Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance)

by Lemmon, Jessica

  “What?”

  Crickitt smiled at him, sliding the screen away from her window. A calm blue sky filled each corner and fluffy white clouds sailed by.

  Shane reached over and lifted his screen, staring out the window for a few seconds before turning back to Crickitt.

  “You were teasing me,” he said.

  “Yes. And frankly, I’m insulted you didn’t figure it out sooner.”

  Chapter 35

  Shane took a gulp of his drink, watching as Crickitt moved across Henry Townsend’s patio like a pro. She charmed everyone equally, be it Henry, his wife, or a member of the catering staff.

  “She’s incredible.”

  Shane turned toward the gruff voice reading his mind. Henry stood behind him, his usual scowl replaced by a neutral expression. Crickitt stood next to a man on Townsend’s payroll, a glass of champagne in her hand, a wide smile on her lips.

  “Hope she doesn’t give Rogers a heart attack.” Henry added in a low tone of appreciation, “That dress.”

  He didn’t have to tell Shane twice. Crickitt was wearing the same dress she wore for her second interview, the night he asked her to Triangle. It was hard to keep his thoughts clean and hands to himself then, let alone now that he knew what treasures she kept hidden beneath the swinging material. His hands choked his glass. He’d wanted to touch her all day, but how could he after what he’d put her through? What he was still putting her through.

  She’s better off without me.

  That hurt, as truth was wont to do.

  “You’re good together,” Henry said.

  Shane snapped his head around to protest.

  Henry didn’t let him. “Oh, please,” he said. “My wife used to be my assistant, too.” He clapped Shane’s shoulder. “Married thirty years.” With that said, Henry excused himself.

  Shane finished his wine, shaking his head at the man. Boy, did ole Henry have it wrong. He and Crickitt may have had a chance before Shane left without a word as to where he was going. They may even be able to work together amiably in the future, but he doubted they’d get back to the way they once were.

  After the first restful night’s sleep in over a week, he awoke this morning certain of one thing. He didn’t have any right to expect more from her. Amicable working relationship, maybe. Her in his arms, in his bed? Absolutely not. Even if she knew how much he loved her—

  Shane’s steps slowed as if he were slogging through wet cement, every muscle in his body growing as heavy as lead.

  I love her.

  The glass started to slip from his hand, and he tightened his fist before he dropped it and it shattered into a thousand pieces at his feet.

  Like his heart.

  No, no. No, no, no.

  He wasn’t good for her. He’d only cause her pain. And…and…there was probably another reason. Probably a hundred of them why he was bad for her. But he was having trouble arranging his thoughts, which jumbled in his brain in a confused mess.

  “Having fun?” Crickitt asked.

  Shane jumped. He didn’t notice she’d sidled up next to him until she spoke.

  “Randall Rogers is interesting. Not.” She rolled her eyes. “Sparkling wine, please,” she said to the bartender.

  Tell her.

  But he couldn’t. His mouth was as dry as if he’d eaten a handful of saltines and then washed them down with a glass of sand. One thought had solidified in his brain, rendering him speechless.

  He loved her with everything he had. And it still wasn’t enough.

  Crickitt accepted her fresh wine, watching him warily.

  “Sir?” the bartender prompted.

  Shane released his stranglehold on his empty stemware. “Water,” he croaked.

  “You okay?” Crickitt reached out and touched his bare arm, causing Shane’s stomach to flip.

  No, I just realized I’m in love with you. God help me.

  Shane twisted the cap off the water bottle and guzzled down half its contents. Taking a few breaths, he swallowed one final gulp before giving her an exaggerated nod. “Fine.”

  Crickitt lifted an eyebrow at him before scanning the crowd. “How much longer would you like to stay?”

  Until I get a hold of myself.

  He massaged his temple. “I, um, don’t want to be rude and leave too soon.”

  “Okay.” He worried Crickitt might say more, but she didn’t, thankfully.

  His heart squeezed. Good God, he loved her. What was he supposed to do with that?

