Billionaire Romance Series: Dreams Fulfilled (1-3)

by Scarlett King

  Andi and I look at each other mutely and then shake our heads. It’s more than finding out what the truth is when it comes to situations like this. It’s our excuse to spend weekends together while doing something cool and interesting.

  “Not a chance,” Andi adds, which leaves me feeling much warmer on this cold night.

  After their odd little interview of us, we have supper together—and I have to admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t hear the small army of cooks and servers it must have taken to put this feast together, but there is enough food to feed half the town. There’s goose and game fowl, a slab of boar, venison, nut pies, and eggnog with enough booze in it to make my head spin a little.

  “This is amazing,” Andi breathes. I nod, my mouth already full of goose and stuffing mere seconds after it hit my plate. There are only two servants: both slim, aging fellows, silent, with pointed beards and long noses. Dressed in green with white piping, they retrieve plates and fill dishes on request and then go back to their posts by the fireplace.

  “It’s a lot for just two guests.” I’m wondering if Whitman’s trying to dazzle us, or if this is just how he rolls.

  “Oh, it’s not just for the two of you—we’ll have friends dropping by all night. I hold a feast for a full fortnight surrounding Christmas and New Year’s.” He winks, and I realize in the process of swallowing that he just handed us a clue.

  “What happens when the last day of feasting ends?” Andi asks, picking up immediately on the slip. Or is it only one? If there’s one thing I can tell, it’s that Whitman has been in control of this interaction from the moment we walked in.

  “Oh, the usual things one does once the holidays have fizzled out until Valentine’s. Gather my decorations back up and bundle them into the attic for another year. Fortunately, I have some help. I couldn’t do it all on my own at my age.” He and Jack exchange a conspiratorial look…and I’m really left wondering.

  Damn it, they only started giving up details about themselves once we got to the table. Should I just record them secretly? I know it’s the only way I’ll get any kind of record of the interview, but it seems rude.

  Surreptitiously, I reach down into my pocket and poke the recorder switch. Maybe it’s a little dirty—and I’m praying I hit the right button. But the Whitmans started playing dirty when they turned our our pre-dinner interview into ten minutes of introductions and getting-to-know-yous with Andi and I the only ones in the spotlight.

  So far, all I have been able to do is verify a few things that strengthen our case for the Doc being involved in the mistletoe incident. He’s the big Christmas fan, he and his son are wealthy, well connected and secretive, and he’s been celebrating for the whole two weeks that the mistletoe has been up. But nothing he says gives a clue as to how he’s doing it.

  “Do you think that the mistletoe will go away once you stop your nightly celebrations?” I cut in. Andi looks up at me in mild confusion, but then nods. It’s a little shady, but direct questions are getting us nowhere.

  “Well, if the people responsible for decking the town have any respect for tradition, it won’t stay up after dawn on the sixth.” His eyes twinkle. It’s the closest he’s come after several tries, to admitting outright that he’s the one behind all of this.

  Andi and I exchange excited looks. It took me two hours this afternoon to put up the deer cams around town while she tried again to nap. They’re on continuous record after dark for the next two days.

  If something happens tomorrow night, we’re going to catch it.

  “You have said that you have nothing to do with this incident, Dr. Whitman, but there are indications that you might not be telling the whole truth.” I offer a polite smile; the one he returns to me is tinged with mischief.

  I keep my tone calmly earnest. “But let’s work around that. Instead of asking how you did this, I’ll just ask if you have any idea how it was done.”

  Jack lets out a soft laugh and elbows his father gently. Whitman chuckles again, appearing amused by the way I hedged around the question.

  I keep my head up and watch him across the table. Please let this thing be recording the conversation properly.

  The Doc considers his answer as the moments crawl past. Andi’s hand finds mine under the table, and we clasp them tightly in mutual support.

