The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  There were tears in her eyes, a terrible grief in her heart. Her chest ached at the look on his face, at the sudden anguish that burned in his eyes. He was a man who protected people, who took care of them. It was what he’d been raised for since Noah had adopted him and it was the standard he’d had to measure himself against ever since. And to have lost someone like this, to have been the agent of their death …

  God, she couldn’t even imagine.

  She slipped off the couch, made as if to move toward him, her first instinct to offer comfort in some way, but he shook his head. “No.” The word was flat, hard. “Stay there.”

  “Van—”

  “I have to make it up to her. I have to make her death mean something.” His eyes glittered, hard as emeralds. “That’s why I stayed in the military, why I told Dad he could find another heir. It was my failure that killed her and so it was my duty to make up for it.”

  She swallowed, her throat aching. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “So you know what I am. So you know that there will always be a mission for me, always responsibilities I have to take up. I can’t refuse them, Chloe. I have to put them first, before everything. Otherwise Sofia’s death will be for fucking nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, Van.” It was pathetic and paltry, but she didn’t know what else to say. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  His strong features looked starker somehow, sharper, as if his skin had pulled suddenly tight over the bones of his face. “I’m sorry too. Because I can’t give you what you want. I can’t give you love, Chloe. I can’t ever give you that.”

  “It’s okay,” she began thickly.

  But he shook his head. “It’s not okay. I’m going to call my secretary. Get her to ready the jet.”

  She didn’t understand what was happening. “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re leaving.” The look in his face was shuttered. “It’s time for you to go home.”

  A week ago the mention of home would have made her happy, would have been a relief. But now it made something crack inside her.

  “What do you mean I’m leaving?” She struggled to make sense of what was happening. “But I thought you wanted me to stay here, to marry you.”

  “I was wrong.” His tone was clipped. “I can’t marry you. And I won’t force you to be with me when I can’t give you what you want. I don’t want to do what Dad did to you.” He had that look in his eyes now, the one he got when he was giving orders, no argument possible. “You’ll probably want to head back to Wyoming, but maybe it would be a good idea to head overseas for a while, put yourself out of de Santis’s reach for a couple of months.”

  It felt like the floor had suddenly turned into ice beneath her feet and she was slipping and skidding around, her balance totally gone. “But … you said I was yours.” Anger crept into her tone and she let it, because that was better than hurt, than desperation. “You said you were going to keep me. Or were those just more empty promises?”

  His features tightened, that muscle leaping in his jaw again. “I know what I said. But I can’t keep you after all. You deserve to have everything, Chloe. Everything you want and if I can’t give it to you, you need to find someone who can.”

  Now the ice wasn’t only affecting her balance, it was freezing her feet, her legs, rising up to her torso, wrapping frigid tendrils around her heart. So she reached for that anger, held onto it with everything she had.

  “And the footage?” she snapped. “What about that? What about the company?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Van—”

  “You wanted to know if I would have married you if there was no footage? No de Santis? No company?” There was something horribly final about the look on his face. “The answer is no. I wouldn’t have.”

  Somehow, even when she’d asked that question, she’d known what his answer would be, and for some strange reason, it made something inside her settle as if a heavy weight had fallen on her.

  He wouldn’t have married her, she understood that. But not because he didn’t want her, she was sure of that too, especially given the desperate way he’d taken her on her knees just before.

  He wanted her but he wasn’t going to let himself have her because of the woman who’d died. Because he was doing his best to keep saving her even though she was long dead. Because he was still trying to live up to the standards his father had set for him, even though Noah was dead too. Still trying to do the right thing, be the perfect Tate heir.

  She couldn’t fight that. She couldn’t tell him to ignore the death he’d caused. She couldn’t tell him to put her first.

  She’d told him how she felt and he’d made a choice, and the choice wasn’t her. It was duty over love for him, and now all she could do was respect the decision he’d made and do her best to deal with it. Wasn’t that what you did when you loved someone? You respected their choices even when you didn’t like those choices.

  Her heart felt tender and bruised in her chest, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek. But she didn’t wipe it away or try to hide it. These were her feelings and they were important, even if they were painful.

  Crossing the space between them, she came to stand right in front of him, looking up into his hazel eyes. They’d gone dark, shadowed, but he didn’t look away. “Okay,” she said quietly, the heavy weight settling down inside her. “If that’s the way you want it, then I’ll go.”

  Surprise rippled through his gaze. “What? Just like that?”

  “If you’re expecting me to argue with you, Van, I’m not going to.” She swallowed, her throat dry and sore. “I can’t ask you to give up your mission and I can’t demand to be put first, not after that. I understand you feel you have to do this and no, I don’t like it, but I respect it.”

  He half-lifted his hand toward her, only to check himself at the last minute, pushing it into his pocket instead, his jaw hardening even more. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Chloe. That was never my intention. You have to understand that.”

