Newport Billionaires Box Set

by Amy DeLuca

  Once he had some answers, maybe he’d finally be able to move on and forget about her.

  Rain pelted him as he sprinted from the plane to the terminal building.

  The storm that had appeared to be weakening and turning inland had shifted east again in the past few hours and was continuing to plow up the coast, picking up speed once more.

  Though it had been downgraded from a Category 4 hurricane to a 2, it was still no slouch in the storm department. Winds had been measured at ninety-six miles per hour, and the eye of it was somewhere in the area of Virginia Beach.

  At the rate it was moving, the brunt of it would reach Rhode Island in a few short hours.

  That forecast had been the determining factor in Alex’s decision to make the perilous flight over from Newport. He couldn’t leave Cinda alone over here with a hurricane about to hit.

  If something happened to her, he’d never be able to live with himself, especially as it was his fault she was there in the first place.

  Naturally, Alex hadn’t told his parents about his impromptu travel plans. For one thing, the deRamels were supposed to arrive tomorrow.

  For another, they’d blow a gasket over the idea of him flying in conditions like these. And they’d demand to know why on earth he’d even want to do something so stupid.

  He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He didn’t really know himself.

  The Block Island airport had only a skeleton staff working. Alex spoke briefly with the guy on duty who told him he was either brave or crazy or both for making the flight and then informed him there would be no taxis waiting outside.

  “They’ve all gone home for the day to batten down the hatches. You should too. Listen, I’d give you a ride, but somebody’s gotta stay here and keep an eye on all those planes parked outside.”

  “Of course. No problem. I’ll just walk.”

  That was easier said than done. Alex felt like he was in a wind tunnel machine or one of those foolhardy weather presenters on TV who stands out in a battering storm while advising everyone else to stay indoors.

  At times he had to lean his full body weight against the wind to stay upright.

  Raindrops hit his face and bare hands in stinging zaps, and his clothes were soaked within seconds.

  The walk was only a little over two miles, but it took Alex a good hour to reach the house. Once he did, he dragged himself onto the covered porch and sat for a moment in a deep wicker chair, catching his breath.

  At the sight of his sopping clothing and water-pruned hands, he laughed. This was not exactly how he’d pictured greeting Cinda—any hopes of dazzling her with his princely good looks were out the window.

  After a few minutes he got up and went to the front door, nerves percolating under his skin. He tried to open it, but it was locked.

  Had Cinda locked herself inside for security? Probably not necessary out here on the island, especially off-season with so few people around, but he was glad she was being cautious.

  He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.

  Going to a window, Alex pressed his forehead against it and peered between the shutters.

  The lights were off, and there was no movement inside.

  Walking around to the back deck, he did the same thing. The parts of the house he could see from there looked freshly cleaned. The wood floors and kitchen countertops shined.

  Okay, so she had been there. Had she finished and left already? Bollocks. His whole plan would be shot if she’d already gotten on a ferry and gone home.

  Bracing himself for the pelting rain, he jogged down the back porch steps and squatted to reach underneath them for the spare key.

  With his fingertips, he located the small box screwed to the underside of the top step. Alex slid it open and extracted the key, walked back up the steps, and let himself inside.

  Sure enough, the place was sparkling and fresh-smelling.

  And empty. He’d missed her.

  So close and still so far. Fate seemed to be conspiring against him. All the excitement drained out of Alex, replaced by a sickening sense of dejection.

  Well, there was nothing to be done for it tonight. He’d go upstairs, grab a shower to dispel the bone-deep chill he felt, hope there was something warm and comfortable to wear left in one of the drawers or closets, and then rummage around in the pantry for some supper.

  Not the evening he had planned.

  He was also less than thrilled about riding out the storm alone.

  It would have been the perfect time for he and Cinda to hash out their past, fill each other in on what had transpired during their time apart, and maybe even find some closure for that “summer fling” he’d never been able to recover from.

  He’d sorely misjudged her speed-cleaning abilities.

  Feeling quite sorry for himself, Alex trudged up the stairs toward the master bedroom. Though his brother and sister used the house on occasion, it was technically his. He’d bought it during his last trip to Rhode Island.

  The night Cinda had stood him up, the plan had been to surprise her by whisking her away on a mystery boat ride, arrive here on Block Island, and show her the new house he’d bought for them to stay in when they visited the States.

  He’d assumed she’d want to visit frequently to see the family and friends she would undoubtedly miss after moving to Aubernesse with him.

  That plan had obviously not worked out, but he’d held onto the cottage for his siblings’ sake. They said they enjoyed having a place to go and get away from their parents and the life of a royal for a bit.

  No doubt Cam had also used it to impress the scores of young women who flocked around him everywhere he went.

  Yep, this house had probably seen plenty of action. Regrettably, Alex had been party to none of it.

  Dropping his wet clothes in a heap on the bedroom floor, he turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stepped under the scalding spray.

