Beauty and the Billionaire (BILLIONAIRE BOYS CLUB NOVEL) (18 page)

So what was the problem, exactly? Nothing, except that now she felt like her love had a deadline. Hunter had declared and she had to make a decision. A declaration wasn’t something you could leave hanging for months on end.

And Gretchen sucked at deadlines. They made her anxious and unhappy, as evidenced by her up-and-down publishing career. There was just something about other people’s expectations that made her freeze in place, unable to function.

And that wasn’t fair to Hunter.

Ergo, she was a jerk.

She put aside the letter, then studied her manuscript file of notes. Just from her transcripts, she had almost forty thousand words and two hundred letters between the two lovebirds. Really, that was more than enough for her to build her story around. Her editor didn’t need every letter transcribed, after all; no one would read an eight-hundred-page epistolary novel. They’d faint if she turned that in.

To be honest, Gretchen had the work she needed. She could go home early instead of staying at Buchanan Manor for another week, get a week’s start on her deadlines, and get that final chapter of Astronaut Bill and Uranea turned in.

But that idea didn’t appeal much at all, and this time it wasn’t just because of the sexist space adventurer. She wanted to stay another week and spend it in Hunter’s arms.

“Hell, Igor. Now I’ve gone all moony, haven’t I?” She reached over and idly scratched the cat’s belly. Igor was curled up next to her laptop, his skinny frame pulled into a tight ball. He always wedged himself carefully against the left side of her laptop, where the fan blew warm air. She didn’t mind it, though because she had company while she worked. “You just tell me if I’m being ridiculous, cat,” she told him with another pat.

And since she was going to stay another week despite everything, she might as well continue reading letters and looking for super-juicy ones. She pulled out the next and began to scan it, almost bored by the endless florid sexual details of Ben and Lula’s encounters.

Your games grow more and more scandalous, and more and more exciting, my beloved. Last Sunday’s interlude still swirls in my mind. I’ve played Blind Man’s Bluff many times before, but this was the first time I’ve played and made love.

Gretchen raised her eyebrows, a bit more interested. Sex in the middle of a parlor game? Kinky. This one was definite fodder for the book.

I was so surprised that you showed me the hidden passage in the library, darling. As many times as we’ve made love there, I pause and wonder if someone has perhaps spied on us. Surely not. How many could know about the secret panel you showed me? I wouldn’t mind going back to that room by myself, but I don’t remember which brick it was that you touched to make the room come alive. Do tell me, darling.

A secret passage? Gretchen’s sense of adventure got the better of her and she reached for the next letter, excited to find out more. She skimmed Ben’s bolder, slightly crabbed handwriting until she came to the answer.

It’s the brick to the right of the mantel, my love. If you look closely, you can see my initials carved into the caulk.

Okay, this she had to see for herself. Putting the letter aside, Gretchen got up and scanned the library for a fireplace. There were two of them, one at each end of the long room. She headed to the closest one and scanned the bricks, running her fingers along the grout, looking for imperfections. Nothing. She moved to the other fireplace, but it was nothing but smooth marble.

Huh.
Gretchen paused, thinking. This was a large house and it was bound to have multiple libraries. Perhaps this was the wrong one? With the letter in hand, she gave Igor a quick pat on the head and headed out. She had no idea where another library was, but Hunter would know. Brightening, she headed for his office, smiling to herself. Now was she excited at the prospect of the fireplace door and having an excuse to interrupt Hunter. Did it even matter? She loved interrupting Hunter. This was just a delicious opportunity that had presented itself.

Gretchen headed to his office and knocked lightly on his door.

“Enter.”

She peeked inside and smiled at the sight of him. Even though no one was in the house but her and Hunter and Eldon, and Hunter worked alone, he was still dressed in one of his suits. Today’s was a dark brown jacket and a lighter brown tie to match. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running a hand through it. His brows were furrowed but his expression eased when she entered.

“Finished working?” Hunter stood to greet her. “It’s early.”

“Just momentarily distracted,” Gretchen told him, sauntering over to give him a kiss in greeting. She lightly brushed her lips across his and smoothed a stray cowlick of his hair. “Am I bothering you?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her against him. “But I don’t mind it.”