  Henry’s wife approached, looping an arm into Crickitt’s. “I promised you a tour,” she said into her ear. “Let’s get away from these stiffs.” She smiled over at Shane. “Present party excluded, of course.”

  Then she towed the woman he loved toward the house.

  * * *

  Hildy Townsend pointed out fine works of art including a van Gogh original and a vase from the Ming dynasty. Crickitt oohed and ahhed where appropriate, but inside, she was far too depressed to care about the twelve thousand square feet of luxury the Townsends called home.

  She was worried about Shane, despite the fact he was a grown man and she had no claim to him. She’d kept an eye on him from afar today, watching him prowl the sidelines of the party, mostly keeping to himself.

  When her champagne glass ran empty, she’d taken the excuse to check on him. He’d stepped off his first flight hours ago, and the takeoff and landing had both been a bit rocky. He didn’t seem to be over it, his movements jerky as he tugged his collar and flitted his eyes around the patio.

  Hildy stepped out onto the balcony and scanned the patio, surveying her queendom. Strings of lights covered with white paper lanterns reflected in the lagoon-style pool beneath them, its surface as still as glass. The partygoers had dwindled from a hundred and fifty to about twenty-five, Hildy proclaimed. Shane crossed through the crowd, his gray shirt and dark slacks showcasing the strong line of his body.

  “He’s quite handsome.” Hildy elbowed her.

  “Yes. Painfully so.”

  “Where are the two of you staying this evening?”

  Not together, that was for sure. Shane had scheduled separate return flights. One to take him to the cabin, and one taking her straight back to Ohio. Fine by her. Crickitt couldn’t bear the idea of spending another lonesome, tense night one room away. Last night had been agonizing. She’d lain awake in the guest room and listened to the television in the living room. The last time she was there with him, they’d barely been able to tear themselves from one another to watch television. Or eat. Or sleep.

  “We’re flying back tonight.” Crickitt told herself she was glad, but her voice betrayed her. She sounded beaten. She felt it, too.

  “Poppycock!” Hildy said, not picking up on her tone. “You’ll stay here. We have too many bedrooms to count. You’ve brought your things, I presume.”

  “I couldn’t impose.” So not the real reason.

  “But you have your luggage,” Hildy reminded her.

  “Yes.”

  Hildy shrugged, her mind made up. “You’re staying.”

  Chapter 36

  Crickitt found Shane in front of a metal fire bowl staring into the flames, a bottle of water hanging loosely between his fingers. She settled onto the chaise longue next to his. “We’re spending the night,” she said.

  “Yeah, I heard.” He tilted his head toward Henry on the opposite side of the expansive courtyard.

  “I didn’t know how to say no to Hildy.” And she couldn’t think of a plausible excuse other than the truth.

  “She’s persuasive, I hear.”

  She studied Shane’s profile. The firelight touched the curve of his bottom lip, the arch of his brows, highlighted the gold in his eyes. She hadn’t stood a chance with a man like him. He was the fire, volatile, unpredictable. She was more like the wood, willingly being ravaged to her ultimate demise.

  And she’d fallen in love with him. Loved him so much, the unspoken words burned her throat. She refused to
say them. She could imagine the look of apology, his refusal to accept it. If that happened, she’d fall apart. And crumbling under the weight of this man’s unreturned affections was not an option.

  All you have to do is get through this weekend.

  Once they returned to work on Monday, Crickitt would bury herself in her to-do list and not come up for air until she was over Shane.

  Which sucked, but what choice had he left her?

  Despite her hectic thoughts, Crickitt muffled a yawn. She leaned forward to check Shane’s watch and he bent his wrist to accommodate her. His aftershave tormented her, reminding her of kisses and caresses it would take her a lifetime to forget.

  “You didn’t have to do everything you did this week, you know,” he told her.

  “Just doing my job.”

  “Saving my ass again.” He faced her, so close. Too close. “Like you did with Townsend.” He rested his chin on his left shoulder and watched her. She traced the line of his jaw, the shape of his mouth with her eyes, then watched, stone still as he glanced down at her mouth.