  “Well, from what you have told me, there was no sign of a group large enough to get the job done moving around before dawn on the twenty-third of December. Nor were there any footprints left behind. Nor have footprints been left behind on new snow when a sprig is replaced. It is intriguingly odd.” He tugs on his beard thoughtfully.

  “Yes, Dr. Whitman, but how could it possibly have been done if no one was walking on the ground?” Andi’s voice is almost pleading now. “And please don’t say flying reindeer.”

  “No, no, no, of course not,” Jack chimes in. “You would have seen the hoof-prints. Unless you didn’t actually examine the rooftops for them?” Jack is really not helping right now. I shoot him a look, and he just grins with feigned innocence.

  “Nothing so fancy, I suspect,” Dr. Whitman says musingly. “You can cover snow tracks with a broom, after all, especially when there are layers of fallen snow and blowing wind to help you out. Also, footprints would not be needed or a ladder for the tall eaves, if someone drove past with people standing in the bed of a truck.” The doctor’s smile is infuriating. “It might be implausible, but it’s not impossible.”

  I sit back. I know what he’s hinting at, and the disappointment on Andi’s face angers me a little. “Maybe. But that’s a pretty hard sell. This mistletoe appeared inside a locked church and high above its doors and eaves—and it’s all throughout the graveyard, so there was no driving a truck through.”

  “Seems to me a church would be immune to magic, being on sacred ground and all,” Jack points out.

  “Maybe Saint Nicholas gets a pass. He and the priest have the same boss, after all.” Andi looks at him challengingly.

  The Doc and his son both let out peals of laughter, the elder’s loud and booming, filling the room. Even the servants titter a little. “Well said! Well said!” Jack snickers as he looks between the two of us. “Well, I can’t say that you don’t do your homework on these things.”

  Andi smiles with something like relief, and I clear my throat. “Anyway. None of the scenarios we have come up with get us any closer to sorting out a mundane way that all of this could have been coordinated and carried out in secret. Even if you’re not responsible, you’re the local Christmas expert. You must know something.”

  “I know some things, and perhaps you’re right,” Whitman concedes. “Perhaps something supernatural did occur.” He takes a swallow of his hot spiced wine and then gestures with his mug.

  “The problem is that in the end, you’re never going to find anything that reveals the whole truth behind this in a way that can be scientifically proven. Not even with all of your tech or all the scientists on your payroll back home.”

  “But why?” Andi asks softly. I hate the disappointed note in her voice.

  “Because people won’t believe,” Jack cuts in. “Even when someone tells you exactly who they are and why they do what they do, you have trouble believing yourself.”

  I look down. I can’t see if the recorder’s going, but I speak as if it is. “Debunkers pit science against finding a wider view of reality, instead of aiding in the search for it. I’m trying to do the opposite.”

  The Doc shakes his head sadly. “But science isn’t advanced enough yet. Humanity may not be either.”

  This is simultaneously the deepest and the craziest conversation I have ever been in. Please let this thing be recording!

  “Anyway, you’ll certainly get an interesting book out of your trip, and hopefully you’ll get some new ideas. And even if you don’t quite get what you want with that, you’ll find that your greater aims here have been fulfilled. It was never entirely about the investigation, now was it?”

&nbs
p; What the hell? Andi and I exchange glances, and I cough politely. “That’s not actually accurate, Doc.”

  “Oh, it’s perfectly accurate. If the two of you didn’t chase the paranormal, you would find something else and pursue it with just as much passion. It could be rock climbing, bird photography, amateur archeology, or community theater.”

  He looks so smug that it pisses me off, but what he says next takes all the wind from my sails at once.

  “What makes it special for the two of you is that you are doing it together.”

  I look at Andi, who’s staring between the two of us in amazement, her cheeks so pink that I’d feel sorry for her if I wasn’t so stunned. I always knew the exact reason why I’ve stayed in the business of paranormal investigations…and it looks like the last of Andi’s denial just got burned away. “Oh,” she mumbles.

