The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery

by Mia Caldwell

  "I wouldn't know either way," I laugh. "This is the first time I've ever been on a private island."

  "Well then," he says lightly, "let me show you around."

  He puts his hand at my elbow, a little guiding hand, nothing more, but his touch makes me jump like he grazed me with a live wire. I dart forward, out of his reach and summon my professional cool. "I will need to see the layout of the space," I tell him as I cross the deck. "How many guests can you accommodate? Are you expecting them to provide their own transport? How far is it to come via boat? Perhaps we could arrange a ferry the day of, do you have a port anywhere?"

  I take a breath, waiting for him to respond. It isn't until a moment goes by without an answer by that I realize he is no longer at my side.

  I turn.

  Carter is still back at the railing. He is looking out over the water, a far away look in his eyes. There is peace there, but also an incredible sadness. The kind of sadness that makes me take an inadvertent step forward. Like I can comfort him somehow.

  He turns a little, affording me a glimpse of his strong profile. It's a profile I recognize from my "research," but he even more gorgeous in person, model perfect with a kind of coolness about him that almost seems studied. Like he takes lessons on how to be laid back.

  The sadness leaves his eyes, making me wonder if I imagined it. "Slow down," he says. There is still that ease in his voice, but authority too. Like he is used to giving orders. "Take it easy, okay?"

  I stammer for a moment. He's not taking this seriously at all.

  "Check it out," he grins. "Dolphins. See that fin?"

  He's not answering me and he doesn't seem in the mood to talk business. Reluctantly, I step back to him. He takes my elbow again, steering me so that I am looking out over the glinting water.

  A dorsal fin breaks the surface. Then another. Then another. I feel my face stretching into a grin in spite of myself. "Wow," I breathe.

  Carter looks at me, his wide grin showing perfect white teeth. But the delight on his face isn't studied at all. "They swing by here around this time of year. I was afraid I was going to miss them."

  I look back out. The fins are receding, disappearing around the curve of the island. When they finally slip completely from view, I dare sneak a look back at Carter.

  "I need to show you something," he says.

  "Okay," I say, clenching my teeth a little.

  "Give me your hand, these stairs can be a little slippery," he says.

  When his hand slips into mine, all the plans, all the questions I have for him leave my brain in a rush. I have no other thoughts but how his skin feels; warm and dry, a slight, unexpected callous, his fingers strong and supple in mine as he leads me down the steps to the beach.

  I stop short. I am in heels, but Carter seems to have thought of that already. "Lift your foot," he says in that easy, authoritative voice.

  Chapter Eight

  Carter

  She's even better up close.

  Sanniyah is studying her surroundings like she has everything already figured out, her chin lifted to show off the graceful swoop of her neck. In the waning light of sunset, I first assumed her perfect skin was a smooth shade of caramel, but as I move closer, I can see the different colors under the surface; the ebonies, the siennas, the dark chocolates. I am staring at her, I can feel it. I have to look away.

  She doesn't know how hard this is for me. She can't possibly know that the very act of allowing someone I don't know into my sanctuary is tearing me apart internally. It's not her fault that she is gorgeous and unnerving and I am already so on edge I feel like I might snap at any moment. So I keep conversation to a minimum, though it is clear she is unhappy with how I am avoiding talking about the wedding. She doesn't know that the just allowing her near me is the biggest step.

  But she seems unnerved too. When I steel my resolve and make to touch her, she goes stiff and jumpy. I wonder if she can sense the damage inside of me. I wonder if she knows I am not right inside.

  This bothers me.

  "Come down here," I tell her. I am being too abrupt, ordering her around. I expect her to tell me to shove off, but instead she follows me, to my immense surprise. "I want to show you something."

  She hesitates at the bottom step, wavering. "Oh, I got that," I say, reaching out to help her unbuckle her sexy, spindly heels. It's a problem I can easily solve, unlike my inability to handle a normal conversation.

  She lifts her foot. The instant my hand circles her ankle, I feel it again. That bolt of possessiveness. That want. A fiery need I haven't felt in...forever perhaps?

  I used to feel things. Hunger, drive. Ideas would come to me like bolts out of the blue. Inspiration would take hold of me and shake me like I am shaking right now. I am shaking so hard I can barely get her buckle undone.

  My hand looks like it belongs there, wrapped possessively around her. Claiming her as my own. I know she is what I need. I know that she will make me whole again. I don't question it, just like I never questioned any of the ideas that led me to my incredible fortune. I just acted.

  Her bare feet wiggle in the sand, and I feel another jolt. A different kind of jolt.

  This one goes straight a very different part of my anatomy...

  She's standing on the half-buried last step, which means our eyes are level with each other. "I'm glad you're here, Sanniyah," I say. And I mean it.

  She looks startled for a minute. I can see a million different expressions flash across her face until she finally settles on one.

  Delight.

