Beauty and the Billionaire Beast
Destination Billionaire Romance
Maria Hoagland
Contents
Introduction
Foreword
Free Destination Billionaire Romance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Free Destination Billionaire Romance
About the Author
Excerpt from Sweet Water by Laurie Lewis
Excerpt from Hearts in Peril by Kaylee Baldwin
Also By Maria Hoagland
Copyright © 2017 by Maria Hoagland
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Introduction
Dear Reader,
I am so excited for you to read Beauty and the Billionaire Beast. Immediately you are immersed in the lush and atmospheric world of New Orleans. From generational feuds and beignets, to climbing roses in abandoned plantations, you’ll feel like you’ve stepped out of your life and into another. And with a delicious romance on top of that—it’s the perfect recipe for an escapist weekend!
Join Emma, an intelligent and determined landscape architect, as she searches for the answer to a mystery that has haunted her family for decades. Her search leads her to a crumbling plantation, where she meets Theo, a handsome billionaire with the reputation of being a beast—and who knows more than he’s letting on about her mystery. When the two decide to work together, sparks fly!
Please enjoy getting to know Emma and Theo in Beauty and the Billionaire Beast!
Best wishes,
Kaylee Baldwin, author of Hearts in Peril
Foreword
It’s a pleasure to introduce our newest Destination Billionaire Romance novelist, Maria Hoagland. Maria may be new to DBR, but she’s definitely not new to romance. As the author of several novels and novellas, two of her works have qualified as Whitney Award finalists. I’m impressed!
As for Beauty and the Billionaire Beast which you hold in your hands, you’re going to love it. My favorite stories are the ones that transport me somewhere, that create a place where real romance blooms. Indigo Pointe is one of those places. A Louisiana antebellum plantation in need of repair brings Emma and Theo together, where they use their talents to restore the historic site, and find each other in the process. Whether they’re getting their hands dirty working on the grounds, or dressed up for a quiet evening together, these two share a chemistry and passion for life that makes you look forward to spending time with them. If only there wasn’t that centuries old mystery to solve, the one that threatens to put a rift between the two potential lovebirds…
Honestly, after reading this book, I even dreamed I was wandering the beautiful Indigo Pointe grounds.
So, please, sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey as you discover Maria Hoagland’s Beauty and the Billionaire Beast.
Happy reading!
Amberlee Day, author of The Angler, the Baker, and the Billionaire
Free Destination Billionaire Romance
You can get a free copy of The Reclusive Billionaire by Lucy McConnell by clicking here.
As an added bonus, you’ll also receive updates when the next Destination Billionaire Romance is released so you don’t miss out on one of these sweet romances.
Chapter 1
The whisper of a breeze shouldn’t have been enough to lift the corners of Emma Treager’s sketchbook, nevertheless, something disturbed its thick pages and caused her pencil to roll. Her light summer skirt swirled around the leg of her wrought iron chair, lifting the hem and threatening to expose more thigh than she was comfortable showing. In a slight panic, Emma trapped the skirt with one hand and reached for the pencil with the other, leaning too much to the right. The combination of wobbly chair legs, uneven flagstone, and her off-centered weight caused the chair to tip, and for a split second, Emma was certain she was about to crash onto the unforgiving ground.
A pair of strong hands from behind steadied her. “Good morning, miss. Allow me to get that for you.” The man’s voice was refined but young, calm despite her near-fatal fall, and … safe. It was as if he saved tumbling women on a regular basis.
From over her shoulder, he leaned forward—his arm grazing hers, commanding her full attention—and retrieved the pencil. Crouched to her side for a better reach, he turned to Emma, his left hand on the back of her chair, his right hand offering what she’d lost. “Here you are.”
His face, on the same level as hers, was so close she could feel the fresh rush of mint from his breath. His chiseled features were startlingly handsome, like a marble statue straight out of an Italian garden, but there was something else about him that caught Emma’s interest. He obviously had great DNA, a family gene jackpot, though he clearly took good care of himself. You didn’t get a chest like his by chance or laziness, but the perfect symmetry of his face, the strong chin, and the lake-blue irises didn’t speak of who he really was, just what he was lucky enough to inherit. It was the look on his face that revealed his character. His eyes were soft with concern, and one corner of his mouth quirked up in an air of mischievousness. There was definitely more to him than his features, and she felt a desire to find out what it was.
Emma swallowed, allowing herself to catch her breath, passing it off as a side effect of the near fall. “Thank you.”
As she set the pencil beside the notebook and straightened it, Emma saw the man’s eyes fall onto her sketch. Although her gut reaction was to slam the pages closed, she fought the urge and allowed him to look. She was a professional, and she should be proud of her work.