  Eleven

  World’s Unluckiest House Maid

  Letting herself into the shingled house with the key, Cinda struggled to push the door closed behind her again. The wind was like a living thing, straining against her at every turn.

  She finally managed to click it closed and turned the lock, breathing out a sigh of relief. At least she had a warm, dry place to spend the night.

  Might as well make myself at home.

  Carefully, she drew off her rain jacket, making an effort to keep it from spraying water droplets in an arc around her. And that was when she noticed the floor was already wet. She had mopped it earlier in the day, but she knew it had dried by the time she’d left.

  What? How could it…

  Spinning back toward the door, Cinda stared at the lock. She had locked it behind her when she’d left, right? She nodded, certain she had. There was a doggie door though. Had some animal, desperate to escape the storm, let itself inside?

  When she turned back around, her pulse whirred in her ears. Her eyes scanned the dark kitchen, living area, and staircase. Flipping on the light, she braced herself to see a furry creature dart across her field of vision. There was nothing.

  “Here kitty kitty,” she called softly, fervently hoping she was dealing with a domesticated animal and not something dangerous. Like a raccoon.

  Or a rat. It was well-known that Block Island had a population of Norway rats, their hardy ancestors arriving on the island centuries ago with the first ships.

  Maybe it was a dog who’d gotten spooked by the storm and slipped his leash? Shivering in dread, she managed to whistle a few notes, an exercise in optimism.

  “Here, boy. Come here. It’s okay.”

  Okay, definitely not a dog. A cat might hide from her, but Cinda hadn’t met a dog yet that wouldn’t respond in some way to the call of a human. Unless maybe it was rabid.

  Oh Lord, please don’t let there be a rabid animal in here.

  And then her mind leapt to an even more frightening scenario.

  Or a human.

  Her
heart went ice cold at the thought.

  Glancing behind her once more, she determined the doggie door was far too small to allow a person to crawl through.

  Just in case, she removed her shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen, withdrawing a butcher knife from the wooden block on the countertop.

  Cinda had never stabbed anyone or anything in her life, but the sharp blade in her hand did make her feel more secure. Brandishing it like a ninja, she moved through the first floor of the house, alert to every sound and potential movement.

  When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she did hear something. A soft bump.

  Could have been the wind blowing something against the outside of the house, but she thought it had come from upstairs.

  Now she was worried.

  Glancing at the back door, she considered just leaving. But the weather was so incredibly bad out. She had no car and couldn’t ask Jorge to come back and get her again. No doubt he was home with his family now, preparing his own house for the storm’s full assault.

  Besides, she had nowhere else to go. It would be silly to flee this perfectly good, comfortable home for the sake of what? A squirrel?

  Still clutching the knife, Cinda crept up the stairs one by one, wincing when one of them creaked under foot.

  Really? This was a home owned by billionaires. Didn’t they fix those sorts of things right away?

  She went quickly to the second-floor landing and began moving from bedroom to bedroom. Finally, when she was nearly to the master bedroom, she heard a sound. It sounded like… rushing water.

  Of course, by now the whole world seemed like it was made of rushing water, but this sound was distinct from the driving rains outside. At least she thought it was. Maybe it was her imagination.

  Gently, Cinda pushed open the bedroom door.

  At the foot of the king-sized bed lay a small pile of wet clothing. The door to the attached bathroom stood open, and the light was on.

  Someone was in the house. And apparently not wearing any clothes.

  Did someone break in to take a shower?

  Well, whatever they’d come for and no matter how good their hygiene, they weren’t going to get a crack at the world’s unluckiest housemaid. She turned around and headed for the door, scrambling to get her phone from her purse to call 9-1-1.

  “Cinda?”

  She whirled around at the sound of her name. There, standing in the doorway between the master bath and the bedroom, was Alex.

  He was bare except for the towel clutched around his waist. His hair was wet.

  Water droplets decorated his chest and shoulders—wide, tanned, muscular chest and shoulders—which were underpinned by a set of abs the likes of which Cinda had only ever seen featured on the front of men’s health and fitness magazines.

  Ripping her eyes from the breath-stealing vision, she spun away again, flushing hot with embarrassment.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a harsh voice, shouting back over her shoulder.

  Nerves pinged all over her body. She was no longer afraid for her life, but she was no less discombobulated than if an intruder had invaded.

  “It is my house,” came Alex’s sensible answer.

  “Yes, but you’re not supposed to be here today. You told me you had a meeting at noon in Newport. You said it would take several hours. And there were no afternoon ferries coming over—I checked to make sure. You lied.”

  “I didn’t lie. I did have a meeting, and I didn’t take a ferry. I flew.”

  Shock had Cinda spinning back around to face him. “In this weather? Are you crazy? Wait—you have a plane?”

  Alex had the nerve to smile at her. “And a pilot’s license.”

  “You could have mentioned that when we spoke yesterday.”