She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing with pleasure when his hands caressed her ass. “You’re going to make me forget my mission.”

“Mission?”

“Mmmhmm.” She lightly traced a finger along his jaw, admiring the strong lines of his face that were marred by scars. “I’m looking for a secret passage.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s mentioned in the letters,” she told him, dragging her fingers along his shoulder even as she slipped out of his arms. She seemed to recall seeing a second library off his bedroom wing. “Where are the other libraries in the house?”

Hunter seemed to stiffen. “There’s no secret passage.”

“There is,” she insisted, pulling the letter out and pointing at it. “I swear I’m not lying. They go on and on about it in the letters. I thought it would be terrific to see. We could take pictures of it and add some excitement and reality to the book.”

His mouth thinned. “There’s no secret passage.”

“Of course there is. Just look at this.”

He wouldn’t look at the letter. Puzzled, Gretchen pushed it in front of his face. He pushed it aside again and gave her an annoyed look.

“Wow, what’s crawled into your panties?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed his face. “I’m just tired.”

“Then will you quit acting like I’m bothering you?” She held the letter out to him again, her expression daring him to take it. “I don’t know what the big deal is.”

His expression was immediately contrite. He pulled her into his arms, rubbing his hands on her back. “You never bother me,” he said huskily. “My day is better every time I see your face.”

She leaned in and gave him a light kiss, brushing her fingers over his scarred cheek. “Then help me find this secret passage.”

He took the letter from her and scanned it. “The house underwent many renovations over the last fifty years. The main library was destroyed. If there was a secret room, it’s there no longer.” He folded the letter carefully and held it back out to her, his face impassive. “I’m sorry. I know it’s disappointing.”

“Oh.” Gretchen couldn’t quite hide her regret. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to see it. I’m sorry to have bothered you, then.”

As she turned away, he grasped her arm, forcing her to turn back around. “Gretchen, you are never a bother. I’m just distracted.”

“By what?”

“Work . . . and you.”

She gave a mock-hurt sniff. “Well, if I’m bothering you, I’ll just go.”

He snagged her around the waist as she turned to leave. “No you don’t. Now that you have my attention, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” His hands went to her shirt and began to tug it upward. “I can’t help myself. You look ravishing.”

She snorted. “I’m wearing a T-shirt and yoga pants.”

“You always do.”

“Now is that some slight upon my wardrobe choices?”

“No, that’s me telling you that I find you impossible to resist every time I see you.” There was the slightest hint of color to his face, and each word was said precisely, as if flirting came hard won to him.

But he was doing it for her.

She found that enchanting. Her heart melted into a little puddle of goo and she smiled at him, her hand going to his tie. She put the letter down on a nearby table and moved into his arms. “So there’s no more secret passage?”

“Nope.”

“Then it seems like I came in here for nothing,” she said lightly.

“Not for nothing,” he murmured. “I think I have something to show you.”

“Oh?”

“In my room. Perhaps you’d like to search it for secret passages.”

“What are the odds of me finding one in there?”

“Slim,” he said, and one side of his mouth tilted into a smile. “But there’s always that chance.”

“Sounds like my kind of party.” She turned and tugged on his tie, dragging him toward the door.

***

Later, when Gretchen was curled in his bed, sleeping and sated, Hunter got up and went back to his office, shrugging on a robe over his naked body.

He picked up the letter she’d discarded and studied it. A secret room.
Damn it.
When he’d had Eldon purchase the trunk of letters, he’d had them tested for authenticity. They’d been carbon dated and he’d been assured the dates were real and that the letters not a hoax. He’d never imagined that he was purchasing Victorian porn. Even worse, he’d never considered that they’d point to architectural oddities that would mark the location.

If Gretchen pushed about the secret room or if she found more compelling evidence about the house in the letters, she’d piece together that the letters weren’t about Buchanan Manor at all. They were a fraud.

Just like he was. He’d orchestrated all of this to bring her to him, never imagining such happiness. He’d simply wanted to experience being around her bright personality for a time.

