Billionaire Bachelors: Stone

by Anne Marie Winston

  But he hadn’t been prepared for the strong current of attraction that tore through him, making him want to deepen the skin-to-skin contact in a very basic way. It was as if she was a live circuit and touching her plugged him in to her special current. He mentally shook his head. What was he doing, asking the girl to live in his home? Putting temptation right under his nose probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done.

  Still, as he drew her from the car and took the elevator from the garage to his Fifth Avenue town house across from Central Park, he felt an immense relief. Faith had been sheltered her entire life. Who knew what kind of things might happen to a naive girl like her on her own? He’d promised his father’s memory that he’d take care of Faith, and he would.

  Unlocking the door, he ushered her into his home. Inside the door, Faith stopped in the large central foyer, looking around. Though she’d spent her early years in a family that wanted for little, he imagined that the place seemed luxurious compared to the seedy little apartment in which she was living. Looking at it through her eyes, he watched her as he realized he was holding his breath waiting for her reaction.

  “This is lovely,” she said quietly. “Simply lovely.”

  He smiled, relieved. Straight ahead of them, a hallway led to the back of the house while a staircase just to the right of the hall climbed graciously to a landing that led to an upper floor. To the left was a formal living room with an equally formal dining room through an archway behind it; to their right was Stone’s office, with its masculine desk, lined shelves of books and office equipment that filled the surfaces of the built-in counters along one wall.

  “I’m glad you like it.” He stepped around her and indicated the stairs. “Would you like to see the upstairs? I’ll show you your room.”

  She moved obediently in the direction he indicated, climbing the stairs as he followed. He took her down the hallway past an open set of double doors, pausing briefly to indicate the masculine-looking master suite done in striking shades of burgundy, black and gold. “That’s my room.” Turning, he pointed to the doors just opposite. “And across the hall is a guest suite. Your room will be the next one on the right. It should suit you. It belonged to my mother years ago and I’ve never changed it.” He shook his head. “She may have her flaws but I can’t fault her taste.”

  Leading her to her room, he pushed open both doors.

  “Oh,” she said on a sigh, “it’s perfect.”

  It was a charming, feminine suite decorated in soft lavenders and blues accented with pure white. Though it was slightly smaller than his, it was still spacious, with a walk-in closet, a sitting area and a large full bath. He walked past her into the bathroom. “Our rooms are connected,” he told her, sliding back a large set of louvered doors to reveal his bath and bedroom beyond. “No one will have to know we don’t share a room.”

  She couldn’t look him in the eye. “All right,” she said in a muffled tone.

  “Faith.” He waited patiently until finally, she gazed across the room at him. “This will be a good arrangement for both of us. I promise to respect your privacy.”

  She nodded. Her cheeks had grown pink and he knew that she understood that he was telling her, in as gentle a way as he could, that she had nothing to fear from him sexually. No, appealing as she might be, he had no intention of changing the platonic status of their relationship.

  By the time they had finished the house tour, it was lunchtime. He’d decided to show her how it would be when they lived together so he took her into the kitchen and seated her on a stool at the large island while he made tuna salad, sliced tomatoes and piled the combination between two halves of a croissant with cheese. He grilled the sandwiches while he sliced up a fresh pineapple.

  “I didn’t expect you to know your way around a kitchen,” she told him, filling two glasses with ice and water as he’d asked her to do.

  He grinned. “Figured I’d have a chef on standby waiting to fulfill my every wish?”

  “Something like that.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “I can cook, although I’m no Julia Child. I’d be happy to do the cooking.”

  “Actually,” he admitted, “I do have a woman who comes in Monday through Thursday unless I have to be away. Why don’t we keep her for the time being until you see how much free time you’re going to have?”

  “I’ll have free time from nine-to-five every day of the week,” she said. “If there’s anything I can help with, all you have to do is ask.”

  He couldn’t imagine asking her to get involved in any of his business dealings except in a social fashion, and he had someone to clean the house, so he couldn’t think of anything he’d want her to do. “You’ll have studying to do as soon as the summer term starts,” he said instead. “And you’ll be able to spend some time with your mother.”

  She brightened, and he remembered her pleasure last night at the idea of spending time with her mother. It was ironic, really, that they both had been deprived of their mothers for part of their childhoods. The difference was, she looked forward to spending precious time with her mother while he went out of his way to avoid close contact with his. “That will be nice.” Her light voice broke into the dark thought. “We haven’t had a lot of time together since I went away to school.”

  Which was not long after the accident in which their fathers had died, he thought, as an awkward silence fell.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t seem possible that Daddy’s been gone for eight years.” Her voice, quiet and subdued, broke the moment.

  A stab of grief sharper than any he’d allowed himself to feel in a long time pierced his heart. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I still expect mine to walk through the door.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “This was your childhood home?”

  He nodded. “Dad and Mother lived here when they were first married. After the divorce, she moved out.”

  “That must have been hard,” she offered. “How old were you?”

