Billionaire: A First-Time Steamy Romance

by Gilead, Kate

  And the natural soundtrack of it all…the ocean waves, faint but still audible, their hush-hush-hush providing a kind of rhythmic background for the louder, closer melody of insects and bird calls.

  All of this lulls and soothes me.

  The sights, sounds and smells here are all a balm to the soul.

  Best of all, there’s a crystal-clear, teal-blue lagoon close to the house.

  In the lagoon, a Hobie catamaran is tied to one side of the dock, riding the waves washing down from the ocean, tamed by the natural inlet. The sail is furled but the “fort” Brad made for the kids to provide shade is up, stretched between its nylon ropes.

  On the other side of the dock, two canoes are tied, bobbing gently in place.

  Our private paradise.

  On the sandy beach bordering the lagoon, my mother and father sit in cabana chairs under the shade of the palm trees, the children playing at their feet

  No sign of Brad.

  Returning to the kitchen, I make my morning drink of warm water, cider vinegar, lemon juice and maple syrup. This drink was the only thing that seemed to help my morning sickness with this pregnancy. And even though that’s passed now, I got used to the drink and still crave it.

  Slipping my feet into flip-flops, I take my drink and go join my family on the beach, passing a number of comfortable hammocks tied between trees.

  Brad loves dozing in the hammocks but they’re all empty too.

  “Hi Mom,” Jonathan calls out. “We’re goin’ thwimming ath thoon ath Dad waketh up,” he informs me.

  “Shhh Jonny! Daddy’s sleepun.” Rose’s says in her angelic, three-year old voice.

  “That’th what I jutht thaid,” Jonathan tells her, dumping a bucket of sand.

  “Morning dear,” my mom says. “Did you get much sleep?”

  “I thought I did. But maybe I was restless, if Brad’s napping. Where is he?”

  “He’s in the fort,” Rose says, squinting up at me with her smile, so like Brad’s.

  “Um, you might have been restless, but it was me who kept him up last night,” Dad grins. “After you went to bed, we had a few hands of Texas Hold’em.”

  “A “few”? The same way you only had a “few” rounds of rum?” Mom teases. To me, she says, “I dealt for them at first but I had to hit the sack around midnight. I’m not responsible for whatever happened after that.”

  “Oh, Paula, we were just having fun. I know Brad’s not much of a drinker but I egged him on. I had to use every advantage I could to win my money back.”

  “How much money?” I ask.

  “Worked out to five bucks, after all was said and done,” Dad says.

  “Oh, my, five whole dollars?” I giggle. “You sure you could afford it?”

  Dad shrugs, grinning sheepishly. We three adults chuckle, knowing full well it’s nothing to do with money. My father and Brad would have a pissing contest just for bragging rights.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Rose says, uncertainly.

  “No it’th not,” Jonny replies. “I have five dollarth in my piggy bank but it’th not even enough to buy a beer at a Blue Jay’th game. Grampa thaid tho.”

  “Eddie, what are you teaching him?” Mom chides my dad affectionately.

  “The truth,” Dad says.

  “Brad can’t really drink rum, don’t you remember, Dad? It doesn’t agree with him, upsets his stomach. If he was drinking rum with you, it was just to try keeping up with you.”

  “Oh I remember, all right,” Dad laughs. “Like I said, you gotta take every advantage you can get.”

  “What did you do to my poor husband,” I say, but I’m not worried. “Did he eat any breakfast?”

  “Nope,” Mom says. “He said he fed the kids but he wanted to wait and have breakfast with you.”

  “Mumma I had cinny-mon toast!” Rose brags, picking up sand in both her small hands and letting it run through the gap between her palms.“This many!” She holds up two slightly-grubby fingers. “That’s two, right Gramma?”

  My mother nods. “It was one piece, cut into two,” she says. “That’s right baby.”

  “And, and, Jonny had two pancakes and crumbled eggs!”

  “Thcrambled,” Jonathan corrects his sister, his freckled face serious. “They’re thcrambled eggth.”

