Billionaire: A First-Time Steamy Romance

by Gilead, Kate

  I had no idea that owning a towing service was so lucrative that one could afford a property like this. But of course, I really don’t know how Brad made his money and I’m not about to ask.

  A comical picture pops into my mind instead. “I’m picturing an eccentric billionaire looking for a World Domination Lair,” I joke. “Where’s the tank for the sharks with the lasers on their heads?”

  He grins a mysterious grin at me.

  “Dr. Evil got nothin’ on me. Mwa-ha-ha-ha…oh, just a sec.”

  His text notification goes off and he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

  “Lana wants us to go down to her place now.” Another text pops up and he reads it and laughs. “She says Gus is getting bored and she wants help entertaining him.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think you and Lana will hit it off pretty good. I hope so, anyway.” He smiles, puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick hug. “She can come across bossy and pretty direct. Don’t fall for it though. Growing up with three older brothers, she’s got some rough edges. But she’s a sweetie underneath it all.”

  Oh, boy. I sure hope so.

  * * *

  We take the stairs to the first floor, where Lana and the building manager both have their apartments.

  As soon as we open the door to the first floor hallway, we hear strains of classical music floating to our ears.

  Drawing closer to her door, it’s clearly coming from Lana’s place.

  “Your sister likes classical music huh?”

  “No, not that I know of,” Brad says. “That must be Gus’ influence.

  Brad barely finishes knocking at the door before Lana shouts out, “Thank God! Get in here!”

  We look at each other and raise our eyebrows before going in.

  “What took you so long,” she says, good-naturedly. We go into her kitchen, where the counters are piled with recipe books, some tattered, some new, and a variety of small appliances and kitchenware. “Gus is trying to tell me how to cook. Get him out of my hair, will ya?”

  Brad, who towers over the grey-haired older man, smiles down at him. “You like taking your life into your hands, huh? Gordon Ramsey himself wouldn’t dare.”

  “She’s mekkin’ mac and chizz vith pork loin? I tole her, you gotta have ham vith mac and chizz. No pork loin, ham!”

  “Pancetta, Gus,” Lana says. “Not pork loin, pancetta!”

  “I agree with Gus,” Brad says, drawing an indignant sigh out of Lana. “But you should try it first, Gus, maybe you’ll like it. Gus, this is Cherry. Cherry, Gus.”

  Gus and I shake hands as Brad gives him the rundown on how we met up on the road today.

  “Ohhh, vat a lucky brek for you,” Gus says. “Couldn’a been rescued by a bettah guy. I know dese two from vhen dey were dis high!” He holds his hand down by his knee.

  “Have you heard from your wife?” Brad asks.

  “Yah, she mek it home. I tole her, ve should move closer to de store, but she like it vere ve are. She said to say t’anks for taking me in for de night.”

  “Anytime. So, how about you and me go up to my place and have a beer, shoot some pool maybe, and let the girls take care of dinner? You mind, Cherry?”

  “Nope.” I’d rather hang with Brad, but what else can I say?

  Gus seems delighted. “Ah, you want anudder ass-kickin’, huh boy? Hah! I kick ya ass t’ree out of five games last time. You like dat, huh?”

  “Yeah, I loved it Gus. C’mon, let’s see if you still got it.”

  “Oh I still got it, you! You young bucks t’ink you know it all, don’tcha…” They take their leave, Gus still razzing Brad as they go.

  Lana and I turn and regard each other. I offer her a tentative smile, which she returns with a wide grin. When she does that, I can really see her resemblance to her big brother.

  “All right! Now we can work in peace. First, though, I want to change this music.” She goes into the other room, puts on Adele’s latest and returns. “Love songs. Very apropo.” She gives me that grin again. “You care for a glass of wine? I got Merlot, Chardonnay and, um, something in a box, I forget what.”

  “Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  She pours two glasses of red, hands one to me and then smiles at me again, so wide and warmly, it actually makes me nervous.

