Start Again Series: A Billionaire Romance Box Set

by J. Saman

  “I’m going back for a few nights later next week to get some other stuff and settle everything there. I’m selling my condo mostly furnished, because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of moving everything, and the buyer wanted it that way.”

  He falls silent, pulling me closer into his strong, warm chest and dropping his nose into my hair. My body erupts into a shudder I’ve never experienced with anyone before.

  And I don’t like it. I don’t. I swear.

  He smells good. Like soap and freshly laundered clothes and something distinctly male that makes me just want to breathe in deeper.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” I say before I can stop myself, my eyes clenching shut with regret.

  I hate how comfortable this is. I hate how easy I fall into this man. How seamless everything is with us. The alarm inside my head is screaming Danger at me.

  I’d be a smart girl if I listened to it.

  “We do. I have a lot to tell you. But can it wait a little? I’m sort of enjoying this.”

  Damn, that’s sweet. Like really freaking sweet. And he even kisses the top of my head. If I had a heart left, it would melt. If I were looking for a boyfriend or to fall in love, I think I’d be sold.

  “Come with me,” I tell him as I pull away and stand in front of him. His eyes glide up my denim-clad thighs, up to my purple blouse, and finally to my face.

  “Where are we going?” he asks confused.

  “Bedroom.”

  “Oh yeah?” he teases, an impish grin bouncing up the corner of his lips.

  “Get your head out of the gutter, dirty boy.”

  He frowns a little, which is just adorable, but stands all the same. Taking my hand, he leads me through the great room, past the open-concept kitchen, and down a long hall to the back of the apartment. His bedroom is big and open but only has a king-size mattress on the floor.

  “What time is your furniture coming?”

  “Four.”

  Perfect. It’s only a little after noon now.

  “Now what?”

  “Now, we take a nap.” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t care. He needs sleep, and something is keeping him from getting it. I remove my shoes, pull my hair out of my messy bun, and hop onto his bed with a big bounce.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am.”

  “All right.” He shrugs before removing his jeans and shirt, leaving him only in his boxer briefs.

  Wow, that’s a sight that could never get old. Too bad I’m not doing anything about it.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Claire. You’re on my bed. And you just called me dirty, which oddly enough, is doing funny things to me.”

  I can only smile at that.

  “You’re hot as sin.” I shrug a shoulder, scooting farther back on the bed, so I’m nearly at the far wall. “I can’t help it. But no hanky-panky here, stud. You need sleep, and I’m going to make sure you get some.”

  Pulling the blankets back, Kyle finally joins me, his back pressed to my front. I run my fingers through the soft, dark-blond strands of his hair, enjoying the feel of his warm, hard body against mine. I missed him way too much.

  He lets out a contented purr and within two minutes, his breathing becomes deep and even.

  And all I can do is watch him, my mind going places it knows better than to go.

  11

  Kyle

  * * *

  I wake alone in my bed an untold amount of time later. It’s still light out, but it’s also the end of June, so that’s not uncommon, unless I slept for eight hours. Rolling over in my bed, which is really just a stupid mattress on the floor, I check my phone. It’s a little after three in the afternoon.

  I slept for three hours.

  And you know what? I needed it. I feel much better than I have in weeks.

  I was fine after the shooting. Pissed off, but fine.

  It wasn’t until the next day when Franco stopped by my office with a feigned mournful expression on his goon face that everything went to shit. The bastard had the nerve to show up, unannounced, parading into my office like he owned the place and parking his ass on my sofa.

  And then he had the audacity to explain to me that I now belonged to him.

  I didn’t, and I don’t.

  So, I clearly explained that I belonged to no one and didn’t appreciate being shot at while he had his brother murdered right in front of me.

  That didn’t go over so well, believe it or not.

  I proceeded to explain the extent of attorney-client privilege to him, but made it clear that I never wanted to see him again.

  Stupid? You bet.

  You don’t blatantly fuck with the mafia, but I wasn’t about to become their bitch either. And I certainly hadn’t cheated leukemia twice and suffered another scare recently just to die at their hands.

  Franco shook my hand like a man and left my office with his arrogant head held high.

  It wasn’t until the next day that everything really changed for me. And in comparison to being shot at and overtly threatened, it was something very minor. I was leaving my apartment at five in the morning, the way I do every day, to head to the gym when I saw it.

  Or should I say him.

  Franco’s nephew.

  I only met him once, but I never forget a face. He was standing across the street, leaning against the stone wall that separates the sidewalk from Central Park.

  Waving at me.

  That’s it. All he was doing was waving, but it was a threat I didn’t miss. He was saying they knew where I lived. He was saying that they knew my routine. He was saying that they had me if they wanted me.

  And I was done.

  But in reality, it was the culmination of things. Letting Ravelo off. The leukemia scare and being told that stress really fucks up my body, more so than normal people. Ryan and Kate being pregnant with twins—my nieces or nephews that I want to know me. Being shot at. Ryan calling to tell me that his chief counsel was retiring. Then that threat.

  So, I called Ryan back, told him I was in for the chief counsel job, gave my notice, and left.

  That was two weeks ago.