  “You never asked. In fact, you haven’t let me say more than a few words to you since the other day. That’s what I’m doing here. We need to talk, Cinda.”

  “No, we don’t. And put on some clothes—please.”

  Alex had a plane—of course he did. And he’d planned this.

  Getting her out there to clean his island beach house had been a ruse. He’d just wanted to trap her. And it had worked beautifully.

  Well, she’d show him. She would call Jorge and ask him to pick her up.

  She’d find someone with a room to let overnight if she had to knock at every door on Block Island and beg. She’d sleep under a bridge if she had to.

  Well, maybe that was a bit drastic. Her son needed her. She owed it to him to keep herself safe.

  Cinda charged from the room. Pulling her phone from her purse, she dialed the number Jorge had given her and stepped out onto the porch as it rang.

  Twelve

  Winds of Fate

  Alex’s heart pumped madly as he threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt he’d found in a bureau drawer.

  She’s here. In this house. Right now.

  He hadn’t missed her. The storm must have shut down ferry service, stranding Cinda on the island.

  Alex had never been more thankful for foul weather in his life.

  And he’d never been more nervous.

  This was his chance—the only one he was likely to get. He would finally get some answers after all these years.

  Padding down the stairs barefoot, he looked around. Where was she?

  Not in the kitchen, not in the living room. Alex moved through all the downstairs rooms, his panic increasing with each step. The bloody fool hadn’t gone out in this storm, had she?

  There had been no car in the driveway when he’d arrived, and he’d already been informed the cabs weren’t running because of the approaching hurricane. There was no way she’d try to walk to town in this.

  Except that he’d walked.

  When you wanted something badly enough, you’d do just about anything, no matter how stupid, to get it. And what Cinda apparently wanted more than anything was to avoid him.

  He was going to find out why.

  Intending to head out into the storm himself, Alex yanked the back door open—and came face to face with Cinda.

  She was on the covered porch, phone in hand. The overhang normally would have provided some degree of protection, but today the wind was blowing the rain sideways, drenching her hair and clothing.

  She didn’t seem to notice. The expression she wore was a mixture of hopelessness and fury. She appeared to be on the verge of tears.

  “He’s not answering.” Her tone was infused with frustration. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Who’s not answering? Who were you trying to call?”

  She did have a man in her life. Alex was shocked at the amount of malignant sludge that confirmation sent pulsing through his veins.

  “Never mind.”

  She sounded as grumpy as she looked and took a few steps toward the staircase leading down to the waterlogged sidewalk. “You wasted your time and risked your life for no reason flying out here because I’m not staying.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  “That’s insane,” Alex said. “It’s not safe for you to go out in this.”

  “It’s not safe for me to stay either. I’m not exactly sure why you did this, but for once in your pampered royal life, you’re not going to get what you want.”

  Gripping the handrail to keep from slipping, Cinda gingerly made her way down the stairs.

  Alex worried for her every step of the way. Everything inside of him wanted to snatch her up and carry her back indoors where it was safe and dry.

  But he’d already learned forcing his will didn’t work with Cinda. All he could do was hope common sense would prevail. Or a miracle would occur.

  Just as she reached the last step, there was a deafening crack. One of the large trees close to the house had dropped a limb. It landed heavily across the walk and part of the driveway.

  Maybe fate wasn’t against them after all?

  Twigs and leaves were picke
d up and flung about in the high wind. Cinda held up a hand to protect her face, frozen on the bottom step.

  She glanced around at the darkening sky, the thrashing branches and shrubs, the debris carried through the air outside.

  “Please… come back inside,” Alex yelled over the wind. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She whipped her head back to look at him, wearing an accusatory glare that seemed to say, Yeah right.

  What was that about? If anyone had hurt anyone in this equation, she was the one who’d hurt him. She was the one who’d stood him up.

  With a harrumph, Cinda reversed direction, climbed the stairs, and charged past him back into the house.

  “Fine,” she spat. “It’s not safe to leave. But don’t think this means we’re going to roast marshmallows and sing Kumbaya.”

  Alex followed her into the house, closing the door securely behind them, awash in relief. “I don’t even know what that is, and if you’ll remember, my singing voice is marginal at best.”

  Turning around, he looked at Cinda, who was now standing in the center of the kitchen. Dripping from the rain, she looked like a baleful cat who’d been forced into a bath, edgy and skittish, ready to either claw him or run away at the slightest provocation.

  He truly didn’t understand her hostility. And it was a bit insulting she found venturing out into a hurricane preferable to staying inside with him.

  Was it possible he’d done something to offend her all those years ago without realizing it, and that was why she hadn’t shown up on the night he’d intended to propose?

  For the life of him he couldn’t think of what it might be. In his memory of those days, their relationship had been perfect—right up until the end.

  “So…” he said, rocking back and forth on his feet, unsure of what to say or do now that he’d gotten his wish and had Cinda stranded here with him. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to listen at the moment or divulge any secrets of her own.