The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5)

by Bec Linder

  “Want to take a ride?” he asked me, tipping his head toward the cable cars.

  I sort of did, but the line was pretty long, and the cars were packed full, with people balancing precariously on the sideboards. If I tried that, I would definitely fall off. “Maybe not today,” I said. “I know it’s still early, but I’m getting kind of hungry.”

  “It’s dinnertime on the East Coast,” he said. “Okay. Let’s go back to the hotel, have some dinner, and take it easy this evening. Recuperate from the trip. Tomorrow I’ll get you up at the crack of dawn and we’ll spend the whole day exploring. I hope you brought comfortable shoes.”

  “I’m not getting up at the crack of anything,” I said. “I work nights, remember? Even jet lag isn’t going to get me up before mid-morning.”

  “I forgot about that,” he said, frowning as if this was an actual serious concern. “I’ll just have to bring you a lot of coffee.”

  True to his word, when I finally emerged from the bedroom the next morning, Max had coffee waiting for me: lukewarm, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I popped the lid off the cardboard cup and took a sip. Max lowered his newspaper and watched me, eyes crinkling.

  “I’m just drinking coffee,” I said. “It isn’t that exciting.”

  “But you’re so cute when you’re sleepy,” he said. “Get in the shower and we’ll scrounge up some breakfast. It’s raining. It’ll be a perfect day to go to the park.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You aren’t serious.”

  “Oh, I am,” he said. “The tourists run amok when the weather’s nice. But since it’s raining, they’ll all stay inside, and we’ll have the entire park to ourselves. It’ll be perfect. I hope you packed a raincoat.”

  “I don’t like rain,” I said. I knew I was being unreasonably childish and grumpy, but I had come to San Francisco to find Renzo, not gallivant around the city with Max. I wasn’t happy with his explanation about the investigator, and I felt like we were wasting valuable time. If Max thought he could charm his way back into my panties by showing me the sights, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

  He rolled his eyes at me. “What’s going to happen to you? Are you going to melt? Okay, Wicked Witch. Drink your coffee and let’s get going. You said we could do tourist stuff, and it’s too late for you to back out now.”

  Our hotel allegedly had a nice continental breakfast, but I had slept so long that it was well over by the time I showered and got dressed. We walked down the street to a little bakery that Max said was a local chain, and had breakfast sandwiches and more coffee. I felt a little more awake by then. It was raining pretty hard, and the streets were much emptier than they had been the day before. We ate at a counter by the window and I watched men in suits walk past with their umbrellas. San Francisco was no New York, but it was more of an actual city than I had expected. Bigger, busier.

  “How long did you live here?” I asked Max.

  “Four years,” he said. “I haven’t been back since I moved to New York. It’s a little surreal. Everything is so familiar, but it’s changed just enough that I don’t feel like I know the city anymore. I keep joking about playing tourist, but the truth is, I am a tourist now.”

  “Do you miss it?” I asked. “Are you sorry you moved back to New York?”

  He shook his head. “I loved San Francisco, but New York will always be home. And if I hadn’t moved back, I wouldn’t have found you. So I can’t possibly regret that decision.”

  What a sentimental jerk. And yet I loved it. I had been alone for so long, and—okay, I could admit it—starved for love and ordinary affection. Max’s endless talk about how wonderful I was and how happy he was to be with me again was empty flattery, but I ate it up.

  Oh, he was definitely going to break my heart.

  I had expected that we would take a cab to wherever we were going, but instead, Max led me to a nearby bus top. We ducked under the shelter to get out of the rain, and I upended my umbrella and shook the raindrops off. “I thought you were too fancy for public transit,” I said.

  “Not at all,” he said. He lowered the hood of his rain jacket. “It’s usually less efficient than calling a cab, which is why I don’t do it very often. But if we’re being tourists, it’s important for you to get the full experience. Taking the bus is the best way to get to know a new city.”

  “That sounds like something you got out of a fortune cookie,” I said. “I guess I should be grateful that you aren’t making me walk.”

  He grinned. “It’s only three miles. That would take us—what? About an hour?”

  We didn’t talk much on the bus ride. I gazed out the rain-streaked window, watching neighborhoods scroll past. We went by City Hall, an ornate building trimmed out with gold leaf, and then climbed up a hill into a more residential area, with streets lined with Victorian rowhouses. The downtown area around our hotel wasn’t much to write home about, but as we traveled further west I decided that I could understand why people talked about how charming San Francisco was.

  “Here’s our stop,” Max said, reaching above me to tug the cord. “Golden Gate Park.”

  We got off the bus and climbed the sidewalk running alongside the road into the park. The sound of traffic on the road behind us quickly faded away. At the top of the hill, Max turned left onto a footpath. I followed him, looking around in amazement at the abundant greenery around us: the jade plants growing alongside the path, the tall trees overhead dripping with rain. For the first time, I really felt like I was in a different place. The trees were unlike anything I had seen before, and the rain and overall hush made me feel like we were explorers on a distant planet, somewhere human feet had never walked before. In the near distance, a hill or small mountain loomed, shrouded in mist.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Max turned and smiled at me. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s really beautiful,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  “That’s why I brought you here,” he said. “And we’ll have it mostly to ourselves. Anyone with sense will have stayed inside where it’s warm and dry.”

