The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy (19 page)

I
sat
at the bar studying my mostly full appletini and waiting for Dylan. I hadn’t been back to this place since the night I’d met Dylan here. Tonight, another Thursday, it wasn’t crowded. I was even wearing another navy blue dress, though Lola had picked this one out, and it looked much better on me than the dress I’d been wearing the night Dylan had swept into my life.

It was funny to be here, sitting on the same stool, remembering how miserable I’d been until Dylan sat beside me and asked about my day. Since we’d met I’d known happiness I hadn’t believed possible, even in those first few days with Steven’s video and my house burning down.

I never ended up moving out of Dylan’s penthouse. By the time the insurance was settled, and I had a big fat check to spend on a new home, I’d been at Dylan’s for a month and couldn’t imagine wanting to leave. I’d worried that he might be ready to have his space back. After all, when we’d met Dylan had a reputation as a player. A part of me had wondered if he really could have changed so thoroughly in such a short time. That small, doubting voice in my head couldn’t quite believe I’d gotten so lucky.

Dylan had solved that problem in his typical no bullshit way. Coming home the night after I’d met with the insurance adjuster, he’d looked at the envelope with the check sitting on the counter and immediately knew what it was. Not wasting time, he’d cornered me in the living room.

“Is that the check for your house?” he’d asked, his green eyes examining my face. I’d nodded. He came closer, backing me into his desk, caging me with his arms. “And?”

“And,” I said, swallowing to work up my nerve, “I can move out now. If you want me to.” My stomach twisted in a queasy knot. I needed to give him an out, needed to know I’d made it easy for him.

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

Unable to speak, I just shook my head.

“Then what do you want?” he’d asked gently, tracing one finger over my cheekbone. Searching for courage, I looked him in the eyes and said,

“I want you. I want to stay.”

He’d closed his arms around me, pulling me tight to his body and whispered in my ear.

“Good. Because I don’t think I could let you leave. I love you Leigha Carmichael.”

Melting into him, I’d whispered back, “I love you too, Dylan Kane.”

That had been the real beginning. That moment was when we stopped hiding our hearts and admitted how much we wanted to be together. Since then, life had fallen into an easy rhythm. We both worked full days, Dylan often busy in his office late into the night. I usually waited up for him, sometimes falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV. I’d wake to feel him lifting me in his arms, carrying me to our bed.

Sometimes Dylan had social events we needed to go to, part work and part play. I enjoyed these far more than I’d expected, mostly because I was on Dylan’s arm and sporting whatever divine outfit Lola had put together for me. She was my new savior where clothes were concerned. I’d never loved shopping in the past, always too self conscious about my shape to have any fun trying things on. But Lola knew what would flatter me, and she had a wonderful eye for color. I asked her for help replacing all my clothes and she’d outfitted me with a wardrobe to kill for, even before I knew I wouldn’t need all the insurance money for a new house.

I had to admit since I’d officially moved in with Dylan I’d gone a little nuts over shoes. True to my accountant’s heart, I’d socked most of it away in reliable investments. But my new closet was huge, and I’d discovered I loved expensive heels. Mostly for me, but I couldn’t help but love the look Dylan got when he saw me in a sweet pair of sexy heels. Really, that look was for me too.

My phone beeped in front of me and I checked the screen.

On my way. Got held up on a call.

Dylan. I’d learned that, as I’d suspected, that first weekend aside, he worked a lot. But I rarely had to ask him to make time for me. He always remembered our plans and kept me posted if he was late or had to reschedule. I did my best to be understanding, aware that when tax season rolled around, he’d be the one getting texts and rushed phone calls about me working until midnight.

We’d had our only real fight the first time he left Vegas for a business trip. He’d wanted me to join him. I said no. If I hadn’t had my job, I would have loved to fly East to meet his brother and cousin. But I had clients and responsibilities. I couldn’t just skip town in the middle of the week.

Dylan had given in eventually. I think it helped that things were better at work. I suspected either Dylan had gone behind my back and spoken to my slimy boss, or my boss had found out who I was living with. Either way, he’d been keeping his distance and treating me with cautious respect. He also sucked at his job and the higher-ups had noticed. I suspected he’d be replaced any day now.

I felt Dylan at my back before I saw him. His arms came around me from behind, pulling me back into his chest as his head dropped beside mine. He kissed the shell of my ear and whispered,

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay,” I said, turning my head so I could press my lips to his. “I haven’t been here long. Just sitting here thinking.”

“Hmm? Remembering the night we met? How I lured you up to my office and took shameless advantage of you?”

He winked at me, giving me an exaggerated lear so unlike his normal, seductive smile that I burst out laughing.

“If your game had been that bad,” I said, “You never would have gotten me off this stool.”

