Billionaire's Best Woman - A Standalone Novel (A Billionaire Wedding Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #5)

by Claire Adams

  As I stood there watching my father charm Corsica with his nimble playing, the weight in my chest turned to resentment. Everything was effortless for Xavier Templeton. The only thing he had ever failed at was having a family, and now that was swept so far under the rug that no one would ever connect us.

  I moved forward and snagged Corsica's tight waist. "I'm sure my boss has an early morning meeting. I know he's a charming host, but we should be going."

  "Did you know he could play like that?" Corsica asked.

  "No," I said more forcefully than I intended. "I had no idea he could play the piano, and you would think that would be something that he would have shared with me."

  Her delicate eyebrows knitted together. "Sorry, I guess it is silly to think he'd share that with an employee."

  "Corsica, why don't you indulge me just a moment more and tell me how you and Penn met? I find I'm becoming quite the romantic in my old age," Xavier said.

  "We ran into each other at a dance club, then I heard her sing, and the rest is history," I barked over Corsica's head at my father.

  Xavier looked hurt. "Not a very romantic telling, but it must have been because you two look very good together."

  "And all you care about are appearances, isn't that right?"

  My father flashed a tactical smile. "You're right, son, appearances make a difference. See, I employ him because he badgers me like the son I never had. It's good. It keeps me real."

  I wrapped one hand into a tight fist. My father might have saved me from revealing my origins to Corsica, but that would not make me beholden to him. "Real is relative. He taught me that," I said.

  Corsica leaned nervously from foot to foot, then finished her glass of champagne. "How about a song?" she asked to clear the tension.

  My father grinned. "Wonderful! I may be rusty, but you can name any song and I'll do my best."

  I drank from the champagne flute I was holding to hide my irritation. Then, the first lilting notes poured from Corsica's lips. I was frozen with the champagne fizz tickling my nose, but her voice was hypnotic. Despite the late hour and the strange, opulent setting, her voice flowed with ease.

  She was different when she sang. Gone was the perfectly groomed image, the poise, and the eager to advance set to her chin. Corsica sang from somewhere deep inside and the notes drew out the version of herself that she kept hidden.

  I set the crystal flute down with a shaky hand. I was not accustomed to wishful thinking. I knew that love was a farce, a contract of mutual benefit, but when Corsica sang, even my own thoughts were drowned out.

  My father, for his part, accompanied her beautifully. For a moment, I was almost able to forget who he was and what I had seen him do. For just a moment, I saw a true, easy joy on his face and the weight in my chest shifted.

  Maybe he had changed. Maybe some epiphany had hit or the remorse of older age, but for a second, I was filled with the wild hope that my father had summoned me to town to reconcile.

  Then the song ended and I felt the cold quiet of his trophy home seep back into me. Only Corsica's radiant smile kept my feelings from hardening again. She smiled so shyly as my father and I clapped, then she applauded him for his playing.

  "That was wonderful. Thank you," Corsica said. She trailed a hand lovingly along the curve of the piano. "Now I really wish I had pushed harder for those piano lessons."

  "Well…" my father began in what I knew was his negotiating tone.

  "Well, that was shocking, amazing, and it's late enough that for a moment there, I thought I was dreaming," I said. "We'll get out of your way and let you get some sleep."

  My father stood up and buttoned his tailored suit coat despite being in his own home. "Yes, I understand it's late, but, Penn, I would like to have a word with you in private."

  I snaked my arm around Corsica's waist. "No need to bother tonight on my account. Meeting in the morning will be just fine."

  "It's important, Penn," Xavier said.

  I nuzzled Corsica's neck and whispered into her hair. "Please, save me. Don't let tonight end on a sour note."

  "Why?" she whispered back. "Because you think he has every right to fire you for your behavior?"

  "Pretty please," I kissed the side of her neck.

  Corsica shivered and leaned into me. "Well, since you asked so nicely… It was wonderful to meet you, Mr. Templeton."

  "Please, feel free to call me Xavier," my father said.