  Not so long ago, he would have sent her a flirty smile, dared her to kiss him. And she would have accepted his challenge, regardless of the attention it drew from the Townsends’ party guests. But she felt as if she were imprisoned behind an invisible glass wall.

  Look, but don’t touch.

  He sucked in a breath, and she held hers as she waited for him to speak.

  When he did, he turned his head and addressed the flames. “I should’ve told you I was leaving.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  He shrugged.

  She thought of everything Lori told her. Crickitt wanted to say she was sorry about his mother. That it wasn’t his fault, that his father had been cruel and unfair. That Shane had been admirable and strong in an impossible situation. That she’d be here for him, always, whenever he needed her.

  His elbows resting on his knees, he crunched the empty water bottle in his hands.

  But he didn’t need her. She blinked, taking in his demeanor. He was as cool and calm as the pool behind them.

  But, oh, she’d been busy making herself feel needed, hadn’t she? Busy being important and organized. Busy closing new accounts and mending broken ones.

  What Shane hadn’t said was, Thank you, Crickitt! August Industries would have been a pile of rubble if you hadn’t stepped in this week while I went all Howard Hughes.

  What he said was she “didn’t have to do” what she did. And he was right. She didn’t. Sure, she’d landed new customers. But it was no less than Keena or Angel would have done in her absence. In fact, now that she thought about it—

  Her stomach tossed as the simple truth behind why she’d done all those things assaulted her. She’d been trying to prove herself. Prove she was worth loving. Prove she was worth keeping. Had her marriage to Ronald taught her nothing? Was it an exercise in futility? All those years of trying to make him see she was worthy of his love, that she was a good wife, a nurturing future mother of his children…and none of it mattered.

  It didn’t matter if she had dinner on the table before she left for work. It didn’t matter if she picked up his dry cleaning, or bought his favorite kind of toothpaste. It didn’t matter when she lost ten pounds or gained back five. Ronald didn’t love her regardless.

  Foolishly, she’d vied for Shane’s love in the same way. She was no more capable of making Shane love her than she was Ronald. She saw that now. A quote sprang to mind, the one about repeating the same action and expecting different results. The very definition of—

  “Insanity,” she whispered.

  “There you are!” Henry Townsend’s brusque voice cut into her thoughts. “A bottle of hundred-year-old Scotch waits.”

  “But for us girls,” Hildy said, taking Crickitt’s hand, “champagne.” She lifted Shane’s arm and placed Crickitt’s hand in his. “Escort this beautiful young lady.” She gestured to a hut-like tiki bar on the far side of the pool before grasping Henry’s arm and joining their guests.

  Shane stood, keeping hold of Crickitt’s hand. She was wishing for this earlier, but not now, not with the look of compliance on his face. She didn’t want to be who Shane settled for. She wanted to be wanted. She needed to be wanted.

  Shane started in the direction of the bar, his fingers loose around hers.

  “Chilly out here,” she said, using the excuse to pull her hand away, breaking his grip easily. She rubbed her arms with her palms for effect.

  Shane didn’t move to warm her, to hold her. He didn’t so much as look at her. The closer they got to the bar, the wider the distance grew between them. And when they sat, the seats were several feet apart with strangers in between.

  * * *

  A man halfway down the bar flirted with Crickitt, tipping his Scotch glass in her direction as he cajoled her into taking a sip. She accepted his challenge, wrinkling her nose in a final show of apprehension before emptying the contents down her throat. She slammed the glass on the bar, earning a round of applause. Shane could see she was fighting the whiskey burning a trail down her throat, but she kept smiling. He loved her for it.

  Damn.

  It almost made him laugh.

  He’d purposely avoided relationships so he wouldn’t fall in love and get hurt. And even though he and Crickitt made no proclamations about their future, here he sat. In love and hurt.

  And the thing that stopped him from jumping up, dragging her away from Johnny Big Neck over there and kissing her senseless was how much he loved her.