Except he’d fallen for her. Hard. And he wasn’t going to lose her to a stupid mention of a secret room in a few letters.

He resisted the urge to crumple the letter into a ball and instead set it down carefully and rang for Eldon.

Eldon arrived a few minutes later, in his own pajamas and robe. His hair was slightly mussed as if he’d just come from sleep, but the look on his face was carefully neutral. “You called for me, Mr. Buchanan?”

Hunter gestured at the letter on the table. “You didn’t read these before purchasing them, did you.”

Eldon’s face remained impassive. “I did not. I procured them as you wished, but my instructions never included reading the letters myself.”

“They mention a secret room.” Hunter tossed the letter toward Eldon, his temper getting the better of him. “Gretchen came here looking for it.”

Eldon neatly plucked the fluttering letter out of midair and began to read. His mouth thinned with displeasure as he did. “This letter is quite vulgar.”

Hunter snorted, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced. “They’re all quite vulgar, or didn’t you know that?” At Eldon’s silence, he shook his head. “This is supposed to be a very innocent batch of letters, Eldon. From Buchanan Manor. Not some other nameless house with secret doors and libraries. If she finds out this is a fraud, she’ll leave.” Sudden panic seized him and he clenched his teeth. “I don’t want her leaving here. Leaving me.”

“She’s not a dog,” Eldon said in a dry voice. “She’s allowed to leave your property on her own wishes.”

He gave Eldon a cold look. “You know what I mean. I want her here for as long as possible.”

Eldon’s long face studied him. He sighed, his expression softening just a touch. “You do realize she’s almost done with the project, Buchanan?”

Hunter’s pacing increased. “I thought she was here for a full month. How long has it been?”

“A little over three weeks. And she’s nearly done with the trunk. She’ll be leaving very soon.”

His hand raked through his hair rapidly, his thoughts furious.
No. Not when everything was going so well. Not yet.
“I . . .” Words failed him. He turned to Eldon. “Fix this.”

Eldon held up the letter, unperturbed by Hunter’s bad mood. “Fix this? Or fix the part about her leaving?”

“Yes. To both.”

“Very well. Shall I shackle her left leg or right?”

Hunter glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

“What do you suggest I do to prevent her from leaving?”

Hunter’s mouth settled into a grim line. “I don’t know. Just think of something. She needs to stay longer. I’m not ready for her to leave my side. Not yet.”

“I see.” Eldon ran a finger down the crease of the letter. “I shall see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said quietly. “Do this for me and I’ll see that you’re well compensated.”

“You always do,” Eldon said, and turned to leave. He paused and turned around again, his gaze searching Hunter’s face. “You seem troubled, Mr. Buchanan. Would you like to . . . talk?” The question fell flat at the end.

Hunter’s mouth twisted into the grimace that passed for his smile. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I’m not, actually.” He gestured at the letter in Eldon’s hands. “But I will be once you fix that.” He was struck by the sudden overwhelming urge to hold Gretchen in his arms. “I’m heading back to bed, Eldon. Get some sleep.”

“Of course,” Eldon said drily.

The two men parted, and Hunter slipped back into his dark bedroom, then moved into the bed next to Gretchen. She gave a small sigh and shifted in the bed, automatically moving a bit closer to him. His arms went around her and he pulled her tight against his chest, but he was unable to sleep.

Gretchen . . . leaving soon? Leaving him? Even though he’d declared love for her and they made passionate love every chance they had? Even though they enjoyed the endless hours spent together, and she made every day worth living, every hour of work sweeter because he knew she was waiting for him?

Not if he could stop it. She would be at his side for as long as he could make it happen. He didn’t care how or why.

He just knew he needed her.

Chapter 10

Gretchen crawled over Hunter, yawning, and tugged a T-shirt over her body. She searched his room for her panties, which were flung off hours ago. They hung on a lampshade, making her chuckle as she snatched them and put them back on again.

He reached for her, his eyes closed. “Come back to bed. It’s too early.”

