My Unexpected Serenity: California Billionaires Book 1

by Harlow James

  But hell, maybe it’s not a bad thing either.

  Chapter 8

  Shayla

  “So tell me the truth,” I mumble around a mouthful of a turkey and avocado croissant sandwich that is melting on my tongue. “Did you make this lunch?”

  Wes eyes me from his spot on the rock we picked to rest, a flat surface big enough for us to both sit on and place our food in between. The sun is beating down on us from above now since the cool morning air has burned off, but there is a small sliver of shade resting over us for the time being.

  “Well, no. But Grace makes the best food, so I knew you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

  “Who’s Grace?”

  He finishes chewing and then answers. “She’s my… housekeeper, I guess you would call her? She manages my estate while I’m there. Kind of like an assistant, but she doesn’t handle anything related to the business, just my home. Takes care of my dry cleaning, stocks my fridge, cooks my meals, that sort of thing.”

  “Damn, must be nice. I bet you don’t even know how to do any of that yourself, do you?” I’m poking the bear, trying to see if I can get a better sense of who he is because so far, he’s just too fucking perfect. All men have flaws, and I bet Wes’s are that he’s a spoiled rich kid that never had to learn to fend for himself.

  “Contrary to what you must think, I actually do know how to do things for myself. I actually enjoy cooking when I have the time. But I’m usually so busy that my schedule doesn’t allow it.”

  I lift one eyebrow and then dig a little more. “What about roughing it? Camping? Sleeping in a tent? If you had to stay up here overnight for some strange reason, would you be able to survive?” I gesture around us to the scarce forest on top of the mountain. The trees aren’t particularly thick up here, but I imagine that the higher you go, the more dense it gets.

  “Well, seeing as how I was an Eagle Scout as a young man, I think I could stuff your foot in your mouth for you with my skills.”

  I bark out a laugh and then take another bite of my sandwich. So the rich guy does have a sense of humor, and he knows a thing or two about real life. He’s not entirely pampered and privileged, but it still remains to be seen if he’s as honest as he seems.

  “Tell me about your childhood then. What was Wes Morgan like before he ran over three-hundred hotels and then some?”

  “Did someone Google me?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that question since I alluded to the fact when I stormed into your office the other day.”

  He grins and then places his sandwich down, reaching for his bottle of water. He takes a drink and then leans forward slightly in his seat as his brow furrows in thought. I wonder what he’s pondering right now?

  “I mean, I grew up in a pretty normal family, except for the fact that we had more money than we knew what to do with. My parents are still married, although I don’t know that they’re truly happy. I have a younger sister, Waverly. She’s currently at USC finishing up her art degree so she can break into interior design. She’s a pain in my ass, but I love her. But all I vividly remember was always having to behave, look the part, never tarnish the family name. We had to smile brightly, attend parties and charity functions endlessly. I didn’t really get to be a kid, not in the normal sense, anyway.” His eyes flash up to me and for a second I see them widen, as if he’s shocked that he just revealed all of that to me.

  I reach over and rest my hand on his forearm. “Hey, you okay? You looked almost frightened for a moment.”

  “Yeah,” he mutters and then sits up tall again, reaching for his sandwich. He stares down at it before looking back over at me. “Sorry. I’m just not used to sharing too much.”

  “Believe me, neither am I. Most guys only want to get in my pants, especially when I work at the club.”

  His eyebrows pop up before he looks back down at his plate. “What club?”

  “Loft 24. It’s a fairly newer nightclub in Ventura. I work there four nights a week. The money is great, it’s better than the last place I worked at, and it’s not that bad of a drive.”

  “Hmmm,” he hums around a mouthful of food, avoiding my eyes.

  I lean forward so that he’s forced to look at me. “Is that a problem?”

  “What?”

  “That I work at a nightclub?”

  He grins over at me once he’s finished chewing. “Something tells me that even if I told you it bothered me, you wouldn’t care.”

  “You’re damn right I wouldn’t.”

  “So then why even ask?”

  “I …” I stumble over my words, wondering why I did ask that question.

  Do I want it to bother him? Do I want him to go all alpha male on me and demand I quit my job so other men can’t hit on me and ask me out? Am I looking for some sort of reaction from him, like when he stalked across his office at me earlier this week?

  Where is that Wes hiding? Because he was hot as fuck.

  “I guess I just want to make sure you understand that I won’t be told what to do.”

  “I think you established that earlier already, Shayla. I understand your need to work though. Does it mean that I like it? No. Does it mean that the thought of some other man looking at you, touching you, getting to know you like I am right now makes me want to punch something? Yes.” I see his jaw clench as his heated gaze is trained on my face. The intensity with which he’s sitting there, as if he’s overpowering his natural instinct to claim me in this moment, has my body humming with arousal.

  God, he’s so hot when he’s angry.

  And a small part of me is taking pleasure in knowing that I’m the one making him feel that way.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know that I don’t give any of them the time of day. The fact that I even accepted a date with you baffled my co-worker.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. She’s always wondering why I never go out with any of the guys that hit on me.”

  “And why is that? I mean, obviously you weren’t thrilled to agree to this date with me either,” he jokes as I smirk in his direction.

