One Night With a Billionaire (Novella): The Perfect Man

by Thompson, VickiLewis

  None of her clients realized she came from a wealthy family, and she preferred it that way. She’d learned from sad experience that being worth millions usually affected how people viewed her. She wanted to be seen as a competent professional who took her vocation seriously.

  She might not need the money she earned, but she considered it validation that she was good at her job. Her parents wished she’d spend less time at work and more time at social events looking for eligible billionaires to marry. She didn’t care to take the time right now. Eventually she’d want a home and kids, and she’d probably end up with a wealthy man. Her mother thought that was the only way to avoid hooking up with a fortune hunter, and there was some truth in that.

  “Good, she’s lying down again.” Fletch went back into the stall. “Maybe this is it.”

  “Fingers crossed.” Astrid picked up her bag and followed him.

  He walked around behind the horse and glanced over at Astrid. “I hate that you have to be up so late, but I really need—”

  “Don’t give it another thought. I want to be here.” Janis, and Fletch’s concern for his favorite brood mare, had been her priority for some time. She’d reluctantly cancelled a trip to Paris with her girlfriends because Janis’s condition had been unstable. Now they were down to the wire, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here in this stall with the mare . . . and Fletch.

  He hadn’t owned the ranch long, only about three years, but he’d been a cowhand all his adult life, and the Rocking G was evidence of his ability to work hard toward a goal. She admired his grit more than she could say. Compared to him, she’d encountered no real obstacles in her quest to become a vet, unless she counted the expectations of her parents. They weren’t pleased that she’d chosen a profession that included getting covered in blood and occasionally horse manure.

  Although their snooty attitude bothered her, she loved them deeply and couldn’t deny how much they’d done for her, in spite of their disapproval of her choices. They’d paid for her extensive schooling, and her trust fund had financed her clinic. To completely ignore their wishes and advice on marriage would be ungrateful.

  But sometimes she wished that she could be what Fletch assumed her to be—a self-made woman in the same way he was a self-made man. She wondered if he’d respect her as much if he knew her career had been handed to her on a silver platter. Maybe he wouldn’t care. He seemed open-minded about most things. Still, she wasn’t ready to test it.

  For now, they had a birth to attend. And finally, Janis appeared ready to get the job done. Astrid knelt behind her and said a little prayer. This was the moment of truth. If the mare couldn’t manage this on her own, Astrid was prepared to intervene, but that would require methods that would stress both mother and baby.

  Fletch stroked Janis’s neck as he’d done before and crooned encouraging words.

  “That’s good,” Astrid said. “Keep talking to her.” She had a sudden flash of what he’d be like in the delivery room waiting for his own child. He’d be solid as a rock, but empathetic, too.

  “I’d sing her The Rose, except my singing has been known to stampede cattle.”

  Astrid smiled. “I love that song.” She wasn’t surprised that he did, too. They connected on so many levels.

  “You wouldn’t after I finished singing it. You’d beg for mercy.”

  “Talking works just fine. I’m sure she senses your confidence in her.” So did Astrid. Knowing he trusted her with an animal he loved did wonders for her self-esteem.

  “I hope so. But I have to tell you, I’m sweating bullets.”

  “Join the club.”

  And then Janis groaned, heaved, and just like that, the process started. No matter how many times Astrid witnessed the birth of a foal, she was awed by the first thrust of tiny forelegs, followed by a nose, a neck, and finally, the entire baby horse, all wrapped in a glistening, semi-transparent membrane.

  Eleven months of effort culminated in one glorious miracle. She and Fletch had worried about this event for weeks, but the foaling, as with most equine births, took less than twenty minutes.

  “Beautiful,” Astrid murmured.

  “Are we good down there?”

  “We’re good. We’re so good.” Astrid’s chest tightened with gratitude. “Janis has a beautiful baby.”

  “Thank God.” Fletch’s voice was thick with emotion.