“Can’t,” she said, moving to his side of the bed and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He reached for her and she danced out of his grasp, laughing. “Nice try, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He reached for her again. “Come back.”

She wiggled away. “Nope. Can’t. You sleep, though. You were up too late last night working.” She’d had to come into his office to drag him to bed. Of course, he’d been reluctant until she’d started to strip. Then he couldn’t go to bed fast enough, she thought with a grin.

“I’ll get up in a minute,” he mumbled sleepily, then rolled over and went back to bed.

She watched him for a moment, resisting the urge to reach down and smooth his tousled hair. It was a mushy, silly moment, but she didn’t care. Watching him sleep filled her with an odd, easy sort of pleasure. When his breath evened out, she turned and left the room.

Breakfast could wait. She wasn’t all that hungry, and she’d dreamed about deadlines. Dreaming about work always left her in an anxious mood, and today was no different. She had to finish at least one project that was on her plate—if not the letters, then that last chapter of Astronaut Bill and Uranea that she kept promising to her publisher.

But the thought of writing more Astronaut Bill filled her with the usual loathing. She’d concentrate on finishing her cataloging of the letters, then. A week or two after she was already this late wouldn’t make much of a difference. Plus, she was a fancy bestseller now. Her mouth twisted into a sour smile at the thought.
Yippee.

She padded across the manor on bare feet. The house was silent and dark, the sun not quite up yet. Hopefully that meant Eldon wasn’t up yet, either. A few minutes later, she opened the door to her library.

Igor stretched and meowed at her from the couch.

“Oh, no. Did I leave you in here all night?” She moved to pet his velvety head, making kissy noises at him. “I’ve been neglecting you shamefully, haven’t I? I can’t help it. I’ve got a new man in my life and he doesn’t even need kitty litter.”

The cat gave her a disgruntled look and then meowed again, flicking his tail at her and walking away.

Gretchen chuckled to herself, then headed to her desk.

And stopped, her heart dropping.

The vase of water that she normally kept her daily rose in was tipped over, the contents spilled all over the antique wood of the secretary . . . and her laptop.

“No, no, no!” She rushed forward, yanking her laptop out of the puddle. The case in her hands dripped, and when she turned it on one side to shake out the keyboard, droplets of water went everywhere. Frantic, she pushed the power button and held her breath, waiting.

Nothing.

Oh
no.

Disbelieving, she hit the power button again, and then set the laptop down on one of the old-fashioned couches, racing back to her room. A hairdryer. That’s what she needed. She returned with it a few minutes later, plugged it into the wall, and flipped over the soaked laptop, her pulse pounding with anxiety. Maybe if she dried it out, things would be fine.

Twenty minutes later, she still had no power. Gretchen bit her lip, hard, her thoughts frantic. It was okay. She always made a backup of her work. Always. She normally emailed a copy to Kat—well, except this time she’d been avoiding Kat—and she always copied the file to her flash drive.

Which she always kept beside her computer.

Her flash drive! Gretchen bolted to her feet and ran for the sopping desk. Sure enough, her small, hot pink flash drive was sitting in a puddle of flower petals and water. She picked it up anyhow and clenched it in her hand, as if willpower could somehow restore her work.

Igor must have been thirsty, she reasoned. He’d knocked over the vase to get some water and her laptop had been in the way. She’d been so busy curling up with Hunter that she’d neglected her cat, and now she was paying for it.

Her stomach twisted into a sick knot.

All that work, down the drain.

Three weeks of work, gone.

The entire file of transcribed letters, gone.

Her latest Astronaut Bill manuscript, completely gone.

Any chance of getting paid before her landlord changed the locks? Gone.

Gretchen sank down on the couch, feeling wrecked. She stared at her poor laptop, at the flash drive in her hands.

No problem. She could fix this. She’d just start over . . . on both projects. In a few months, she’d be able to turn both in. And then she could get paid.

Gretchen burst into tears.

***

When Hunter awoke, he dressed and immediately headed for the opposite wing of the house. He’d had nightmares about being abandoned, and waking up without Gretchen’s warm body next to him hadn’t helped things.

