Loving the CEO (bundle of five romance novels)

by Noelle Adams

  Bryce bolted up in bed, his convulsing body soaked in cold sweat. Pressing his hands against his temples, he tried to stop the explosions in his head while he took desperate gulps of air into his lungs.

  When his breathing finally slowed to a normal pace, he wiped the moisture from his eyes and checked the Rolex on his wrist. 3:45 a.m. He’d been asleep for a little over two hours. That was all he’d get tonight.

  As usual, his gaze switched to the nightstand and the picture of Pilar in her wedding gown. The happiest day of his life was when she stood beside him in church and pledged to love him for the rest of her life. He had no idea it would’ve been so short. He picked up the photo, holding it against the sliver of moonlight streaming through the windows, his mind rewinding to the worst day of his life.

  “Hold on, baby. Hold on. Don’t leave me.” He ripped off his shirt and stuffed it against the bullet hole, trying desperately to stop the river of hot sticky blood that slowly seeped from her chest to the floor.

  “God, help me! Please help me! Don’t take her. Don’t take my wife.”

  “Bryce, I— I—” She choked on a mouthful of blood, her nails digging into his flesh as she clutched to him, to life.

  It looked bad. She looked bad. Ashy, like the angel of death had already spread his wings over her.

  “The paramedics will be here soon, baby. Don’t try to talk. Just look at me. Draw life from me. Stay with me, Pilar.” He held her head in the crook of his arm and brushed her long chestnut hair away from her face.

  “I— for— forgive— you.”

  The love in her sapphire eyes flooded his soul. “There’s nothing to forgive, Pilar. I was never unfaithful to you. Never.” Tears poured out of him, landing on her face, mingling with hers. He dabbed at them with his knuckles.

  “I— I— we— ba— ba—by.” She managed a weak, pain-filled smile and touched his lips with her bloodstained fingertips. “Ba—by,” she whispered again before her hand dropped lifelessly to her stomach.

  “You can’t leave me, Pilar. I’m nothing without you. I love you. I love you.”

  With a deft jerk of his head, Bryce stopped the cerebral tape and gazed at the white-gold ring on his finger. He only wore the band in the privacy of his home. He’d grown tired of people asking about his family, and of having to explain that his wife was dead when she was still so very much alive in his heart.

  Sliding his fingertip along the glass frame, he traced the image of Pilar’s face, his heart aching with emptiness, his soul caving under the guilt.

  He should have known what Victoria was capable of doing. She was disturbed. He’d had several warnings, but he’d ignored them. Victoria had indeed put a hole in his heart as surely as she’d put one in Pilar’s.

  Bryce jumped as a barrel of black fur landed on the bed and a pair of bright yellow eyes stared into his. Settling the picture of his wife on the nightstand, he folded the cat in his arms. “Come here, you.” He stroked the animal’s thick, sleek fur.

  Webster purred and burrowed deeper into his embrace, his long, bushy tail tickling Bryce’s face.

  “Okay, boy.” He set Webster on the bed and pulled the ring from his finger. “Until tonight, darling.” He kissed the ring and placed it next to the picture.

  He shrugged into his bathrobe, grimacing as the cold silk clung to his clammy flesh. Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he made his way downstairs with Webster trotting at his heels.

  It had been a while since he’d had that nightmare, but considering the circumstances, he’d been expecting it. That is why he’d left L’etoile du Nord, even though Jason had begged him to stay. He didn’t want to scare the boy awake in the middle of the night. Nor was he in any mood to explain away his midnight screams to Kaya Brehna.

  In the kitchen, Bryce warmed up a bowl of milk for Webster and a glass for himself. Then he set about making a pot of coffee to take to his den. As his grandmother’s old coffee maker groaned and sputtered, he raised the lid of a cookie jar on the counter and reached inside.

  His heart lurched when his fingers grabbed a handful of air. He dropped the lid as a numbness settled in the pit of his stomach. There would be no comfort treats tonight. Bracing his hands against the counter, he fought off the feeling of dread that threatened to paralyze him yet again.

  Five years ago, he’d lost his wife and an unborn child he didn’t know about until after it was dead. Two days ago, he’d lost his best friends. And now he was about to lose his three godchildren to Kaya Brehna and her fiancé.

