Lone Star Lovers (Dallas Billionaires Club Book 1)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Ms. Brand.” Her cropped blond hair blew in the summer breeze. She wore a fitted pencil skirt and a button-down shirt over a pair of sensible pumps. “Great timing. I was coming to give you this.”

  “Oh?” Pen pushed her hair behind her ear and accepted the paper Jenny offered. “What is it?”

  “Your lease has been terminated. Congratulations on your engagement!” Jenny squeezed Pen’s upper arm. “I hate to see you go, but I’m thrilled you’ve found love. Zach told me it was a surprise—his wedding gift to you. Ohmygoshisthatthering?” She snatched Pen’s left hand and admired the diamond resting there, before rerouting her hand to her chest. Pen swore the other woman was tearing up. “You have until the end of the month to clear your things. No hurry, but honestly, I wouldn’t hesitate moving in with a man who gives you a rock like this one!”

  Before she could respond to...well, any of it, Jenny waved and said something about returning to her desk. Pen watched her go, the paper in her hand blowing and folding in half. She straightened it and read over the words Paid In Full as her temper skyrocketed.

  Yes, she’d been contemplating moving from her one-bedroom into a larger place, but she wasn’t planning on moving in with Zach.

  She lifted her cell phone and punched in his number. When he answered in his office-y voice, she let him have it.

  “I’m homeless.” She wrestled her keys from her bag and marched inside her building.

  “You’re far from homeless,” came his easy response.

  “I’m not moving into your apartment, Zach.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  She blinked as she pushed the button on the elevator for her floor. “Pardon?”

  “I’m looking at a house right now. There’s not enough room for a baby at my place.” His voice sounded distant when he spoke to someone other than her. “I’ll take it.”

  “Zach?”

  “Gotta go, gorgeous. I have paperwork to deal with.”

  “Zach.”

  But one glance at her cell phone and she could see he’d already ended the call.

  * * *

  Zach tried Pen’s phone number again only to be greeted by voice mail. He tapped the screen on the dashboard to end the call and pulled off the highway, changing direction to drive to her apartment. If she wasn’t there, he’d try her office, and if she wasn’t there, he’d see her at his apartment tonight.

  When he’d gone to her place of residence to pick up a few things for her a week ago, he’d nearly had an aneurysm. The apartment building was in need of more than paint and TLC, and the area wasn’t the safest. He’d decided then and there to keep her close by. Safe. Now that she was having his baby, there was no need for her to struggle.

  He didn’t want their child growing up worried about his or her safety.

  From what he could tell, Pen dumped all her money into her office. He understood why. With a job like hers, working with business and celebrity elite, she needed to look the part.

  He drove through the parking lot but there was no sign of Pen’s car. He’d try her office next. He hit the screen on his dashboard to call her cell again, knowing it was futile.

  But then her voice surprised him.

  “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. Not because she was mad at him but because hearing her voice lined with anger meant she was safe. She was okay.

  “Where are you?”

  “Why? Planning on coming by and buying me out of whatever building I’m in? What if I’m shopping?”

  “A shopping center is well within my pay grade.”

  Her silence let him know his joke didn’t fly.

  “I want to know where you are so I can show you our new house.”

  “Zach.”

  “We also need to talk about our plans and what we’re sharing when. I’m not going to dodge questions when they start rolling in, regardless of my brother’s political career or Ferguson Oil’s reputation. I’m not going to hide you or what we’re doing.”

  “I agree. We need a plan.” Her voice was wooden, but he’d take the agreement. “I don’t want that, either.”

  “All right, then. Where are you? I’ll take you to dinner.”

  “I’m at your apartment. Throwing your clothes out the window.” Her voice was petulant, but he could guess she was kidding.

  “I guess I have to buy that shopping center after all.”

  More silence.

  “Pen.”

  “Come home. We’ll talk then.”

  The way she said home, with ownership, and invited him to join her, snagged his chest.

  “I was serious about dinner,” he said as he sat back in his seat and accelerated.

  “You bet your sweet ass you are,” Pen snapped. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Another grin. Damn, he liked her feisty.

  He liked her, period.

  At home he found Penelope dressed down in a tight pair of form-fitting pants and a baggy tee. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was on the floor, eyes closed, hands resting on her knees.

  “Yoga?” he guessed, setting his cell phone and briefcase on the kitchen counter.

  “I’m meditating so I don’t kill you,” she said without opening her eyes. Then she did, and pegged him with a pair of pale blues that never failed to make him smile. She had a pull on him—a physical one, sure, but there was a deeper connection there. Because of the baby? Yes, that was definitely part of it, but that wasn’t all. “How was your day, dear?”

  “Hectic. I bought a house.”

  “I heard.” Her mouth flattened. She reached behind her and lifted a sheet of paper, waving it in the air for him. “I lost mine.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  She stood from her mat and slapped the paper against his chest. “I was surprised.”

  He palmed the paper and followed her into the kitchen. She swallowed a few drinks of water before gesturing to the paper he still held. “Flip it over.”