  He hadn’t been fair. Not to her. He’d been looking out for himself for so long, it didn’t occur to him Crickitt may not appreciate the crumbs he offered. Not that he’d classify what happened between them as crumbs. Thinking back to the last time he made love to her, he was hyperaware of how he’d done everything to show her how he felt about her. Everything but say it.

  But how could he? He’d been in denial, wasn’t sure if the truth had even registered in his waking consciousness. Until he’d nearly lost it. Boy, he could see the truth now, so clearly. How hard he’d fallen, and how hard he’d fought to keep from admitting it.

  Idiot.

  He glared at the man at the end of the bar, the ugly green-eyed monster twitching to life inside of him.

  Shane wondered what would have happened if instead of trying to control his and Crickitt’s relationship, he’d let it take its course. Would they have built a future together? A family? Would he walk through the front door and announce, “Honey, I’m home!” like a 50s-era sitcom, Crickitt at the stove, stirring a vat of fragrant pasta sauce?

  Promptly the picture morphed into his dilapidated childhood home, Crickitt wearing his mother’s worn apron, Shane carrying a battered red and white Igloo cooler. He watched their lives fast-forward from wedding to baby. Shane returning home half drunk from the bar after work, Crickitt exhausted but working tirelessly as a mother and a teacher.

  The baby grew into a toddler who burned his arm on Dad’s cigarette, then to a ten-year-old who busted up both knees falling out of the bent tree in the backyard. And, finally, into a misbehaving teenager who sneaked out of the house to cause mischief with his best friend.

  By the time he pictured Crickitt climbing into the family station wagon to pick up their son, bone-chilling fear gripped his heart with icy fists.

  The ambulance. The hospital. The wheelchair. The deep sadness permeating the house the weeks before she’d died. The argument between mother and son, Shane leaving in a huff. Coming home to find the swirling lights of the paramedics in his driveway. His father’s accusatory glare. His mother’s cold, still body.

  Loving Crickitt was one thing. But building a life with her, seeing her day in, day out, coming to rely on her, need her. Becoming entrenched in her.

  He couldn’t do it.

  Even knowing he’d never ever, ever treat his child the way his father had treated him, he still couldn’t do it. If he lost Crickitt, if their son lost his
mother, how could Shane be sure her death wouldn’t rock the kid’s foundation? Scar him for life?

  He couldn’t.

  Life held no guarantees. Crickitt could die tomorrow. His mother died when she was his age now, his aunt fought for her life this very minute. His father died at fifty-five.

  If he expected the same fate, that gave Shane, what? Twenty-some years, tops?

  He’d known since his mother died he was alone. Terminal bachelorhood wasn’t the most appealing prospect on the planet, but it was a hell of a lot safer than the alternative.

  Henry must have caught Shane grousing down at his glass because a moment later, he offered a refill. At his insistence, the bartender poured another nip and Shane lifted his drink. He didn’t want it, but the shake in his hand suggested he might need it.

  Crickitt’s rich, velvet laughter sliced into the air, and he looked over to see Big Neck stroke meaty fingertips over her bare shoulder.

  Shane started to lift from his chair to intercede, but Crickitt shrugged off the man’s hand as smoothly as she’d unlinked hers from Shane’s earlier.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Townsend, thank you for a lovely evening.” She directed her gratitude toward their hosts behind the bar. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call it a night.”

  “Absolutely, dear,” Hildy said. “Jean is inside. She’ll show you to your room.” Hildy made a shooing motion to Shane. “Walk her in. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  Shane didn’t miss the scowl the man sent him from the other side of the bar. He rose, sending a smug smile in the man’s direction and joined Crickitt, pressing a palm to her back as they headed for the mansion. “Sharks are in the water,” he murmured into her hair.

  She laughed, and the sound tore at his heart. Despite his reassuring speech earlier, he was already questioning his logic. Was loving her from afar really any better?

  “I think Hildy sent you to protect me. That guy probably would have followed me inside.” Crickitt emulated a shudder.

  He opened the door and she stepped inside, pulling away from his palm. He missed the feel of her but stuffed his hand in his pocket anyway.