“It’s a good thing I knew exactly what to say to get you alone.”

That was the understatement of the century. What if I had said no to him then? I would have missed so much. Watching him as he took the stool beside me, wearing a well cut gray suit, his dark hair sexily mussed from the long day, I knew there was no way I would have told him no.

I’d had my stupid moments. The whole debacle with Steven case in point. But even at my worst, I never would have been foolish enough to turn Dylan down. And that was without knowing what a good man he was. How sweet. How unbelievably hot in bed. And how loyal. How loving.

I waited for Dylan to order a drink, but he gave a dismissive signal to the bartender standing at alert a few feet away. The bartender left to polish glass on the far side of the room and I looked at Dylan in confusion. We didn’t usually hang out in bars unless it was part of an event for Dylan’s work. So I was a little curious as to why Dylan had asked me to meet him here, in the bar where we’d met, and yet still hadn’t ordered a drink.

Clearing his throat, he said, “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to meet me here instead of my office.”

He sounded nervous, completely unlike himself. I realized with a jolt that I’d never seen Dylan nervous. I straightened on my stool, my appletini forgotten, alert to what might be going on. I had no clue. Trying to hide my confusion, I said,

“The thought crossed my mind.”

He reached out and took my hand in his, his green eyes locking on mine. “I saw you that night sitting here, and I knew you were someone special. I only talked to you for a few minutes before I had to have you in my bed. What I didn’t know was how quickly I’d fall in love with you. And how certain I’d be that you’re the only woman I’ll ever want.”

Releasing my hand, he drew something from his pocket. My heart stuttered in my chest, and my brain froze. My eyes must have widened comically when I saw the black velvet box in his hand because he smiled and said,

“Will you?”

“Ask me the right way,” I said through a tight throat, too nervous to assume he was asking what I hoped he was asking.

Standing, he tugged me off the stool, then dropped to one knee before me. Taking my left hand in his, he said,

“Leigh Carmichael, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. I want to make a life with you, have children with you, and grow old with you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Will you be my wife?”

I managed to squeak out a ‘Yes’ as tears welled in my eyes. Dylan slid the ring on my finger as he stood, pulling me into his arms. I lifted my head, meeting his lips with mine. His kiss was fierce, possessive, and filled with love. On the other side of the bar, I heard the pop of a champagne bottle opening. Two glasses clinked beside us.

Dylan let me go just long enough to pick up my champagne and hand it to me. I discretely wiped lipgloss from my lower lip, but ignored the champagne in favor of checking out my ring.

It was huge. I didn’t know enough about jewelry to guess at the carat weight, but I knew big from small. This was bigger than big, just on the classy side of too much. Set in platinum, I was sure Dylan would have chosen the more expensive platinum over white gold, the ring had a large, round, brilliantly clear center diamond surrounded by a geometric bezel frame decorated with small diamonds, set in a pave band with yet more small diamonds. It was almost blinding as it sparkled on my hand.

I had a habit of complaining to Dylan when he spent too much money on me. Four months hadn’t been enough to break lifelong habits of sensible economy. But I wasn’t going to say a word about what this ring must have cost. I knew Dylan too well to think he’d get anything less than the absolute best for my engagement ring.

Raising my eyes to his, I said, “It’s beautiful. I love it. And I love you.”

“Maybe this wasn’t the most romantic place to propose,” he said, again sounding a little uncertain. Was it possible even the mighty Dylan Kane got a little off balance where marriage was concerned? To stop him from worrying I raised a finger and pressed it to his lips.

“No,” I said. “This is the perfect place. Who would have thought when I was crying into my drink that I’d end up here, in love with the most wonderful man in the world, ready to spend the rest of my life with him.”

That must have been the right thing to say because Dylan’s uncertainty vanished. He scooped me up into his arms and turned for the exit, saying over his shoulder,

“Have the champagne sent up to the penthouse, but tell them to leave it in the hall.”

“Are we skipping our dinner reservations?” I asked, my lips moving against the warm skin of Dylan’s neck.

“We don’t have any. That was a lie to get you to the bar. We’re having dinner delivered. Later. Much later. For now, I have a covered plate of appetizers and a very empty bed.”

I shivered in his arms. It was just like that first night when he’d lured me from the bar with the promise of food and fed me savory treats, seducing me with his eyes and his words. Except that time, we’d had to rush out after only a kiss. Not tonight. Tonight we had all the time in the world to be together. We had the rest of our lives.

I
lay
on the couch reading a book on my tablet; the screen dimmed so the light wouldn’t give me away. Beside me, a mug of tea steamed, scenting the air with herbs and flowers. I was trying to relax. Tea, a good book, sacking out on the couch. I should have been totally chilled.

