Billionaire: A First-Time Steamy Romance

by Gilead, Kate

  Even under his parka, I can feel his strong muscles working.

  It seems like he hasn’t given up his old habit of hitting the gym.

  “Ready? Hold on!” He stands up like I weigh nothing, then starts towards the entrance.

  “Sooo-eee, piggy,” I call out, “giddy-up!”

  “God, you weigh a ton,” he teases. “Plus, you’re mixing your barnyard metaphors. City slicker!“

  Snorting and making various barnyard noises himself, he breaks into a trot, jouncing me thoroughly.

  “Hey, whoa!” I giggle and shriek, loving it.

  It’s amazing how a day that started out as miserable and bleak as this one can turn around so completely.

  Even though my situation hasn’t really changed, being with Brad, finding him again out of the blue like this…just makes me feel better.

  More hopeful.

  Less alone. Even if it’s just for right now.

  At the building entrance, there’s an old-fashioned canopy protecting the entryway, very fancy and ornate, like something you’d see on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan or somewhere.

  Brad sets me down once we’re safely underneath the canopy.

  The building address is rendered in a gilded, art-deco style font on the polished glass picture window looking into kind of lobby.

  Under that, the words “Abernathy Towing” are rendered in the same style, in a smaller font.

  “Oh, you have your office here too?”

  “Welcome to Home Sweet Home-slash-Office,” he grins, holding the door open and waving me through.

  * * *

  Inside, it looks different from most apartment buildings I’ve been in.

  There’s the usual glassed-in vestibule, but with some major differences.

  There are two glass doors leading inside. One, on the right hand side, is marked with the words “Abernathy Towing” and clearly leads into a small office area, now deserted.

  The other glass door leads into the apartment proper.

  But there’s no board with resident’s names and buzz codes as you’d see in most apartment buildings.

  Instead of that, there’s a keypad with a clear plastic cover mounted above five mailboxes. The topmost mailboxes are regular-sized, numbered from one to four.

  The whole mailbox and keypad arrangement is definitely not the usual. It all looks pretty new as well.

  The bottom mailbox is the largest. Brad bends to look through the little glass window in the front of it.

  “Nah, nothing. Won’t be any mail delivery today,” he says, flipping up the plastic cover of the keypad and tapping in a code.

  The glass door leading into the lobby swings open inwardly. “After you, mademoiselle,” he says gallantly.

  This whole lobby area looks new, for that matter, even though it’s been finished in keeping with the art-deco theme,.

  “Okay, there’s some kind of story here and I want to hear it,” I say, as we cross the small, quiet lobby to the elevators.

  “There is indeed,” he says. “I’ll tell you everything once we get inside. I’m just gonna text Vic at the repair place and let him know I’m responsible for your car. And I need to check in with my sister and my two drivers that haven’t returned from the road yet.”

  He presses the elevator call button, which results in one of the two brushed-steel elevator doors sliding open instantly and silently.

  The elevator is equipped with a state-of-the-art button pad with two steel buttons numbered one and two, and above that, one unmarked, glass-covered button.

  Brad presses the pad of his thumb against the glass button and the elevator instantly rises smoothly. The digital number display above the door flashes number one, then number two, then it displays the letters PH for ‘penthouse’ as the elevator stops.

  The door slides open onto a small foyer that is inside the penthouse apartment. Stepping out of the elevator, I ask, “Is that a…is that a fingerprint-detector thingie you pressed in there? I’ve never seen such a thing on an elevator before.”

  “Yep. The elevators won’t even go to the top floor unless me, my sister or Frank use that thumb pad. Due to the architecture, when we installed the elevators, they needed to open right into my quarters. So I had the keypad put in instead of a key.”

  “We installed the elevators? You had the keypad put in?” And it dawns on me. “Oh! You own this building?”

  “Yep,” Brad smiles. “I bought the place for the price of the land basically. Five years ago.”

  Brad takes his coat off and hangs it on a coat stand and…oh gosh! My knees go weak. He’s wearing one of those snug-fitting, long-sleeved silk athletic shirts of the kind that skiers wear. It shows every ripple and curve of his glorious body.

