Homecoming: The Billionaire Brothers

by Lily Everett

  Resolving to put negative thoughts out of her mind and simply enjoy the madcap craziness of this spontaneous adventure, Greta focused her attention out the window for the entire three-hour flight. When the vast stretch of rippling blue ocean gave way to the towering gray skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline, Miles closed his laptop and leaned over her.

  “There’s the Statue of Liberty.”

  Greta followed his pointed finger, craning her neck to see. Breath caught in her chest. The regal magnificence of the familiar form rose up, torch raised to the sky, and Greta felt tears spring to her eyes.

  Slanting Miles a sideways glance, she refused to wipe the tears away. She wasn’t ashamed. “You’re probably going to regret bringing me to New York. All I want is to do all the horrendously touristy stuff you’ve probably done a thousand times,” she yelled cheerfully over the noise of the helicopter.

  Miles made a face before pressing his mouth to her ear. “Like Times Square? I haven’t voluntarily set foot on Forty-Second Street in years.”

  Figuring she could afford to be generous, Greta shrugged. “We don’t have to do Times Square. It’s probably too late to get tickets to a Broadway show tonight, anyway.”

  But Miles only smiled, that enigmatic quirk of the lips that didn’t so much as hint at the man she’d started to see underneath his polished exterior, and pulled out his phone to send a few quick texts.

  The helicopter glided over the East River and over the tops of tall buildings gleaming with glass and chrome. Peering as far forward as she could, Greta clutched at her armrests as she realized they were passing the Empire State Building. The city looked exactly the way it did in movies, huge and overwhelming. She could feel the energy of the streets below, the hustle and bustle of millions of people going about their daily lives.

  The skyline passed in a blur of concrete and steel, and before Greta knew it, the helicopter was angling toward a swanky, tall building with a flat roof marked out as a landing pad.

  Just as the helicopter centered itself and began to lower for touchdown, a gust of wind shot through the canyon created by the rows of skyscrapers. The helicopter fishtailed wildly, and Greta instinctively clutched for Miles’s hand.

  He wrapped strong, reassuring fingers around her wrist, tight enough that she could feel her pulse throbbing to the double-time drumbeat of her heart.

  “We’re okay,” Miles said into her ear. “Landing can be a little tricky here, but Arturo has never let me fall, yet.”

  Greta nodded, her face and toes oddly numb. She didn’t get her voice or her breath back until the pilot had righted the helicopter and landed. Tumbling out as soon as Miles slid open the door in the side of the aircraft, Greta resisted the urge to kiss the dirty concrete of the landing pad, but it was a close call.

  She ducked away from the minitornado caused by the swirling blades, heading for the relative shelter of a glassed-in structure on the far side of the roof. After a brief conference with the pilot, Miles followed her. And this time, Greta didn’t even try to resist the urge—she threw her arms around him and held on tight, a complicated wave of emotion crashing through her.

  “Hey,” Miles said, finally able to speak without shouting as the helicopter powered down. “I told your mom I’d make sure you got back to her in one piece, and I meant it. I know, I know, you don’t need anyone to take care of you, but…”

  “But that’s exactly it,” Greta said. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She could hear the frown in Miles’s deep voice. “I don’t follow.”

  “The question you asked me before we left Sanctuary Island.” Great paused, feeling broken open, like an egg shattered on the ground. “About why I’ve never traveled.”

  One of his big, warm hands came up to cradle the back of her head, and Greta let herself soak up the silent comfort.

  “I tell myself—I tell everyone that I’m fine. Completely over all the crap from when I was a kid. But the kidney transplant could only do so much. It cured my body, but in my heart … I’m still afraid.”

  “That seems very natural to me.” Miles petted at her hair as if he wasn’t sure what else to do or say, and the hesitance in his normally assured voice made Greta smile through her turmoil.