  “That’s what I just said,” Rose replies primly.

  “Thtop copying me,” Jonathan says, rolling his eyes.

  My stomach lets out a loud growl.

  “Oh, excuse you Mumma,” Rose giggles.

  “Why?” Jonathan demands. “She didn’t fart or anything,”

  Dad snorts laughter. “This kid kills me,” he says. “You kill me, you know that kid? You’re so serious.”

  “I know, Grampa,” Johnny says somberly, making all of us laugh. But this time, Jonathan laughs too, throwing his head back to let out a guffaw that can only come from his father. It’s such a sunny sound, it gives the lie to his serious demeanor. And, just like his father’s laugh, it’s so infectious, it makes us all laugh even more, including Rose.

  My stomach growls again, very loudly, then it trails off into a high-pitched gurgle.

  “Mumma!” Rose covers her mouth with her hand and giggles. “Was that a fart?”

  “No Rosie,” I laugh, “Mumma’s just hungry. Daddy must be getting hungry too. I wonder if I should go wake him up.”

  “He said to tell you to wake him up when you’re ready to eat,” Mom says.

  “He’th thleeping it off,” Jonathan remarks. “Right Grampa?”

  Dad guffaws again, with Jonny joining him once more.

  “Eddie!” Mom slaps his arm lightly. “You’re incorrigible.”

  Rose frowns. “In..ingortchapull? What’s that?”

  “It means funny,” Dad tells her, laughing, holding up his arm to fend off my mother’s next pretend-slap. “It also means very good-looking.”

  “Ohhh, you…” Mom laughs. “So much for teaching them the truth.”

  “Well I gotta have my fun somehow,” Dad retorts, laughing.

  “Yeah, you are ingortchapull Grampa!” Rose wraps her arms around her grandfather’s leg, hugging it, then plants a kiss on his knee. “You too, Gramma! And you too Mumma! And Daddy too!”

  “Hey, what about me?” Jonathan says.

  A familiar gleam sparkling in her eye, Rose throws herself at her brother and wraps her arms around his neck. “You’re ingortchapull too Jonny! I love you!”

  “Ugh, okay okay,” Jonathan says, “you’re choking me!” His freckled face reddens but I can tell he’s secretly pleased. “I love you too, Rothie. Now get offa me.”

  * * *

  The “fort” where Brad’s having his nap on the Hobie craft is just a tent that he made out of a canvas tarp to keep the sun off the kids when he takes them for a sail around the lagoon.

  It’s an ingeniously simple affair stretched over the mesh trampoline-deck on the water craft. With the boat tied to the dock, it’s a great place for a shaded snooze, especially when there are gentle waves to provide some soothing rocking.

  Brad, being the hammock aficionado that he is, I can see why it appeals.

  Approaching the craft, though, I can’t see anything except the vague hump of a human-like shape pressed against the inside of the tarp.

  “Brad?”

  No answer.

  “Honey? Do you want to get up now? You hungry?”

  No answer.

  No movement from the vague hump, either.

  I try again, louder this time. “Brad! Wakey-wakey, eggs and bake-y!”

  “Mmmph?” He clears his throat. “Eggsnbakey? Mmm.”

  “Morning honey. You tied one on last night huh?”

  “Naw, not really. Rum, though. Made me a little sick.”

  “Aww, sweetie. Well you know better than to try to keep up with my dad.”

  “Sure do. Gotta though. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.” He sounds more awake now. I can hear him stretch, and what s
ounds like, sit up.

  “All this for five bucks?”

  “It’s a guy thing. Besides, we didn’t drink that much. When I came to bed, you were so restless, I kept waking up.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I did keep you up then.”

  “Not your fault honey, you know that.”

  “I…just a second, I’m coming in.”

  Kicking off my flip-flops, I grab one of the lines and board the craft.

  “No, wait, just a second…geez, honey. Careful,” he says, appearing in the opening of the tent. His hair’s sticking up every which way, and he looks sleepy, but otherwise, his normal handsome self. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Seven months pregnant is a bit far along to be trying to board a shaky craft.”