His loneliness seemed to be slowly ebbing away, replaced with a new, different kind of agony—fear of abandonment. Hunter shook his head to clear it, trying to will away the bad dreams. He had Gretchen in his arms. She cared for him. She wasn’t going anywhere. After a visit to his greenhouse, he selected a white rose and set off in search of her, determined to deliver the rose himself.

Hunter found Gretchen curled up on one of the library couches, clutching her laptop and sobbing as if her heart had broken.

His own heart clenched at the sight. “Gretchen?”

She looked up, startled, and wiped the backs of her hands against her cheeks. “Oh. Hi. Sorry. I was just, um . . . working.” Her face crumpled and she began to cry again.

Something was wrong. He’d fucked this up somehow and he was going to lose her. That gut-clenching feeling wouldn’t leave. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he managed hoarsely, moving to her side.

She sniffed and set the computer down, moving into his arms when he reached for her. At that, he relaxed a little. If she was angry at him, she surely wouldn’t be going to his arms, would she?

“My book,” she choked out between sniffles. “It’s gone.”

Recognition dawned, and a queasy feeling hit his gut. Was that . . . shame? “Gone?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “What happened?”

“Igor must have knocked over the vase,” she said, burying her face in his shirt. “The laptop is soaked. It’s ruined.”

Her sorrow was tearing him apart. Hunter stroked her back. “We’ll fix it. I’ll call someone to come take a look at it.”

She shook her head against his chest, as if denying his words. “It’s my fault. I left Igor in here all night. I’m so stupid.”

“You are not,” he said, his tone vehement enough to make her look up in surprise. He reached out and brushed the tears from her cheek. “You’re not stupid, Gretchen. Not by far.”

“I should have emailed my backups to Kat,” she said mournfully. “I just . . .” She shrugged.

“You just what?”

She gave him a tiny smile. “The more I work, the less I seem to enjoy it. That’s all. I guess I’ve been avoiding Kat. Talking with her just feels like too much pressure.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer her money or work or whatever would take that miserable look off her face. But Gretchen wouldn’t want a handout. She was strong and capable. He’d have to handle this carefully.

His fingers touched under her chin and he tilted her face toward him. “We’ll fix this,” he told her in a firm voice. “Give me your laptop. I’ll send it off with Eldon.”

“O-okay,” she said in a wavery voice that made him ache with the need to comfort her.

He took it from her and then leaned into kiss her lightly. “I’m going to send this off with him and instruct the technicians to not come back until they’ve recovered your files. But for the rest of the day, we’re going to relax and enjoy ourselves.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, you can. And we’re not going to think about work. We’re just going to enjoy each other.”

She gave him a miserable look. “What if I have to start over, Hunter?”

He quelled the part of him that rejoiced at the thought of another month of her in his house. Her sadness was making his soul ache.

He’d asked Eldon to fix this, but he hadn’t anticipated the destruction of her computer. It was brilliant—and a bit evil. But the worst of it was that Gretchen somehow seemed . . . defeated. His brilliant, vibrant Gretchen had been replaced by a sad woman weighed down by the world.

And that wasn’t what he’d wanted at all.

Hunter caressed her cheek. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” she told him with a wobbly smile, sniffing loudly.

He tucked the laptop under his arm, noting that it still dripped when he picked it up. It was definitely soaked. He didn’t know if it could be fixed. He hoped—for Gretchen’s sake—that it could. Either way, Eldon had bought him time with her, just as he’d asked.

Hunter headed back to his office and shut the door, then buzzed Eldon.

Eldon arrived a few minutes later, his eyebrows going up at the sight of the laptop dripping on Hunter’s coat.

Hunter held it out to Eldon. “Your work, I assume?”

He said nothing, simply took the laptop and gave him a meaningful look.

“She’s crying,” Hunter said raggedly. He began to pace. “I didn’t want her upset.”

“You said to fix it,” Eldon said, deadpan as ever. “You didn’t say how. You needed her work to continue to keep her here.” He gestured at the laptop. “I have ensured that, just as you asked.”