Live Oak Lane was by far the most picturesque plantation she’d visited on her trip through Louisiana’s cobwebbed corners of history. Today’s setting was perfect—almost too perfect, really—but inspiring enough that she’d wanted to sketch the details for future reference. Emma had been seated alone on the patio at the side of the house, the sole visitor at one of the several café tables. She’d carefully chosen her spot with the best view of the property. An allée of ancient live oak trees led to the front of the palatial house. Closer and more interesting to her were the immaculate gardens, sculpted carefully with flowers and shrubs of varying heights, colors, and textures.
The gardens were lovely, which was why she was sketching them, but there was also a falseness to them. Things were just too planned, too contrived. She wondered how many gardeners the property employed and if they had a need for a full-time historic landscape architect, though there was absolutely nothing she would change if she held the position.
“You’re talented.”
The man’s simple statement left Emma blushing at the compliment. “Thank you.” Normally she could take praise as well as anyone, but coming from him, it warmed her through.
As the man stood, Emma squared her shoulders, trying to quiet the p
ounding heart that was more than adrenaline from a near fall. She clasped her hands and set them on the book. Should she invite him to sit with her? An awkward silence fell between them, and she worked to come up with something to say.
He turned, but she wasn’t ready for him to go. “Is this your first visit to Live Oak Lane?” The words rushed out, probably leaving him with no doubt of her intent. She felt the blush deepen. Her traitorous pale skin turned on her time and again.
He stopped mid-step. “No, I’ve been here several times. It’s always nice, but they’ve done some recent work, so I wanted to check it out.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t known anything about the place other than it was the top result every time she’d searched the internet for Louisiana plantations. The man seemed to know more about the property and its history than she did.
“Enjoy your visit.” He turned to step away again, but hesitated and turned back around.
The romantic in her hoped he’d ask her name or sit down and strike up a conversation, but that was ridiculous. Things like that didn’t happen in real life, and if they did, she’d be wary of an overly friendly man who picked up strange women at tourist traps.
“Live Oak Lane might be the grandest of the area’s plantations; it certainly is the best dressed. Currently.” He said this last bit under his breath. “It’s the right one if you’re into movie-set quality, but if you’re interested in history, you might want to check out some of the lesser-known plantations.”
Surprised, Emma didn’t respond quickly enough, finding herself instead watching this perfect specimen of a man retreat, his well-cut slacks and tailored dress shirt outlining his broad shoulders, confidence exuding from him. In that moment, he felt like a vision on some higher plane than she could ever attain, and for that reason, she sat, unable to ask his retreating form, though he might have the exact information she was seeking.
“Whew! He’s gone.” The waitress who’d stepped outside, ostensibly to clear tables, stood with her arms folded, doing exactly what Emma was doing—watching the man leave.
“Finally,” a man’s voice agreed. Emma turned to see her tour guide from earlier leaning against the doorframe. His eyes were fixed on the pretty, petite waitress at his side. “What was he even doing here?” the tour guide grumped.
“Spying, no doubt.” Now that Emma’s rescuer was out of sight, the waitress began wiping the already-clean tables. “Though I have no idea why he would even try. I hear Indigo Pointe is practically in ruins, and you know as well as I do he won’t be able to get anyone to work for him—not after the way he’s been treating employees. Did you hear he fired Charlie’s uncle last week after twenty years of service? Twenty years the man worked there, and then—no warning, no explanation, not even a replacement—the guy was thrown out. And not very nicely, I heard.”
“What do you expect?” The young man straightened chairs under café tables as the waitress washed, his long fingers choking the top of each chair in frustration. “His family’s been like that for generations. They take and take from this community, their friends and neighbors, on top of making all that money off the backs of our ancestors. They’re incorrigible.”
Emma wondered how much of their conversation should be taken at face value. It sounded like a cocktail of sour grapes, gossip, and conjecture, but there was usually a seed of truth to every complaint. Perhaps she was lucky she hadn’t convinced Mr. Gorgeous to stay and chat. Despite what these two said about the deplorable conditions at Indigo Pointe, she was willing to visit the man’s plantation. It could be the one she was searching for.
From the moment she’d seen the photos online, Emma had known that Live Oak Lane wasn’t it. Major things were off—the placement and style of the stairs, for starters. That was why she’d put it last on her list to tour, but she hadn’t wanted to return to Oregon without exhausting every remote possibility. She’d been determined that somehow, somewhere, she would discover the mysterious plantation described in her great-grandfather’s journal. She was hoping for pictures as a hundredth-birthday gift to her grandfather.
Indigo Pointe Plantation. Maybe she finally found her lead.
Chapter 2
After leaving Live Oak Lane, Emma set out for Indigo Pointe, but the internet was marginally helpful and her GPS even less so.
