Chased by the Billionaire 1 (4 page)

But tonight, in this dress, with these
shoes on my feet, I felt like the queen.

When I walked into the lobby I heard a
few gasps from the ladies seated on fainting couches, and a few
coughs and low whistles from the male clientele.

That made me smile as I walked with a
swing to my hips to the maitre d'.

I dropped Churchill’s name and was
magically whisked into the restaurant proper and to the best table
in the house. Churchill and Lance stood the instant they saw me
coming, and I felt like a fairytale princess when Churchill kissed
my hand.

“
You look smashing my
dear.”

I blushed—which is so not at all like
me—and sat down.

They’d ordered a red wine that smelled
delicious. I took a sip and… well, it was a divine
experience.

“
You really know your hooch,
Churchill.” I winked at him.

“
Liz!” Lance admonished with
a glowing smile. He knew Churchill loved it when I talked like
this.

Brazen hussy: that’s me.

Churchill was a man in his early
seventies, tall and willowy, with long, hoary white hair that
looked both silky and perfectly coifed at all times. He always wore
Brooks Brothers' suits and lovely silk ties. Always with a broad
smile on his face, he sometimes made me think of him as an
exuberant teenager.

And he always wore Fahrenheit by
Christian Dior: a rather sensuous cologne that always brought on a
shiver in me.

Maybe that’s why he chose the Dior
dress.

“
So what shall we be dining
on tonight?” I asked Churchill, leaning forward.

His face turned radiant.

“
That’s a secret, my
dear.”

“
Oh, Churchill.” I wagged my
finger at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy.

“
He won’t even tell me!”
Lance complained.

I reached over and patted his hand.
“Poor baby.”

Being in their presence
always made me think of
The Age of
Innocence
. Churchill was so sweet and
proper—and my campy, bawdy assistant seemed to change his spots to
match him perfectly.

They were so right together.

Well…

Thoughts of Lance’s confession earlier
snapped at that thought like an alligator in a Georgia
swamp.

I shook the conflicting thoughts out of
my head.

I wanted to enjoy this dinner, enjoy
their company, and most of all, to enjoy looking this elegant and
beautiful.

First on the menu was a cool, tart
asparagus salad with brown tomatoes and artichoke hearts. That was
followed by a crown of the freshest jumbo shrimp I have ever
tasted, perched upon a small bed of savory orzo and snap
peas.

The side dishes and matching glasses of
dessert wines came at a dizzying pace, and I was starting to fear
my full belly might rip out one of the seams in my dress. I knew a
fancy restaurant like this would have a qualified restroom
attendant handy with a needle and thread, but I wanted to keep this
dress as pristine as I could.

Then came the entrée—as always,
Churchill knew me so well. I liked to eat, which meant I spent
odious hours at the gym trying to keep the fat off and everything
firmly in its place—but without gaining any Hulk-like
muscles.

The plate held a huge sirloin
steak—broiled to a perfect well done, the edges crunchy with a
special rub I knew only he had the recipe to—garlic whipped
potatoes and green beans.

I know, I know…
green beans
.

But when you no longer have anyone to
make them for you—like a mother—you start wanting them all the
time. Trust me, they’re a kind of comfort food.

It was so sweet of Churchill to
remember. But that was him in a nut shell. He never forgot what you
liked. That’s probably how he took his family’s respectable fortune
and through the decades drove it to gargantuan
proportions.

His family owned a condiment empire:
pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup, you name it. When Churchill took over
as CEO in the fifties he made the family tighten their belts and
diversify their “expendable income” in new directions. One was the
burgeoning computer industry—IBM, and then later Apple and
Microsoft, and lately Google.

Though the man keeps a ridiculously low
profile, he’s loaded.

I blew him a kiss and then took up my
knife and fork and cut into my steak. It was perfect, just the way
I liked it, and the crunchy rub all over it just added to the
taste.

Good god, I had no idea how I was going
to walk out of this restaurant. They would have to ask for a wheel
barrel to tote me out in.

From the corner of the restaurant I
heard a laugh: male, hoarse, yet with a metallic ring. Touchable,
as if it were caressing your skin.

And familiar…

The sound pulled my spine up straight
as if by a steel chord.

Lance’s eyes went wide when he looked
at me. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t really know. My mind hadn’t
caught up with the rest of my nervous system yet… but my heart had.
It thumped painfully hard in my chest.

Just then a waiter appeared at my side
and set a stemmed martini glass beside me.

I gulped looking at the chilled glass
and the ring of salt on the rim.

A margarita in a martini glass—my flesh
warmed as anger ignited in my chest, making my thudding heart
burn.

“
Compliments of the
gentleman,” the waiter said, pointing to the corner of the dining
room with an elegant gesture.

