The Mistaken Billionaire (the Muse series)

by Lexxie Couper

  “Ah, dude.” Thomas smacked him on the back of the shoulder. “If only she’d take it. I’ve tried to pay her off before. She’s like chewing gum stuck in the grooves of your favorite shoes.”

  “I heard that,” Shelby yelled.

  “I meant you to,” Thomas called back.

  Sebastian grunted. “Weird. But seriously, do you want me to hang around? I am heading back to Sydney tomorrow, and we really haven’t caught up enough. From what I keep hearing, you’re otherwise engaged with Mila. Is it love?”

  “Shut the fuck up and get in the living room. You’re not leaving me to Shelby when she’s in one of her moods.” He paused, chest tightening, and leaned a little closer to Sebastian. “Besides, Mila may very well be here any moment, and I’ll need you to run interference.”

  “You mean, mumma bear may very well be about to meet the other woman in your life?” Sebastian rubbed his hands together. “Even if you wanted me outta here, I’m staying put. This I can’t—”

  The doorbell rang.

  …

  A rush of warmth flowed through Mila when Thomas opened the door. “Good morning.”

  He smiled back. But he didn’t move to kiss her—his normal response to her arrival. In fact, he didn’t move at all, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other pressed to the doorframe. “Good morning.”

  Something cold and lumpy settled in her stomach. “Is this a bad time? I can go, if you like?”

  His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat, and he frowned. “Why would I want you to go?”

  She snorted out a laugh even as the cold lumpy thing in her stomach rolled. “The whole human barricade in the door routine you’ve got going here isn’t exactly screaming come in.”

  What if he’s got another woman in there? What if he’s found a new muse?

  She swallowed, a prickling heat crawling over her scalp. Why did the thought of him with someone else make her feel so… Damn it, she had no right to be jealous or betrayed if he had. It wasn’t like they had any kind of future together. What the hell was wrong with her?

  What if he’s found out who you really are?

  Her stomach lurched.

  No. If he knew who she really was, he wouldn’t be talking to her now. His lawyers would be talking to her, probably serving her with some horrible, nasty, life-crushing lawsuit. God, could she be sued for not telling him who she was? Could—

  “I have to go,” she blurted out, jerking away from him and hurrying down the stairs to the sidewalk.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” He slid warm, strong fingers around her upper arm, and she stumbled to a halt, looking at him over her shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Oh God, he knows. He knows, and I’ve lost him because I’ve been so damn—

  “Mila.” He tugged her to face him, his other hand cupping the side of her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Ah, fuck, can I kiss you, please?”

  Kiss?

  He didn’t wait for her answer. Probably a good thing, given her head was spinning. His lips found hers, tender and gentle and yet at the same time demanding. Incredible. She melted into the kiss.

  For a heartbeat.

  “Thomas…” Extracting herself from his arms, she stepped backward. Hell, what was she doing? “I need…”

  Now? Was she really going to confess who she was now?

  He threaded his fingers through hers. “Me, too, babe. Sorry. Mila. I know you don’t like terms of endearments.”

  She scrunched her eyes closed. He’d misunderstood. She needed to clear it up. She couldn’t keep doing this, pretending to be someone different.

  He knew so much about her, except what really mattered—who she really was.

  “I’m not talking about that kind of need.” The words scratched at her throat. “Although, yes, I need… I mean, whenever I think of you, I…”

  His low chuckle made her open her eyes. He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, eyes shining with mirth. “Why do I feel like you admitting aloud that you actually want to be with me is one of the hardest things you’ve ever done?”

  She let out her own shaky laugh. “Because it is.”

  “Treat it like a Band-Aid, babe. Do it quickly, without hesitation and without remorse.”

  “Did you really just compare my admitting I think about being with you often to removing a Band-Aid?”

  He grinned a mock grimace. “I’m not good with words.”

  “And I’m not good with lying.”

  A frowned pulled at his eyebrows. “What are you lying about?”