“Ugh!” Emma shook her head and turned the car around. “Forget it!” She might as well head back into town.
Disappointment churned in her stomach. Surrendering her last hope at finding a link between her great-grandfather and the Louisiana plantation of his childhood didn’t sit well. After two unsuccessful passes down the road, Emma was ready to convince herself the property wasn’t worth any more frustration.
The third time she’d almost driven past the entrance, a flash in her periphery caught her attention. Slowing the car to a crawl, she searched for the source but saw nothing out of the ordinary other than the trees and rolling hills so different from the desert climate of her farming town of Nyssa. The only places Eastern Oregon had that were green were contentiously irrigated, forcing nature to go from barren to agricultural hub. Here, the windy road was bordered with native Cypress trees and swamp grass adorned with a tangle of goldenrod.
There. She saw it again. A shimmering illusion like fairy dust. She shook her head, knowing her mother would laugh it off as Emma’s love of all things curious and unexplainable. Emma stopped on the shoulder and then rolled her window down to get a better view. There wasn’t anything wrong with believing in a little magic.
Emma scrutinized the vegetation across the road where the shimmer had been, and noticed a wrought iron gate almost overtaken by a bank of aggressive evergreen shrubs.
The most ornamented Emma could ever remember seeing, the gate had it all: curlicues, scrolls, circles, flowers, arrows, finials, and …was that a lion or a horse rearing up on the top? Sandwiched between fifteen-foot white-plastered pillars, the black gate portended some majestic, yet possibly sinister structure.
Curious for a better look, Emma got out of her car and crossed the road, the tingle of adventure running down her spine. Knowing she wouldn’t see anything at eye level through the thick of the bushes, she lay on her stomach where the branches were thinner. As she stuck both hands through the gate’s bars and pushed back the scratchy branches, she was rewarded with a view of exactly what she’d been searching for. Across a large expanse of patchy grass sat a stately antebellum mansion with thick columns and two distinct staircases swooping up to a second-story balcony. This had to be the plantation her great-grandfather had described in his journal.
She took in the rest of the house. While the bones of the structure were regal, the roof was a bit saggy, the plaster off-color and patchy, the green trim and shutters faded. Surrounding it were overgrown and ill-chosen plants. The place could be as beautiful and elegant as any of the other plantations she’d toured, if only it had a little TLC and a lot of money.
She needed to find a way in.
Standing, Emma brushed off and returned to her car. After starting the engine, she inched forward, looking for the turnoff that had to be around somewhere. Since the main gate was far from functional, there had to be access for the property owners somewhere else close by. A couple hundred yards later and around a bend, her eyes caught an entrance. With all the ivy overtaking the fence, it was no wonder she’d missed the faded wooden sign that read Historic Indigo Pointe Plantation.
Before overhearing the conversation at Live Oak Lane, Emma had never even come across that name during her research, and she thought she’d been plenty thorough. Her whole life she’d had a secret fascination with Louisiana plantations despite the fact that she grew up in the West, about as far away from anything Southern as a family could get. They didn’t even drink iced tea, for goodness’ sake.
Never once had anyone hinted at a family connection with the place until a few months ago. When visiting at Christmas, Emma had asked Opa for the story behind his antique writing secretary, a
unique wooden box that had always fascinated her.
“I don’t rightly know,” Opa admitted, regret pinching his words. “It’s been in the family for generations as far as I know, but I’ve always wanted to know more.”
He then had pulled out his father’s journal, a hand-bound, leather-wrapped book full of elegantly penned words and sketches.
“I don’t suppose I’ve ever told you about the Treager family treasure, have I?”
Emma had been bursting with anticipation, knowing something great was about to happen.
Opa leaned forward like someone about to share a ghost story over a campfire. “Family lore is that there’s a treasure back at the family plantation.” He patted the book. “My father’s journal mentions it time and again, but no one was ever able to find it.”
“Wait.” Emma had held up a hand to pause the conversation. “A plantation? As in the South somewhere?”
Opa nodded slowly. “All’s I remember is that it’s in Louisiana somewheres. I can’t remember much. We moved to Oregon when I was little and never went back.” He laughed derisively. “Seems to me this bit about the treasure is just some family story, made up for entertainment on a long winter night. If there’d been any real treasure, someone would have found it.” He handed the book to Emma. “But why don’t you see if you can find something?”
That was when, with Opa’s hundredth birthday party only a few months away, Emma had decided on her gift to him. She would fill in the gaps on his family tree, and maybe, if she was lucky, she would find some family stories along the way, including the origin of the box or even the treasure. The thought gave her chills.
And now, here she was, ready to set foot on the very same plantation her great-grandfather must have seen. Anticipation bubbled inside her.
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