Billionaires and Beach Bums: Two Complete BWWM Romance Novellas

by Mia Caldwell

  “In a hurry?” he breathes.

  I just nod. I don’t have words or snappy comebacks I just want this man inside me. Now. I’ll worry about feeling depressed later.

  He slides all the way in, stretching me. It’s been a while and he’s seriously hung.

  “Oh, Kiera,” he moans. He leans down to kiss his way across my breast to my nipple. He pulls it into his mouth, hard, making me gasp. His hips are still as he moves to the other breast. I feel completely filled and my body is urging him to thrust.

  Slowly at first, and gradually faster, Tyler begins to move and I move to meet him. My hands clutch at his back as I feel my pleasure mounting.

  We find our rhythm easily, as if we’ve been lovers for months, but with the excitement of new passion. I’ve always been…easy to please and I climax twice before he finishes, crying out my name.

  When, at last, he rolls to my side, we both lie there, spent. I don’t think I could move if the hotel was on fire.

  “Oh, wow,” he breathes.

  “No kidding,” I say. It’s an effort just to make my mouth move. “I’m going to need a nap before dinner. Before I take another breath.”

  Tyler brushes a wisp of hair off my forehead. “Want me to lay here with you or will you sleep better if I get up?”

  My smile comes easily. “If you’re sleepy, stay. If you’re going to fidget, scram.”

  “I’ll see you when you wake,” he says, stroking my arm as he gets up.

  “Wake me up in an hour if I don’t get up myself!”

  I’m pretty sure I’d have slept through until morning on my own, but it was nice to wake up to that smile anyway.

  “I’m hungry for food now,” he says standing beside me, “although I could probably be coaxed back into bed.”

  “Uh-uh” I say, sitting up. “I’m hungry for food, too. I’m going to shower again and this time you have to let me get dressed.”

  “No promises.” He’s already dressed in shorts and a linen shirt. The linen has that perfect not-ironed-but-not-too-wrinkly look. I can never figure out how people do that.

  When I emerge after my shower, in that flowing blue dress at last, Tyler is sprawled on the couch, scrolling around on his phone.

  “Mm, you look gorgeous,” he says, sitting up. “The spirit of the islands. How about some authentic Aruban food?”

  “Iguana and coconut? They don’t grow a whole lot here.”

  “I read that iguana’s illegal now, but if you have a hankerin’” there was that Southern accent again, “I’m sure I can find a guy to hook you up.”

  I make a face at the thought. “I’m good, thanks.”

  After a ride in to the center of the island, we pull up at a big old house that has been converted into a restaurant and gallery. It has the usual feeling of benign neglect. Much of this island feels like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Hard to leave work completely behind.

  When we enter, the man behind the little podium lights up.

  “Mr. Tyler! You came back! Welcome!” He embraces Tyler and kisses his cheek before doing the same to me. “You brought us a beautiful girl!”

  “This is Kiera, Fredo.” He turns to me, “Fredo has the best Aruban food on the island.”

  “Or anywhere else,” Fredo booms, “because you don’t find Aruban food anywhere else!”

  Once we’re seated at a cozy little table, I ask, “I thought you’d never been to the island before?”

  “Oh I haven’t. I just came here a couple of days ago. I’m a good tipper. I make an impression.” He opens the menu.

  “So, what do you do to give you that good tippin’ money? You say the surfing doesn’t pay, but clearly you spend a lot of time doing it.”

  Fredo arrives at the table with a bottle of white wine. “Compliments of the house,” he says, pouring.

  We thank him and when he leaves again I say, “Are you in the mob?”

  Tyler laughs. “No, nothing that glamorous. I just made some good investments.”

  I give him a little kick under the table. “You know you’re making it worse with your half answers. What do you do?”

  He folds the menu and sets it down. “Um, nothing?” he says with that crooked grin. “I’m currently between jobs.”

  Ah. A beach bum with a trust fund. He works to make enough money to play and when the money runs out he goes back to work. Never worries because there’s family money to fall back on. I’ve met the type. Cute and funny as he is, I’m glad this is just an island fling so I don’t end up having to loan him money or letting him crash in the guest room.