  “I don’t want to be afraid.” She pulled back enough to look up into Miles’s concerned face. “I don’t want to be someone who needs to be taken care of. But I spent so many years unable to do much of anything, always weak and sick, making everyone around me worry. And now I’m the one who worries, that even if I had the chance to do all the things I dream of … I don’t have the guts to make it on my own.”

  Dragging his fingers through the wind-tangled mess of her hair, Miles palmed her cheek and tilted her chin up. He dropped a tender kiss on her upturned lips, soft and brief enough to light Greta’s nerves up like fireflies.

  “I have no doubt that you’ve got the courage and strength to do whatever you set your mind to,” Miles said, all hesitation erased from his voice. “But for now, you don’t need to go it alone. I’m going to be right beside you, every step of the way.”

  Greta knew her smile was shaky, at best, so she pressed up on her tippy toes and kissed him to hide it. And to thank him, because he was trying so hard, and he made her remember how glad she was to be on this adventure with him.

  For now.

  Chapter Seven

  It wasn’t that Miles had previously been unaware of the benefits of being a billionaire. The benefits were obvious, many, and varied. From last-minute reservations at the best restaurants in town to having a chauffeur on staff to drive him through Manhattan’s terrible traffic, Miles enjoyed the lifestyle he worked so hard to maintain.

  But nothing he’d ever spent money on compared to the fun of splurging to give Greta Hackley the most lavish first trip to New York anyone could imagine.

  One text to his assistant, Cleo, was all it took to get the whole day set up for them, from box seats at whatever sold-out show was hottest to a very special final stop that required Cleo to pull more than a few strings. But it was more than worth it for the look on Greta’s face.

  Watching her as she raced through his stylish apartment with barely a glance at the expensive, modern Italian furnishings and priceless art on the walls, just so she could get downstairs and run straight across the street and into Central Park … Miles couldn’t do anything but laugh and try to keep up.

  He followed her as she plunged through the crowds of shoppers mobbing Fifth Avenue, fingers twined together like schoolkids. When he tried to get her to go into Bergdorf Goodman, already imagining her in a slinky couture cocktail dress, Greta refused in favor of studying each artful window display.

  When they walked by a street musician playing a Bangles song from the eighties to the delight of the tourists bopping along to the beat, Greta mentioned that she’d always been fascinated by ancient Egypt. One more text to poor, beleaguered Cleo netted them a private tour through the Metropolitan Museum’s famed Temple of Dendur exhibit.

  The awe on her face as she peered into the dim recesses of the reconstructed temple left Miles with no choice. In response to his firm nod, the museum docent smiled slightly and backed out of the temple long enough to let Miles kiss Greta under the weight of centuries-old stone from a faraway land.

  When Miles got confirmation that the tickets had come through for the hot show, which turned out to be a musical based on a comic book superhero, he gritted his teeth and pretended to be excited at the prospect of watching actors in tights sing and dance their way around a Broadway stage.

  But once the curtain came up and Greta leaned forward, the motion making the sequins on the cocktail dress he’d had sent up to his penthouse catch the stage lights and sparkle, Miles couldn’t have cared less that the show was nothing he would have chosen for himself. All he cared about was the delight in Greta’s grin every time the guy playing the superhero was hoisted up to fly through the air, borne aloft on the magic of stagecraft. And the fact t
hat she let him press her into the shadows at the back of their private box during intermission and kiss her against the red velvet that covered the walls.

  She made everything feel new again.

  After the show, Ira maneuvered the Bentley through the packed street at the side of the theater. Greta slid across the black leather seats with a noise that sounded like relief. Reaching down to rub at her arches, she gave him a rueful smile from beneath the dark gold hair curling loosely around her face. “I’m not used to three-inch heels. Steel-toed work boots are more my style.”

  “They wouldn’t exactly go with that dress.” Miles leaned down to pull her bare feet into his lap, carelessly tossing the black patent Louboutins to the floor.