Instead, every muscle in my body was tense. The house was brand new, but each creak sent shivers down my spine. I wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was. I’d left the lights off, sneaking around in the shadows to set up my sleeping bag on the couch and brewing my tea using the built-in hot water spout in the kitchen. Dinner had been a drive-through burger and fries, the now empty bag sitting on the floor beside me.

The idea had been to hide out, try to calm down somewhere safe, and then figure out what to do. So far, it wasn’t working. I’d taken care of the hiding out somewhere safe part. At least I hoped I had. No one who might be looking for me would be looking here.

As far as figuring out what to do? I had no clue. It wasn’t even my mess I was running from. It was my baby brother’s. I’d been taking care of him our whole lives. It had been suggested to me, more than once, that maybe it was time to stop. But he was my brother. My only real family. I wouldn’t turn my back on him.

The glare of headlights flashed across the front windows of the two story house, sending terror crashing through me. No one should be here. There weren’t any residents in this neighborhood. It was a new construction community, and I was squatting in the model home.

A truck pulled into the driveway and idled. Struggling to catch my breath, I slid off the couch and moved to hide behind its bulk. Should I try to sneak out the back door? I’d parked a few streets away so my car in the drive wouldn’t be obvious, and I’d have to pick my way across the construction site in the dark. But that was preferable to facing the people looking for me.

Suddenly my bright idea about hiding in the model home didn’t seem like such a good plan. I was completely isolated, surrounded by acres of mud and silent construction vehicles. No one to hear me scream. No one to help.

The silence of the truck shutting off, followed by the heavy thunk of a door closing had my heart thundering in my chest. What to do? I crab walked backwards into the kitchen and slid across the hardwood floor to hide behind the island. The houses here all had open floor plans. Attractive and practical unless you were trying to hide.

I lost the chance to make a run for the bedrooms when the front door swung open and the lights flipped on. Whoever was here had a key, then. That improved my chances a lot. At the realization of who it must be, my heart calmed, then sank.

Taking a risk, I peaked out around the side of the kitchen island to see who was at the front door. In the glare of the lights I saw a tall figure with broad shoulders, long legs, a lean waist, and a familiar shock of messy blond hair. Sam. Before I could stand up to reveal myself, he spoke.

“I already called the police, so I suggest you get your ass out here and explain yourself before you get arrested.”

I jumped to my feet, wishing with all my heart that I wasn’t wearing my now very wrinkled suit. It was bad enough that Sam was way out of my league. He didn’t need to see me looking like I’d been sleeping in my work clothes.

“Sam, it’s me. Don’t call the police.”

“Chloe?” he said in surprise. Belatedly I noticed he held a gun at his side, his arm tense and ready. He lifted the gun and did something to it before he shoved it in his waistband behind his back. “What the hell, Chloe? I could have shot you.”

“I didn’t know you had a gun,” I said. Not really the point. And kind of a dumb thing to say, but my head was spinning. For a moment, while he was holding that gun, he hadn’t looked like my Sam at all. He’d been menacing. Scary.

“Yeah, I have a gun,” he said. “And I didn’t call the cops. I called Axel. Hold on a sec. And don’t move,” he barked when I turned to go back to the couch.

He was angry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Sam angry. At least not at me. Sam never got mad at me. Not wanting to piss him off further, I stayed where I was, between the kitchen and the living room, and watched him make a call.

“It’s me,” he said, scowling in my direction. “Don’t worry about it. It was Chloe.” A pause. “I have no idea, but I’m going to find out. Yeah, later.”

Shoving the phone in his pocket, he pointed to the couch and said, “Sit.” I did.

“Did you forget that I had an alarm put on the gate and the spec houses after we had those problems with vandalism last month?” he asked.

Damn it. I had forgotten. Normally, as Sam’s assistant, I would have set up something like that, but one of Sam’s best friends was Axel Sinclair, who ran the western division of Sinclair Security. Sam had taken care of the arrangements himself. And since I was rarely on site without Sam, it had slipped my mind. Deciding to keep my mouth shut for the moment, I said nothing.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your apartment? What happened? Chloe, are you alright?”

At the open concern in his last question, I burst into tears. I could have held out against anger, but I had no defenses against worry. Not from Sam. I clapped my hands to my eyes trying to stem the flow of tears and calm my hitching breaths when I heard him swear and get up. A moment later he was sitting beside me, pulling me into his arms.

My head fell against his chest and I melted, giving up for the moment on trying to be strong. Sam was here. As long as Sam was here, I was safe. At least for right now.

I’d been Sam Logan’s assistant for three years and had been head over heels in love with him for almost all of them.