  Bryce slammed his fist against the cupboard.

  When the phone rang at L’etoile du Nord last night, he’d picked up the extension in Jason’s room at the same time Kaya had picked up another somewhere in the house. Ethics told him he should hang up the phone when he heard Kaya accuse some man of being too busy to call the woman he’d asked to marry him. When Jack told her that he missed her and to hurry home to plan their wedding, Bryce knew he’d had enough.

  She was getting married, yet she didn’t think it important enough to inform him that some other man, another total stranger, was about to be added to the mix.

  Bryce dumped his glass of milk down the drain. When the coffee maker ceased its sputtering, he picked up the whole pot, grabbed a mug, and took them to his den. He had a lot of thinking to do. Choices to contemplate. Decisions to make.

  He was sitting on the sofa, watching the night grey into dawn through the window when his cell began to ring. Thinking it might be the private detective whom he’d instructed to call him the minute he found something on Kaya, Bryce rushed to his desk and grabbed the phone. It wasn’t the detective. It was Michael’s cell number flashing across the caller ID.

  Bryce’s heart leaped for a split second, then he closed his eyes and let reality sink in. He took a deep breath and raised the phone to his ear. “Yes.”

  “Uncle Bryce, did I wake you up?”

  “No, Jason.” Realizing that his voice conveyed his disillusionment, he grimaced. “You know you can call me any time, night or day, don’t you, son?”

  “I know.”

  It was a halfhearted response, filled with questions and negations. Bryce picked up the empty mug and coffee pot and took them into the kitchen. “Is everything okay over there? Are your aunt and sisters up yet?” Anything to avoid the obvious.

  “I don’t know. I just woke up.”

  Wonderful. He’d slept through the night. Bryce set the dishes in the sink and glanced at the range of snow-covered hills outside his two-story penthouse suite in Hotel Andreas. The slopes would soon be teaming with skiers and snowboarders—favorite sports Michael and Lauren would never again enjoy with their kids. He walked toward the stairs. “Did you sleep okay, buddy?”

  “I miss them, Uncle Bryce. I miss Momma and Daddy so much. Why did they have to die?”

  The sobs and the pain in the boy’s voice tore at Bryce’s heart. He collapsed on the stairs like a beaten-down soldier returning from battle, incapable of taking another step with the unbearable weight of war on his shoulders.

  If things had been normal, at this exact moment, Lauren would have been waking up Jason for school, and Michael would be cooking breakfast for his family. Michael believed a child should start the day with more than a bowl of cold cereal, especially in the winter. Jason and Alyssa always looked forward to the Mickey Mouse or Garfield-shaped pancakes swimming in hot maple syrup, delicious omelets, or whatever Michael decided to prepare that day. Many times, Bryce had stopped by for breakfast unannounced before going on to his office at Fontaine Enterprises. They were such a happy family.

  “Uncle Bryce? Are you still there?”

  Bryce stifled a moan. “I’m here, Jason. I’m here.”

  “Can you come over? Please, Uncle Bryce. I need you.”

  “I’ll be there, son. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  *

  “I want oatmeal.”

  “I’ll make you some as soon as I finish feeding your sister, Aly
ssa.” Kaya glanced at the pouting child. She’d poured her a bowl of cold cereal, but Alyssa had knocked the bowl to the floor. She had turned into the little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead who when she was good, she was very, very good, but who when she was bad, was horrid. Alyssa wanted oatmeal, and that was final.

  Kaya knew Alyssa’s behavior had little to do with the oatmeal and everything to do with the prolonged absence of her parents.

  “You love Anastasia more than me, Auntie Kaya.”

  The unshed tears in her eyes tugged at Kaya’s heart. “That’s not true, Alyssa. I don’t love Anastasia more than I love you.”

  “Then why can’t you make me some oatmeal? Daddy makes me oatmeal. I want my daddy. I don’t want him to be in heaven no more. I want him to come home and make me oatmeal.” Alyssa dropped her head on the table and began to sob.

  Kaya knew it would get worse before it got any better. Anastasia had awakened screaming at the top of her lungs, and Kaya had brought her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake Jason.