  “What do you do?” he asks.

  I take a sip of the wine, wondering if I should come up with a lower paying job to throw him off the trail. I decide it isn’t worth the hassle. I’ll be leaving soon anyway. “I work at a law firm in DC. I handle corporate cases. Well, not handle, I’ve only been with the firm three years, but I work on corporate cases.”

  “Ah, like people suing companies or copyright law or what?”

  I hesitate. It’s still a little embarrassing. “Defense, usually. Like, environmental complaints lodged against companies.” I see the look in his eyes, I’ve seen it before. Hell, I’ve felt it myself. “I know, it’s evil, mostly. But it pays really well and I have a lot of debt. I went to Georgetown Law and that does not come cheaply. I figure I put in some time here and then I can go do what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  I sigh. “I wish I knew. Not this. It feels good to pay the bills and go on vacation with my friend. But it does kill my soul a little.”

  “Just a little?” he smiles and the candlelight on his face is just…there’s no other word, he looks beautiful. Why do I want to spill my guts to this slacker?

  But I do. “A lot. I hate it. My boss is an asshole, the firm is sleazy. Our clients are scuzz balls. I don’t sleep well and it’s embarrassing to tell people what I do. My only good friend is Andrea because I don’t trust the other people in my firm and that’s who I see for 60 hours a week.” I actually feel tears spring to my eyes. I never cry. I also never really let myself think about this stuff. I blink them away. “But it’s a job people would kill for. Maybe literally. And it pays the bills. I tell myself it’s temporary, but I wonder how many people grow old in a job they hate that they thought was temporary?”

  Tyler reaches across the table to take my hand. “A lot of them. But you don’t have to. You’re young, you live in the lawyer capitol of the world. Do you think you’d stay in law?”

  “Yeah. Probably? I don’t know. It’s what I know how to do. It’s what I spent 130 thousand dollars learning to do.” I sniff and smile at him. “I think I can cross professional surf god off my career list.”

  “Are you kidding? A gorgeous black woman that surfs? You’d be like a unicorn. A few more lessons and you’re in the big time.” He grins at me.

  “I don’t want your Affirmative Action charity. Or to make my living almost drowning. At least I get to breathe air in a law firm.”

  “It’s not all sulfur and brimstone then?”

  “Only in the partners’ offices.” I glance at the menu. “So, what do we eat?”

  Tyler waves the waitress over and orders Kerry Kerry and Keshi Yena.

  “So…what will those be?”

  “Wait and see,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “So you were going to tell me where your friend has gone?”

  “Ah, right. Andrea. Well, I brought her here hoping to help her forget a man she thought was cheating on her, but it turned out he wasn’t and he came down here and bought a boat and rescued her from a terrible date and took her away to his house on Bonaire. You know, as you do.”

  “Uh, wow!”

  “I know, right? Billionaires, who needs ’em?” I drained my wine glass and set it down for more.

  Tyler

  What the hell is this?

  I’ve known this girl what, five hours? six? and I can barely focus on her words. And not because I’m busy thinking
about how to get her into bed–did that, thanks, and it was great–but because my brain has turned to mush. It’s like all I can do is look at her in the candlelight and think, “Girl pretty.”

  I feel like I hit a time warp, and I’m sixteen year old me, stunned that a girl is even talking to me, unable to think of what to say back. Only I’m 35 now and that computer obsession that made me a social reject in high school has made me a billionaire.

  I summon the analytical part of my brain. Kiera is attractive, yes–big brown eyes with a keen intellect behind them, a smile that suggests she’s up to no good, killer bod that she knows just how to use…but I’ve been able to have my pick of hot girls for quite a while now. I even get smart hot girls. Even smart, hot, rich girls. But it’s almost chemical…I’m just…she’s…Girl pretty.

  I pour more wine into her empty glass, but only half way. At least until we get some food. Focus on her words. Ah right, friend ran off with a rich dude.