  Astrid glanced up and caught a moment he might not have meant her to see. He buried his face against the mare’s neck and murmured something she couldn’t hear. Not wanting to embarrass him, she returned her focus to the foal, which seemed perfectly formed and healthy.

  Janis had been Fletch’s first brood mare, and the horse had obviously won his heart with her gentle disposition. He cared about the foal, too, but his biggest concern had been for Janis. Convinced that neither mare nor foal were in distress, Astrid scooted away to let Janis attend to her baby.

  Fletch also sat back on his heels as the horse maneuvered so that she could lick her newborn clean. He gazed at the foal. “It’s a colt.”

  “Yep. The ultrasound was right. You never can know for sure with those.”

  A grin lit his face. “And four white socks, like his mother’s.”

  “He’ll look a lot like her.”

  “I’d hoped for that. And now it’s official. Buddy Holly is in residence at the Rocking G.”

  Astrid laughed. “Yes, he certainly is. They both seem to be doing great.”

  “I can order the nameplate for his stall, now. I was too superstitious to do it before.” Fletch’s glance sought hers. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. But after all, it’s my job.”

  “I know, but you don’t treat it like a job. My previous vet did, which was why I stopped using him. I’ve watched you work with these animals. You put your heart and soul into it.”

  She couldn’t imagine higher praise than that. “I love my work. That makes me a lucky lady.”

  “And I’m lucky to have found you.”

  Dear God, there was something more than friendship in those warm brown eyes. She swallowed. “Fletch . . .”

  “I know.” His jaw firmed. “You’re my vet. I’m a client. I understand the parameters, but damn it, Astrid, does that mean we can’t . . .”

  Her heart beat as if she were a wild creature suddenly trapped in a net. “I think it does mean that.”

  “I could fire you.”

  “You could.” That wouldn’t remove all the barriers. She’d still be a very rich woman and he would be a financially strapped rancher. But he didn’t know about that issue.

  “I don’t want to fire you.” He got to his feet. “You’re a fantastic vet, a thousand times better than the guy I had before. I can’t imagine having anyone else now that I’ve seen how you work.”

  She took a deep breath and stood, too. “I don’t want you to fire me, either.” She looked into his eyes, which mirrored the frustration she felt. “I love having you as a client.”

  “Can’t I be a client and something more, too? Who has to know? I’m certainly not going to make a big deal about it.”

  “Okay, let’s say we’re discreet.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the stall. “What if we discover somewhere down the line that we’re not right for each other? What happens to our client-vet relationship then?” She put down the bag and turned to face him as he stepped into the aisle.

  His stance was wide, his expression calm, the epitome of confident male. “We wouldn’t discover that. You and I get along great.”

  “In this setting, we do, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  She pictured dragging him to some charity ball hosted by her wealthy friends, or coaxing him to attend the opening of a show by some new darling of the Dallas art community. She’d been inside Fletch’s home. He liked western arti
sts like Remington and Shoofly. He also didn’t seem like the tux-wearing type, but now wasn’t the time to reveal the difference in their lifestyles.

  “Are you worried that we might not get along in bed?”

  Oh, boy. Her hesitation had led him to the wrong conclusion. She wasn’t worried about that at all. “I—”

  “Lady, we would burn up the sheets.” He smiled as he took a step closer. “And you damned well know we would.”

  “Maybe.” The nearer he came, the faster her heart beat. It seemed to keep time with the rapid tattoo of the rain on the roof.

  He chuckled. “I guarantee you do. I can see it in those baby blues. I wasn’t sure until this minute, when I finally got the courage to broach the subject, but we’re on the same page, you and I.”

  “Okay, so I’m attracted to you, but acting on that attraction would be a really bad idea.”

  He nodded. “You could be right. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting to kiss you.”

  Oh. She should protest, should move back, out of the magic circle he’d created with his considerable charm. But she couldn’t seem to do that.