  He holds a hand out to me as I step onto the trampoline.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “You know I always gain the most weight towards the end.”

  “Yeah but your body’s getting all loose in the joints already, getting ready for the birth.”

  “Yes, I know,” I step onto the trampoline deck and crouch down to where he’s sitting. “I’m still good right now, and this will be the last time I can do this until we come back after this one’s born.”

  He puts his hand out to steady me and grabs me by the wrist. “Mwa ha haaa,” he says, eyes gleaming.“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

  Pulling me inside, he attacks my neck with kisses. “Ew, gross! Morning breath,” I laugh, pretending to push him away.

  He’s not having it though. So I lay down with my back to him, and we stretch out together and spoon for a while, one of his big hands caressing my belly, with nothing more pressing to talk or worry about than what to have for breakfast.

  Extended Epilogue Chapter 14

  Twenty Years Later

  BRAD

  July 1st.

  Canada Day.

  We sold the apartment building, Jonathan and Rose’s old home, years ago, before Charles was born.

  Now our city home is here, our waterfront property on the shores of Lake Ontario.

  Jonathan cracks a Molson Canadian, my favorite beer, and hands it to me.

  “Cheers, Dad,” he says. We clink bottles and take a sip.

  “Hey, where’s mine?” Devon, our third child and second son, trots over, dropping his baseball glove on the picnic table.

  Jon hands him one, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you’re old enough to drink.”

  “Oh okay, old man,” his brother teases. “I could probably drink you under the table.”

  “Good Lord,” Cherry says, looking up from the food table a few feet away, where’s she’s opening containers and getting paper plates, napkins and plastic utensils ready. “Being able to drink someone under the table is nothing to be proud of, Dev.”

  “I’m joking, Ma,” Devon protests, turning to smile at her. Turning back to Jon, he mutters “I bet I could though.”

  Jonathan rolls his eyes. “In your dreams, chump,” he mutters back.

  “I heard that,” Cherry says. Catching my eye, she gives her head a tiny shake, but the corner of her mouth is twitching.

  After all these years together, I can all but read her mind. She’s thinking they get their competitive spirit from me.

  At fifty-one, she’s as beautiful as she ever was. That long, thick red hair has some gray in it now, but I won’t let her dye or cut it.

  And she’s worked hard to maintain her figure, even though she’s a bit thicker around the waist than twenty years ago.

  More of her to love. And I love her as often as I can, as hard as I can.

  Heh.

  That body of hers has given me six healthy children, and I still think filthy thoughts when she walks past me, hips swaying at the top of those long legs.

  And that delicious secret place she has between her…oops, never mind. Better save that thought for later.

  Still, just looking at her…yeah. My cock gets ideas.

  As if she can feel my eyes on her, she glances up at me, then away, then glances back immediately, letting her gaze rest on mine.

  I wink, and she winks back, then looks back down at the food she’s prepping, trying to keep a straight face.

  But I see that familiar red glow start on her cheeks.

  Yep. We can almost hear each other think.

  Truly, I couldn’t love her more.

  Rose comes out of the house with her daughter Kristen, now two, and hands her over to Cherry. “Here Mom, why don’t you hold Miss Grumpy Pants while I get her something to eat.”

  Kristen, our first and so far, only grandchild, sniffles, lays her head on her Nana’s shoulder and gazes at her mother with big, teary blue eyes.

  “I don’t like potty,” she says, sweet little voice as matter-of-fact as it could be.

  Everyone laughs.

  “Yes, we know, baby,” her mother says, ruefully.

  “The terrible twos,” Cherry says, caressing the baby’s head. “You were a terror yourself, especially when you were hungry. But by the time you turned three, you were the sweetest child.”

  “Can’t wait,” Rose says, snorting. “Daddy’s coming soon, baby girl,” she croons to her daughter, as she arranges some potato salad on a plate, and then bean salad, to go with the pieces of chicken she’s already removed from the bone.