  God he’s still so…built! Even bigger than I remember. That chest…those arms. Those legs like tree-trunks. I bet they’d be so nice and warm wrapped around mine.

  It’s like it’s eight years ago and I’m falling back into that girlish crush all over again.

  It’s just not so girlish anymore. It’s more like a womanly hunger that needs to be fed.

  We both take a seat on a long wooden bench to remove our snowy footwear. I notice he’s checking me out as much as I am him, making me wish I was wearing something sexier than my severe grey pin-striped office slacks. Well, at least they flatter my figure.

  “Wow, this is…this is really something, Brad,” I say, following him inside.

  “Wait til you see the rest,” he says. “There’s nothing like this building in all of Toronto, that I know of.”

  We follow a short corridor lined with louvered closet doors and enter into a huge, bright, open area with exposed brick walls, wooden ceiling beams and floor-to-ceiling windows opening to a snowy balcony and an expansive view beyond.

  “Make yourself at home,” he waves at the living area. “I’m just gonna deal with a few things and be right back.”

  He disappears down a hallway as I take a seat on a couch and look around.

  In the middle of the big room is a raised, double-sided fireplace covered with a brushed-steel hood and chimney. It’s surrounded by a circular hearth made of bricks that match the ones on the walls.

  Firewood is stacked neatly on one side, with tools and fire implements arranged neatly on the other.

  In the living area, a big flat-screen TV hangs on one brick wall. The long, plush couch I’m sitting on shares the space with an armchair and an ottoman. Situated next to those are shelves hung artfully from wire cables and loaded with books.

  Big, healthy plants grow in floor pots near the windows and climbing vines send their green tendrils from smaller pots, hung from the ceiling or set on shelves.

  True to his word, in a few minutes Brad returns. “My sister’s not answering her phone but she’s probably busy. Otherwise, all’s cool. Ready to eat? I’m starving.”

  We go into the kitchen area, which boasts top-of-the-line appliances and again, that clean-looking but kind of sterile brushed-steel for counter tops and backsplashes.

  Very masculine decor and energy in here.

  Except for the plants, maybe, there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a feminine influence here.

  Not so far as I can tell, anyway.

  He opens the fridge and starts pulling out plastic storage containers and handing them to me. “This is leftover filet mignon. My sister cooked it. Lots of bacon left in there too. Oh, hey, let’s make FMBLTs, that’ll be yummy.”

  “Filet Mignon Bacon Lettuce Tomato sandwiches?”

  “You got it. You always were a quick study,” he chuckles. Bending back into the fridge, he pulls out a container full of greens. “I don’t have lettuce but this is some spring mix, and I have some nice home-grown tomatoes, and here’s some mayo.”

  “Home-grown tomatoes? In the winter?”

  “Yep. We have a greenhouse on the roof. It’s nice. That’s part of the story of this building actually. We get tomatoes and garlic and onions and salad greens all year
long. Lana does most of it. I just enjoy the spoils.”

  “Mmm! Awesome. I’d love to have a greenhouse!” Moving to the counter, I open the container of left-over meat. Even cold, it smells delicious.

  There’s a magnetized strip holding a selection of knives above the counter. “May I use this knife and cutting board here?”

  “Absolutely.” He opens a stainless steel bread box and pulls out a loaf of crusty Italian bread.

  While he butters the bread and then spreads mayonnaise on each piece, I slice the tender, pinkish filet mignon thinly and then lay the slices on the mayo side of the bread, followed by the remaining bacon. “Don’t skimp on the bacon,” he warns good-naturedly.

  He’s already got the tomatoes sliced, spread with more mayo and seasoned with salt and pepper.

  “Okay, now for a handful of this stuff in place of lettuce,” he mutters, piling a thick wad of the crunchy greens onto each sandwich.

  Next he opens a cabinet and pulls out two glasses. “You like milk with your sandwich or would you prefer water? Juice?”