  “Good thing we don’t have much sense,” I said.

  He led me down the other side of the hill toward a large glass greenhouse with a delicate cupola on top. “The Conservatory of Flowers,” he said as we approached. “This building is from the late 1800s, I think.”

  He purchased tickets, and we went inside, through a short vestibule and into what a sign proclaimed was the Lowland Tropics Room. A lush profusion of plants filled the room beneath the glass dome: palms of all sorts, ferns, orchids. It was warm and humid, a nice change from the weather outside, and I paused to shuck my jacket before I started exploring.

  The plants were so dense that I went around a slight bend in the path and immediately lost sight of Max. That was fine. I knew he wouldn’t go far. Most of the plants had a placard identifying them and providing basic information, and I moved slowly, reading, and periodically tipping my head back to look up at the glass panes overhead and the ambitious plants that had climbed high enough to brush the ceiling.

  The conservatory was empty aside from an older couple intently photographing the plants. Rain beat down on the ceiling, a steady drum. I moved on into the next room, Highland Tropics, and then the Aquatic Plants Room after that, which contained a large artificial pond covered in lily pads. I sat on the low wall surrounding the pond and gazed down into the water. A fountain burbled somewhere. It was very peaceful. I closed my eyes and felt my heart beating. I could have sat there all day, enjoying the stillness and the quiet.

  Max sat down beside me. I knew it was him without opening my eyes. I recognized the rustle of his raincoat, and the woodsy smell of his cologne. “You were right,” I said.

  “Right about what?” he asked. “Not that I disagree with you. I’m always right about everything.”

  I opened my eyes and wrinkled my nose at him. So conceited. “Right about doing stuff. I’m glad we came here. This is better than just han
ging out at the hotel.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” he said. He lifted one hand to touch my cheek, and I watched the change in his eyes and expression as he decided to kiss me. He cupped my face in his hand and leaned in, very slowly, taking his time, giving me space to understand his intentions and turn my head aside if I wanted to.

  I didn’t. My heart beat a little faster. As stupid as it was, I wanted him to kiss me.

  Our lips met. His other hand settled on my hip, pulling me closer. I melted against him, safe and warm and happy, against my better judgment, and wanting nothing more than to keep kissing him forever.

  But he released me all too soon and pulled away.

  “Mm,” I said. “Why did you stop?”

  “Otherwise I’m going to try to take your shirt off right now,” he said, “and I don’t imagine you’d be too happy with me.”

  I rolled my eyes and tried not to smile, because it wouldn’t do me any good to encourage him. “Can you do things like that in public here?”

  “It’s San Francisco,” he said. “You could probably walk around naked and the worst that would happen is some tourists might take pictures of you. People smoke weed on the bus and put their dogs on gluten-free diets. A little public sex is nothing.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating,” I said. I had smelled some weed downtown, but I hadn’t seen any signs that San Francisco was a counterculture hotbed. Plenty of people in New York ate gluten-free. “People don’t really have sex in public here.”

  “That’s what you think,” he said, and had the audacity to laugh at my disapproving look.

  “I want to go see the flowers,” I said, very dignified.

  “Whatever you’d like to do,” he said. He kissed my cheek and stood up, offering his hand for assistance. I hesitated before I took it, knowing that he would press his advantage, and sure enough he didn’t release me after we stood. But I didn’t shake him off. We walked toward the other end of the building, hand in hand.

  I was giddy. I was a foolish child. I was going to let him do whatever he wanted, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, take me to bed. It was inevitable. He was trying to woo me, and it was working.

  After looking at the flowers, we went back into the rain. “I want to take you to the Japanese tea garden,” Max said. “And then we can go get lunch and spend the rest of the day indoors.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I hope I get a lot of brownie points for going along with this.”

  He took my hand again and squeezed it. “You do.”

  We walked together through the deserted park. A few cars passed us on the road, tires hissing across the wet asphalt. A woman jogged by, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. But other than that we were alone. The clouds hung low and heavy, fat with rain. We climbed a path up a hill and then down the other side to a large, grassy plaza bordered by two large buildings. We walked along the road until we came to a pagoda gate, and then we passed through, sheltered briefly by the flaring roof overhead.

  Max bought tickets, and we strolled slowly through the garden, following the meandering path over short bridges connecting small islands. The garden was a landscape in miniature: low hills to represent mountains, gnarled waist-high trees to represent forests. Fat, multi-colored koi swam at our feet, their round mouths breaking the surface into ripples that intersected the ripples from the falling rain. Near the wall, a man dressed head-to-toe in rubber raingear raked leaves into a pile.

  Quiet lay over the garden, thick as a blanket. Aside from the rain, the only sound was our feet crunching on the gravel path. We wound our way through the garden, pausing now and again to read a placard at the base of a stone lantern, a towering orange pagoda. I could hardly believe that my life had led me to this moment, this magical time outside of time, an unasked-for second chance that I never dared to dream of. Max, somehow, had shown me the way.