  Me. Us. I’m lying to you about who I am. About what I feel for you. Because I don’t think it is just sexual attraction. I think it’s so much more.

  “Thomas…” she whispered. How was he going to take this? Would he hate her? Her pulse hammered in her throat, louder than the traffic and pedestrians moving past them.

  Traffic. Pedestrians. Outside. They were outside. She couldn’t do this outside. Not when anyone could be filming, or capturing it on their smartphone. The last thing Thomas would want was the moment she revealed who she was to him uploaded to the internet.

  “Can we go inside?”

  He nodded. Confusion swam in his eyes. “There’s someone inside who wants to meet you.”

  Hell no. “Who?”

  How much fear swam in her eyes to make him smooth his hand up and down her back in such a placating way? “My agent. Shelby Newell.”

  Her skin turned to clammy ice. Shelby Newell. The name attached to every vitriolic email and message sent to The New York Times regarding the article she’d written. The name featured in more than one of Mila’s nightmares for months after the article was published and her internship and future staff position had been terminated.

  Shelby Newell. In Thomas’s house. The place Mila had become more comfortable in with every passing visit. The place—thanks to her stupid, insane, kamikaze heart—beginning to feature in her dreams now. Dreams of an unobtainable life with Thomas.

  An invisible clamp wrapped her chest. She sucked in a sharp breath, flicking the open door behind Thomas a glance. Was Shelby standing in the foyer’s shadows watching them?

  Would she recognize Mila, despite how different Mila looked now?

  They’d never met in person, but Mila had little doubt—given what she’d learned of Shelby since the article’s publication—Shelby would have a dartboard somewhere with a picture of M.E. Elderkin on it.

  Or was the agent here because she knew who Mila was? And was she going to tell Thomas everything?

  Turning her attention back to Thomas, she smiled. “Let’s go inside then.”

  If it was going to happen, it was going to happen. Time to face it down. Like a Band-Aid.

  He beamed and threaded his fingers through hers. “Inside we go.”

  Reaper met them just inside the door, tail a blur, doggy smile wide.

  Sebastian Hart stood beside him. “Seriously, mate. If I have to tell that woman once more it’s none of her bloody business, I’m going to do something I’ll regret. And I don’t believe in regrets.” He grinned at Mila. “Muse. How is life with the master wordsmith?”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. “Our interactions are acceptable, thank you, Mr. Hart.”

  He snorted. “I’ve told you already I like you, yes?”

  “Yes. You have.”

  He grinned at Thomas. “She up to what’s about to happen?”

  What was about to happen? Oh God, what was she walking into?

  “I’m more worried for Shelby.” Thomas tugged her closer to his side and slid his hand around her waist. “My muse has teeth.”

  “All right, all right.” Sebastian waved a silencing hand. “I don’t want to hear all the details about your sex life.”

  Mila swallowed. Maybe the three of them could walk out the door and go find something else to do. “What are your thoughts on playing paintball right now, Mr. Hart?”

  Sebastian frowned. Thomas laughed. “I don’t bel
ieve for a second you’re a chicken, Mila. Let’s go.”

  He took her hand again and walked into the living room.

  “Oh, this is going to be fun,” Sebastian murmured, following them.

  Shelby Newell looked up from the tablet on her lap as they entered the room, her gaze running over Mila with slow deliberation.

  Mila suppressed the urge to swallow. Damn, an android set to kill would have given off a warmer welcome.

  “Shelby.” Thomas smoothed his hand up Mila’s back. “Mila. Mila, Shelby.”

  “Just Mila I hear.” Shelby pursed her lips and settled back in the chair, running another slow inspection over Mila. “Are you education’s version of Pink? Beyoncé?”

  A cold calm fell over Mila, and she arched an eyebrow. Oh, she’s a fun one. “Yes, I am. With less dancing and more ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’”

  Cool brown eyes sized her up. “So tell me, Mila, why the mystery around your last name?”

  Curling her lips into a slow smile, Mila met her stare. “For that very reason. The mystery. Makes every minute I share with Thomas all the more exciting, yes? Every time he kisses me, a part of him is wondering who this woman is who is driving him crazy with desire.”