  “Six. And no, it wasn’t particularly hard.” He willed away the memories of his youth, of the nights he’d spent crying into his pillow, wondering what he’d done to make his mother leave. Of the days he’d envied schoolmates who had had mothers who cared enough to show up for visitors’ days and school plays, mothers who sat in the stands during baseball games and cheered, mothers who planned birthday parties and actually remembered cake and presents. “My mother was rarely here and when she was, she and Dad were shouting the walls down half the time.”

  The sympathy shining in her silvery eyes moved him more than he wanted to admit. “My childhood was just the opposite. Extremely quiet. My mother’s illness was diagnosed when I was less than two years old, and my father and I did our best to keep her from getting upset about anything.” She rested her elbows on the bar and crossed her arms. “In that respect, we have something in common. I went to my dad with my problems, because I couldn’t go to my mother.”

  He smiled. “Did you know I used to go to the Mets games with your father and mine?” He shook his head. “Dad had great seats right along the third base line and we never missed a home game. Those two knew every player’s stats going back to the beginning of time. And they used to argue about who the MVP was each season, who should go to the All-Star team, who ought to be traded…looking back, I think they just argued because it was fun.”

  Her eyes were crinkled in laughter. “I’ve never heard about this before.” Her smile faded slightly, wobbled. “I guess you probably have a lot of memories of my father that I don’t.”

  He hesitated, torn between lying to spare her feelings and telling her the truth. Truth won. “Yeah, I guess I do. Some of my best memories are of times I spent with my dad and yours. I’ll tell you some more when we have time.” He rose and took the lunch plates to the sink for the housekeeper. “This afternoon, I’d like to go pick out rings. Is that all right with you?”

  Her gray eyes widened. “Rings? Is that really necessary?”

  He nodded, a li
ttle disappointed that she didn’t yet seem to grasp the seriousness of his proposal. “Yes. This will be a real marriage, Faith.” He almost reached for her shoulders, then stopped himself, remembering the desire that had knocked him over the last time he’d touched her. “Our reasons might be a little different from most people’s but we’ll be as legally wed as the next couple. So let’s go get rings.”

  He called ahead, so that they would have some privacy while they shopped, and thirty minutes later, he handed her out of a cab in front of Tiffany & Company. Faith was a quiet presence at his side as they waited for the doors to be unlocked.

  As they stepped into the cool hush of the store, a beaming saleswoman was upon them. “Welcome, Mr. Lachlan. It is Tiffany’s pleasure and mine to serve you. How can we help you today?”

  “Wedding rings,” he said.

  The woman’s eyes widened as did those of the other employees ranged behind her, and he wondered how many minutes it would be until the press got wind of his marriage. He supposed he should warn Faith, though certainly she knew how ridiculously newsworthy his life was. Then he realized that they had better each tell their mothers about their plans before they read it in tomorrow’s paper.

  “We have a lovely selection right back here.” The saleswoman had recovered quickly and was indicating that they should follow her.

  Twenty minutes later, Faith was still perched on the edge of a comfortable chair, quietly staring at the array of precious stones scattered across the black velvet before her. She shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly—”

  From where he stood behind her, Stone said, “All right. If you can’t decide, I’ll choose one.” He knew she’d been going to say something ridiculous, like, “I couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive ring when you’ve already done so much for me.” It bothered him that the salespeople hovering around with their antennae primed for gossip would find rich pickings if they knew the truth about this marriage. Only, of course, because he couldn’t risk having his mother find out. Of course.

  He bent down to Faith and murmured in her ear. “Be careful what you say in here—it will get into the papers.”

  That startled her, he could tell by the way she jerked around and stared up at him, her face wearing an expression of shock. While she was still staring at him, he reached for a stunning square, brilliant-cut diamond ring with progressively smaller diamonds trailing down each side. It was set in platinum. He’d liked it the moment the woman had pulled it out of the case, and he suspected Faith liked it, too, from the way her eyes had caressed it. He lifted her left hand from her lap and immediately felt the tingling electricity that arced between them as their flesh connected. He took a deep breath and slipped the ring onto her third finger. There was just a hint of resistance at the knuckle before it slid smoothly into place and he quickly dropped her hand as if it burned. It was the same feeling he’d convinced himself he hadn’t felt when he’d taken her chin in his hand, indeed when he touched her in any way.

  “A perfect fit.” He caught her gaze, forcing himself to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Do you like this one?”

  “It’s…” She shrugged, lifting dazed eyes to his. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He studied the way her long, elegant fingers set off the ring, a deep satisfaction spreading through him. His ring. His wife. He was surprised at how much he liked the thought. Maybe this year wouldn’t be such a trial at all, with Faith at his side. The more he thought about Faith and marriage, the better he realized his solution was. She could protest all she liked, but he would set up a trust fund for her and her mother so that once this arrangement ended she wouldn’t be afraid of where her next meal would come from or how her mother’s next medical bill would be paid.

  He turned her hand and linked his fingers through hers. To the saleswoman, he said, “We’ll take the matching wedding bands.”

  “Stone!”

  “Faith!” he teased. “Did you think I was going to let you get away without a wedding band?”

