The Owner's Secret (A Secret Billionaire Romance Book 4)

by Kimberley Montpetit

  But she was very much real.

  Nursing the gash on her leg had set his skin on fire, his stomach clenching when he touched her soft skin. It took all his will power not to glide his hand up the back of her calf and pull her closer just to gaze into those gorgeous, bedroom-blue eyes.

  “Get a grip, man,” he growled.

  His eyes lifted in her direction again, just as she rose to her feet, holding out her arms, her face to the sky.

  And then she was wavering on her feet, rocking back and forth. The sight of her lurching on the dike had Britt dropping the rake and sprinting toward her.

  His heart pounded in his ears. Was she going to fall? She’d be gone in two seconds, pulled under by the violent current.

  He had no rope or any lifesaving tools—except in the swimming pool shed, and it would take too long to retrieve them. She’d end up in New Orleans down river and perhaps the bay before they could find her. The idea was horrific and Britt’s chest burned in terror.

  “Don’t fall,” he shouted, but the wind snatched the words away. He cursed, putting on a burst of speed, his legs pumping like a racehorse.

  Just as her unsteady legs were about to pitch forward, Britt grabbed the woman from behind and yanked her back from the river’s edge.

  “Melody!” he shouted, just as she fell into his arms and they tumbled to the wet ground.

  She’d gone limp as a rag doll and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, his face brushing against the lilac shampoo scent of her hair as he shielded her from hitting the ground too hard.

  She let out a shriek of surprise, falling backwards against him, obviously startled at the sudden snatch from the edge.

  Rolling over onto her back, Melody lay still while Britt hovered over her. She stared up at his face with startled eyes, her hands gripping his arms in shock.

  Britt wanted to drink her in as she lay on the damp grass, her hair a dark pool of black curls, like a cloud about her face.

  “What—what happened?” she stammered. “Where did you come from?”

  Britt shushed her. “Lie still. Are you dizzy, feeling weak?”

  “I—I’m not sure. One minute I was staring at the wild river, and in an instant, you pulled me away. It feels like I just woke up from a dream.”

  “I was afraid for you,” Britt admitted, trying to keep his arms from trembling after the scare. “You were right on the edge and it looked like you were about to jump. I sprinted over here as fast as I could, terrified that you were going to end up in the water. I’m sorry if I was rough pulling you back like that.”

  A tiny frown puckered her forehead. “I wasn’t going to jump. Why would I do that?”

  “You were studying the water so closely. And your whole body was wavering. You scared me.”

  Melody shook her head and gave an embarrassed laugh. “I confess that sometimes when I’m near a dam or a large body of water, I start fantasizing about what it would be like to fall in—or jump—and how I would get back out.” She paused, biting at her full red lips. “That probably sounds really crazy. I swear I didn’t just escape a mental hospital.”

  “That thought never crossed my mind,” he said with a smile. “Promise.”

  She glanced back at the river, her hands slipping from the nape of his neck, and Britt found that he missed the touch of her fingers.

  “I was remembering yesterday. All the flooding. The water. Wondering if my grandmother’s house is completely destroyed—or gone. Guess my imagination got the better of me.”

  Britt squeezed her hand. “It’s not imagination when you just lived through it. You’re probably still in a bit of shock. How about some hot cocoa in front of the fire? It’s raining again.”

  Melody glanced up at the drizzle overhead, as if just realizing that her face was getting wet. She blinked as a drop of rain plopped into her eye. Then she laughed and shook her head. “We’re lying out here in the rain just chatting?”

  He laughed with her, loving the sound of her suppressed giggle. “Guess we’re both crazy. Come on, I’ll help you up,” he offered, jumping to his feet and extending his hand.

  When Melody rose, her hair flowed like a dusky waterfall down her back and once again it took all of Britt’s willpower not to touch it. Her fingers gripped his as he pulled her from the damp lawn, and then she dropped it to swat at her clothes, wet splotches making her blush.