  I can see his beard twitching slightly as he tries to hide his amusement within it. “Oh, chin up, young lady, that doesn’t mean that you won’t have any success. It just means that if either one of you left your partnership, the other would not continue with this work.”

  He winks. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I can feel my ears prickling. But I can’t say honestly that Whitman is wrong. I just can’t understand his interest in us or his motive for constantly bringing the topic back to us and our relationship, no matter how hard we try to keep things focused.

  Maybe he sees a lot more than I thought.

  “Nobody said you were.” I don’t know how I’m keeping my voice quite so calm. “But that’s not why we’re doing this interview.”

  “Yes, I understand.” he takes a few more bites from his plate, his face thoughtful, taking his time. “Of course it isn’t.”

  “I think that what my dear old dad is trying to say is,” Jack breaks with surprising gentleness, “some things in life are more important than trying to scientifically prove what is currently unprovable. And I’m with him in the belief that your time is best spent with each other, regardless of how you choose to spend it.”

  We answer with awkward smiles. The conversation turns towards some old stories of our adventures together, which we struggle through. My heart’s pounding, and from the look on her face, Andi has been affected just as strongly.

  I don’t regret it afterward. My partner, on the other hand…

  “I can’t believe those people,” Andi mutters as we drive back down the mountain. “I was looking for an interview on the Whitmans’ involvement in this prank, and instead we spent more time talking to them about our relationship than anything else!”

  I don’t answer right away. It is very dark, even with the snowdrifts reflecting my headlights, and I drive carefully, wary of picking up too much speed on the slippery road. Worse, it looks like there’s another snowstorm threatening. The sky between the bare trees is a starless, charcoal-colored haze.

  “So the old guy’s a hopeless romantic. Nobody loves Christmas that much and isn’t a romantic.” I hear that silence start to stretch out and let out a hard huff of air. “Andi. It’s not perfect, and it was awkward, but we did get some quotes from him that will go well with it all.”

  There’s so much more than that. I can feel the understanding growing between us now, the realization that we have too much unfinished business. Maybe I’m about to get that second chance I’ve always longed for.

  If that’s the case, I swear I’m not letting things fall apart again.

  “Yeah, it’s just…” She goes quiet as I slow down for a steep curve. “It feels like he’s been teasing us this entire time.”

  “Teasing us? Or making it clear that some things are none of our business?” I keep my voice kind. I can tell she’s totally exhausted.

  “But why did he have to invade our privacy like that?” She frets slightly.

  “Why not? We were trying our best to invade his. Hopeless romantic or not, he also wanted to discourage us from putting our noses in too deep.”

  She flops back against her seat in exasperation. “But why? Would it be so bad for humanity to know conclusively that some sweet, romantic display of magic is actually real?”

  I couldn’t accuse the mysterious pair of being malicious or selfish. So what could it be? “Maybe if people know too much about how he does this stuff, they’ll try to stop him?”

  Her eyes go slightly wide. “Do you think that’s it? He’s afraid he’ll get the wrong kind of attention?”

  “And they’ll disrupt what he’s doing.” We turn onto the road leading into town over one of the two bridges that bracket it. “That makes as much sense as anything else I can come up with.”

  “That leaves me wondering how we handle this responsibly. This isn’t the kind of event we want to discourage—especially in a place like New York.” She relaxes, seeming very comforted by the idea that there’s a good reason behind the Whitmans’ evasiveness.

  “Yeah, around here, folks need all the Christmas magic they can find. Life is tough, and the weather’s brutal.” I drive us into town as the first flakes start to fall. “Ugh, here we go again. Glad we left when we did.”

  “Yeah.” She rubs her face and then glances at me as I stop to let a snowplow past on the cross street. “Do you think we should take the deer cams down, then?”

  I frown. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re the big believer. Even if we could have just as much fun hiking or spelunking or something, it doesn’t mean you should give this up. You do love this stuff. We’ll just have to figure out how to use what we find out tomorrow night.”