  Greta blushed and shoved the hem of her cocktail dress down before it could ride up and reveal too much of her creamy thighs, but Miles concentrated on her feet. He dug his thumbs into her arches, swept his knuckles around the ball of each foot, and smiled when Greta stopped squirming and just moaned. The low, guttural sound from deep in her chest vibrated down her legs and into Miles’s lap, making him go hard and thick against the press of her feet.

  “That’s miraculous.” Greta laid her head back against the tinted side window, careless of messing up her hair. “This whole day has been miraculous.”

  “It doesn’t have to be over yet,” Miles offered, keeping up the foot massage to see how much more he could melt her. “I had planned something special for after the show, but if you’re too tired…”

  Greta struggled to sit up straight, her eyelashes fluttering. “No! I want to see it all, do it all, whatever you have planned. Although I can’t imagine what could top everything we’ve done so far.”

  With most women, Miles would take that as flirtation, a coy invitation for him to growl and roll her under him to show her exactly what they could do to cap off the perfect day. But despite Greta’s adventurous spirit and the core of steel she’d developed over years of battling illness, there was an innocence to her that Miles never wanted to sully.

  What do you call this scheme, then, a little voice asked inside Miles’s head. You’re setting up the perfect seduction scenario, all in the hopes that Greta will be so overcome with lust for you that she’ll betray her best friend.

  Lead sunk into Miles’s stomach as he considered the full ramifications of his plan for the first time. He still wanted to protect Dylan—it was one of the guiding principles of Miles’s life, that it was his job to hold his family together and keep his brothers safe from harm. But the more he got to know Greta, the less likely it seemed that she’d ever betray her friend.

  Actually, what seemed unlikeliest of all was that straightforward, loyal Greta would be party to any sort of deception. If Penny Little was taking Dylan for a ride, Miles found it difficult to believe that Greta knew anything about it.

  So what was he doing here?

  “Miles? Is everything okay?”

  Greta’s tentative question jolted Miles from his thoughts. He realized his hands had fallen still, his fingers wrapped loosely around her wiggling toes. The warmth of her skin, the slip of silk between them, the slender turn of her ankle—Miles swallowed. He’d never been so tempted to chuck his moral code out the window and simply take what he wanted.

  But he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt this woman.

  “Everything’s fine.” He smiled, hoping she wouldn’t be able to see that it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re probably right, nothing could top the day we’ve had. I’ll tell Ira to take us back to the penthouse, there’s a guest room all ready for you, fully stocked with all the necessities.”

  Greta drew her feet away from him, curling her legs under her on the seat. Miles let her go with a pang of regret.

  “Oh. I thought … never mind.” The flashing multicolored lights of Times Square illuminated her disappointment for a bare instant before she shook it off. “Sure, let’s go back to your apartment. Might as well get to bed early, since we’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn to get me back to Sanctuary in time to open the shop.”

  It was true. Greta was right. And this was the right thing to do, Miles knew. But he could feel her pulling away from him in more ways than the physical, the bright light of her happiness dimming in front of him, and he couldn’t stand it.

  Meeting Ira’s inquisitive gaze in the rearview mirror, Miles didn’t even hesitate. He gave a slight shake of the head, knowing Ira would interpret it correctly after years of driving Miles around town.

  Maybe it was masochistic of him to drag this thing out any longer, knowing he couldn’t allow himself to give in to Greta’s innocent temptation, but he’d be damned if he let her big New York adventure end on a sad note. He’d give her the best night of her life, no matter how much it might make him wish for what he could never have.

  *

  A guest room all ready for you.

  Greta leaned her overwarm forehead against the cool glass of the car window and clamped down on the lump in her throat.

  If someone had told her when she woke this morning that before the night was over she’d be close to tears over the fact that Miles Harrington—proud, stuffy, condescending jerk extraordinaire—clearly had no designs on her body after all, she would have laughed herself stupid.

  She certainly didn’t feel much like laughing now.