  “How humiliating,” she said, making a face. “I’m all wet like I’ve had an accident.”

  “It is raining,” he said, grinning at the obvious.

  She flashed her eyes at him. “The problem is, I have no other clothing. These were the only set I packed when we left Mirry’s house once the emergency boat arrived. Yesterday’s clothes are sitting by the hearth in my guest room.”

  Britt blew out a breath, his heart finally slowing after the scare she’d given him. “That can’t have been very easy at all,” he said sympathetically. “I have a washing machine. We’re a full-service historic mansion.”

  She smiled at that and then her voice grew pensive as they trudged back to the house. “She was so sick, I spent all my time trying to tend her, making phone calls. Breaking up with my boyfriend.” A sarcastic laugh burst from her. “It was silly—I ran around placing nearly a dozen buckets around the house because the roof was leaking. Fat lot of good that did.”

  Picturing the ordeal, Britt stifled the urge to physically reach out to her and tuck her under his arm. “Have you had a chance to call the hospital? You can borrow my phone.”

  “I did first thing. I was happy to see my cell phone light up when I woke this morning.”

  “What did they tell you?” Britt prompted, worried about this woman who’d landed so unexpectedly on his doorstep—or foyer rug. He hoped Melody hadn’t received bad news.

  “She’s stable. On antibiotics. No worse than last night, but due to her age they want to keep her for a while. It’s pneumonia, of course.”

  Britt nodded, fully expecting that from the things Melody had told him last night. “Can you see her? I can drive you into New Orleans.”

  She glanced up at him and Britt had to hide his intake of breath when those deep blue crystal eyes met his. He blinked. This woman’s beauty transported him to another place altogether. He could still feel the weight and curve of her body against his, as though it had been imprinted on him.

  “The nurse said the city is still flooded. Most of the main roads are being cleared. No power for much of the city still. We’d probably get stuck attempting it. But,”—she stopped to look him fully in the face—“you’re very kind to offer. Thank you for taking me in and not calling the cops on the wild woman breaking and entering last night.”

  He touched her arm. “When there’s a hurricane in Louisiana, there’s no such thing as breaking and entering. Most of the time White Castle is open to the public anyway. People walk in all the time.”

  Her lips cracked into a grin. “At least during daylight hours they do.”

  He laughed in agreement, then led her around to the rear of the house and opened the side doors that led into the glass-enclosed restaurant. “Let’s have lunch. I’m starving.”

  “Didn’t we just have breakfast? It was fantastic by the way, the best breakfast I’ve had in years. Maybe a decade.”

  That made him laugh. “Surely you’ve made a trip to IHOP in the last year.”

  “IHOP has nothing on your cooking, sir. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  He shrugged. “My grandmother is from a small town outside Savannah. Best Southern cook in the world, and I’m not exaggerating. She taught me everything. Ever since I was a boy she had me cooking in the kitchen with her. You should taste her grits and biscuits and gravy. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Melody glanced up at him from under her long eyelashes. “Is that on the menu for tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely. How does a ham sandwich sound for now?”

  “You’re serious,” she said
with a laugh.

  “It’s after one already.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Seriously?”

  He laughed at her shocked expression. “I got out early to get the generator up and then cleared brush and skimmed the pool—until a certain someone needed rescuing.”

  “Ha!” Melody said, punching him playfully on the arm. “I was in full control of myself.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “You were an inch from falling in.”

  “Was not.”

  “Were too.”

  Melody put her hands on her hips, glaring at him, and then she bit her lips, a blush creeping up her face. “We’re like a couple of kids. I’ll make lunch. You sit down after all your work this morning.”

  “We’re supposed to have overnight guests this weekend—if they can make it here, that is. I’d better be ready for them whether they show up or not.”

  “Where’s the rest of your tour crew?”