  “Bloody hell, mate.” Sebastian’s low chuckle was full of awe. “Marry this woman. Right now.”

  A flutter of heat claimed Mila’s stomach at the Australian’s words. She hadn’t intended to be so shocking, so confronting in her response, but the dismissive way Thomas’s agent looked at her… Well, she was a high achiever, after all. And Shelby Newell’s condescension had ticked her off.

  “Thinking that very thing, dude,” Thomas said. “Thinking that very thing.”

  Mila’s stomach erupted in a whirlwind of butterflies. Crazy butterflies.

  Marry him? When he found out who she was, he was going to hate her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Tommy?” Shelby pushed herself from the sofa and aimed a furious glare at him. “Really? Marry?”

  “Why the bloody hell not?” Sebastian asked. Thomas wanted to either punch him for getting her so agitated, or hug him for the exact same reason. “Have you ever seen the guy looking so happy? So real? And fuck me, the words are pouring out of him. He emailed me what he’s written so far yesterday, and it gave me chills it’s that good. From the moment Mila entered his life, he’s been a better person, a more whole one. Why shouldn’t he marry her?”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Mila’s voice jerked Thomas’s stare to her face. “I’m the muse. Not the wife.”

  His chest tightened. Wife. The very notion of getting married, of staying with one woman for the rest of his life, had been laughable until he’d opened the door to Mila.

  Now…

  “The muse?” Shelby barked out a dismissive laugh. “The convenient screw, you mean? That’s what a muse is, after all. A woman who stirs the juices of a creative individual via sex. Or do you buck the muse trend just as much as you buck the concept of surnames?”

  “Shelby.” Thomas stepped forward, fist balling. “I suggest you leave now, before you say something you really shouldn’t.”

  Shelby looked at him, eyes wide, disbelief etching her face. “Tommy—”

  Icy fingers sank into his chest. “Don’t call me Tommy.”

  “Fine. Thomas, what do you know about this woman? I mean, really? Sure, you’re writing, and I thank her for that, but you won’t let me do any kind of background check on her, you won’t answer my calls or emails about her. It’s like you’re completely under some kind of spell. Since when do you pass up the opportunity to capitalize on paparazzi images taken of you? You’re refusing interview requests about her, turning down promo opportunities. Why? I don’t understand.”

  Thomas blinked. Why? He didn’t know.

  Gut instinct told him not to? Or was it because he’d been so undone by writer’s block, that when the words came again, he’d thrown aside all caution and just gone with the rush Mila brought into his life?

  How foolish was that? And yet how perfect did it feel? How right?

  “You know what?” Mila muttered, shaking her head. “I’m done.”

  His heart smashed up into his chest. “What?”

  She hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder. “I don’t need to be here. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Shouldn’t? Because Shelby here—”

  “I’m looking out for you,” Shelby protested. “Something you pay me to do, might I add.”

  He threw her a silencing glare. “Shelby.”

  “Shelby is right.” Mila adjusted her glasses, her expression unreadable. “You know almost nothing about me.”

  “I know you like the same kind of movies as me.” Damn, why was he so angry? “I know you’re adventurous, even though you try to hide it behind an all-serious, no-fun facade. I know you have a wicked-sharp wit and think you’re not as gorgeous as you are.”

  “Thomas,” she whispered, cheek growing pink. “Please, stop.”

  He clawed his hands through his hair. “Why? Because you don’t like hearing how much I fucking like you? How much I fucking love you.”

  He froze.

  Mila froze.

  Love? What the hell? Love?

  “All right, Shelby,” Sebastian’s low voice cut the heavy silence. “Time for both of us to bugger off.”

  “I’m not—”

  Thomas didn’t turn to see what halted Shelby’s irate protest. Cared even less. Staring at Mila, he waited for her to say something. Anything.

  “I’m going, too.”

  His blood ran cold. Fuck.