  "Goodnight, Xavier. Thank you for your hospitality."

  My father caught my arm as Corsica and I walked towards the door. True to her word, she pretended not to see the grip he had on my bicep. She snuggled her head against my chest and sighed dreamily.

  Xavier gazed at her soft, honeyed hair against my shirt and sighed himself. "First thing in the morning, we need to talk," he said. "And, Penn. Don't take that for granted. It's worth more than you know."

  His words chafed at me all the way up the steps and out the front doors of the mansion. Corsica eased up her protective hold on me, and I felt the chill of the bay breeze as we crossed the driveway. I wanted to pull her back against me, feel her warmth and comfort, but I resisted. The worst part was that my father was right. I was taking advantage of Corsica, but her comfort suddenly far outweighed avoiding my father.

  I ran up the steps to the garage apartment ahead of her. It gave me just enough time to fight my conscience. I wanted her to stay; I almost needed her to spend the night. The only problem was she deserved more. Corsica deserved a man who would charm her, lavish gifts on her, and tell her how he felt. Those were things I had never managed to do, even if I wanted to.

  "You don't have to stay," I said as I opened the apartment door. "I can call a cab or my driver and they'll be here in five minutes. I understand if this all seems a little too crazy."

  "What kind of savior would I be if I let your boss fire you in the morning?" Corsica asked. She laid a hand on my chest as she slipped by me into the darkened apartment.

  "I know, I know, he's a charming guy. Next to him, I look and sound like an ungrateful Neanderthal."

  Corsica squinted at me as I turned on the soft glow of a lamp. "I don't know, maybe in the right light you could look a little bit like Mr. Templeton. Though, you could be hiding any number of things under that beard."

  "I'll have you know my beard is very well maintained and I've never had a woman complain. In fact, lots of women like the feel of it."

  Corsica tipped her head and gave my beard a doubtful glance. "I don't know, I guess it looks soft. What does the rest of you do while your beard is charming women?"

  I laughed. "Obviously repelling them with my sub-par conversation."

  Corsica followed me to the bedroom and lingered in the hallway as I flipped on the lights for her. When I stepped back into the hallway, we bumped into each other and got caught in the doorframe.

  "The sheets are fresh, there's an en suite bathroom through that door, and extra blankets in the closet if you get cold."

  "Your beard won't be keeping me warm?" She put both hands on my chest as we both eased out of the tight doorway.

  I caught one hand and kissed the back of it. "Thank you for saving me. Goodnight."

  It wasn't until I flipped off the living room lights and settled down on the couch that I realized she had been hitting on me. She had wanted me to keep her warm. After everything, after seeing me in direct contrast to Xavier Templeton, Corsica still wanted me.

  The effect was more than warming. I tossed off my blanket and sat up to punch my pillows. I leaned forward and glanced down the hallway just in time to see Corsica's light turn off. If it had stayed on just seconds longer, I would have found a reason to walk back down that hallway. Now, in the dark, all I could do was toss and turn all night thinking about what I had missed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Corsica - 5

  I hesitated to open my eyes. If I woke up in Santa Cruz, in the small apartment that Ginny and I rented together, I would be crushed. T
he views I had seen last night of golden lights across the shimmering San Francisco Bay could have been a dream. And, a dream was the only explanation for meeting Xavier Templeton and singing while he accompanied me on piano.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and thought back to what had really happened. I met Penn. He was tall, dark, bushy-bearded, and tattooed. And handsome.

  I didn't want to admit it, but Penn attracted me with a magnetism I had never felt before. I should have been repelled, but instead, I had been drawn into his arms more times than I could count. I buried my blushing face in the soft pillow and remembered throwing myself at him.

  He'd been nothing but polite, and I had misread the entire situation—except for when he lied and let his employer think we'd been dating for a while.

  My eyes popped open. Why would Penn do that unless he actually felt something for me?

  I felt a wave of dizziness crash over me as I sat up. I hadn't dreamt up the views or the mansion.

