Her New York Billionaire Read online

  “I have nowhere else to go.”

  Holly death-stared him right in the face, putting on her best tough guy act. In reality she looked terrified that he was going to throw her out. She’d already been in tears before she washed up.

  “Can’t you be the one to leave?”

  His stern expression melted a bit. What was he going to do? Toss her out into the cold rain?

  She said she didn’t know anyone in New York that she could stay with. Funny, but he didn’t either. There were dozens—hundreds—of colleagues and workers in the city, connected with various Benton projects. Yet no one he’d call late on a rainy night to see if they had a sofa or guest room he could use.

  Ridiculous. He’d sooner go back to the airport and sleep on his private jet.

  He could pay for Holly’s hotel room. Or he supposed he himself could go to a hotel. But—good heavens. He’d been in flight all day, had already unpacked and undressed here. Why on earth should he leave his own property?

  “I do not suppose it will do for either of us to try to find other accommodation at this late hour.”

  “What’s your plan, then?”

  Ethan always had a plan. His life was structured around plans. He was about to embark on his biggest yet—moving Aunt Louise into retirement and taking the CEO seat.

  “We will both spend the night here.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’m sure you’re a very nice per—”

  “I assure you, Miss Motta, I have no motive other than getting a peaceful night’s rest. You will sleep in the bedroom and I will make do out here.” He gestured toward the sofa.

  “I need to think about that. That doesn’t seem right. Maybe I should call my brother. Let me just get my things straightened out.” Holly returned to her task of sorting out her duffel bag, quarantining paint-stained items in a plastic bag.

  She didn’t look up at him until she lifted out a pair of white socks. They were splattered with the same blue that had been disguising her lovely face. “Occupational hazard.”

  “You are a painter, I take it?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you have come to New York to pursue fame and fortune?”

  “Ha! That would be nice. Who wouldn’t want their work to hang in a museum or a gallery here...?”

  “I sense there is a but at the end of that.”

  “I’ve been making money doing large pieces and collections for corporate properties.”

  “Office art, lobby art, art for furnished apartments?”

  Ethan was well aware of that kind of work. He’d spent many hours with interior designers making decisions about the art at Benton developments all over the world.

  “Indeed, the right pieces are vitally important to a unified decor. They announce a mood.”

  “A point of view,” Holly chimed in.

  “It sets the tone.” He pointed at the two black and white nature photos on the wall. “Those, for example.”

  “Dull.”

  “Safe.”

  “Yawn.”

  They both laughed in agreement. A sizzle passed between them. It was so real Ethan was sure he saw smoke.

  How alive Holly was. The type of person who said exactly what she thought. A bit like Aunt Louise. And nothing at all like most of the women he knew.

  He flashed on a possibility.

  Then quickly thought better of it.

  “My aunt’s new husband selected this apartment. He frequently comes down from Boston.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. Fernando Layne was no favorite of his. Definitely no substitute for Uncle Mel. Fernando was a plaything for Aunt Louise. Ethan tolerated him.

  “I will remodel this property while I am in New York. Perhaps you can advise me?”

  What a stupid thing to say. He was never going see Holly again past this awkward evening interlude. An unfamiliar sense of disappointment came over him.

  He generally steered clear of his feelings. When they did arrive they were usually of the painful variety and proved too confusing.

  “Do you want to look at my website?” Holly gestured to the tablet he still had in his hand.

  “I am sorry to be rude but I have a phone meeting in five minutes. I need to prepare.”

  “At this time of night?”

  “I am expecting a call from Tokyo, if you must know.” He also wasn’t used to explaining himself to anyone. “I will take it in the bedroom,” he declared.

  Then he picked up a roll of architectural blueprints from the desk and marched down the hall, perturbed in twenty different ways.

  * * *

  Ten o’clock on a rainy New York night.

  Holly had left Fort Pierce at eight that morning.

  Hungry and tired, she absentmindedly ran her hand along the sofa where Ethan had been sitting when she came in. The leather still held his warmth.

  She probably should have been afraid when she’d opened the door to find a total stranger in the apartment. Yet she hadn’t felt the slightest inkling of fear. She’d felt ticked off, maybe. Or something else entirely.

  It might have something to do with the fact that Ethan Benton looked less like a serial killer than he did the lord of a countryside manor. With his imposing height and lean muscles and that stunning wavy brown hair that had a touch of red flecked in it.

  His tone was bossy, but she supposed it must have been quite a shock for him that a woman with a blue face, a tattered duffel bag and a squeaky-wheeled suitcase had just barged into the apartment he’d thought he had to himself.

  Now she was trapped here with him unless she was willing to face the stormy night. The man—who may or may not have a British accent—definitely had the most soulful eyes she had ever seen. The man who was now in the next room, conducting business halfway around the world.

  New York was getting off to a rollicking start.

  Would he be angry with her if she checked to see if there was anything to eat? Should she care, given that this apartment was supposed to be hers?