  Britt dug into the refrigerator, pulling out lunch meats and cheese, a pitcher of lemonade, and various spreads for the wheat rolls sitting in a bag on the granite counter top. “Most of them are stuck in Baton Rouge. We have Florence Benoit who does the tours and bookkeeping, Percy Whiteside is my assistant gardener, and Maggie Dubois is the housekeeper. But they trained me for emergencies,” he added.

  “Not sure they trained you that well, Mr. Mandeville,” Melody said, a teasing lilt to her voice. “You forgot to lock your front door last night. Any ol’ vagabond could have just waltzed right in.”

  “If all vagabonds are as beautiful as you, they can walk in any old time,” Britt said. Immediately, his face heated up. Their conversation had turned flirty and teasing. Melody de Lyon was extremely beguiling and he wanted to get to know her better.

  She lifted her face to retort, “Only the vagabonds who run Books on the Mississippi and collapse onto the hall rug of White Castle are allowed to be described in those adjectives, sir.”

  As soon as she said the words, Britt could tell she was mortified to have spoken so brazenly. She began furiously spreading mayo and mustard on the wheat rolls.

  “Never thought I’d rescue a damsel in distress,” he added, purposely making his voice light to soothe her.

  “Here,” Melody said abruptly, handing him a plate with a loaded ham, turkey, and swiss cheese double-decker. “Your sandwich, Mr. Mandeville.”

  “I’ve got the lemonade. Come sit down.” When she headed to the kitchen table with its picnic benches, Britt gestured toward the dining room. “In here. It’s nicer, and has a great view.”

  “It is lovely,” Melody said, setting down her plate while Britt placed two tall glasses of clinking ice and lemonade on the table next to their places. “I was admiring the rose garden this morning on my way out to find you—I mean, to go down to the river and check out the hurricane’s damage.”

  “You almost became hurricane damage yourself, Miss de Lyon.” When she made a growling noise in her throat, he added, “Eat your lunch. As they used to say a hundred years ago, you look peaked.”

  Melody gave him a disarming smile. “It’s funny how easy it is to lapse into the language of bygone days when you’re in a hundred and fifty-year-old mansion, isn’t it?”

  “Have you gone exploring yet?”

  Britt watched Melody pick her sandwich into pieces, slowly chewing each one. “I confess I completely did the whole explore thing this morning. It was too tempting to go touch everything in all the rooms—they’re so beautiful!” Her eyes glanced up at his and then darted away. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. The old house should be explored and enjoyed. It’s got a lot of interesting history. Help yourself to any room you’d like. The furniture that’s original and truly antiques is marked and cordoned off. Everything else is a replica. I’ll give you a tour after lunch.”

  “I thought Florence Benoit did those.”

  “I have the script memorized, too.” Britt pushed his empty plate away, then folded his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I’ve read a lot about the house. Antiques—history—it’s kind of a thing of mine.”

  Melody sipped at her drink. “I’ve been wondering why a man like you would be working here. You look like a quarterback, or a model for GQ.”

  Britt laughed self-deprecatingly. “Not by a long shot.”

  “White Castle is a bit remote, and off the beaten path of the River Road plantations. I can’t imagine a man like you living so far from any big city. How long have you been caretaker here?”

  “Two years this winter. Okay, don’t laugh.”

  A grin crossed those amazing lips and Britt tried not to focus on them. Ever since he’d seen this woman last night in the glow of his flashlight, he’d been drawn to her like a magnet, or a moth to a flame. She was enchanting. But if he kept staring at her like this he was going to burn himself out—or chase her away for good.

  “I promise I won’t laugh,” she said.

  “All right, time for true confessions. I taught American history to high school juniors in Baton Rouge for the last eight years.”

  Melody’s eyes widened. “You did what? Seriously?”

  “Hey, I told you not to laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing. I just never expected you to say that in a hundred years. But I’ll bet,” she added, a teasing smile on her lips, “your forte was the Civil War Era.”

  “Ha! Does it show too much?”