  Her eyes open wide; shocked and pleased. Her beautiful, kissably plump lips curve into a megawatt smile. Her face is so utterly transformed in that moment that I make a solemn promise to myself right now.

  I want to delight her. Again and again. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make her smile the way she is right now.

  "I'm pretty glad too," she laughs. Her voice is softer. "It's gorgeous here."

  I look down at the shoreline. The waves are gentle, sighing into the sand. It's low tide. "Sometimes shells wash up," I tell her. "Over here."

  They wash up everywhere, but I am using this as an excuse to take her hand. It slips into mine like it belongs there. "Okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. I'm not sure if she's saying it to me or to herself.

  Darkness is gathering in the trees. "What was that?" she asks, startled by a sharp cry from the branches.

  "Migratory birds," I tell her, picking my way carefully along the waterline. "This is a stop for a lot of them. Someday I'm going to learn all of their names, but right now I just think of them as happy surprises. This place is protected, you know. A bird sanctuary." I pause. "My sanctuary.”

  Sanniyah stops, forcing me to look back. Her head is tilted to one side, exposing the curve of her throat to me. I eye it hungrily until her words catch me by surprise. "So why share it?"

  Chapter Nine

  Sanniyah

  I shouldn't have just blurted it out like that. His face is completely stricken. I can see how pale he is, even in the low light. "I'm...sorry, that was rude," I start to stammer.

  "No." He sighs heavily. "It's a valid question. One I've been trying to come up with a good answer for, myself." He gives a rueful chuckle and runs his hands through his hair, tugging slightly. I have the urge to smooth the rumpled tangles away. To smooth the worry lines off his face.

  Carter Easton turns away from me, striding up the beach to sit heavily on a piece of driftwood far above the waterline. I hesitate. He seems like he wants to be alone. But he also seems like he wants to answer me. So I move towards him, shifting a little as I sit so that our bodies aren't touching. I am acutely aware of the heat in the air between us.

  "Basically, it comes down to this," he says, like he is making a decision, once and for all. "Cammy is my baby sister. She should have a normal, happy wedding, with our father walking her proudly down the aisle. But she can't have that."

  I swallow. The crash. I
didn't put together what it meant for Carter, what it meant for Camilla, until just now.

  I am saved from having to murmur something apologetic and awkward by the fervor in Carter's voice as he continues. "She's getting married, to a good man. She's found happiness, and deserves to have that celebrated. And I can make that happen. I can afford to give her that, give her the wedding of her dreams...fuck, I can afford that a million times over. It's not going to make up for our parents not being there, but it's the best I can do."

  The silence after his speech hangs heavily in the air. I can feel all of my assumptions about Carter Easton sliding slowly sideways. This isn't what I was expecting...at all.

  I slip my hand quietly into his. "I can help you do that," I tell him. "It's my job. And I'm really good at it."

  Carter looks up, and bursts out laughing. "Thank you," he says. "I think I'm going to need the help."

  I shift on the log. This is more my speed. Dolphins, birds, walks on the beach...Carter himself...they all had me feeling off kilter, but planning a spectacular wedding? That I understand. "Why don't you tell me what you have planned," I start.

  Carter runs his fingers through his hair again, the wild, trapped look fading from his eyes. It is replaced with a boyish, rueful grin. I can see Cammy's shyness, there underneath the gorgeous, studied cool of his exterior. "If we're going to be...working...together, Ms. Jones."

  "You can call me Sanniyah," I interject quickly, blushing slightly.

  "Okay Sanniyah," he grins wider, showing a dimple deep in his left cheek. "You need to know that...I don't really...plan. That's not how I work, not how I've ever worked, honestly." He slides his hand out of mine and for a moment I miss its warmth. The faraway look I first saw on his face when I arrived, returns. "The more I try to control things, the more they slip away from me." He spreads his hands wide. "So I just learned to let it all...go."

  There is a sadness to his voice that gives me pause. I want to touch him and suddenly I do, running my hand up his forearm. He closes his eyes and lets his head drop back. Then suddenly he rises to his feet, lifting us both. His hand is on my waist and we are walking in silence, just touching.

  I should be working. I should be talking about the wedding, my client's needs. I should be planning, doing my job.

  But I am only walking next to him.

  I don't want to break the spell I am under where this is completely okay.

  Chapter Ten

  Sanniyah

  My dreams are filled with the sound of the ocean in my ears, the memory of Carter's fingertips on my skin as indelible as ink. I really don't want to wake up and have that memory fade away.

  We just walked, nothing more, but that walk was more intimate than if I had torn off his clothes and kissed every inch of his body.

  And while every cell in my body yearned for him to kiss me, he did nothing more than squeeze my hand when we said goodbye. The pressure of his hand on mine still heated my skin the morning after.

  It is torturing me that I didn't kiss him. I lift my phone to stare at his number. Then, feeling like a complete idiot, I press my lips to the cold screen.