  The car slid to a silent, elegant stop and Greta took care to hide her wince as she slid her aching feet back into the torturous high heels she’d been so excited about earlier. Telling herself she needed to shake off this let-down feeling and be grateful for the trouble Miles had gone to—even if it hadn’t been a prelude to seduction, as she’d assumed with a giddy tingle all day long—Greta looked up from wrestling with the strappy heels to see that Miles had already gotten out of the car.

  He held out a hand to help her, and as she steeled herself against the sensual excitement of his touch, Greta’s feet hit the sidewalk and she looked up with a determinedly bright smile plastered to her face.

  She looked up … and up … and up, all the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Clutching Miles’s hand in an iron grip, Greta stared at the building spearing straight into the night sky, brilliantly lit and beautiful as only an architectural icon could be.

  “That’s not your apartment,” Greta said, feeling as disoriented as if she were waking up from anesthesia.

  “Nope.”

  The anticipation in his voice was the only thing that could have dragged her attention off the building. Miles was watching her avidly, his intense blue eyes soaking up her every reaction, and Greta let him have it.

  With a smile so wide her cheeks ached with it, Greta said, “You brought me to the Empire State Building.”

  “You said you wanted to do the whole tourist routine. This place is on every tour of the city—although we’ll be seeing it a little differently from most tourists.”

  “What do you mean, because it’s nighttime?”

  Miles shook his head, clearly enjoying the mystery. “Actually, the Empire State Building is open every single day of the year, rain or shine, until late at night.”

  “Then what?”

  Tilting his chin toward the doors, Miles said, “You’ll have to go in to find out.”

  Excitement and adrenaline flooded Greta’s bloodstream, a better wake-up call than a vat of coffee. Her tired feet forgotten, she bounded across the sidewalk and spun through the revolving door into the gorgeous art deco lobby.

  Greta was so busy gawking up at the ornate silver-and-gold ceiling mural that she almost walked right into a trim, middle-aged black woman standing with an older man in the livery of an old-fashioned elevator operator.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry,” Greta said, wobbling on her stilettos.

  The woman she’d bumped gave her a small, professional smile and held out a hand. “No worries. You must be Greta. It’s lovely to meet you.”

  Greta shook the woman’s hand just as she heard the click of Miles’s dress shoes on the
tiled lobby floor. “Greta, this is Cleo Packard, my right-hand woman. I’d be lost without her. She’s the one who arranged everything we’ve done today.”

  “Including this outfit, I bet,” Greta said, a little overwhelmed by the knowledge of how much work must have gone into today from behind the scenes. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Cleo and squeezed her into a brief, grateful hug.

  “Thank you for everything,” Greta whispered, pulling back. She knew from the rising heat in her cheeks that she was blushing, but she’d never meant anything more. “It’s been the most amazing day of my life.”

  Cleo’s wide, surprised eyes warmed. “I’m glad. And I’m even gladder Mr. Harrington invited me here to meet you.”

  “After everything I put Cleo through today,” Miles explained, “I wanted to thank her.”

  Turning a fond, indulgent smile on her boss, Cleo shook her head. “I work for you, Mr. Harrington. The exorbitant salary you pay me is thanks enough. I’ve told him before,” she said, shrugging in Greta’s direction. “But it never seems to sink in.”

  “You do more for me than any amount of money could repay,” Miles said firmly. “So come on. Your thank-you gift is at the top of the building.”

  Clearly reluctant, Cleo glanced back and forth between Miles and Greta. “Now Mr. Harrington, I don’t know. Having met this young lady, I’m not sure I should intrude on your evening.”

  Greta didn’t have a crystal-clear picture of exactly what was going on, but she knew enough to link her arm through Miles’s elbow on one side, and Cleo’s on the other.

  “Nonsense. You’ve known Miles a lot longer than I have, but even I am already completely aware of the fact that once he sets his heart on something, he gets it. You’re coming upstairs with us!”