  It must show on my face. She snorts, saying, “Don’t look so scared.” She holds up her glass. “Let’s have a toast. Here’s to my brother’s future wife!”

  Chapter Seven

  Cherry

  I stand stock still, holding my glass and staring at her.

  “I’m joking, I’m joking,” she says, then clinks her glass against mine. “Well, sort of. Maybe? You probably have some kind of say in it.” She laughs, sips her wine, then licks her lips.

  Still looking amused at my expression, she says, “He told me about you, y’know.”

  “He did? When? Today? What’d he say?”

  “When he broke up with his last girlfriend, several years ago. We had a few too many one night. He said that you’re the one who got away.” She purses her lips, waggles her eyebrows, and takes another sip of wine.

  My heart leaps in my chest. My jaw must be hanging on my chest.

  I can’t say a word.

  She snorts. “Are you surprised?”

  I must be ten shades of red at this point. “Yes… but…well, no. I mean, kind of? He’s been so good to me today. I…I always liked him too. Had a pretty good crush on him anyway.”

  “Trust me. What he feels for you, it’s already well beyond a crush. Or you wouldn’t be here right now. Not that it’s any of my business of course.” Winking, she goes to the sink and washes her hands.

  Holy shit!

  I remember I have a glass of wine in my hand and take big gulp of it.

  “You got any kitchen skills?” She wipes her hands on a big kitchen apron before tying it around her waist. She finds another one in a drawer and tosses it to me.

  “Not really. I love to cook. I just haven’t done much of it. I can chop and slice and, well, boil water I guess.”

  “Well, it’s a start. ” She motions towards a set of cupboards. “Would you mind grabbing a big pot outta there? Fill it with water about half way and bring it to the boil. Thanks.”

  While I get the water on, my thoughts racing with her revelation about Brad, she opens a package of pancetta.

  “Next, could you slice this up into bite-sized pieces?” While she watches, I slice the meat in my usual way.

  “Here, lemme show you. Hold the knife like this, and your fingers like this, see? Then, you’re using the weight of the knife to do your work for you, and keeping your fingertips out of the way.”

  Following her directions, it’s not long before I start getting the hang of it. Once that’s done, she sets me another task and shows me how to do that.

  While she begins grating cheese, the questions come.

  “So how’d you end up stranded today?”

  I tell her.

  “Oh, shit. Well that sucks. But how crazy is it that Brad saved your ass out there?”

  “I’m still reeling from it myself.”

  “Yeah, no doubt! You know, a lot of people don’t believe in Fate, but it sure seems providential that my smitten brother found the person who, um, smote him, on the roadway. Ten years later.” She meets my eyes, and then raises her eyebrows as if to say, you can’t argue that.

  “Eight, actually. It’s been eight years.”

  She pauses for another sip of wine, looking at me speculatively. “Say…mind if I ask, what’s your story? I mean, where’ve you been since you worked with my brother?”

  I finish my glass of wine in two more gulps, then give her the run-down. I try to minimize how lonely I’ve been but she seems to sense it and starts asking about my family and siblings and so on.

  Before I know it, we’ve told each other our life stories and are bonding over another glass of wine.

>   “And your brother was always on my mind, too. He’s, like, my idea of a perfect man. Never met anyone like him, that’s for sure. I knew he was a one of a kind guy but…I guess it wasn’t the right time.”

  “Divine timing,” she pronounces. “Maybe you were too young. And maybe you both had some things to learn. I swear, these things happen for a reason. No one will ever convince me otherwise.”

  “I just hope it’s real…and I hope I don’t screw it up.”

  “Hey, none of that, now. Gotta stay positive.” There she goes, reminding me of her brother again. “ ‘Kay,” she continues, “we better get this dinner happening before we get too drunk to cook.” She starts pulling out saucepans and utensils.

  She sets me the task of melting butter and whisking it together with flour and spices while she browns the pancetta in a skillet.

  Delicious smells soon fill the kitchen.