  Her bruised and battered heart felt like it was rubbing itself raw against the cage of her ribs, but she tried to give him a smile all the same. “I know. I can’t deny this doesn’t hurt, because it does. It hurts a lot. But I’m strong. I’ll be okay.”

  This time it was Van who looked away, his shoulders hunched, his posture tense. “I’m going to call Lucas to put you on the plane.”

  Chloe lifted a hand, wiping away her tears. “Fine.”

  He said nothing so she moved past him, heading toward the door.

  “So, just like that?” The words hoarse-sounding, like they’d been forced out of him. “Not even a good-bye?”

  Chloe stared at the door in front of her and suddenly her calm felt tenuous, as if it would crack straight through at the slightest touch. “No,” she said thickly “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  And before he could say anything, she pulled the door open and walked through it, deafened by the sound of her heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.

  * * *

  Van completed the last pull-up then let go of the bar, landing on the floor. His muscles were screaming and he was covered with sweat, and yet it felt like he really hadn’t done enough. Not nearly enough to block out the pain that was centered in the middle of his chest and the awful sense that somehow he’d made a colossal mistake.

  He panted, eyeing the rowing machine for his next set.

  He’d called Lucas a couple of hours ago, asking him to take Chloe to the airport and there must have been something hard in his voice because his brother didn’t even argue. Which was a good thing. If he had, Van would probably have broken something. Preferably Lucas’s face.

  Coward. You couldn’t even take her yourself.

  He gritted his teeth, his jaw aching. No, of course he couldn’t take her. He had to stay here and monitor the situation with de Santis. That footage would be going up on news sites everywhere and he had to
be here to cope with the media storm that was going to be breaking any fucking minute.

  He couldn’t be heading off to the airport to say good-bye to one small woman who in one minute had revealed her strength in a way that put him to shame. She’d accepted his decision without even a protest, lifting that proud little chin of hers as she’d walked past him.

  He’d been the one with desperation clawing inside him, unable to stop that last demand for a good-bye as she’d gone to the door. A good-bye she hadn’t given him.

  A good-bye you did not deserve.

  He went over to the rowing machine and sat down, leaning forward to key in one of the most punishing programs. Then he began.

  The hissing sound of the machine filled the room, the already stretched muscles of his chest and arms screaming even more.

  He ignored them.

  It had been the right decision to make. The only decision. She’d told him she loved him and he’d known in that moment he’d taken things too far. That forcing her to stay with him simply because he couldn’t bear the thought of not having her was wrong.

  She loved him. And marrying her, keeping her, without giving back what she’d so freely given him, would make him no better than his father. He refused to do that. He just fucking refused.

  He’d meant it when he told her she deserved everything. She did. And if he couldn’t give it to her, she needed to find someone who could. Someone who wouldn’t give her all those empty promises, who would protect her and cherish her and give her the love she deserved.

  But that someone wasn’t him.

  He hauled on the bars of the machine, the breath exploding from him as he powered through. Sweat streamed down his back, but he could still feel the pain in his heart. It throbbed like a bastard.

  He’d had to send her away. He had to. He couldn’t put someone else first, put them before the mission. Couldn’t put Chloe ahead of the woman who’d died because of him. How could he? It wasn’t fair to Chloe and it wasn’t fair to Sofia’s memory. It belittled both of them and he wasn’t doing that.

  Yeah, that’s right. Use Sofia to excuse your own damn cowardice.

  Van hauled hard on the rowing machine, his teeth bared in a feral snarl, both to that fucking pain that wouldn’t go away and to the thought in his head.

  He wasn’t a coward. He’d fucked up eight years ago and shot a civilian by mistake, a woman who trusted him to bring her home. How the hell could he justify putting Chloe ahead of what he owed Sofia?

  Christ, if he only ever did one right thing in his crappy life, then letting Chloe go was it. It was the only way to protect her from even more hurt, even more pain. Leaving her free to find someone who was truly worthy of her.

  It might hurt her to start with, but she’d get over it and if he handled the situation right, the media attention that would hit after that footage went live wouldn’t even touch her. He’d have a metric ton of crap to deal with himself, but he could deal with it.

  He was going to have to.

  Why is handling a media storm easier than telling Chloe you love her?

  Van let go of the bars of the machine all of a sudden, the thing recoiling with a snap. His shoulders, chest, and thighs were screaming in agony, yet the pain he couldn’t bear was the one inside him, where his heart should be.

  What the hell was all this about loving her? He didn’t love her, at least not in the way she wanted him to. He’d told himself not to get involved and he hadn’t. End of story.

  Yet even to himself that sounded hollow, an empty justification with no meaning.

  “Fuck.” Van got off the rowing machine, paced restlessly over to the windows then back again. There was a water bottle lying on the floor next to the machine and he abruptly picked it up and threw at the wall. It exploded in a shower of plastic, water streaming down the wall. “Fuck!”

  No, he didn’t feel better. Not one bit.