  She’d just popped the bottle into the screaming infant’s mouth when Alyssa sauntered into the kitchen, demanding oatmeal. She had to choose between making Alyssa wait, or have Anastasia cry herself into a fit. Had she made the wrong choice?

  One child was hostile, one was demanding, and the other was totally dependent on her. Her eyes itched from sleeplessness. Her mind burned with worry. And her body ached from fatigue. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this haggard. Is this what being a mother was all about?

  “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

  Kaya tensed at the deep, masculine voice, and turned to see Bryce heading toward Alyssa. He set a brown shopping bag on the table then knelt on the floor and gathered Alyssa into his arms.

  “I want oatmeal.” Alyssa sniffled into his neck. “And I want my daddy and my mommy, Uncle Bryce. I don’t want them in heaven no more. Can you tell God to send them home?”

  “I would have made her oatmeal,” Kaya stated when Bryce pinned his dark gaze on her. “But I had to feed Anastasia. You know how she screams when she’s hungry.”

  His features softened as he gazed at the suckling infant. “Michael made them a hot breakfast every morning. They aren’t used to cold cereal or a single-parent home.” He picked up the bowl Alyssa had knocked to the floor. “Change is never welcomed, and patience is a learned art.” He scooped Alyssa from her chair and strolled to the walk-in pantry. “Get your stuff, darling. We’ll do it just like you and daddy used to.”

  Alyssa grabbed the container of oatmeal, a small box of raisins, a bottle of honey, and some cinnamon. She stacked them on Bryce’s chest then hugged her arms around his shoulders to keep them from falling to the floor.

  Kaya assumed that was exactly how she and Michael used to do it. She had so much to learn about these children—their likes, dislikes, the routine of their daily lives.

  “Can I help, Uncle Bryce? Daddy let me help.” Alyssa beamed, happy again.

  “You don’t think I’m going to do all the work, do you?” He kissed her forehead, then set the ingredients on the counter and Alyssa next to them. “Don’t move,” he warned, as he began collecting pots, dishes, and utensils from the cabinets and drawers, and milk from the fridge.

  Excitement replaced Alyssa’s blues as Bryce helped her measure oatmeal and milk into the measuring cup then poured them into the pot he’d placed on the stove.

  “Can I have more cimmamon?” Alyssa asked.

  “Just a little bit. Too much of one thing is good for nothing, my mommy always says.”

  “Okay, Uncle Bryce.” She shook a little bit more of the brown powder into the pot. “Is that ’nough?”

  “Perfect. I’m going to turn on the stove, and you know you can’t touch the pot nor put your hands near the flame, right?”

  “I know. Daddy tells me a one hundreds of times.”

  Bryce placed a wooden spoon in her hands then placing one of his over hers, he began to stir the pot.

  Alyssa grinned. “This is gonna be yummy in my tummy.”

  Kaya couldn’t help but smile as she watched the huge man and the little girl work together. Bryce’s tenderness amazed her. He attended to Alyssa as if she were his only concern in the world. It was the same attentiveness he’d portrayed with Anastasia yesterday. Then last night, he’d given his full attention to Jason when the boy needed him.

  He would make a wonderful father and committed husband, she thought, admiring his Herculean physique, dressed in perfectly fitted jeans and a pale yellow sweater that accentuated his broad, strong shoulders.

  Any woman who captured and managed to hold his attention would have no doubt that she was loved. He would devote his heart and soul to her one hundred and ten percent. She was certain he’d been like that with Pilar—whoever she was.

  “Air will give her gas, you know.”

  “Huh?” Kaya caught his gaze in the mirrored wall behind the stove. She glanced down to find Anastasia’s bottle was empty. She pulled the bottle from her mouth and hoisted her over her shoulders.

  Bryce had been watching her while she’d been studying his physique from behind. How embarrassing could that be? Color crept into her cheeks as she became acutely conscious of her flannel pajamas and uncombed hair haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail. She hadn’t even had time to wash her face before she’d rushed a wailing Anastasia downstairs.

  She must look a sight.

  She hadn’t expected Bryce this early in the morning. In fact, she hadn’t expected him at all. They’d agreed to meet at Samantha’s office. If she’d know he was coming by, she would have gotten up earlier and showered and dressed before coming downstairs.