Yes, but now Hunter felt like a heartless bastard. The thought of Gretchen’s tearstained face still drove him wild with anger and self-loathing. He’d made her cry, and he couldn’t even apologize.

“Take the laptop to a technician. See if they can fix it.” He glanced at Eldon, and then hated himself for saying, “Not too soon, though.”

“I shall escort it in myself,” Eldon said in a toneless voice. “I am sure that no one will get to it for at least a week, no matter how much I ask.”

“Good.”

“And if the file can be recovered?”

He had to bite back the urge to tell Eldon to delete the file. His need for Gretchen warred with the sight of her tearstained face, her misery. “I . . . I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

“Very well,” Eldon said as unflappable as ever.

“Cancel my meetings today. I’m going to spend the day with Gretchen.”

“Very well,” Eldon said. His face was neutral, but his tone was disapproving. It didn’t matter what Eldon thought, though.

Only Gretchen. And he needed to somehow bring a smile back to her face.

***

W
hen he returned to the library, Gretchen’s weeping was under control. Her eyes were still red, but she was moving around, carefully laying out several of the letters on a nearby desk, the surface cleaned off. She glanced up at the sight of him and waved a hand over the piles of letters, Kleenex still clutched in her fingers. “I think I can come up with a system of some kind. Not all of the letters are important, so if I make a pile of the ones—”

“No,” he said, and threaded a husky, enticing note in his voice. He moved to her side and took her hand before she could reach for another one of the letters. “Today, we’re taking the day off.”

“I can’t.” She gestured at the letters and then wiped her nose with the Kleenex in an oddly fragile-seeming gesture. “If I have to recreate the document, I need to get started right away. I can’t afford to lose any time. I—”

He tugged on her hand, shaking his head when she resisted. “Gretchen, you work every day. Even on weekends. You can take a day off. When was the last time you had a day off from writing?”

She looked up at him, a dazed expression on her face. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re stressed and you’re unhappy. I don’t like seeing you like this.” He pulled her closer, pressing a light kiss to her mouth. “Take a day off. I’ve cancelled all my meetings. We can just relax.”

“But my projects—”

“Can wait one day.” At her disbelieving look, he forced a smile to his lips. “You can call your agent in the morning and explain what happened and tell her you need a deadline extension.”

“She’s not going to be happy.” Gretchen’s voice wavered.

He made a mental note to contact the editor he’d hired and have a delay in launch. Give Gretchen another month or two to work on the project—and at his side. That pinched, stressed look would be gone from her face and they could relax once more. Already he missed her cheerful smiles and flirty banter.

He felt like he’d crushed her, and his heart ached at the thought. This was his fault because he was a selfish asshole. Hunter grasped her by the back of her neck and pulled her close for a sudden, fierce kiss.

If he lost her, he . . . he didn’t know what he’d do.

Gretchen looked startled at the vehemence of his kiss, but her mouth softened against his and her tongue stroked into his mouth once more. A soft moan rose in her throat when he lightly sucked on her tongue.

Her stomach growled, ruining the moment. They broke apart, and Gretchen giggled softly, her hand going to her stomach. “I think that was me. I guess I got so distracted that I didn’t eat.”

“Shall I have Eldon prepare something?”

She made a face. “I’m a much better cook than he is. You haven’t tried my three-cheese omelet yet, have you? It’ll make you a believer.” Her eyes sparkled with challenge.

“I’m willing to give it a try,” he said slowly, pleased to see the light returning to her eyes. “But I’m not a big fan of eggs.”

“I’ll make you a fan,” she proclaimed proudly, taking his hand. “Come on. I’ll make you a treat.”

He protested, digging his feet in for a moment. “Today’s about your day of rest, Gretchen. I don’t want you waiting on me.”

She rolled her eyes, a semblance of her normal attitude returning. “Cooking’s not a chore, silly. It’s fun. Now, come on.”

***

Gretchen was right—she could make a mean omelet, and even he, who normally didn’t eat breakfast, cleaned his plate. She didn’t stop with the omelet. Before he could even suggest otherwise, she was preparing a breakfast smoothie and then chopping potatoes for home fries.