  A rumbling stomach propelled her to the kitchen. She’d picked at snacks all day, but had not had a proper meal. On the counter lay one basket of fruit, and another of breads and bagels. The refrigerator held beer, milk, eggs and cheese.

  Had this food been purchased for her arrival as a hospitality custom? Or was it Ethan’s? Or did it belong to his aunt’s husband, who Ethan had said used this apartment frequently?

  The sight of the food rendered Holly too hungry to care. Being hungry was a unique ache that she had experience with. Surely Ethan wouldn’t mind if she took one shiny red apple.

  She hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop. Let her legs and bare feet dangle. Smiled remembering the apple’s symbolism here in New York. Like so many others, she was here to take her bite. With one satisfying chomp after the next, her mind wandered about what might be.

  “Miss Motta!” Ethan looked startled to find her sitting on the kitchen counter after he finished his call. “Must you always make yourself so...so comfortable?”

  Holly shrugged her shoulders and slid off the countertop. Whatever. If her sitting on the counter was a big deal to him, she wouldn’t do it.

  She jutted out her chin. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”

  “Not since early this afternoon on the flight,” he confessed. “Is there food?”

  “Looks like there’s eggs and some things for breakfast.”

  “We will have something delivered.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “What would you like?”

  “You know what? I haven’t been to New York in years. Want to get some famous New York pizza?”

  “Pizza it is.” He swiped on his tablet. “Yes, Giuseppe’s. I ordered from there quite a bit when I was last in New
York, working on a project. What type of pizza do you like?”

  It was nice of him to let her choose. This man was a bundle of contradictions. Scolding one minute, courteous in the next.

  “Everything,” she answered, without having to think twice.

  “Everything?”

  “You know—pepperoni, sausage, salami, mushrooms, onions, peppers, olives. The whole shebang.”

  “Everything...” he repeated. “Why not?”

  “I’ll pay for my half.”

  His mouth twitched.

  “Twenty minutes,” he read out the online confirmation.

  She eyed the kitchen clock.

  “I guess I’m staying tonight.” She crunched on her big apple.

  A bolt of lightning struck, flashing bright light through the window.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ETHAN HAD A peculiar urge. The minute he’d said he’d sleep on the sofa tonight he’d wanted to lie down on the bed with Holly. Not to get under the covers. Just to lie on the bed with her. He wanted to relax. To hold her body against his. Caress her hair. Find out if those ebony locks were as silky as they looked.

  Huh. A woman he had never met before, who had charged into his apartment and refused to leave. He had no idea who she really was or what she was doing here.

  Yet he wanted to hold her.

  The thought had interrupted his phone call several times.

  He wasn’t going mad. He’d just been working too hard. That was it. It had already been a long evening.

  From the moment his flight had landed it had been one thing or another. He’d managed to sort out some of the details for the shareholders’ gala. Many more remained. He’d heard there were construction delays on the low-income housing development in the Bronx that was so dear to his heart. He’d talked to a few people at the Boston headquarters to see how Aunt Louise was doing after the fall she’d taken. The news was not good. Then he’d worked on trying to resolve problems with a building permit in Detroit.

  It had only been about an hour ago that Ethan had changed into pajama bottoms and quieted down to read the newspaper. Before Holly had arrived, with the sparkling blue eyes and the creamy skin he now couldn’t take his gaze off.

  “While we’re waiting for the pizza would it be okay if I took a shower?” she asked.

  It would be okay if I took it with you.

  Ethan surprised himself with the thought he didn’t voice. He settled for, “Go right ahead.”

  Ethan did not like the way warmth resonated from Holly’s body when she passed by him en route to the shower. Did not like it a bit because it stirred sensations low within him. Fierce sensations. Urgent.

  The bathroom door shut with the quick smack that only happened when you closed it with a foot. Did she always shut doors with her feet?

  His tongue flicked at his upper lip when he heard the sound of the shower. He couldn’t help but imagine which article of clothing Holly was removing first. What each long limb might look like uncovered. Her torso was straight, rather than especially curvy, and he envisioned the smooth plain of her back. When he started to imagine what her... Well, he begged his brain to move to a different topic. No easy task.

  Normally Ethan maintained a controlled world, without surprises. A world that allowed him to keep the upper hand. Maneuver as he saw fit. Because he was usually right.

  Mushroom pizza, for heaven’s sake.

  A thirty-four-year-old man knew his own ways. Protected his orbit. Holly seemed to tip the universe off-kilter. Made the earth spin off its axis.

  He preferred his pizza with only mushrooms on it!

  She had to be stopped.

  Yet he hadn’t the heart to force her out on the street—especially given the time of night. He didn’t doubt that she was capable of fending for herself. But he didn’t want her to.

  That insane idea glimmered again. He needed to get it out of his head.

  Ethan had too much to think about already. He was in a bind. Aunt Louise needed to retire. She’d had a distinguished career, and Ethan wanted her to go out on top. Concern was growing that she would sustain a fall in public. That word would spread. That people might remember her as a woman who had stayed on past her prime. That she was doddering, weak, bruised... All things that Louise Benton was most certainly not.