  “Daddy?” Kristen perks up and looks around. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “He’s on his way,” Rose says. “He’ll be here real soon, and he’s gonna have some dinner and hang out and we’re gonna watch the fireworks together!”

  At twenty-three, Rose looks so much like her mother it’s kind of eerie. The same heart-shaped face, the same red hair and the same shy smile.

  Cherry and I were a little worried when Rosie got married so young, but her husband’s been one of my drivers for five years now. He quickly became my best guy, and he’s more than proved himself to be a solid man and hard worker. And a great father too.

  Of course, back in the day, everyone paired off a lot younger than Cherry and me. It’s perfectly natural and worked out fine for generations before us.

  After Devon, we were blessed with Charles, now eighteen, and then surprise twins, Leland and Lance, now seventeen.

  Cherry wanted to keep trying, but having those last two pregnancies so close together, with the final one being the twins, was too hard on her.

  With regret, we decided to stop there. But our family’s been blessed in many other ways and we look forward to welcoming as many grandchildren as we can.

  “Dad, can I have a beer too?” Charles, always pushing to grow up too fast.

  “No you may not,” Cherry says. “Why even ask?”

  “Oh come on. I’ll be nineteen soon. Why does everyone think there’s some magical age when it’s okay to consume alcohol anyway? In the States, the drinking age is twenty-one. In Europe, they serve their kids beer and wine at home when they’re like, ten. It’s dumb, makes no sense.”

  “No it doesn’t, but it’s the law,” Jonathan says. “As you know perfectly well.” Jonathan’s nearly finished law school. He’ll be a great lawyer, steady and logical and calm. Maybe he’s still a bit too serious, but he’ll loosen up with time.

  Meanwhile, he has nerves of steel, nothing shakes him. I can see him winning any case he cares to take on.

  Devon is studying to be a millwright, and Charles is studying my old specialty, programming.

  Leland and Lance are considering medical school but may choose a different discipline. Whatever it is, they’ll probably do it together.

  “You’re just lucky this isn’t the States, then,” Devon says. “Then you’d have to wait to start your career as an alcoholic for another two years.” He gives his brother a toothy grin.

  “Ewww, burn,” Charles laughs.

  Cherry frowns, but then she relaxes and smiles, shaking her head. Growing up as an only child, she’s sometimes shocked by how our kids can tease each other pretty ruthlessly at times.


  I had two older brothers and a baby sister, so of course, it doesn’t phase me.

  It’s all normal and I know how much they love each other and will always be there for one another.

  I watch our twin boys for a while. They’re off a little ways, still throwing a baseball back and forth. They’re identical, but we, their family, never mix them up. And they’ve tried to fool us, more than once. I chuckle to myself, thinking about it.

  But we know them too well. And love them too much.

  Rose takes a seat at the table with Kristen’s plate of food near to hand. She holds out her hands for her daughter and Cherry puts the child in Rose’s lap.

  “Lance? Leland? Come and get it,” Cherry calls out.

  In unison, the two turn and come to the picnic table shelter. Picking up plates, they take their place beside their older brothers, who are already loading up with food.

  Two peas in a pod, our twins, like always.

  Over the years, people have remarked about how much Rose resembles Cherry, and how closely the boys resemble me.

  But Cherry and I see each other reflected in all our children. The boys have some of Cherry’s red in their hair, what they used to call strawberry-blonde.

  And all the kids, Cherry says, have my smile.

  It’s always fascinated Cherry and me to see how they all have traits from both of us, as well as their own that developed as they grew.

  Isn’t that how it should be?

  “I don’t like it all that much. I’m only gonna finish my next semester and then I’m quitting college and going to work for Dad,” Devon’s saying.

  “What? Since when?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” Cherry says. “All of you are going to finish college. You can switch majors, take something else, or whatever, that’s fine. But you have to finish something.”

  “Rose quit school.” The twins say it at the same time.

  “Did the Bot Twins say something?” Devon teases. “All I heard was bleep bleep bloop. Clones, I swear. You sure you didn’t have them manufactured in a test tube, Ma?”