  What I hadn't seen last night and now blinked at in shock was the garage apartment. It was a simple A-frame loft with a wall of windows dedicated to the bay views. The master bedroom shared a section of that window. The ceiling sloped down to a clever built-in closet. Everything was custom-framed redwood. The apartment exuded elegant simplicity. It must have cost a fortune.

  This was where Penn lived?

  I scrambled out of bed and realized the simple but high-quality furnishings all spoke to Penn's rugged, outdoors style. Every book on the custom-made shelves, every photograph on the wood-paneled walls, and every treasure displayed spoke of adventure, minimalism, and rebellion against the opulent luxury that resided directly across the driveway.

  Standing in Penn's apartment, I felt an affinity for the man I hardly knew. I knew I had expensive taste, but I wanted to earn everything for myself. The only problem was the sudden stone wall that stood between me and the job I had so carefully planned to have.

  There was definitely an uncompromising way about Penn and I wished I could be the same. I wanted to sing and settle for nothing less than the joy it brought me, but I had a dwindling bank account to consider.

  Just a quick cup of coffee, I'll leave, and I'll send that resume over for Joshua to edit, I promised myself.

  Last night hadn't been a dream, but I had to treat it like one. Now that it was morning, it was time to get back to real life. With my shoulders squared, I dragged on my little black dress, smoothed it down as best I could, and wandered into the main room.

  I half-expected Penn to be gone to an early morning meeting with his employer, so when I spotted him still sprawled out on the couch, I froze. My heart thumped hard in my chest, and I pressed a hand against it, worried that my galloping pulse would wake him. How was it possible for him to look better in the bright sunlight?

  I had been certain that by the sober light of day, I would be horrified. The magnetic attraction had to be a heady mix of alcohol and rebellion. The night before, in a fit of childish refusal, I had ignored my ex-boyfriend's practical suggestions and purposefully made a bad choice. Just for fun; just to get it out of my system. Except the effect had not worn off; it had grown stronger.

  Penn's long, strong legs dangled over the end of the couch. The blanket was tangled around his waist and revealed the hard contours of his washboard stomach and wide chest. One muscled arm was thrown carelessly over his head, and I could not help but study the intricate tattoos that covered his tan skin. They continued up his arm to encase his shoulder and reach heavily designed tendrils over his chest. Where the tattoos ended, a mat of dark hair began.

  The thought of running my hands over his chest hair and feeling the taut strength of him sent a bolt of heat straight through me.

  Shock knocked me back a step, and I hit the light switch on the wall. Penn blinked under the sudden glare and sat up. His dark, wavy hair was more rumpled than last night, but it didn't detract from the chiseled features of his face. Not even the beard could hide his wide, sensuous lips or the square, masculine line of his jaw. I remembered those lips whispering against my neck, asking me to save him, and my whole body shivered with pleasure.

  Then his dark eyes caught on me, and I lost my breath completely.

  "Good morning," Penn said. "I thought maybe I had dreamed you up."

  My laugh started as a nervous squeak. "Sorry to wake you up. I'll get out of your way."

  "No, no, the least I can do is make you coffee." He stood up, oblivious to his near-naked state. "You saved me from a one-on-one conversation with my, ah, my employer. Now that I think about it, you deserve breakfast, too."

  I tore my gaze from him and turned sharply towards the kitchen. "I make a killer omelet," I stammered.

  Penn nodded and gave his belly a sleepy scratch. Then, he blinked and changed directions. "That sounds good. I'll be right back. Could you put the kettle on?"

  I nodded and couldn't clear my throat until he was behind the closed door of the bathroom. I hadn't even turned on the stove and my body was already flooded with heat. I had to pull myself together.

  I opened the refrigerator and was surprised to find it well stocked. I grabbed the eggs and refused to think about the tan width of Penn's naked shoulders.

  "What's that you're singing?" Penn asked. He had pulled on a clean T-shirt, but was still barefoot.

  "I was singing? Oh, um, just something I made up, I guess."

  His dark eyes locked on mine, and I saw the golden flecks in the morning light. "Must be nice to have talent. You know, I could really see you making it as a singer. You've got the talent and the looks. Now you just need the passion."