  His aunt and his Uncle Melvin—his father’s brother—had taken Ethan in as their own when he was nine years old. Now the time had come for the roles to be reversed. Ethan needed to make sure his decisions were in his aunt’s best interests. His father would have told him to. Uncle Mel would have counted on him. It was the very least he could do.

  But Aunt Louise had that one condition before she stepped down and moved from frigid Boston to the sunny compound in Barbados they’d had built for just that purpose. She wanted to know that Ethan would run their global business with a stable home life as a foundation.

  Even though she and Uncle Mel hadn’t been able to have children of their own, they’d experienced the joys and the heartaches of parenting through Ethan. In turn, his aunt wanted him to know the profound love of a parent for a child. And the united love and partnership that only came with decades of a shared life.

  Aunt Louise would retire once Ethan was engaged to be married.

  And because he’d become so alarmed about his aunt’s escalating health problems, and his responsibility to guard her reputation, Ethan had lied to her.

  “You always say that deep down in your gut you know when something is right,” Ethan had said, twisting his aunt’s advice when he’d given her the news that he had met the soul mate he would wed.

  Trouble was, Ethan had no such fiancée. Nor would he ever.

  That was why he’d come to back to the States a few days ahead of the shareholders’ gala. Tomorrow he was having lunch with the woman he planned to marry. In name only, of course.

  He’d found a beautiful actress who’d be a suitable bride-to-be. This was New York, after all. There was hardly a better place to find a performer capable of pulling off this charade. He clicked on his tablet to the talent agency website where he’d located Penelope Perkins, an educated and sophisticated blonde with a stately neck.

  It was a simple matter, really, in Ethan’s mind. He’d chosen the actress and scheduled a meeting with her under the guise of hiring her for a promotional campaign for his company. If he found her to be acceptable and unencumbered he’d have her thoroughly investigated by Benton Worldwide’s Head of Security, Chip Foley.

  While Chip was completing a background check and every other kind of probe there was, Ethan and his stand-in fiancée would get to know each other and create a history for their relationship. Their engagement would be announced at the gala.

  Penelope would also sign numerous non-disclosure and confidentiality agreements. She’d understand that if she were ever to reveal the arrangement she would be sued. Benton lawyers played hardball. They never lost their cases.

  For her services, this performer would be paid generously.

  It was a solid plan.

  * * *

  “Clean at last.” Holly emerged from the bathroom while towel-drying her hair. A fresh tee shirt and sweatpants made her feel cozy after the day’s journey. “Traveling makes you so grimy, you know?”

  “Yes. I showered on the plane before arrival,” Ethan agreed.

  “You showered on the plane? How does someone shower on a plane?”

  “I have a corporate jet. It does have a number of creature comforts.”

  Holly whistled. Highfalutin’. “I haven’t flown that many times in my life. I’m still excited to get free soda and peanuts.”

  “Yes, well...perhaps you would enjoy all the amenities on private planes.”

  She tilted her head to one side and squeezed a little more
moisture from the tips of her hair onto the plush towel. Sure, she’d like to be on a private plane, with a shower and enough room for her legs not to feel cramped into a ninety-degree position the entire flight. But that wasn’t something that was ever going to happen, so she didn’t see any point in discussing it.

  “You have a little bit of an accent. And a kind of formal way of talking.” Holly had a sometimes bad habit of blurting aloud everything that came into her mind. She called ’em as she saw ’em. “Are you American, or what?”

  That left side of his mouth quivered up again in the start of a smile. “Boston-born. Oxford-educated. I would be the complete cliché of an entitled rich boy save for the fact that my father died when I was nine and I was raised by my aunt and uncle.”

  “What about your mother?”

  The landline phone on the desk rang. Ethan turned to answer it. “Thank you. Please send him up.” He headed toward the door. “Our pizza is here.”

  With his back to her, Holly was able to take in the full height of his slim, hard build. Probably about six foot three. Much taller than she was, and she always felt like a giant rag doll.

  Ethan moved with effortless authority and confidence. Of course this was a man who showered on planes. This was a man who had been born to shower on planes.

  Speaking of showers...it had been weird to shower in the apartment with him there. She knew there was no way he was an axe murderer who was going to hack her to bits. But she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that he was a gentleman who wasn’t going to come into the bathroom while she was undressed.

  A devilish thrill shot through her at the thought that he might have.

  Attraction to a man during her first evening in New York was not on her itinerary. Especially not a man who had put all her plans in jeopardy.

  She’d just have to make it through the night. In the morning her brother would help straighten things out about the apartment.

  Staying here for a few weeks was meant to be the leg-up that she desperately needed. It would buy her time to find work and decide whether New York was where she should be. It had been two years since she’d kicked out Ricky the Rat. Two years was enough time to move on and move forward.