  She turns a game smile to me and nods, sighing. “I know you’re right. I do. But it gets really, really tough to keep believing.”

  For a moment, her tone reminds me of earlier when she talked about needing to protect herself—from disappointment, from humiliation, from loss. Just like in love.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “You have more than enough proof to keep believing, sweetheart. At this point, we both do. You might not have enough proof for anyone else, but at least you and I are on the same page. Whatever this is, it is real, and it is very special.”

  That makes her smile as she gazes at me. “Well, you’re definitely right about that.”

  Chapter 9

  Andi

  * * *

  “Let’s just check the audio and video in the morning,” David yawns as we lug our stuff up the stairs. “I’m thinking cocoa and bed.”

  “I’m thinking cocoa and bed, too,” I say thoughtfully as the biting cold wears off. I’m not sure we’re quite on the same page as far as ‘bed’ goes, though. And I need to fix that now.

  I know now that ‘bed’ was where I fell short in our relationship He never got good at giving me what I needed…but I never got good at asking.

  We heat the leftover cocoa in the electric kettle while we peel off our outerwear and boots. The cold has deepened outside, but for some reason the walk back from the parking lot didn’t leave me chilled the same way it did this morning. I’m fine.

  I’m also on a mission.

  “I hate to say it, but inappropriate as it was, the Doc had a serious point or two.” My socks are actually sweaty from being in the heavy boots and socks. How did I nearly freeze earlier?

  I’m getting used to the idea that I may never know, but it’s a bitter pill. So it’s better to think about other things. Much more pleasant things.

  “About us?” Poor David sounds so hopeful that I have to bite back a laugh.

  “Yeah, us and ghost hunting. I love the chase, David, I do, but I wouldn’t bother with it if I wasn’t doing it with you.” It takes all my courage to look him in the eyes and admit that, but it’s time.

  He stares at me as my heart thunders, and then he drops his boots with a clunk. Outside, the wind rises to a wail, shaking the windows slightly, but I barely notice. For a brief moment, the sound nags at me slightly—like there’s something I’m forgetting.

  Then I’m in his arms again, and I forget everything but his kiss.


  The first times we ever kissed were pure magic, even if they were clumsy with enthusiasm. It’s like that now—except for the way he slides his fingers up the back of my skull to grasp my hair firmly by the roots. I whimper, shocked and excited; he teases at my tongue with his until I slowly start to respond. His other arm is around my waist, holding me firmly as I slide my hands up his chest.

  I hold him so tightly, like I’ll never let him go. He’s still a big kid in some ways, but not in the ways that used to drive me crazy. I’m tired of stopping myself from trying again by telling myself that people don’t change. He has.

  It just took a holiday miracle and a life-threatening crisis to really show me how much.

  Seducing him took less work than I thought it would. But finally, we both run out of breath, and he breaks the kiss and backs off slightly, looking down at me as we pant mutely.

  “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that,” he mutters huskily, his breath blowing warm air on my tingling lips.

  The old anger and frustration that soured me on sex with him have lost so much of their strength that I can barely feel them. “It’s become pretty damn clear we’d better…work this out,” I murmur against his lips a moment before he kisses me again.

  It’s rougher this time, and I return the favor, digging my fingertips into the muscle of his shoulders and pressing against him eagerly. But after several delicious moments, he backs off again, looking cautiously down at me.

  “I’m getting horny as hell here, sweetheart. If you want me to go, tell me now.” I can feel the tremor in his body, and he’s sipping air like he can’t get it all the way down into his lungs. Back in the day, he would have already been taking off my clothes without seeing if I was into it. Now, he restrains himself.

  Intriguing.

  I look up at him and then deliberately slide my hand down to cup the crotch of his pants, feeling the fabric straining to contain his cock. He groans through his teeth and looks down at me with an anguished expression. “I want you to stay,” I tell him firmly.