  I'm drowning in passion, I thought and gave my head a rueful shake. "I can't," I said. "I have to work."

  Penn smiled. "I bet becoming a singer is work. Hard work. Is that what you're afraid of?"

  "I love hard work," I snapped. He still saw me as a feckless girl who would choose easy, instant gratification. "I plan to work for everything I want."

  "Good." He brushed by me to plug in an expensive coffee grinder. "I bet you could start at a few open mic nights, get a little buzz going, and then try out for a few bands. In San Francisco, it can't be hard to find a jazz trio that's looking for a frontwoman like you. You'll join up with the right combo and be the toast of the town, everyone falling at your feet while you carry on a steamy, music-inspired affair with the bassist."

  His speculation trailed off as he punched the grind button harder than needed.

  When he was done, I laughed. "I didn't know it was all so easy."

  He shrugged. "It's not, but you find a way. You're already a step ahead of everyone else because you know what your talent is. You don't have to hope for it or search for it."

  "Did you?"

  He tugged at his beard. "I was raised to do one thing and when I broke away from that, it took me a long time to find the right direction. I was like you, thinking I needed to do what was practical first."

  "That seems like the right decision if it got you here," I said.

  Penn's eyes hardened into unfathomable agates. "This isn't what I want."

  I shook my head. "Easy to say when you have it."

  He tossed tablespoons of fresh coffee grounds into a French press and poured the hot water. Even though the process took a delicate touch, I could see the restrained anger in his movements. He wrenched open a kitchen cabinet, pulled out two fancy coffee mugs, and clattered them onto the counter.

  I glanced towards the door. "Your omelet's ready. Thanks for the coffee, but I'm going to have to run."

  "No, sorry, I'm just annoyed with myself," Penn said.

  "It's okay. I've got to jump online and revamp my resume, get everything ready to apply to this big job. I really shouldn't be dragging my feet like this."

  Penn scowled, but it was at his ringing phone instead of me. "Please, just don't rush off. I have to take this. There's a laptop in that drawer if you want to work over breakfast."

  The relief I felt at hearing his words bowl
ed me over. He wanted me to stay.

  I took my coffee cup, careful not to slosh any, and sat down in one of the high stools on the other side of the kitchen island. Penn answered his phone and handed me the laptop with his free hand.

  "Yes, I'm still here. No, it's not a good time."

  I opened up my email, found my old resume, and pretended to pore over it as Penn talked. It was clearly his boss, but I still didn't understand the sharp, opposing tone he took every time they talked directly. I wondered if maybe Penn was a prodigy that Xavier Templeton had saved from some free-range, survivalist life.

  "Maybe next time you won't cancel at the last minute and still expect me to show up," Penn snapped. He hung up the phone and slid it away across the granite kitchen island.

  "Um, I think your computer needs an update. I can't download my resume," I said.

  His dark eyebrows furrowed together. "Sure, go ahead. Do whatever you need to."

  "You don't want to do it?"

  He shook his head and devoured his omelet while casting irritated glances out the window at the mansion. "I'm glad you stayed for breakfast," he said.

  I studied him from under my lashes as I ran the updates software on his laptop. Clearly, Penn was no technology prodigy. The administrative password had been 1234. What on earth did he do for Xavier Templeton?

  "Are you really in such a hurry to get a job at a hotel?" Penn asked.

  I jumped and had to gather my thoughts. "No. I mean, yes. It's not just any hotel—it's the Ritz-Carlton. It's a huge opportunity that could set the whole trajectory for my career."

  "And, you have to start right away?" Penn studied me over the edge of his coffee cup.

  "Well, the job doesn't actually start until September and the applications deadline is open until the end of this month."

  "So, your friend was right? You could take the summer off?" Penn set down his cup and leaned on the kitchen island. "Why not spend the summer doing something you love before you settle for the practical choice?"

  The probing warmth of his dark-brown eyes made me squirm in my seat. "Why do you care what I do with my summer?"