  Her handwriting took up the entire backside of the page.

  “‘PR Plan for Zachary Ferguson and Penelope Brand,’” he read.

  “I drafted our plan.”

  Under their names were dates and bulletpoints for items like “announce end of engagement” and “be seen shopping for baby” and “press release.”

  “This is...interesting.” He couldn’t come up with another word for it.

  “This is the way we’re doing it.”

  “I don’t see a line item for moving into my house.”

  “Sorry. I’m going to be living apart from you before that happens.” She waggled her hand where the engagement ring sat. “The breakup and all.”

  “I don’t see why we have to break up.” He felt his brow furrow while hers lifted.

  “Because this isn’t real. I’ve orchestrated engagements before. I’ve even dealt with unplanned pregnancies. Couples don’t usually argue with my sound and reliable suggestion to announce a split.” She bit her lip. “Mostly.”

  Mostly.

  He wondered if that meant some of the couples she’d walked through the valley of the shadow of matrimony fell in love for real and unraveled her precious plans. That wasn’t their case, but he could see the discomfort in her expression.

  He set the paper aside and walked toward her until she plastered her back against the fridge and lifted her chin to take him in. There wasn’t anything quite like her delicate features contrasted with all that strength and sass. She was a drug.

  His palm on her stomach, he crowded her until his body was pressed against hers. “This. Is real.”

  “I know,” she said just above a whisper. “But the engagement isn’t.”

  “There’s no reason to dismantle it yet. We could say we’re waiting to marry until after you have t
he baby.”

  She gave him a slow nod, her eyes averting. “Is that what you want?”

  Yes. Because he knew what he didn’t want. He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of the pregnancy. That was only one of the reasons he wanted her to move in. He wanted to watch over her, but he also wanted to be with her.

  “How about this for a proposal?” he asked, pleased when she turned her head, and her lips were dangerously close to his. “Move into my house. Have my baby. Wear this ring.”

  “And then what?”

  “We have time to decide the what, Penelope.” He palmed her soft cheek and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “In the meantime, I want you in my house. In my bed. In my world.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Let me. Allow yourself to let me. You don’t have to have a rigid plan for your own life, Pen. Live on the edge.” He gave her a lazy grin. “It’s fun here.”

  She licked her lips and before she could argue, he covered them with a kiss. Deflecting? Possibly. Where they were concerned, there was one surefire way to get them back on track and that was in the bedroom.

  “You promised me dinner,” she breathed, but her fists clung to him.

  He was aware of the time, more aware of her pending hunger than his hardening manhood. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” Her eyebrows bent in the sincerest apology. “How about after dinner?”

  “You have to ask?” He shook his head, still marveling over how off-kilter this woman could throw him. “Dinner. Get changed.”

  Her beaming smile made him almost as happy as having her underneath him. She bounced out of the kitchen and down the hallway and Zach took another look at the paper in front of him.

  He grabbed a pen from a nearby drawer and drew a line through “announce end of engagement.”

  Twelve

  Having billions of dollars made moving much easier.

  When Pen moved, she’d hired movers and packed every one of her belongings, plus loaded many of the boxes into her own car, for the traverse to Dallas from Chicago.

  When Zach moved, he made one phone call to an assistant to gather Penelope’s belongings from her apartment, and another to an interior designer to decorate his new home.

  Two weeks had passed since the move from her apartment. His buying her out of her lease was heavy-handed, but she could admit it made sense in the short-term. Everyone would assume it was the natural next step after hearing about the pregnancy. Plus, Zach would need more room for the baby whether Pen lived with him or not.

  He’d purchased a beautiful home just outside the city, with six bedrooms and six bathrooms and a sprawling yard. A low stone wall ran the perimeter of the property, and the front featured a gate, not unlike Chase’s mansion.

  The house was far more approachable than a mansion, however, with a wide front porch and white columns, and, thanks to a savvy interior decorator, a pair of rockers on the porch overlooking the front yard and curved driveway.

  That was where she and Zach sat tonight.

  She’d finished up at work and he’d met her at home for dinner—a dinner cooked by a chef he’d hired to monitor her feedings, or so she’d joked. Now they sat, a mug of peppermint tea for her, and a cold beer for him, rocking back and forth on the porch.

  “This is really beautiful, Zach.”

  He turned his head and smiled. Tonight he wore jeans and a T-shirt, looking the part of laid-back country boy. Even the recent trim of his hair couldn’t dash the relaxed line of his long body. He pushed, one knee crooked, the other leg straight out, and rocked again, finishing his bottle of beer before setting it on the wooden porch.

  “Glad you like it.”

  She tapped her mug with her fingernails and thought. The PR plan for them had been drawn up. She’d typed it neatly, presented it to him and he’d made changes—some she’d agreed to, others she hadn’t.

  Maintain engagement (to be revisited after the baby is born)

  Shopping for the baby (covered by the press)

  Press release confirming baby Ferguson

  “We should talk,” she said.