  “Only if you coached the football team in your after-school hours.”

  “You must be clairvoyant,” he teased right back. “That must be your secret weapon.”

  “I think everybody who grows up in New Orleans dabbles in a bit of fortune-telling or card-reading at some time or other,” she said slyly. “But why would you quit teaching to come to White Castle?”

  “Well, a couple different things happened. I was selling antiques on the side and got recruited for a company called DREAMS.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “They’re located in Denver, but the company is all over the globe—at least online. It’s a popular app. You can buy anything through them. I mean, literally. You can buy anything. Products from just about every country of the world.”

  “Do you travel a lot for the company then?”

  “Just the States. American antiques, not European. There’s another V.P. of the company who hangs out across the Atlantic most of the year. Right now, Civil War Era antiques are big so I came to White Castle and the other River Road plantations nearby looking through their attics and barns and storage sheds for items I could buy—”

  “And then turn around and sell them through DREAMS.”

  “You catch on quick, Melody.” She gave an involuntary shiver when he said her name. “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head, flustered. “No, I’m fine. Don’t mind me.”

  “Even though I travel all over the South going to house auctions, estate sales, and antique shows, White Castle was looking for someone to do some work here—bring it back up to par after it had exchanged hands several times over the last few decades. There are three barns full of trunks and boxes that I’m slowly going through. And I haven’t even begun on the attic. It was easier to live on site, and now I’m hooked.”

  Cupping her chin in her fist, Melody ran a finger down the condensation on her lemonade glass. “The house has a wonderful feel to it. I can see why you’re hooked. But let me get this straight … you’re a history professor, a mansion caretaker, antiques dealer, and a fabulous chef. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  Britt ran his hands through his hair, laughing. “All those careers go together. One just kept leading to the next. And I’m not a chef by any means. The food is just my granny’s Southern home cooking.”

  “As a Southern girl myself, I know good food. But you didn’t answer my question, and I’m intrigued. What’s the one thing you wish you could do?”

  “My, you get right to the point don’t you, Miss Melody?”
he drawled, putting on a small-town bayou accent. “A man has to keep some things a secret.”

  “That’s for women,” Melody said coyly. “We get to be the secretive species.”

  Britt immediately thought about Crystal and the fact that she hadn’t communicated her honest goals or dreams with him. She was one woman outwardly, and quite a different one inwardly. “I think you hit that nail on the head.”

  “Sorry, I think I touched a nerve.”

  He shrugged, spreading his hands. “Let’s just say that you’re not the only one who’s been unlucky in love lately.”

  Chapter 11

  Melody was not expecting him to say that. Her heart softened. “I’m sorry, Britt. It’s not pleasant to get your heart broken.”

  “She turned me down cold when I proposed a week or so ago.”

  Melody almost choked. “A week ago? This all happened during the lead-up to the hurricane?”

  He gave a sheepish smile, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans while he leaned back on the rear legs of his chair. Jeans that looked so very, very good on him. Melody tried to focus on his face and not his splendid physique.

  “We’d been talking about getting married for a few months, but I finally showed her White Castle and tried to give her a ring. I was stupid. She travels with her job and loves the big city. I should have known life here wouldn’t be one she wanted.”

  “I’m sorry. If she’s a big city girl, where did you two meet?”

  “In Charleston two years ago when I was there for an estate sale, but she’s originally from Baton Rouge. Foolishly, I thought it was too much of a coincidence that we were both from the same part of Louisiana. We’re really very different from each other. I just thought I could convince her. You know what the strangest thing is?”

  Melody was curious. “What?”

  “I don’t even feel that bad about it. I mean, yeah, it hurt at first—that first night. But I knew deep in my heart we were wrong for each other. I should have known she didn’t want to live out here in a small town. She prefers much more excitement.”

  Melody was unable to fathom a woman turning down a man like Britt Mandeville—and the mansion that came with him. Even if he was only the caretaker.