  “Who is he?” I ask. I’d come to the island for a high stakes poker tournament. Aruba was thick with billionaires at the moment.

  “Walker Alexander. Tiny Tina Snack Cakes? And she’s this health food nut!” Kiera takes another sip. Those lips, perfectly soft. “She seems happy, though. He seems nice.”

  “A nice rich guy, go figure.” I smile, hoping to get a gauge of how she really feels.

  She gives a little shrug. I imagine that in her job, she doesn’t see the best of humanity. And while it’s totally legit that you’d get down on the One Percent if your job introduces you to the high class criminal element, I don’t want to mislead her. I don’t need this to turn into some sitcom “she doesn’t know he’s rich” scenario.

  “Since you’ve been so honest with me, I’ll admit that I’m actually pretty rich.” I try to give my most winning smile, but really there’s no way to say that that doesn’t make you sound like a total douche.

  She looks genuinely surprised. Was I giving off “hobo” to her?

  “Oh yeah?” she asks, “so those good investments were really good,huh? It’s not a trust fund keeping you going?”

  “Hardly. I’m one of those assholes that sold an app to Google for way more than it was worth. You know, one of those dweebs that used to get beat up in high school but now hires jocks for minimum wage to go find us the last Star Wars figurine we need for our collection.” Only the first part of that is true, but I’ve found self-deprecation to be disarming in such situations. Okay, maybe I was kind of a dweeb.

  Kiera cocks her head at me and grins. The candlelight makes her skin seem to glow. Girl pretty. “I don’t believe you. I mean, I believe you may have made an app and sold it, but you just aren’t the figurine type.”

  “Busted. No, I was a skate rat, but not the cool kind the bad girls wanted to date. More the emo kid super into Weezer.”

  Kiera laughs out loud, actually thumping the table.

  "Not that funny," I mumble. “Weezer’s awesome.”

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, she says, “No. No they aren’t. But that’s okay, I liked some terrible bands, too.”

  Her eyes are shining with mirth. Makes it easier to forgive her slighting Weezer. “Oh yeah, like what?”

  She clears her throat and looks around the room as if making sure no one is listening. “I happen to own a Britney Spears poster. For real. Present tense. In my old bedroom at my folks’ house, sure, but I still have it.”

  “And you dare make fun of me? Hmpf.”

  “Just tell me one thing, Tyler. Did you wear eyeliner?”

  “No, but I wanted to. I wouldn’t have been allowed.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me. “A rebel like you?”

  I sigh. I guess it’s about to get heavy. Either that or a quick change of subject. What the hell. Get it out of the way. “I grew up in foster care, so, you know, breaking the rules could mean getting booted out.”

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Her hand has gone to her mouth and the mischief has left her eyes. I swear, dropping the foster care bomb is like saying you have cancer.

  “No, it’s fine, Kiera, really. I wasn’t abused or anything. It’s just that you grow up without that unconditional love a lot of times. So I was always aware of just how far I could push things without going too far. It wasn’t a storybook childhood, but it wasn’t Stephen King, either.”

  “Ugh, I do this all the time, stick my foot in my mouth! And I asked you about a trust fund!” She’s still horrified. I need to lighten it up.

  “Look, it made me who I am. I got to go to college for free because I had good grades and no money. I worked part time so I could stay in San Francisco since I had no real home. And that work gave me the skills to develop the app that made me a pile of cash. It all worked out okay. Honest.” I smile at her and take her hand. She smiles back, but it’s a sad smile.

  Before I try to launch into a comedy routine to see her laugh again, the waitress arrives with the food. I see the look on Kiera’s face and say, “It’s delicious, I swear!”

  That brings back a genuine grin. "It has to taste better than it looks," she says.

  The waitress laughs. “It’s not fancy food, just good food that stays with you. Kerry Kerry and Keshi Yena chicken.” She sets them down and heads off after we assure her we don’t need anything more.

  I serve some of each onto Kiera’s plate and she digs right in–always a good sign.

  "Oh, this is good. Which one is this?"