  There was a small teahouse near the entrance to the garden, with a covered patio and a nice view of the pond. We ordered green tea and sat at the wooden stools along an outdoor counter, periodically spattered by rain. The tea was rich and bitter, and served in pottery bowls. I wasn’t sure I liked it, but I sipped at it anyway. It was warm, at least.

  “I used to come here a lot,” Max said. “When I was having a problem at work. I would bring a notebook and sit here for hours. I spent more time staring out at the garden than I spent working, but I usually solved my problem before I left.”

  “It’s really nice,” I said. “Peaceful. I would probably come here a lot if I lived here.”

  “I thought you might like it,” Max said, and drained his tea. “Come on. There’s one more thing I want to show you here before we leave.”

  He led me behind the teahouse and to the right, along a path we hadn’t taken before. The path curved around behind a stand of trees to a secluded rock garden, raked into furrows and halfway covered in leaves. A stone bench situated across the pathway from the garden provided the perfect spot to sit and contemplate. Max rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out a microfiber towel, because he was clearly an insane person, and mopped the water from the bench. Then he sat down, and motioned for me to join him.

  “I can’t believe you brought a towel with you,” I said, both disgusted and impressed, and sat beside him.

  “I like to be prepared,” he said. “Beth, I want to talk to you.”

  I drew in a long breath. Those words had never once in history led to anything good. “I don’t think this is really the time—”

  “When else?” he asked. “You keep squirming away from me, slippery as a fish. There’s no one else here. We have nothing on our schedule. We might as well do it now.”

  “Fine,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “Say whatever you want to.”

  “I will,” he said. “Beth. I know you think I betrayed you, and I did. All I can say is that I’m sorry. I was a stupid kid. I’m not much smarter now, and I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m asking you to give me one anyway. Forgive me. Put the past behind you. I want to build a future with you. And that won’t ever happen as long as you’re still angry with me. Please.” He raised my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles, again and again, cupping my hand in both of his. “Forgive me.”

  “Oh, Max,” I said, my throat knotting. I didn’t know what to think, or what to say. He was right, of course: I was holding a grudge. But it was hard to keep my distance from him. Bitterness was exhausting. I wanted to stop fighting. I wanted to go back to what we’d had, once upon a time, our sweet and easy rapport, the way we could communicate with a single glance. He had known every part of me, every ruined and terrible and frightened part, and he had loved me anyway. I wanted that back.

  I was human. That was all. I was weak. I wanted love. I craved it. And Max was offering it to me, so plainly and honestly, and I didn’t have it in me to keep turning him away.

  So I said, “Okay.”

  He blinked. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. I felt a smile spread across my face, bright and jubilant. Liberated. “I want that, too. I forgive you.”

  “Beth,” he said, and held my hand to his chest, against his beating heart.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel,” I said. “I want to—well. You know.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I know.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Beth

  We managed, somehow, to more or less keep our hands off each other in the cab ride back to the hotel. We even behaved ourselves in the elevator, and in the hallway outside our room.

  But once that door closed behind us, all bets were off.

  We stumbled into the bedroom, kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes. We were both wrapped up in bulky rain gear—not especially sexy, or easy to remove. Max fumbled with the zipper on my jacket, cursed, tugged harder, couldn’t get it to open, laughed. “You’re too well-protected,” he said.

  “Poor Max, defeated by a single zipper,” I said. “You had better sit down and let me take ca
re of this.”

  “Mm, a strip-tease?” he asked, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I was pleased by his forthright interest, and the way he looked me up and down as I unzipped my rain jacket. I was wearing knee-high rubber boots, and I bent to tug them off, feeling awkward and self-conscious, but the look on his face when I straightened up eliminated all of my fears. My body had changed a lot since the last time he’d seen me naked, but as long as he kept looking at me like that, I didn’t have anything to worry about.

  I stripped off my sweater. Underneath it I wore a button-down shirt, and I unbuttoned it from the bottom, going slowly, making him wait for the gradual reveal of my lacy bra. He watched intently. My breath came fast and shallow. As much as I wanted to already be naked and under him, the anticipation was its own reward.

  “Look at you, wearing fancy lingerie for a stroll in the park,” Max said, when I finally undid the last button.

  “It makes me feel pretty,” I said. I drew one hand down my belly. I wasn’t particularly embarrassed by the way I looked, but I watched his face carefully for any signs of unease or disgust. I didn’t see any. His pupils were dilated, and if the bulge in his pants was any indication, he was pretty eager to have sex with me.

  Good. I decided I wouldn’t worry about it anymore.

  “It makes you look pretty,” he said. “Jesus. Come over here and let me take off your pants.”

  “I thought you wanted a strip-tease,” I said, running my thumb over the button on my jeans.

  “I changed my mind,” he said. He held out one hand and crooked his fingers at me, beckoning me toward him.

  I went, because I had no reason not to, and because I thought I would combust if I spent another second without feeling his hands on my skin. I’d waited for eight years; I wasn’t willing to wait any longer. He settled his hands on my hips just above the waistband of my jeans, his palms big and hot and a little callused, and I could have melted into the floor right then. I could have died happy.