  “Because not every person is worth your time,” I answer on a shrug. “I learned pretty quickly when I was young not to invest energy in people because you never know how long they plan on sticking around.” My honesty shocks me for a minute, until I focus back on my food.

  “I can understand that completely. There are only a handful of people that actually know me, and I like to keep it that way.” He studies me as I finish my lunch.

  “But you’re letting me get to know you …why is that?”

  His stare penetrates me as I see his jaw clench and tick. “I could ask you the same question.”

  We hold each other’s gaze for far too long before he finally clears his throat and moves to stand. As he cleans up his trash, I see the one restroom outhouse located up here and tell him I’ll be right back as I cross the distance to the small, cement structure.

  Holding my breath as I do my business, I emerge to see Wes packed up, his backpack back on his broad shoulders and mine dangling from his hand. He holds out a bottle of hand sanitizer to me and I reach out for him to squeeze a few drops in my palm.

  Rubbing my palms together, I look up at him with amusement. “I don’t know whether to be impressed that you carry hand sanitizer or alarmed.”

  He smiles and then puts the bottle back in his backpack before handing me mine. “Like I said, Eagle Scout. I’m always prepared.” With a wink, he turns on his heels and then leads me to the second part of the trail.

  Wes decided to take us up and around the lake instead of going higher into the mountains, this way the hike wasn’t as strenuous, we could enjoy the spectacular view of the water below us, and we could be finished by late afternoon.

  “God, I’m going to miss this in a few weeks.”

  “Miss what?” he asks as I hear his breathing dangerously close to my ear. As I turn to the side, I notice how close we are to each other, and as we move
, his arm starts to brush up against mine, waking my body back up to the effect of his touch. I’ve been able to maintain my cool as we talked and ate, but with each touch of his on my skin, my hormones are starting to go crazy. It’s been far too long since a man has touched me.

  And I’ve never had a man touch me that looks like Wes.

  “Just the freedom to do something like this on a Saturday. School starts back in two weeks and Saturday mornings will be full of homework, studying, and errands so I can stay on top of my workload each week.”

  “You’re in school?” he asks as the sound of our feet crunching along the path echoes around us.

  “Um, yeah. At UC, Santa Barbara. This is my last semester though,” I say proudly.

  “Wow. Congratulations. What’s your degree in?”

  “Sociology. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet, but at least I’ll have it.”

  “That’s more than a lot of people can say, Shayla. You should be proud.”

  I turn to him, smiling at his candor. “I am. Thanks.”

  We continue along the path, making small talk as we go. Wes tells me a little about his college experience at USC. Apparently, his family is alumni there, so he didn’t really have a choice about where he went to school. I ask him to share an embarrassing story about himself, and he obliges, but then tells me that if he reads about it in the tabloids, he’ll slap me with a lawsuit. I’m pretty sure he was kidding—sort of.

  By the time we get to the bottom of the hill and back to the car, it’s mid-afternoon.

  When we arrive at the car, we load the backpacks in the back and then settle inside before Wes heads back for Santa Barbara.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I had one more stop I wanted to make with you today. If you’re not sick of me yet, that is.”

  I turn to face him, surprisingly giddy that our time together isn’t over like I thought it was. “The jury is still out on that one, Wes. I’m warming up to you, for sure. The hike was nice, and definitely not fancy, even though your maid made the lunch.”

  “Housekeeper,” he corrects me.

  “Fine. Housekeeper. But I feel like I still could be persuaded more.”

  “Persuaded to do what exactly?”

  I keep my eyes on him until he glances in my direction, holding my eyes long enough for me to say, “To admit that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

  His smile melts a steel rod of the cage around my heart and then he turns his attention back to the road, reaching for my hand and covering it with his.

  The gesture catches me off guard. I stare down at his large hand engulfing mine, the contrast of his hefty, masculine presence against my feminine one, and then I let out a heavy sigh and move my fingers so they intertwine with his.

  His head turns in my direction again, but I can’t look up at him. I don’t want him to see the effect he has on me. It’s too soon to give him that power, the indication that I can be moved to mush by something as simple as him holding my hand.

  But it definitely stirs something up inside of me that I’m not sure I like, even though deep down I’m giddy like a schoolgirl.

  As Wes turns down a few one-way streets in town, I get the feeling that I know where he’s headed. And when we arrive in front of McConnell’s Fine Ice Cream on State Street, child-like excitement threatens to escape me.

  “I hope you like ice cream,” he says as he parks on the side of the street and shuts off the car.

  “Are you kidding? What kind of person doesn’t like ice cream?” I hop out of the car without waiting for him, which I sense he’s not happy about. But then he takes my hand again and ushers me over to the storefront to wait in line because there is always a line here.

  The shops stands in front of us with a line of people weaving through the small parking lot. White bricks cover the outside with pops of red trim and writing on the windows alerting you to the history of the place.

  Serving smooth, rich ice cream made from only the finest ingredients and more toppings than you can count, McConnell’s is a staple for locals and draws quite the tourist crowd as well. And as we wait our turn in line, with Wes’s hand placed firmly on the small of my back, I realize how long it’s been since I’ve been here, even though it’s not far from my apartment.