  The saleswoman had flown off in a twitter to get the proper ring sizes. He followed her across the room, catching her attention and motioning for quiet. “I’d also like the sapphire-and-diamond choker and matching earrings in the display window. But don’t let my fiancée see them.”

  The woman’s eyes got even wider. “Very good, Mr. Lachlan. And may I congratulate you on your engagement, sir.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, resigned to the fact that tomorrow’s paper would carry a mention of his upcoming wedding. His only consolation was that it would take them a day or two before they figured out who the bride-to-be was. “I’d like you to deliver the wedding rings and the sapphire set to my home. She’ll wear the engagement ring.”

  He called his mother the moment they got back into a cab. She wasn’t available so he told her assistant that he’d gotten engaged that afternoon and that he’d like her to come for dinner and meet his bride Saturday evening, and hung up.

  Within thirty seconds, the cell phone rang. He chuckled as he punched the speaker button on the phone. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Was that a joke?” Eliza Smythe demanded.

  “Not in the least.” He kept his tone pleasant. “We’d like you to come to dinner tonight to make her acquaintance.”

  “So I don’t know her?” The tone was exasperated.

  “You know of her, I believe,” he replied. “Faith Harrell. She’s the daughter of—”

  “Randall.” His mother’s tone was softer. “He was a good man. I was so sorry when he—good Lord!” she said suddenly. “Stone, that girl isn’t even legal! Are you crazy?”

  “Faith will be twenty-one this year,” he said coolly.

  “All right.” Eliza Smythe changed tactics abruptly. “I’ll come to dinner. I can’t wait to meet Miss Harrell.”

  “She’ll be Mrs. Lachlan soon,” he reminded her. “Why don’t we say seven o’clock? See you then.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at the engagement ring. It was breathtaking, the central stone over three carats. He’d paid an obscene amount of money for it, she was sure, though no one on the Tiffany staff had been indiscreet enough to actually mention payment in front of her. She had noticed Stone placing a hasty phone call to his insurance agent, so at least if she left it lying in the ladies’ room somewhere it would be covered.

  Not that she ever intended to take it off her finger.

  She was so preoccupied that when Stone opened the cab door and put a hand beneath her elbow, she looked up at him in confusion. “Where are we going now?”

  “Shopping.” He helped her from the car. “You probably need some things for the formal occasions we’ll be going to from time to time. Next weekend, we’ll attend a charity ball. That will give everyone an opportunity to hear about our marriage and gawk at you. After that, things should settle down.”

  A charity ball? She’d never had any experience with such things although her family had been modestly wealthy—unless you compared them to Stone, in which case they didn’t even register on the personal fortune scale.

  “Um, no, that would be fine,” she said. “I suppose the sooner the news of this gets out, the sooner the fuss will die down.”

  He glanced down at her. “I’m sorry if the thought of the media unnerves you. I generally don’t do much that excites them. This will make a splash but it’ll fade the minute there’s a scandal or someone bigger crosses their sights.”

  She shook her head, smiling at him pityingly. “You underestimate your appeal.”

  He grinned at her, so handsome and confident her heart skipped a beat. “You’ll see.” Then his face sobered. “I’d like to get married soon,” he said.

  “Well, it shouldn’t take long to get things organized,” she said. If the mere thought of marrying him unnerved her like this, how was she going to get through the real thing? “I’m assuming you don’t want to make a fuss of this wedding so we probably could get it together in
three months—”

  “Faith.”

  She stopped.

  “If I apply for the license tomorrow we could be married on Thursday or Friday.”

  She blinked, shook her head to clear her ears. “Next Friday?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “But how can we possibly…never mind.” She smiled feebly. “I guess you have people who can arrange these things.”

  He nodded. “I do. Do you prefer a church or the courthouse?”

  “Courthouse,” she said hastily. Getting married in a church would feel sacrilegious, when they had no intention of honoring the vows they would be taking. A dull sense of disappointment spread through her, and she gave herself a mental shake.

  “All right.” As far as he was concerned, the matter appeared to be settled. “Then let’s go get you a wedding dress.”

  “Oh, I don’t need—” She felt as if she’d hopped a train only to find it racing along at top speed, skipping its regular stops.

  “Yes,” he said positively. “You do.”

  Shopping with Stone was an education. More like a nightmare, she thought, suppressing a smile as he fired orders at a salesperson. She tried repeatedly to tell him she didn’t need all these clothes; he rolled right over her objections. She supposed she should be grateful for small mercies. At least he hadn’t followed her into the dressing room or insisted she model for him.

  He dragged her from one shop to the next. Neiman Marcus, Barney’s, the new Celine flagship store. For day, a short black Prada, a Celine herringbone suit and a striking black-and-pink Cavalli blouse with Red Tape jeans. Everywhere they went, he was recognized sooner or later. She could tell exactly when it happened from the appraising looks that began to fly her way. For the first time, it occurred to her that marrying Stone might change her life forever. He was a public figure and without a doubt, she would become one for the duration of their marriage. But would she be able to resume her normal anonymous lifestyle after they parted?

  “We’ll take all three of those gowns she liked,” he said, oblivious to the direction of her thoughts as he nodded at the fawning saleswomen.