The Billionaire in Her Bed (Worthington Family)

by Regina Kyle

  “Roast carrot and fennel soup with parsley walnut pesto,” he announced as he set the bowls down in front of them.

  “Looks delish,” Brooke said, digging in.

  Eli chuckled, and she paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “What’s so funny?”

  “You. It’s refreshing to see a woman who’s not afraid to enjoy her food.” He laid his spoon aside and cleared his throat. “I was going to wait until dessert, but…”

  He pushed his chair back and fumbled in his pants pocket. “Dammit. Things went a lot smoother when I imagined this moment. But I was afraid to lose it, so I pinned it to the lining.”

  “Afraid to lose what?”

  “This.”

  Brooke’s heart stuttered to a stop. Between the thumb and index finger of his outstretched hand, Eli held the most exquisite diamond ring she’d ever seen. The shimmering, old European cut diamond was set in platinum and accented on either side by a trio of smaller, single-cut stones, giving the ring a vintage, art deco feel.

  She sat transfixed, unable to move but eventually, thankfully, able to speak. “Does that mean what I think?”

  “If you think it means I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life with me, ’til death do us part, then yes.” The silence stretched between them as he twirled the ring in his fingers, the light from the LEDs catching the facets of the stones in brilliant, golden flashes. “I believe it’s customary for the lady to give some sort of an answer.”

  “Well, duh.” She plucked the ring from his fingers and slipped it over her knuckle, resisting the urge to go all girly and stretch out her hand to admire it. There was time enough for that later, in private. “Of course I’ll marry you. Who else would put up with my mood swings, off-key singing, and Diet Coke addiction?”

  “A small price to pay for my snoring, leaving the cap off the toothpaste, and neglecting to change the toilet paper roll.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. She met him halfway, but their lips had barely made contact when a piercing shriek cut through the air, making them jump apart.

  “Oh. My. God.” David whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and stabbed at the screen. “Houston, we have a problem. Lover boy jumped the gun. She’s got the ring on her finger. Get up here with the good stuff, stat.”

  He ended the call, shoved the phone back in his pocket and glared at Eli. “What happened to waiting for dessert?”

  “Sorry.” Eli gave one shoulder a half-hearted shrug that said he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

  “What does he mean, the good stuff?” Brooke smiled across the table at her fiancé. Fiancé. The word sent ripples of excitement and anticipation through her. Eli was her fiancé. She was going to be his wife. A year ago—hell, eight months ago—it would have seemed impossible. But now the impossible had become reality. “I thought this night was pretty darned good already.”

  “He means this.” Chris stepped out onto the roof, brandishing a bottle of what looked like champagne and followed by Charise and the Feingolds. “It was supposed to be for when he popped the question.”

  “What happened?” Mr. Feingold fiddled with his hearing aid. “Did she say yes?”

  “Of course she did,” his wife scolded him. “Can’t you see the rock on her finger?”

  “This calls for champagne.” Chris popped the cork.

  “Thanks.” Eli took the bottle from him. “I think I can take it from here.”

  “What about dinner?” David protested. “There’s four more courses to go.”

  Chris nodded in agreement. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted my salt encrusted beef tenderloin.”

  “I’ll text you when we’re ready for the next course,” Eli promised.

  “If you want some mood music, I could get my accordion,” offered Mr. Feingold.

  “Come on, old man.” His wife tugged at the sleeve of his cardigan. “The lovebirds want some privacy.”

  “Mrs. Feingold is right.” Charise started for the door. “Let’s leave the happy couple alone.”

  After a bit of grumbling, mostly from Mr. Feingold, the group said their congratulations and left.

  Eli pushed back his chair and stood. “Dance with me.”

  “There’s no music.”

  “Do we need any?” He extended his hand to her. “I want to hold you.”

  How could a girl resist an invitation like that? Brooke took his hand and let him pull her out of her seat and into his arms.

  “You realize my mother’s going to be beside herself.” She rested her cheek on his shoulder as they moved to the music in their minds. “Her eldest daughter marrying Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor? She’s going to want a big society wedding, with all the trimmings.”

  “Is that what you want?” Eli asked.

  “Hell, no.” She shuddered at the thought. “I just want you.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He stopped swaying to pull an envelope from his back pocket.

  “What’s this?” she asked, taking it.

  “Why don’t you open it and find out?”

  She broke the seal and slid out two airline tickets. “Costa Rica?”

  “I did a little leg work. All you need to get a marriage license is a passport and two witnesses.”

  “A marriage license?” She gazed up at him, open mouthed. “You mean elope?”

  “That’s the plan, if you’re on board.”

  She studied the tickets, her lower lip trembling. “This flight leaves in less than twelve hours. I’ll never be ready in time.”

  “Charise is packing your bag as we speak.”

  Brooke slipped the tickets back into the envelope. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”

  “Yep. All I need now is the girl.” He took the envelope from her fingertips, returned it to his pocket and cupped her face in his hands. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

  “What do I say?” She laughed, raised herself up on her toes, and kissed him—a long, lingering kiss that communicated her answer in a way words never could. But to be sure, when she was done she gave him the words, too.

  “I say you’ve got her. And we have a plane to catch.”

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  Acknowledgments

  No writer is an island, and I couldn’t have written this book without a huge support system behind me. There’s my plot group, the MTBs, who always have wine, chocolate, and words of condolence or congratulations at the ready, depending on my mood: Jamie Beck, Jamie Schmidt, Megan Ryder, Gail Chianese, Jane Haertel, Jen Moncuse, Stefanie London, Katy Lee, and Tracy Costa. There’s my agent, Jill Marsal, who started me on this part of my writing journey when she said, “I think you should submit something to Entangled.” There’s my editor, Candace Havens, editorial director, Heidi Shoham, and the rest of the staff at Entangled, who’ve been a delight to work with and who’ve helped this book get stronger every step of the way. There’s my usually understanding husband and daughter, who tolerate way more than their fair share of take-out dinners, dirty dishes, and half-done laundry, not to mention deadline-induced panic.

  And last, but by no means least, there’s you, the readers. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting many of you at conferences, signings, and author/reader weekends. Trust me, it never gets old. You’re the reason authors write, and without you we’re just shouting into the wind. Thanks for letting me share Brooke and Eli’s story with you.

  About the Author

  Regina Kyle also writes for Harlequin Blaze. She is a 2016 Booksellers’ Best Winner (Triple Dare—Erotic Romance) and a 2015 NJRW Golden Leaf Finalist (Triple Threat—Best First Book). Regina knew she was destined to be an author when she won a writing contest at age ten with a touching tale about a squirrel and a nut pie. By day, she writes dry legal briefs, representing the state in crimin
al appeals. At night, she writes steamy romance with heart and humor. A lover of all things theatrical, Regina lives on the Connecticut coast with her husband, teenage daughter, and two melodramatic cats. When she’s not writing, she’s most likely singing, reading, cooking, or watching bad reality television. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and of her local RWA chapter.

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