  But this ice cream is a treat, and the man staking his claim to me beside me, is the cherry on top.

  When we finally make it to the counter, I think I have my order narrowed down, but seeing the flavors and toppings in front of me makes me second guess myself.

  “Hi, there. What can I get for you two?” A teenage girl behind the counter greets us with a smile, eager to start making our order.

  I look to Wes who gestures with his hand for me to order first. “Okay, hi. I’ll have the birthday cake ice cream, in a waffle cone, with extra sprinkles and sour gummy worms on top.”

  She nods and then starts filling the cone with ice cream.

  “I knew it,” Wes mutters beside me while shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “I had a bet with myself that you would order something off the wall.”

  “Is that a problem?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips as he smirks down at me.

  “Not at all. I think it means I’m starting to expect the unexpected from you.” He reaches up to trace my cheek with his finger as the girl behind the counter clears her throat to garner our attention.

  But I’m paralyzed by this man. There’s something about his sweet gestures that smooth out the rough edges I feel are lurking underneath his polished exterior. Maybe he’s like one of those hard candies that you have to suck on forever until you realize the inside is filled with a sweet, gooey center.

  And there go images of me sucking on one very hard part of Wes on my knees.

  “Here you go,” Wes says as he breaks my stare, handing me my cone as he rambles off his order.

  By the time he pays and we find a table outside, I’m feeling a little cooled off after the X-rated images in my brain had my body temperature rising.

  “Chocolate with caramel sauce? Boring,” I tease him as I lick around my ice cream, watching Wes’s eyes track the movements of my tongue. I purposely make my movements sexual, insinuating what I could do if he were my treat of choice.

  “Not boring. Classic. Sometimes simple is best.”

  “I think you’re just an old man.” I grin at him as his face falls flat.

  Shit. Did I say something wrong? Take the jokes too far? Is he one of those guys who’s secretly insecure about his age? I mean, I know he’s older than me, but not by that much.

  “Look, Wes. I’m sorry if you took that the wrong way. I was just joking—”

  “No, it’s not that. I just—I used to come here with my grandfather and this is what he ordered. I always got the same thing since I wanted to be just like him. And I never bothered to try anything else because I liked it and didn’t feel the need to change.”

  Ah, fuck.

  “Wow. That’s really sweet. Do you guys still come here?” I lick another chunk of ice cream from my cone, getting a gummy worm this time that is ridiculously hard to chew.

  “No. He died a few years ago.”

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Wes.” I reach out to rest my hand on his, and he lets me, although suddenly I feel a shift in his demeanor, like he just resurrected a wall between us and now I’m trapped on the other side. But I understand that maneuver. Hell, I’m good at doing it myself. So, I continue to stroke his hand with my thumb as we eat in silence.

  After we finish eating, Wes drives me back to my apartment, but we barely speak, and the silence starts to eat away at me.

  I overstepped. I let my sarcasm go too far, something that I struggle with sometimes. But the rest of the day had been pretty easy and I felt like we were having fun. It wasn’t the first time I got sassy with him, but obviously I struck a chord, and not a fine-tuned one at that.

  Wes moves around the car to open my door, which I tak
e as a good sign, even though he remains quiet as he walks me to the door. When we finally arrive, I hoist my duffle bag on my shoulder and prepare to apologize.

  “Look, Wes. I’m sorry if I upset you earlier. I really had a great time—”

  But I can’t finish speaking because Wes’s lips are on mine so fast I barely register him moving. Stealing the oxygen from my lungs, I gasp for air and my bag falls from my shoulder as I reach up and grab both sides of his head, gripping his jaw as tightly as our lips are pressed together. His arms encircle my body and haul me up against him as he growls in my mouth before his tongue sweeps out to dance with mine.

  And I melt—into his arms, into the kiss, into the intoxicating feeling of lust and need racing through both of us.

  His kiss is demanding, empowering, territorial. His lips are soft, yet firm, relenting, and intoxicating.

  And even though a large part of me is confused, the other part—the piece of me that has been reacting to this man’s presence since the moment we met—that part is relishing in every minute of this.

  Wes urges me against the door now, moving one hand to my hip while the other one moves up to grip the back of my neck, holding me still as he continues to kiss me with so much passion that I moan. I drag my fingers through the hair on the back of his neck as he grants me with another growl and our tongues continue to swipe against each other.

  He tastes like chocolate and lust, smells like sweat and his deodorant, a cool scent that was hitting my nose all day on that mountain. And as I struggle to breathe him in while simultaneously drowning in his demanding kiss, I’m startled back to reality as Wes forcefully jumps from me, his eyes wide and blazing with heat.

  “Shit,” he mutters before dragging his hand through his hair and turning his back to me. My hand reaches up to touch my lips, bruised from the assault he just gave them even though I’m desperately craving more.

  “Wes …”

  “I’m sorry, Shayla. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”

  “I didn’t seem to mind,” I reply playfully as I wait for him to face me again. And when he does, I see pain reflected in those deep green eyes.