Sam was smart. Handsome in a way that meant he looked equally good dressed for the construction site as he did in a suit. And he couldn’t have been less interested in me. He was a great boss. A good friend. And I knew he cared about me. He had to, otherwise why would he be sitting here letting me cry all over him? But he’d never love me.

I knew that. I’d watched him date a succession of tall, slender, dramatically beautiful women over the years in a series of casually monogamous relationships. And having seen every one of his girlfriends up close at one time or another, I knew why he’d never look at me.

I was a nice person. I was loyal, caring, and fun. But I wasn’t tall, skinny, or beautiful. I guessed I was pretty enough. I’d had a few boyfriends who seemed to think so.

My hair and my skin were my best features. My skin was smooth and almost pore less. I’d tell you what moisturizer I use, but it wouldn’t help since it’s been this way my whole life, no matter what I put on it. And while my hair was a boring light brown, it was shiny, with curl and body. The rest of me was a bit of a let down. If I was feeling generous, I’d call myself curvy. Very curvy. Most days I just felt plump. And I was kind of short. If you picture the opposite of Sam’s tall, slender, model girlfriends, you’d get me.

So we were friends, but that was all we’d ever be. Most days I was okay with that. I really hadn’t dated much in the past two years, once I finally admitted to myself how I felt about Sam, because every other man just didn’t measure up. Right then, terrified and tucked safely into Sam’s arms, I wasn’t regretting that he’d never love me. I was just grateful he was there.

When I’d run from the back patio of my apartment and snuck to where I’d parked my car on the street, I’d considered going to Sam. But I’d thought he’d said he’d be out tonight. And I didn’t want to tell him what was going on until I had a chance to think it through myself. Too late for that now.

My tears gradually faded, and I forced myself to pull away from the heat of Sam’s arms. He smelled like spice and citrus. Masculine and strong. Sexy. I wiped at my face and told myself to focus. Yes, Sam is hot. I know that. I see him every day, and every day he’s hot. It was not the time to get distracted by how good he looked. And smelled.

Trying to get a little distance, I stood and moved to sit in the arm chair facing the couch. Sam scowled at me again.

“Tell me what’s going on Chloe. Now,” he said, clearly out of patience.

“Nolan is missing,” I admitted. “He didn’t come home Saturday night, and he’s not answering his phone. I thought maybe he was just-”

“Being typically irresponsible?” Sam said in a dry tone.

Sam wasn’t a big fan of my brother. He thought Nolan needed to grow up and stop leaning on me. Sam was probably right. But he didn’t understand our relationship. I ignored Sam’s comment and went on.

“I got home after work tonight a little later than usual and I had to park a few spots away. I was going in the back because it was closer and I had groceries when I saw people in my apartment. I almost went right in because I thought they might be with Nolan. But then I saw one of them holding a gun.”

It had been dizzying, the sway between relief that Nolan was home and shock that there were strangers with weapons in my little apartment.

“I listened to them for a few minutes. They were looking for Nolan. But then they said they wanted to take me in, too.”

“Take you in where?” Sam demanded, sitting up straight on the couch.

“I don’t know. They had accents, and it was hard to understand what they were saying.”

“Did you get a good look at him? At any of them?”

“Not really, I was outside on the patio, trying to stay out of sight behind the blinds. There were three of them. Tall. Dark hair. The one with the gun talked the most.”

“What kind of accent?”

“I’m not sure. European. Not French or Spanish. Maybe Russian. Something Eastern European, I think.”

“Fuck. Are you sure?”

“No,” I said, suddenly annoyed.

I’d done the best I could, but I’d been confused and then scared shitless when they’d said they’d settle for taking me if they couldn’t get Nolan. It hadn’t occurred to me to stick around and see what else I could find out. I’d turned and run back to my car as quietly as I could, glad I’d left my purse and briefcase in the back seat.

“Sorry, Chloe. I’m just worried. This doesn’t sound like one of Nolan’s usual fuck-ups.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Normally I’d bristle at Sam referring to Nolan’s occasional issues as ‘fuck-ups’. Nolan had made a few mistakes. In the two years he’d been living with me in Vegas, he’d had a DUI and almost lost his license for reckless driving. Helping him with that one had taken a chunk out of my savings. He’d also been fired from two jobs before he’d landed one at the tech start-up where he was currently working. Or had been until a few weeks ago. I’d called Monday morning to find out if he was there, only to hear that he’d been let go almost a month before.

My brother was smart. He was also impulsive and restless. I loved him, but even I could admit it was past time for him to grow up. Before that could happen, I had to find him. Sam pulled his phone back out of his pocket and started to dial. Alarmed, I said,

“Stop, who are you calling?”

“Axel,” he said, looking at me as if I was a little slow. Of course he’d be calling Axel.

“You can’t call Axel.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, starting to look exasperated.