  Movement in the corner of his eye told him Sebastian was hustling Shelby out of the living room. He didn’t care about that, either.

  Not when Mila was turning on her heel.

  “Mila.”

  She stopped and shook her head. “No, St. Clair. I shouldn’t be here. And I’m sure one day you’ll work out why. And, no, you don’t love me. You shouldn’t even like me. So let me go. You don’t need me to finish your book. You never really did. The muse is a farcical concept created by sexually voracious artists needing an excuse to have sex with anyone they want without feeling guilty. And I agreed to it with you for my own financial gain. Doesn’t that tell you something? It tells you I’m not the kind of person to fall in love with.”

  His gut clenched. The truth of the situation crashed over him like a wave pounding against a rocky outcrop.

  Loved her. He fucking loved her.

  He wasn’t going to let her go or deny what they’d discovered. The very idea of love had been a joke to him, destroyed by his parents’ savage divorce. But standing here now, with the distinct possibility of Mila walking away from him…

  No. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Love was real, and he’d found it with her.

  He stepped toward her, a ball of hot tension broiling in his throat. “Whatever you think is too terrible for me to know, you’re wrong.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

  “Then what is it? Tell me. Let me make up my own mind.”

  A choppy sigh burst from her, and she tilted her chin at him. “I can’t. I’m not strong enough to deal with the hate in your eyes. And there will be hate. I promise. It’s been too wonderful seeing you look at me with admiration, affection, desire…” Her eyebrows knitted, and she blinked. “Love. Knowing how you’ll look at me after you find out…”

  “Have you murdered someone? Been charged with treason?”

  “If only it were that simple.” She hitched her bag up onto her shoulder, adjusted her glasses on her face, closed the distance between them in a swift step, and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I like you a lot, Thomas St. Clair. The real you. Please remember that.”

  She turned and hurried from the room.

  Reaper ran after her, barking.

  “Stay there, boy,” she threw over her shoulder.

  Thomas followed, scooping up Reaper just as she walked through the door.

/>   Outside, Sebastian and Shelby stood on the top step, clearly arguing.

  Thomas watched Mila touch Sebastian’s shoulder, watched Sebastian bend down for her to whisper something in his ear.

  Shelby flicked Thomas a look through the open door, her lips twisted, her scowl disgruntled. A part of him wanted to be honored she cared about him enough to make a fuss, the rest of him hated what she’d made happen.

  If she hadn’t turned up, Mila would most likely be in his bed right now. They’d be making love. Happy. Blissful. Together.

  “Gotcha,” Sebastian’s distinct Australian drawl filtered through the roaring in Thomas’s head. “Take care, muse. It was nice meeting you.”

  Mila smiled up at him, but even from where he stood in the foyer, it was impossible to miss the fact the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Ah, you say that now.”

  She didn’t look back. She didn’t turn around and tell him it was all a joke, she was kidding, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She didn’t do any of those things, no matter how much every molecule in his body wanted her to.

  Instead, she hurried down the stairs to the sidewalk, turned left, and walked away. Out of sight.

  Gone.

  Sebastian swiveled his head to look up at Thomas. His shoulders slumped a fraction, and then, rubbing at the back of his neck, he walked back up into the foyer. Shelby started to follow, but he turned and held up his hand. “Give us a sec, love. This is a thing between mates, okay?”

  She narrowed her eyes but surprisingly stayed put. When it came to Sebastian, most people did exactly what he told them to do.

  Chest tight, Thomas scratched at the back of Reaper’s ear and waited until Sebastian stood directly in front of him. He raised his eyebrows. “So? What did she say?”

  Sebastian rubbed at the back of his neck again and shook his head. “Nothing that made any sense. She told me the name of the school she works at. She told me to tell you to ring the office and ask the name of the teacher who teaches fifth grade in room four.”

  Something cold traced up Thomas’s spine. Something…fatalistic.

  “Tell me the name of the school where she teaches.”

  Sebastian did.

  Thomas spun on his heel, walked back into the living room, snatched up his phone, and Googled her school.