  And maybe I’ve seen The Godfather and Goodfellas too many times, but I’ve been waiting for them to come after me. They haven’t yet, and probably won’t, but you never know. Which is why I’m having trouble sleeping. Which is why I picked the penthouse in a secure-ass building. Which is why I have Ryan monitoring the entire Rovelo family to make sure that no one is hopping a flight out to Seattle. He offered to do more than just monitor. But I can’t exactly ask my brother to break the law, now can I?

  Even if it was a tempting offer.

  Maybe this makes me a pussy, but I like to think it makes me cautious.

  Then Claire shows up and has me sleeping like a goddamn baby within a few minutes of simply stroking my hair. What is it about that woman?

  I get out of bed, use the bathroom, and get myself dressed into a pair of sweatpants and a tee. The second I open the door to my bedroom, I freeze on the threshold.

  Claire.

  She’s banging around what must be my kitchen as the overwhelming scent of something spicy hits my nose, but that’s not what’s giving me pause. It’s not the fact that she’s still here or that she’s cooking either.

  She’s singing.

  And her voice is so achingly beautiful, I have chills running up my entire body.

  It’s full and rich with the slightest rasp to it. I’m no music major. In fact, I couldn’t carry a tune to save my life, but Jesus, she’s incredible. I know she sings with a band, but fuck, I had no idea she was this talented.

  I pad softly toward the kitchen, because I don’t want to interrupt her with my presence. Reaching the edge of the kitchen, I lean against the cabinet that houses the subzero refrigerator and watch her with barely contained awe.

  Her back is to me, allowing me to openly feast on what is quite possibly my fantasy come to life.

 
; Claire’s long red hair is wet like she just took a shower and piled on top of her head with a few loose strands skimming her back. The only clothing she’s wearing is my old Columbia Law t-shirt that is about five sizes too big and skims her creamy thighs.

  I have no idea if she’s wearing panties or a bra under there, but I don’t care either way.

  She’s standing in front of the stove, stirring something that might be chili, sipping from a glass of wine, swaying her hips and singing along to music that must be coming from the Echo I have in the corner. She’s singing along to Frank Sinatra’s, “Fly Me to the Moon,” and I swear, this is how the song should always have been done.

  Just the sight of her has my heart racing, my palms sweating, and a big broad smile stretching on my lips. I couldn’t stop myself from reacting to her this way if I wanted to.

  And I don’t want to.

  Holy shit, I might just be crazy for this girl.

  Claire bailed on me after New York. Sure, we still talked on occasion, but it was never the same. She was never the same. In fact, I think she avoided me.

  But God, do I want this woman in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before.

  The song winds down, and I take this as my signal to make my presence known before I scare the shit out of her.

  “What smells so good?” I ask, walking up to her and placing my hands on the stone counter so I don’t touch her. “And where the hell did you get all this stuff?” I ask, eyeing the pot and the spoon she’s using to stir, the knives on the cutting board, and the wine glass she’s sipping from.

  She rolls her head in my direction, a smile playing on her full pink lips. “Chili. Smells good, doesn’t it? And clearly, I went to the store.”

  “It smells incredible.” And because I can’t resist, I add, “I can’t believe I have a hot woman cooking me dinner in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt. And she shopped for me too.” I wink so she thinks I’m kidding.

  She laughs with a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I started the chili, and when I opened one of the cans of tomatoes, the thing exploded all over me. I still don’t understand how I did that. Anyway, I had to shower. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt,” her eyes go wide, “oh, and your razor. I’d probably change that one, big guy, because my legs were a bit on the shaggy side.”

  I chuckle. “No. I definitely don’t mind. And thanks for telling me about the razor before I shredded my face with it.” I drop a kiss to the side of her head and she turns to me with a beaming smile that I can’t help but return. “Can I do anything to help?” I ask as I leave her in favor of pouring myself a glass of red wine. “And where the hell did I get wine glasses from?” I stare at the long-stemmed glass with the large round bowl at the top.

  “You had nothing in your house, Kyle. I can’t exactly cook, or drink for that matter, without the essentials.”

  I stare at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

  “And no, you can’t help. I’m just about done. It needs an hour or so to simmer. Your furniture will be here soon.” She glances at the clock on the oven as she sets the lid on top of the chili and turns down the gas burner. “I should get going.”

  “You’re not going out like that,” I wave my hand up and down over her body, “are you?”

  She laughs, shaking her head like I’m crazy for even asking. “I’m not that much of an exhibitionist. No. I’ll throw on my dirty jeans and be out of your hair in a jiffy.”

  I frown. She’s not staying to eat all this food with me? “Don’t you want to stay and try out your hard work?”

  “Um.” She hesitates for a minute, staring at the pot of food. “Yeah, I’d like to if it’s okay. I don’t want to be in your way or anything.”

  I laugh at that. “You’re not in my way, cupcake. This food smells amazing, and there is way too much for me. Plus, I’m sure I could use help with the placement of all the furniture I have coming.”

  “Oh, right. Let me go throw on my jeans before they get here.”