  Zach’s hands gripped the arms of the rocker and he slowly turned to face her. His eyebrows were down, his mouth flat.

  “It’s not bad!” she assured him with a soft laugh.

  “Do me the favor of never saying those three words to me again?” He visibly relaxed some, sucking in a deep breath.

  There had to be a story behind his request, but she wasn’t going into that now.

  “It’s time to tell our families.” She placed her hand over her tummy. She’d always had a slim waist, but the bump was showing enough that people would start talking. “I can’t hide this much longer. And I’d like to tell them before we’re seen at the store.”

  “That’d be best, yes.” His ease returned, along with his smile.

  “How about this weekend? We can stop by your parents’ house before going to Love & Tumble.” The upscale boutique selling children’s clothing was bordering pretentious, but for the press release, they needed the attention. What better store to emerge from carrying several shiny sage-green bags in their hands while kissing? She’d already lined up a photographer and requested the shots.

  “And your parents?”

  “We can’t very well fly to Chicago, now can we?”

  “Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s a two-hour flight.”

  “On your private jet?” She snorted. This amount of convenience was all so...hard to get used to.

  “I don’t own one, but I can charter a plane.” He leaned on one arm, coming closer to her chair. “Your parents might want to meet me.”

  She nodded, her fantasy world ripping at the seams. Once her parents met him, once he was on her stomping grounds, would the fantasy bubble burst? She’d been sheltered, in a way. Living in this safe existence with work and Zach. Sequestered from reality while she juggled nausea, fatigue and doctor’s appointments.

  “I’ll book it for Friday. We can grab a hotel.”

  A dry laugh chafed her throat. “My parents would die if we booked a hotel. They would insist we stay with them.”

  “We can stay with them.”

  She watched him for a solid beat, wondering who this man was, really. Was he the billionaire who moved them into a regal house with the snap of his fingers? Or the family guy kicked back on a rocking chair? Could he be both?

  “Friday,” she repeated, still unsure.

  He grabbed his empty beer bottle, stood from the rocker and bent to kiss her. “But we’re still having sex at your parents’ house, whether they like it or not.”

  She pressed a hand to her cheek as he walked inside, waiting until he’d gone to react. Despite her worries about Friday—when reality met fantasy—Zach’s comment made her laugh.

  * * *

  “How perfect that you both made it here for Fourth of July weekend!” Paula Brand grinned as she piled raw seasoned steaks and chicken breasts onto a platter.

  Penelope’s father, Louis, came in from the back and accepted the platter, slicing Zach in two with a curt nod.

  Zach was accustomed to suspicious reactions from fathers of the women he’d dated—he’d met a few. Mothers loved him but the dads were harder to win over. Zach took a healthy slug from his beer bottle. He just had to come up with the how.

  He’d played down the “Dallas billionaire” bit, sliding into his clothing from his Chicago days. A comfortable and approachable pair of jeans paired with a gray T-shirt.

  Penelope opted for a billowy summer dress, cut to disguise the roundness of her belly starting to make itself known. She was leaning against the counter, a carbon copy of her mother, with an hourglass figure and blond hair. Paula’s blond was a paler shade, her stature shorter, but she was as womanly and beautiful as h
er daughter.

  A vision of Pen at that age, standing over a sink while Zach flipped through the mail hit him square in the solar plexus. His next breath was a struggle, but he managed.

  “Zach, honey?”

  He blinked out of his fortune-seeing stupor to find Paula’s brows lifted in question.

  “Another beer?”

  “Oh. Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

  Pen raised an eyebrow in his direction but moved to the fridge on his behalf. When she handed over the bottle, she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling and skin glowing.

  It seemed no matter how he tried to cordon off this situation as one he could control, she continually kicked down barriers and knocked him off center.

  The real kicker? He didn’t mind it a bit.

  “Pen tells me you were a contractor when you lived here,” Paula said as Zach took a swig of his fresh beer. “What do you think of this place?”

  Paula and Louis bought and sold real estate for a living, so their current digs was a three-bed, two-bath fixer-upper north of Chicago.

  “Good bones,” he said, happy to turn his attention to the surrounding rooms. They’d obviously moved in here while they did the work. The house was clean, but there were various projects started in the kitchen, one of the bedrooms, and the half-bath downstairs had been gutted.

  “We bought it for a steal.” Paula washed the cutting board and her hands. “Foreclosure. We’re hoping to double our profit. Louis insists on rebuilding the back deck, but I wanted to tear it down.”

  “The deck is a good feature.” Zach walked to the back door. Louis manned the grill, his stout, muscular body stiff. The deck was worn and splintered, and a pile of fresh wood was lying under a tarp in the backyard.

  Maybe after they told Pen’s parents about the baby, and Louis didn’t murder him and bury his body in the backyard, Zach and Pen’s father would have a topic in common.

  Zach knew how to build a deck.

  * * *

  Pen didn’t miss the wind in the windy city, that was for sure. She’d wrestled her hair into a ponytail and was forced to hold her paper plate down with one hand while she ate her chicken sandwich to keep it from blowing away.