath away with his sexy-slow grin. “Pretty sure it’s illegal to not be barefoot on the beach.”

  My throat knotted. “I’ve never been.”

  “Never?” He rose. “How’s that possible?”

  “Just is what it is. I crossed the Atlantic on my honeymoon.”

  He took the bag with our dinner, then eased his fingers between mine.

  I was unprepared for the way I sunk in the sand, and when I stumbled, he caught me. The sun-warmed sand felt foreign—but good—between my toes, as did his palm against mine.