  “So you’re a skip-tracer? What exactly is that, anyway?”

  I tell her as she finishes her own glass of wine and pours another for us both. “God, that sounds awful,” she says. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to do that for a living.”

  “Me neither. It is awful. But it pays so well. If you can get your foot in the door somewhere, anyhow. There’s only so much work out out there, and employers always want the most experienced people they can find.”

  “Yeah, they want mean, crusty people who don’t take no for an answer, probably,” she says cheerfully, handing me a container full of shredded cheese. “Here, whisk all of this cheese into that sauce now.” She watches as I do that. “Hmm, nice work.”

  I can see what to do next without needing to be told. Feeling warmed up and more comfortable with the wine in me, I go ahead and get a casserole dish from her cupboards.

  Lana leans against the counter, sipping her wine and observing.

  I drain the pasta in a colander, then mix it with the thick, delicious-smelling cheese sauce. Then I get an idea. “You know what else might would be good with this?”

  “What?” Lana asks curiously.

  “Tomato paste.”

  “Really?” Pause. “Hmm, I never thought of that. Let’s try it.”

  She finds a can of the smooth paste in the pantry, opens it and hands it over. I mix it with the cheese sauce and pasta, then pour the whole thing into the glass casserole dish and smooth it down with a spatula.

  “Mmm,” Lana says. “That looks good! Like a creamy tomato sauce. Let’s get a nice thick layer of bread crumbs on that.”

  “Damn straight,” I agree.

  She pulls a carton of bread crumbs from the pantry and hands it to me. I sprinkle them liberally on the surface of the gooey cheese and pasta mixture. “Nice,” she says, then hands me the skillet with the cooked pancetta. “Normally I’d dot the bread crumbs with butter but I think this greasy pancetta will do the trick.”

  “Ooooh yeah baby,” I say, and we both giggle.

  I chop the chunks of pancetta loosely before arranging them on top of the bread crumbs.

  “Shit, girl,” Lana says, admiringly. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook? What are you, a natural or something?”

  I shrug, but I’m secretly kind of pleased with myself too.

  A bit tipsy herself, she holds her glass up for another toast. “Here’s to a new dish. I’ll call it Cherry’s Mac and Cheese. Yeah! If it’s a hit tonight, I’ll serve it at the diner.”

  Clinking her glass with mine, I say, “I hope it’s good. Usually I make mac and cheese out of a box…then eat it out of the pot, heh. With ketchup and maybe, some garlic powder if I’m being fancy. But baking it like this, just seemed like common sense. I mean, that’s what they did in the old days, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. Are you happy with it like that? What’s missing?”

  “Tomato toppers!”

  She gets a ripe, juicy tomato out of the fridge and hands it over. After I slice and arrange it on the casserole, she pronounces it ready to bake.

  * * *

  Brad and Gus return just as we’re getting the table set with crusty garlic bread and an enormous green salad.

  The mac and cheese casserole is yummy beyond my wildest dreams. After Lana makes a point of saying that I did the casserole and had the idea to add the tomato paste, everyone digs in silently except for groans of pleasure.

  And it’s a good thing it’s time to eat because I’m getting really tipsy with all this good wine.

  After a bit, Gus regales us with tales of Brad and Lana when they worked for him as youngsters and then, gossips about what the neighbors really think of this old building.

  Apparently some neighborhood cranks complained about the noise and ruckus while the work was going on. “Dey’re chealuss,” he says, nodding his head firmly. He’s obviously a bit drunk himself. “Chealuss. Dey dun like to see annybuddy get ahead, dat’s vat I t’ink.”

  While we’re chatting over dinner, Lana praises my cooking skills one more time, to which Brad inclines his head at me in a way that shows he’s impressed.

  After the meal, Lana offers coffee and dessert. Groaning, we all decline.

  Gus gets up and wanders off. After a few moments, the sound of soft snoring comes from the living area.