  I plate the thick, heavily-piled sandwiches and take them to the dining table, set by one of the windows. “Milk is fine, thanks.”

  “Oh…yeah,” Brad says, glancing in my direction. “I’m so used to eating on the run, I usually just stand right where I am and scarf it down.” He brings the two full glasses of milk to the table and takes a seat. “I forget sometimes that I even have a dining room.”

  “Oh? Well…bon appetit!” I put a hand on my sandwich and push down, squishing the concoction down into a manageable size.

  Brad, who’s already taken a huge bite of his own lunch, watches, smiling.

  Smiling back, I take a big bite myself, then sit back and chew, savoring the flavor and texture.

  “Oh God that’s good,” I groan, after swallowing and licking my lips.

  We quickly finish our meals, washing it down with the fresh cold milk.

  “Yep. That hit the spot. Thank-you Brad!”

  “It’s my pleasure,” he says. Eyes twinkling, he leans back and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Speaking of pleasures…you wanna hear one of my secret, guilty pleasures?”

  “Yes,” I say, without hesitation.

  Eyes on mine, his expression becomes intense yet playful.

  “Heh. When we were working together, I used to watch you…”

  From the foyer comes the sound of a thump and a crash, followed by a female voice muttering.

  “Uh oh,” Brad says, standing up. He turns and calls out down the hallway towards the foyer. “Lana? You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” comes the voice from the foyer. “I dropped your fricking grocery bag is all. It’s crazy out there! I brought Gus home with me. I told him he could stay in your spare…”

  A girl about my age comes into view carrying two grocery bags. “Hi there,” she says to me. “I saw an unfamiliar coat in the foyer but I was already here, so…um. Well…sorry about barging in,” she smiles, “but my brother never has any women over so I figured it’d be cool.”

  Chapter Five

  Brad

  “Gee thanks for that, Lana.” I glare at her wryly, eliciting a guilty look in response. “Anyway. Were you saying that you told Gus he could sleep in my spare room?” I take the grocery bag from my sister’s hands and put it on the table.

  “Well he’s stranded. And I didn’t know you had company,” Lana says, shooting me a guilty look. “I’m Lana, Brad’s sister,” she says to Cherry, smiling.

  “Hi,” Cherry says, smiling back, albeit a bit nervously. “I’m Cherry. I got stranded today too. Brad pretty much rescued me.”

  “I phoned you but you didn’t answer,” I explain.

  “Ohhhh… Cherry? Right…okay,” Lana says. I notice that her eyes narrow briefly, then she studies Cherry for a second before saying, “I didn’t check my phone.”

  “Lana, this is Cherry Hill. I might have mentioned her to you at some point. Anyhow, we used to work together at Borden, back in the day. You wouldn’t believe how I ran into her.”

  I fill my sister in on the details, with Cherry nodding and looking a little embarrassed about losing control of her car.

  “Well, hell,” Lana says. “It’s one of those days I guess. The diner’s closed so I decided to grab a few things for both of us, just in case we get snowed in. Milk, bread, butter, that kind of stuff. Anyways, Gus is down at my place trying to get hold of his wife.”

  “She might be stuck in this somewhere too. Well, maybe Gus can stay in your spare room then. I’d prefer Cherry stay here in mine. Unless you want to ask Frank to…”

  “No, it’s cool. Oh! For dinner, I’m making three-cheese mac and cheese with balsamic vinegar pancetta. Salad on the side. It’s Grandma’s mac and cheese recipe, tweaked a bit.”

  “That sounds different,” Cherry says. “I’ve never had mac and cheese with pancetta.”

  “Lana’s a chef,” I tell her. “She can prepare the finest foods, but she’s making a name for herself at a local diner just by serving our grandmother’s old depression-era recipes, with a twist.”

  “It’s amazing what they did with what little they had back then,” Lana says. “But I’d better get downstairs and see to my guest. You’re both welcome to join us for dinner.”

  “Thanks. I want to show Cherry around and catch up a bit more. If it wasn’t so crappy out there, we could go for a spin around the park on the Hog.”