  Since when did I revert into a teenager around guys? It didn’t matter. Carter was no ordinary man…

  It will have to suffice. For now. Because right now I really have to return to reality and get to work. I wasn’t here to play matchmaker for myself. I was here to plan a wedding.

  My home office is the same as it always is, but for some reason, today it feels...lonely. I blaze through my emails like I am trying to set land speed records. I am keyed up, rushing for some reason.

  You know the reason.

  Carter's phone number is in my phone. Taunting me. Like the cookies in the pantry that I am deliberately avoiding, that phone number calls to me all damn morning. My gaze keeps dropping down to my Iphone. I want to pick it up, text him. "No, Sanniyah Rose," I told myself out loud. "Stop it."

  The morning goes by in fits and starts. It's Saturday and I have a wedding scheduled for this evening, but until then I have plenty of time to get my emails and pitches done.

  Instead, I fritter away my time looking at pictures of Carter on the internet.

  Pathetic.

  I need a distraction and luckily one lives right next door to my apartment.

  Tricia has been my best friend since I was a nervous and traumatized fourteen-year-old girl. The first day my mother and I moved into Otis' house, Tricia hailed me from her driveway. "Oh, you're the new kid? Thank god you seem normal," she had shouted.

  I certainly didn't feel normal back then. Moving to the big house on the corner from the tiny studio apartment my mother and I had shared was making me feel as conspicuous as if I had a horn growing out of my forehead. My mother had just married Otis, down at the courthouse, and all of our possessions were crammed into plastic bags, in the back seat of his car. Everything I knew had just been turned upside down, but Tricia said I looked normal.

  I never forgot that.

  We went through school together, the Asian and the black girl a united front. And when we both moved to the city after college, we made a pact to live in the same neighborhood again. The universe had done us one better and let us be next door neighbors once more.

  I love having her so close. Especially this morning when I need to talk and only face to face will do.

  I knock on her door, inhaling the scent of cooking smells that emanate from within her apartment.

  Her gorgeous wife Rita answers the door, spatula in hand. "Hey Yahya, you eat lunch yet?"

  I smile. Rita likes to feed me and I don't ever object. "Even if I had, that smells too delicious to pass up."

  "Come on in," she steps aside. "Babe? It's Yahya."

  Tricia pads out of the bedroom, still in her pajamas. "You've embraced the weekend completely, I see," I laugh, hugging her.

  "Nah, I'm not even drunk yet!" she protests, then sniffs her armpit. "Do I stink?"

  I lean in and adopt a critical expression. "You smell like sloth and decay."

  Tricia nods. "Good." She plops down on the couch. "Sit down, you're making me nervous. How's your mom holding up?"

  I freeze, mid-sit. Guilt washes over me in waves. It has been a week, no wait, more than a week now. Aside from a few hasty texts, I haven't been to the house on the corner since last Sunday. Before Camilla and certainly before Carter.

  Flopping back on the beat-up brown sofa, I try to smile breezily. "You talk to my mom more than I do, I figured you'd know already."

  Tricia cocks her head, the hair flopping away from her face. Her eyes are narrowed. "I know. I was wondering if you did."

  I plop on to the couch, picking at the edge of the afghan Rita had painstakingly crocheted for months on end before abandoning it all together. It's narrow and oddly shaped, but I love it. I yank it on to my lap like a literal security blanket. "I've texted her," I tell Tricia defensively.

  Actually talking to my mom, hearing the sadness in her voice? It's too damn hard.

  It's the same heavy anguish creeping back that I thought had been banished forever when she met Otis Johnson.

  My stepdad.

  No. My Dad.

  "Well that's good, I guess." Tricia says, though she sounds disappointed.

  "She wishes you were her daughter instead," I smile. It's a joke I've made forever. Tricia has a sappy, emotional side that clicks a lot better with my mother's sensitive rawness. They understand each other; speak the same language. I feel like a robot whenever I am in the same room with the two of them. I'm too buttoned up, too rational to understand them. I can not handle the full force of my mother's emotions. Especially not her grief. "You guys can do all the mother, daughter stuff I suck at, like gabbing on the phone for hours on end and making dates for brunch. She'd adopt you in a heartbeat, I'm sure."

  "Perhaps." Tricia smiles enigmatically.

  I try to steer the conversation back to my lighthearted ground. "You had a wedding, at least, even if it was in a courthou
se."

  "To a woman." Tricia clarifies.

  "At this point I think my mom would prefer I was a lesbian. At least that would explain the glaring lack of men in my life." My mind flashes back to Carter, his warm smile and the sunset glinting off the ocean as it reflected in his eyes. Tricia peers at me piercingly and I quickly look down at my hands.

  "You're blushing, Yahya," she says, wielding my nickname like a hammer. "Why are you blushing?"

  "It's nothing."

  "That's a bunch of bull."