  Trying to get a handle on himself, he stalked out of the gym and into the bathroom, shoving the mixer shower to cold. Then he stripped off his sweaty clothes and stood under the stream, forcing himself to stay there as the water turned his heated skin to ice.

  That didn’t help either.

  He was almost blue by the time he got out, but ignoring the fact that he was basically freezing, he pulled on a clean tee and a pair of jeans, then went downstairs to his father’s office to check the news media sites.

  The house was silent. Lucas must have come and taken Chloe away.

  Good. Saying good-bye was hard and it was easier on her if they didn’t.

  Another justification that sounded good, yet the pain in his chest squeezing so hard he almost couldn’t breathe told him what a goddamn lie it was.

  Fucking coward.

  Van stepped into the office, slamming the door behind him so hard the thing rattled on its hinges. He went over to the desk and sat down, pressing a button on the computer keyboard.

  No doubt that footage would be up by now, which meant it was time to deal with the mess de Santis had created for him.

  Then he noticed there was an envelope sitting next to the keyboard with his name written on the front of it.

  Frowning, he picked it up, examining it. Who the hell had left him this? He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but of course there was only one person it could have been since no one else had been in the house.

  Chloe.

  He ripped the envelope, his hands shaking for some stupid reason, and a piece of paper slipped out. Unfolding it carefully, she spread the paper out on the desktop.

  Van, there’s one last thing I need to tell you. It’s about Dad and the oil. De Santis told me that it wasn’t him who tried to steal the oil from Dad. It was Dad who stole it from him. The strike was on his land and Dad had the boundaries altered so it looked like it was on Tate land instead. He didn’t give me proof, but I believe him. He had no reason to lie.

  I’m sorry.

  Chloe.

  Van stared at the words on the page and waited for the shock to hit at the revelation of yet another lie Noah had told, and waited for the anger to rise along with it.

  But neither came. It was as if he already knew and, more, it was like he just didn’t care. Not about his father or the oil or even goddamn de Santis. He didn’t care whether Noah had stolen it and he didn’t care whether it was true or not.

  He wasn’t perfect, what a fucking surprise. So why the hell are you still trying to be?

  Abruptly, he couldn’t breathe. As if all the air in the room was slowly being sucked away, and this was worse than that fucking drown-proofing test when he’d been doing his BUD/S training. Way, way worse. There, you were in a pool and your hands and legs were tied, and all you had to do was complete a series of exercises, no biggie. But he wasn’t underwater here and there were no exercises to do, he just … couldn’t fucking breathe.

  Jesus, he wasn’t trying to perfect. He was about as imperfect as a man could get and he knew it.

  Yet you’re still trying to do the right thing. Still trying to save the company. Still trying to save Sofia. Still putting those standards of Noah’s ahead of everything else. Ahead of Chloe.

  Yeah, but he couldn’t forget Sofia. It was part of his past. And he couldn’t tell himself her life hadn’t mattered, because it did. Yet … he’d thought he’d accepted that he wouldn’t ever live up to Noah’s vision of what he wanted Van to be. He’d thought he’d refuted it.

  So why are you working yourself into screaming agony then freezing yourself in an icy cold shower? How does that honor Sofia’s death? How does it help anything? How does it fix the mistake you made?

  It didn’t. It was only more of what he’d been doing for the past eight years. Punishing himself, martyring himself. Telling himself it was all about missions and protecting people, and all kinds of bullshit, when it wasn’t any of those things.

  No, all it was, was him trying to ease the guilt of a mistake he shouldn’t have made, trying to be the man his father wanted him to
be. And that wasn’t honoring Sofia’s death or being any kind of man at all. That was just fucking wallowing in it.

  That was using both as an excuse not to have to admit the truth—that he was in love with Chloe Tate and it scared the shit out of him.

  The realization was like someone had stuck an oxygen mask on his face, inflating his lungs, filling them with air. Making him breathe, making him gasp. And he had to resist the urge to shove back his chair and just run the fuck after her, sprint the whole goddamn way to the airport then fall on his knees, tell her he didn’t give a shit about how wrong or otherwise it was to be with her, he just couldn’t bear to be without her another minute more.

  But no. This required more. This required true commitment. If he was going to lay his imperfect heart at her feet, this required him to be a motherfucking SEAL and step the fuck up.

  No retreat, no surrender.

  Van slipped one hand into his pocket and found the small, round stone that had somehow found its way in there, and he curled his fingers around it. Then he reached for his phone.

  He had something big to arrange.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Chloe stared blankly at the neon painted city as it passed by out the windows. How ironic that after years of being desperate to come with her father to New York, she couldn’t wait to get out of the goddamn place.

  Lucas kept shooting her narrow looks as he drove, but she ignored him.

  Her heart didn’t hurt anymore, nothing did. She felt empty, light as a soap bubble. As if her seat belt was the only thing keeping her anchored.

  Which was fine. Numbness was preferable to pain, to the aching sadness that had filled every part of her as she’d gathered her meager belongings together and put them in her duffel.