  “The Hog?” Cherry asks. “Is that the snowmobile I saw on the truck out there? I didn’t know you’re allowed to drive recreation vehicles in public parks.”

  “It’s not public. We just call it “the park” because that’s how it looks. But it’s Brad’s property,” Lana says. “The city can’t do shit.”

  “True. Anyhow,” I say to Cherry, “it’s not a nice day for that kind of piggy-backing.”.

  Cherry and I both snicker while Lana looks at me, then Cherry, then back at me, a half-smile on her face.

  “Okey-dokey, whatever that means. I don’t need to know,” Lana laughs. “I’ll see ya later.”

  * * *

  “She seems nice,” Cherry says, after Lana leaves.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty cool for a kid sister,” I agree. “So, it’s settled then. You’re staying in my spare room.”

  “I was kinda hoping it’d work out that way,” she says, her voice soft.

  “Me too,” I agree. A moment passes when we just sit and look at each other, allowing a light and pleasant tension to build.

  When she breaks eye contact and shifts in her seat, I stand up and take our plates into the kitchen. “So, you want the grand tour? Or do you want to kick back for a while? We have the whole day ahead of us.”

  “Sure, I’d love to see the place. And hear the story, like you promised.”

  “All right, c’mon. I’ll show you my unit first, then we’ll work our way down.”

  I head through the living room towards the hall leading to the bedrooms, with Cherry behind me.

  Opening the door to the spare room, I flick on the light switch and stand back for Cherry to go in ahead of me.

  Naturally, I take the opportunity to watch that tight round ass wiggle as she goes.

  Those pin-striped office pants she’s wearing don’t do a thing to turn down the sizzling heat of her silhouette.

  Damn.

  “Brad….” she starts, then stops. “This is…beautiful.”

  “You like it? I had an interior decorator do this room. I wanted some nice furniture for guests. The sleigh bed, the dresser and the rest of the furniture were all made by an Amish company and imported from Ohio, your home state. The carpet is Persian, and the artwork is from various Canadian artists that I’ve collected over the years.”

  “Geez, it’s all so, uh, eclectic. But it flows together so well.”

  “C’mere, check out the bathroom.” I open the door and put the light on in there too. “This bedroom used to be the master bedroom. That’s why it
’s has an ensuite. I had this bathroom restored to the way it was in the roaring twenties, when this building was constructed.”

  “Looks like they did a great job,” she remarks, looking around. “What’s that finish on the ceiling?”

  “That’s the original tin tiles they used. You can’t get those anymore so I had them repaired and polished. The ceramic tiles on the floor and walls are new, but all made in the old style. And of course, the claw foot tub and shower are new too but they’re true to the original motif.”

  “It’s fabulous. But why isn’t this your bedroom?”

  “Because my bedroom’s better. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  My bedroom’s the only room I don’t allow the housekeeper into, so I’m hoping it’s not too messy. We get to the doorway and I hold up a finger. “Gimme one sec, okay? I just wanna, you know, make sure there are no skivvies hanging out or anything.”

  “Skivvies! Okay, take your time,” she laughs.

  There are indeed a few skivvies on the floor, along with a lot of my other clothing. I flail at some dusty surfaces with a dirty sock, then shove that and the rest of my laundry into the hamper. Noting that there’s nothing else to be too ashamed of in plain sight, I invite her in.

  “Oh, this is nice too. Not as big as the other room, but nice. King sized bed for a king-sized guy, I see.” Her gaze goes to the sliding doors giving off onto a balcony. “Oh, this room has its own balcony?”

  “Yes, I had it installed. This next part is really awesome, come see.”

  She follows me to a door, which I open to reveal a wide staircase against one wall brick wall. The other wall is comprised of a floor-to-ceiling picture window, giving light to a bunch more of Lana’s plants in floor pots and on shelving. I stand aside to let her through. “Go ahead, up those stairs,” I say.

  She climbs the stairs, one hand on the rail, eyes on the window taking in the view.

  Meanwhile, I’m taking in the view of her ass again, while trying to convince my cock that now’s not the time to get hard.