  She scurries out of the kitchen, leaving me standing here. I pick up my new wooden spoon and take the lid off the chili. I dip the spoon in and bring it up to my mouth, blowing off some of the steam before tasting it. Damn, that’s really fucking good. I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman cook for me before. At least not since I graduated high school.

  I like it.

  I like her. In my house. With me.

  Setting the spoon down on the counter, I put the lid back on just as she returns. When I catch her appearance, I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of my mouth.

  “Stuff it,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I know, I’m a mess.” She is.

  At least her jeans are because she left my shirt on, but her pants are covered in bright red tomato splatters.

  “Christ, I can’t let you wear those,” I say through the remains of my laughter. “Give me your clothes and I’ll wash them. Go find something in my closet that will fit you.”

  Claire looks down as she thinks on this for a moment. “Okay, but only because they’re cold and wet and feel slimy against my skin.”

  Before I can say anything else, she undoes the button on her jeans and shimmies them down her legs. For a flicker of a second, I catch a glimpse of her drool-worthy, pale pink lace panties.

  My mind instantly goes to an image of me ripping them off her.

  “Catch,” she says as she tosses her jeans at me, my hands barely able to keep up as I’m still lost in the many dirty thoughts swirling around my mind. She skips off through my house, and before I can think too deeply on anything, I’m walking to the laundry room. I toss her jeans in, and while I’m pouring the detergent in, she meets me in there with her tomato-covered purple blouse. “Add this too, please.”

  “Done,” I tell her as I slam the lid shut and start it up.

  I didn’t have to buy a washer or dryer. It came with the penthouse, which is nice because otherwise I’d be sending everything out to be cleaned. As I spin around to check out Claire, I notice she is only wearing my t-shirt and a pair of old ass cut-off sweatpants. She looks ridiculously hot in them.

  In my clothes.

  In my apartment.

  Shit, I’m in trouble.

  I smile at her, and then she smiles back. Tension slowly begins to build as we stand here, staring at each other with the sound of the washing machine filling in the background. I knew when she left New York that things would change between us. I had hoped that they would evolve into something more. Something so much better.

  Clearly, she didn’t.

  But I’m living here now and so is she, and if ever there was a time for something to happen between us, it would be now. It won’t, though. I can see that all over her face. And in truth, I don’t know if I can keep up with her. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered another creature like her. She’s enticing as hell and I’d love to be inside of her, but I won’t fuck up our friendship knowing there is nothing more beyond this.

  The intercom phone rings, which must be the doorman telling me that my new rented furniture is here. Thank Christ.

  Claire tilts her head, her glowing red hair draping over her shoulder as that smile morphs into a smirk. “Showtime, baby. I’m taking the reins so hold on tight.” She winks at me before skipping off, leaving me questioning how to only be friends with the woman I’m falling for.

  12

  Claire

  * * *

  I wake up early as sin Monday morning to my phone ringing on my nightstand. It’s the annoying HR bitch that I cannot stand. Why Ryan freaking hired her, I do not know. She’s crazy. And I’m not even just saying that. The chick is flipping nuts.

  I mean, it’s not even six in the morning and my phone is blowing up with her digits.

  “What’s up, Bridget?” I ask in a groggy voice, rolling onto my back and closing my eyes.

  “Kyle Grant is starting today, and I have no paperwork on him. None.”

  I sigh. She’s way too panicked for this ho
ur.

  Rolling back over onto my side, I run my hand over my face before throwing on my glasses. Without my contacts, I can’t see dick. “So why exactly are you calling me? Why don’t you just wait until he comes in and ask him?” I mean, seriously? Do I have to do everyone’s job for them?

  “I called him, Claire, and I called Ryan. Both of them told me to call you.”

  Of course, they did. Assholes.

  “You called Ryan at this hour? Did he hang up on you?” I have to smile at that thought. Ryan does not like to get up too early.

  “He wouldn’t do that. I’m the HR director,” she says indignantly, like being hung up on is beneath her. Whatever. I’m too tired to care all that much.

  “I’ll give you everything I have when I come in at my normal hour,” I emphasize.

  “Claire, he can’t start this morning. I have no social security number. No photo ID. I don’t even have a resume on file. I realize Ryan is the CEO of the company, but he really should have run his decision to hire a new Chief Counsel through me. My job is to hire the best candidate that will fit the company’s needs. How do I know if this Kyle person is even qualified?”

  This Kyle person?

  “Just because he’s Ryan’s—”

  “I’m gonna stop you there, because you’re way overstepping. And if you ever say any of that bullshit to Ryan, you’ll be out on your ass,” I tell her sternly, sitting up in bed and pulling on my protective hat. No one fucks with Ryan Grant but me. And maybe Kate, but she’s his wife so it’s different. And maybe Luke too. Whatever. “Ryan built this company from nothing. It was just him, and then it was just him and Luke, and then it was him and Luke and me. Get where I’m going with this? We have a couple thousand employees now. And I get you being territorial over your turf and shit, but Kyle Grant is an incredible attorney. We’re damn lucky to snag him. Even if he is Ryan’s brother.”

  Silence. A silence that has me smiling.

  Finally, Bridget lets out a huff of air. “Just send me his info before you come in to work.”