  “I know you have reservations about getting involved with me.” He reached for her and cupped her face in his big hands.

  She closed her eyes. That touch . . . so gentle, yet sure. She’d imagined his touch for so long, and now she allowed herself to savor it.

  Read on for a preview of the final installment in Vicki Lewis Thompson’s Perfect Man trilogy

  SAFE IN HIS ARMS

  Available from InterMix July 2013

  One minute Valerie Wolitzky was drinking margaritas with her two pals, Astrid Lindberg and Melanie Shaw, in their favorite Dallas watering hole, the Golden Spurs and Stetson. The next minute an alarm shrieked, and Val leaped from her seat, knocking over her chair and her drink. She had to get out. Now.

  Panic buzzed in her ears as she charged the front door. She had to beat the mob of people. If she didn’t, she’d be trapped . . . just like before.

  Wham! She hit a solid wall of muscle and staggered back. A cowboy blocked her way. She shoved him hard. “Let me out!”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “Hold on, there, ma’am. What’s the problem?”

  Was he an idiot? With adrenaline-fueled strength, she pushed him aside and barreled through the door, almost knocking down a second man who was right behind him. But she got out the door.

  Safe! She was safe! Shaking, she leaned over and braced her hands on her knees as she gulped for air. The warm breeze of a summer night touched her wet cheeks. She swiped at them as she slowly straightened. She needed to sit down, but there was nowhere to—

  “Val!” Astrid’s shout penetrated the buzzing in her ears, and she turned. Her two friends burst through the door of the bar and rushed toward her.

  Relief that they were okay was followed by hot shame. She hadn’t thought of them, hadn’t even tried to save them. She’d only thought of herself.

  “Omigod, Val.” Melanie, brown hair flying, reached her first and hugged her. “It’s okay. Some smoking oil set off the smoke detector in the kitchen. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Filled with gratitude for her friend’s safety, Val hugged her back without paying much attention to what she was saying.

  Astrid joined the huddle and rubbed Val’s back. “Easy, girlfriend. Take it easy. Everything’s fine.”

  Gradually Valerie’s heartbeat slowed, and the grip of fear eased. She took a quivering breath and wondered why she wasn’t hearing sirens. She stepped out of Melanie’s embrace and looked around. “Where are the fire trucks?”

  “There’s no fire.” Astrid continued to stroke her back. “Just a little smoke.”

  “Did they evacuate the building?”

  “No, sweetie.” Melanie gazed at her with compassion. “They shut off the alarm right away and came out of the kitchen to explain the problem.”

  Valerie’s heart started pounding again. Dear God. “I was . . . the only one who ran out?”

  Both Melanie and Astrid nodded.

  “Well, except us,” Melanie added. “We took off after you.”

  “Oh, no.” Val covered her face as embarrassment flooded through her, scorching her cheeks. She’d overreacted. Caused a scene. Involved her friends in her craziness. Slowly she lowered her hands and stared at them in misery. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Astrid squeezed her arm. “But Val, it’s time to get serious about—”

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?” The cowboy Valerie had smacked into when she fled now walked over to her, trailed by the other guy, who wore a business suit. They both looked worried.

  Val thought of the old cliché and wished the sidewalk really would open up and swallow her. “Yes, thank you.” She wished the words didn’t sound so wobbly and uncertain.

  “You don’t look all right.” The cowboy kept coming. He had a purposeful, John Wayne stride, and he towered over the other man. “You’re shaking like a newborn foal. What happened in there?”

  Melanie put a protective arm around Val’s shoulder. “Thanks for your concern, but she’ll be fine.”

  He paused and tipped his Stetson back with his thumb. “I’m sure she will. I just . . . was it the smoke alarm that spooked you? I heard it go off right before I got to the door.”

  He seemed like a nice guy who only wanted to help. Val couldn’t fault him for that after she’d tried to knock him down in her full-out panic mode. He must have seen the terror in her eyes. “I’m afraid I overreacted.” She cleared her throat and summoned her lawyer’s voice. “I apologize for plowing into you and yelling. That was rude.”