  Anastasia expelled a long, loud burp that would make a sailor blush.

  Unable to help herself, Kaya burst into giggles.

  “Hard to believe something that gross could come out of something so small and sweet,” Bryce said, turning with a grin on his face.

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Kaya replied, transferring Anastasia to the crook of her arm and wiped the spit-up from the corners of her mouth.

  “How did she sleep last night?” He opened the box of raisins and handed it to Alyssa.

  “She awoke around two for a feed, then slept until early this morning. So, I’d say, well.”

  He gave her a swift once-over. “What kept you awake, then?”

  Kaya averted her gaze. She must look far worse than she thought. “I—”

  “Uncle Bryce, I think it’s done,” Alyssa announced.

  “I think you’re right, pumpkin.” He turned off the stove and poured the porridge into a bowl. Then, scooping Alyssa up, he took the porridge to the freezer, placed it inside, and set the built-in timer on the freezer door. “You were saying,” he said, walking back to put Alyssa into her seat.

  “What’s in the bag?” Kaya changed the subject, not wishing to be the topic of conversation. Thinking about the way Jack had dumped her and trying to figure out how she was going to take care of the children on her own had kept her awake last night. But since Jack had removed himself from the equation, there was no need to tell Bryce or anyone else about him.

  “Coffee, fresh donuts, bagels, and cream cheese from Mountainview Café.”

  “Libby told me about that place. Ethan’s grandmother owns it.”

  “It’s the best coffee and bakery shop in town. The bagels are still hot from the oven. I don’t know what you like, so I brought one of everything. Last night, I noticed the scarcity of food in the house, so I also went ahead and ordered a variety of luncheon dishes from Andreas. They’ll be delivered around the same time we get back from Samantha’s.”

  “Thanks, Bryce.” She was warming to the thoughtful man underneath the hard exterior. “What are you doing here, anyway? We were supposed to meet at Samantha’s office.”

  “Jason called me. He’s not doing well.”

  “I didn’t even know he was up.”

  He glanced over
his shoulder at Alyssa, who was busy talking to Snoopy. “What’s going on between you and Jason?” he asked in a lowered voice. “Yesterday afternoon, you avoided each other like the plague. And last night when you offered him a slice of pizza, he almost bit your head off. Did you say something to upset him?”

  “What could I have said, Bryce? He just lost his parents. He doesn’t understand why. He’s mad at the world. Can you blame him?”

  “Actually, he’s only mad at you, Kaya.”

  The implications in his tone told her he was all too eager to point out the obvious. “I guess that’s why we’re going to see Samantha. Maybe she can shed some light on his attitude toward me.”

  “I know these kids better than anyone, Kaya. Samantha included. I know what they need.” He looked her over from her rumpled curly head to her fluffy-slippered feet. “I don’t need a psychiatrist to tell me how to take care of them.”

  “I know, Bryce. I appreciate all that you’re doing for them—”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You appreciate all I’m doing for them? How big of you.” He paused. “I may as well tell you now that I’ve made a decision about the children’s future.”

  She balked. “You made a decision?”

  “Yes, for you and the children. I’ve decided that you—”

  “Hi, Kaya. Boss? I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Bryce’s mouth tightened into a grim line. Kaya looked past his imposing stature to smile at Libby, who’d snuck in undetected.

  “Boy, it’s cold out there.” Libby rubbed her hands together. “The road is one long sheet of ice.”

  The timer went off, and when nobody moved, Alyssa shouted, “Can somebody get my oatmeal from the freezer, please?”

  Another silent moment dragged by before Libby responded to the child’s request. “Well, it seems I came just in the nick of time.” She got the bowl from the freezer and placed it in front of Alyssa.

  “Can you please put some honey in it, Miss Libby?”

  Libby squeezed a spoonful of honey into the porridge. “Looks yummy. Can I have some?”

  “No-ah.” Alyssa grabbed her spoon and stirred the oatmeal. “Me and Uncle Bryce made it. Only he can have some. You want some, Uncle Bryce?” she asked around the first spoonful, bits of oatmeal flying from her mouth.