  “That’s the Keshi Yena. It’s like a wheel of cheese baked with chicken and pickles inside.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before you ordered. That sounds revolting. But it’s good! So what’s the Kerry one?”

  “Shark meat in a cream sauce of some sort.”

  Kiera’s head comes up and she gives me the side eye. She spears a tiny piece and tastes it gingerly. “Huh. That’s good too. Mild. I never had shark before.”

  “Surfers love to eat sharks. Fuck those guys.”

  “And as a corporate attorney, I feel a little like a traitor.”

  “If they find out you’ve developed a taste for flesh, they won’t let you come back.”

  Kiera sighs, just a little. “Yeah, poor me.”

  “Don’t,” I say impulsively, “Don’t go back. Come with me. I’m going to sail back to my place in Peru. Peak surf season is coming, it’s gorgeous.”

  She sets down her fork. "My life isn’t that free, Tyler. I mean, I love that you want me to, but you have to know I can’t just leave my job and follow you to Peru. My job is pretty awful, but I have a life, too."

  I hope I’m not blushing. Stupid. “I’m sorry, Kiera. See? I put my foot in my mouth, too. Of course you have a life. Friends, family.” Her face drops. Crap. "No, no! That’s not what I mean. I didn’t mean that to sound like ’Oh well you have a family, lucky!’ I just meant it as Of course, I wasn’t thinking of you, I was just thinking of me. I would really like to have you with me. And to know you aren’t in a job you hate."

  She smiles. “Thanks. You know, when I go out with guys in DC, none of them cares if I like my job. None of them cares if I have friends and family. So thanks. But yeah, I can’t just pick up and go, appealing as it might be. Also, I get a little sea sick.”

  I grin at her, “We could fly. I know how.”

  "All right, mister, what can’t you do?"

  “Turn a cartwheel. And…no, that’s about it, I think.”

  "Well. Good to know I have one up on you. Man, this food is heavy. Tastes good, but it feels like a brick in my stomach."

  “Mmm, I know, so yummy, and you don’t have to eat again for days. So appealing to orphans.”

  She kicks me under the table again. “You’re terrible.”

  “So, this precious family you can’t abandon to go surfing with me? Tell me about them.”

  “I have an older sister, Maya. She’s two years older than me. She teaches sociology at American. She has a perfect marriage and one perfect child. She hosts fabulous dinner
parties full of the very smartest people and thinks of me as a screw-up because I haven’t made partner at 27 and I’m not married. She manages to work”Kiera, don’t you think it’s time to grow up?" into almost every conversation."

  She sees my raised eyebrows and quickly adds, “But I love her and we’re really close. We talk or text a few times a week and I babysit Omari when I can.”

  “I can’t pretend to understand sibling relationships, but I gotta say the babysitting part sounds nice.” She cocks her head in a non-committal way. “I’m a little older than you, I’m 35. Starting to think about what my life would look like if I started a family of my own.” I’m treading lightly. I know the “I’d like kids” discussion can either be catnip or poison to an early relationship. And this is really early. “I’m not interviewing candidates or anything,” I say with a laugh, "but it is a thing that comes to mind now and again. ’Cause, you know, I’m an orphan."

  Kiera laughs and jabs my leg with her foot. “That’s losing it’s effectiveness, buster. Yeah, I’m sure I’ll want kids some day, but now is a terrible time. Brad, my boss, is famous for not promoting women if he even thinks they’re thinking about getting pregnant.”

  “Seems like shaky ground for a lawyer.”

  “I assure you, he’s careful. There’s always some other reason he can claim. But none of the partners are women and no one comes back from maternity leave.” She eats the last bite on her plate and leans back. “I can probably move on in a couple of years. I hope.”

  “See that you do. I think you’d make a great mom. And if nothing else, you’re too smart to stay in a job you hate just for the money. And I say that aware that it’s easy for me to say.”

  She gives me a warm smile and says, “Thanks, that’s sweet. Look, do you think it’s safe to walk around here? I could really use some fresh air and exercise. I need to move that wheel of cheese.”

  “Crazy low crime rate on the island. We’ll be fine. Plus, I’m a black belt.”