  “No worries.” He glanced at Astrid and Melanie standing on either side of her. “I’m glad your friends are here.” He hesitated before bringing his attention back to Val.

  His eyes were gray. Not a gloomy, dark sort of gray, but light, almost silver. They shone with kindness. “Listen, I don’t know you at all, and I’m probably butting in where I have no business, but I understand a little something about post-traumatic stress.” He turned to the man who’d come up behind him. “And my buddy Will wrote the book on it. Literally.” He looked at Val again. “If you need—”

  “To see someone?” She managed not to choke on the words. “I appreciate the thought, but I have that covered.” She had nothing covered because she was determined to handle the issue herself, despite what her friends thought she should do. But he didn’t have to know any of that.

  “Good. That’s good. But if you need a second opinion, I highly recommend Will. Say, Will, you have any cards with you?”

  “I think so.” The man reached inside his suit jacket. “Yep. Here’s one.”

  Val stepped back, away from the outstretched business card. If she ever decided to go that route, she’d find her own shrink. Locating the right person would require lots of research. A chance meeting on the sidewalk didn’t qualify as an intelligent method for hiring a professional therapist. “Thanks, but I—”

  “I’ll take it.” Astrid reached for the card. She looked at the name printed there before tucking the card in her jeans pocket. Then she exchanged a glance with the cowboy.

  Val figured that the wordless message between Astrid and the cowboy was along the lines of I can handle it from here.

  As if to confirm that, the cowboy touched the brim of his hat, a classic farewell gesture. “We’ve kept you ladies long enough. I’m glad you’re all right, ma’am. You three have a nice evening.” Both men turned and headed back toward the bar.

  Val swung to face Astrid. “I know what you’re up to, but I’m not making an appointment with some guy I met on the street.”

  “Oh, yes, you are.” Astrid’s blue eyes flashed with determination. She was small and blonde, but anyone who underestimated her because of that would be making a huge mistake. “H
e’s not just some guy. He’s Will Bryan, who’s appeared on lots of talk shows because of his book on PTSD. I’ve seen him on TV, but somehow I missed the fact he’s from Dallas.”

  “So he’s famous? Then I’ll bet he’s booked solid.” That should take care of that.

  Melanie spoke up. “If he’s booked solid, he would have said so instead of handing over his card. Anyway, that cowboy seems to be his good friend, and he suggested you contact this Will guy. If you mention to Will that you were the tall redhead he met outside the Golden Spurs and Stetson, I’m sure he’ll work you in.”

  “Yeah, and charge me a million bucks now that he’s so well known.” Another excellent reason why she wouldn’t be calling him.

  Astrid’s jaw firmed. “Being prominent doesn’t necessarily mean he charges more than anyone else. And if his fee is really high, then I’ll—”

  “No, you won’t, Astrid Lindberg. I’ve never taken money from you, and I won’t start now.” Val, Astrid and Melanie had been sorority sisters. Fortunately Astrid’s wealthy background hadn’t been a barrier to their friendship, even though Melanie and Val had scraped through school with scholarships and student loans and Astrid had sailed along on her parents’ considerable money.

  “You can pay me back later.”

  “No.” Val shook her head. “Look, I don’t need a celebrity therapist.”

  “Maybe not, but you need a therapist, and you’re making no progress toward getting one.” Astrid pulled the card out of her pocket. “It’s been months since the concert hall fire, and you’re not getting better on your own. This guy showing up right when you had a meltdown seems like it was meant to be.”

  Val’s stomach churned. Until that awful night of the fire and the stampede, she’d prided herself on her self-sufficiency and emotional stability. Now she freaked at every little thing. She hated feeling so out of control these days, but the idea of allowing some stranger to probe into her vulnerability made her break out in a cold sweat. “I just need time.”