  Brad takes a look. “Gus zonked out on the couch,” he says. “He gets up even earlier than me, poor old guy.” He stretches, and then yawns himself. “That was delicious, ladies, but I’m getting tired too. I think I’ll take my guest home and we’ll have coffee upstairs.”

  “Okay,” Lana readily agrees. To me, she says, “You need a toothbrush, hon? I have spares. Nightie? Or jammie set? I’ve got a nice new set, light flannel pants with a draw string and a matching top. It’s got bunnies on it!”

  “I’d love that, thank you.”

  “Cool. We’re about the same size. I can lend you something to wear tomorrow, too, if you want.”

  I accept her offer thankfully with a promise to launder and return her clothing. “No worries,” she says, as Brad and I take our leave.

  “Have fun, you too.” Smiling mischievously, she waggles her fingers at us before she closes the door.

  * * *

  Upstairs, I put Lana’s clothing on the bed in the spare room and then flop onto it myself.

  God, it’s so comfortable.

  The combination of the wine, the meal and all the ups and downs of the day make me drowsy.

  I let my heavy eyelids fall and drift off for I don’t know how long.

  “Cherry? Sorry to wake you sweetie. But it’s only eight-thirty and I thought you might like to watch a movie in the theatre or something.”

  “Hmm?” I open my eyes to see Brad standing in the doorway. He’s got a bathrobe folded over one arm.

  Jesus Christ, what a vision he is.

  “How long did I sleep?” I stretch and rub my eyes but I don’t get up.

  “About an hour. I just woke up myself.” He grins. “Early days, early nights. I brought you one of my housecoats, too. Just in case you’d like one. Also, a pair of warm socks. The floors can be a little cool in here in the evenings.”

  “Oh, thank you!” He steps in and puts the clothing on the bed next to me, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “You’re welcome. I’m gonna have a fast shower and put coffee on. Or tea, if you’d rather. Unless you want more wine?”

  “No, God no. I’ve had enough. But I’ll shower too, if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. You’ll find everything you need in the cabinet in there.”

  “Um…would you take it amiss if I put on these comfy pajamas and robe after my shower? I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m taking your hospitality for granted by being too, um, familiar.”

  The way he looks down at me, so tender, yet so intense.

  And, boom, I’m picturing us, naked, my legs wrapped around his waist, feeling what I’ve never felt….feeling the man I love fill me with his cock, and his seed, at the same time he’s filling my heart with his love.

&nb
sp; His eyes are so wide and so dark, and for a second their expression grows even more intense.

  The moment spins out and I can feel the delicious tension growing like a living thing between us.

  “Cherry,” he says finally, stepping back towards the doorway. “I’ll take you any way I can get you. Don’t you know that by now?”

  Then he turns and leaves.

  Chapter Eight

  Brad

  It’s a cold shower for me.

  Not that it helps much.

  The way she was laying on that bed…her sleepy face…that hourglass shape.

  Fuck!

  No, not even the cold water does much to discourage my erection. I had to get out of her room before she saw it.

  I want her worse than anyone I’ve ever known, but I don’t want to scare her by looming over her like a perv.

  Still, I couldn’t stop myself from saying what I said to her. She must realize by now that I’m head over heels.

  Wasn’t I always?

  Lana, my mother, even some of my brothers are always bugging me about not having any personal social media. I was always too busy, and frankly always thought Facebook was kinda dumb.

  But now I’m kicking myself for that attitude because maybe I’d have gotten in contact with Cherry before now.

  Or maybe, she’d have gotten in contact with me. One way or another, maybe all these years didn’t need to go to waste.

  Because I still feel the same way I used to about her. It’s all still there.

  What is it about her exactly? She gorgeous yes, but it’s so much more than that.

  Maybe it’s that innocence that she has about her. That sincerity. That earnest determination yet self-deprecating humor she always showed.

  Her innocence may be why that last boss she had thought he could push her around. He obviously didn’t get to know her like I did or he wouldn’t have bothered.

  Because she has a surprising strength and resilience and she showed him how wrong he was.