My gaze followed where he pointed and
lit on a table of men in expensive suits. Dead in the center I
caught sight of him, and my heart skipped a beat—the
traitor…

Jackson Burk.

I turned back around and closed my
eyes, feeling myself slipping into an emotional
rollercoaster.

Anger spiked with joy, shame mingled
with cold fear, and a long lost feeling of love coated in black,
sticky hate.

I'd never wanted to see Jackson
again…

Yet here he was, just when my career
and personal life were on precarious ground, looking…

Well, I’d only stolen a glance before I
turned back around and closed my eyes, but he looked…

Like a fucking wet
dream?

Thank you, so very helpful.

I gritted my teeth and pushed the
shit-storm inside me back to the dark little corner of my mind
where I’d long ago banished it.

I would not melt into a puddle of
sniffling, tear soaked hurt.

No, this wasn’t college, and I wasn’t
the dewy eyed girl I had been.

The memory of his walking out of my
dorm room flickered through my mind, and the scorching feelings of
hurt, shame, and confusion that moment had caused.

And now, sitting there in that
restaurant, I saw for the first time that that moment, that
feeling, had been reverberating inside me all along.

I swear that when I opened my eyes
again everything was red.

I blinked a few times and it went
away.

I stood, grabbing my clutch purse and
the martini glass clad margarita, and headed towards Jackson’s
table.

Jackson’s eyes were blue-green, like
arctic ice, and they bore into me as I walked toward him. I
strutted around the table until I was standing right next to him.
He didn’t stand up. Simply sat there, staring at me with those
damned eyes of his, a slight grin on his handsome face.

Dirty blond hair, cut short, the build
of a college football star, and the sun kissed skin of a native
California boy—he was the very definition of masculine
beauty.

I smiled at him and his expression
faltered.

Worried about what I’ll
do?

I looked down at the martini glass in
my hand.

“
Liz,” he said, and then he
sighed and tilted his head as he looked at me. “You’re not really
going to—”

I threw the drink in his
face.

Jackson wiped the margarita from his
eyes with one hand, and then looked at me with
irritation.

I leaned down and he jerked back an
inch or two. I leaned in further, my smiling face so very close to
his, and then ran my index finger down the line of his square
jaw.

He watched, his mouth slack, as I put
my finger to my lips and gently tasted what I’d taken from his
flesh.

I moaned as if tasting something
delicious.

I looked back to him and he was biting
his lip.

“
I forgot how much I enjoy
those. Thanks for the reminder.”

I turned and started walking toward the
front doors. Lance and Churchill were still standing at our table
and I waved goodbye.

I needed out of there. I needed away
from Jackson Burk, as far away from him as possible.

“
Liz!” Jackson called after
me, but I was already at the front doors, pushing past the
doorman.

Once outside I gulped the city’s air as
if I hadn’t breathed in years: desperate, halting
breaths.

I glance around. No cabs in
sight.

I needed to get away, so I started to
run.

I was in four inch heels, so I wasn’t
setting any land speed records.

I heard his steps as he caught up with
me, and I felt it when he grabbed hold of my arm.

His hand was on fire. That heat seeped
through my skin and made my blood boil on contact. I had forgotten
how his touch made me feel. It was some scary chemical reaction… or
magic.

No… I won’t do this, not
ever again!

I swung around in his grasp and slapped
him as hard as I could.

He winced, but didn’t let me
go.

I went to hit him again, but he reached
up and caught my hand in mid-air.

He was so strong; I had
forgotten.

I was trapped in his grasp.

“
Let go of me!” My voice
dripped venom.

“
You need to listen to me.”
His eyes bore into me, and my traitorous heart skipped a beat
again.

“
I’ll scream.”

“
And I’ll break something.”
I looked behind Jackson and found Lance standing behind him, his
perfect face a blank mask.

Jackson glanced over his shoulder and
then back to me. “This is a private conversation.”

Lance tsked as he sauntered nearer. “It
stopped being private the moment you grabbed hold of
her.”

I saw Jackson’s face falter—he was
thinking about how it looked, and about how he was holding onto
me.

He let me go and took a step
back.

“
I’m sorry for that, but we
need to talk.”

Lance walked up and stood beside
Jackson. “I’m Miss Hamilton’s assistant.” He handed Jackson a
business card. “You can call me tomorrow and we can discuss your
manners and any future contact you may be granted.”

I saw the pissed off spark in Jackson’s
eyes. He turned on Lance, his nostrils flaring, and reached out to
shove him.

Lance caught his hand and in a
heartbeat had Jackson flat on his face on the sidewalk, his
muscular arm wrenched painfully behind his back.

I had always thought that Lance was
bragging on his résumé when he’d put that he’d won a national
championship in Aikido when he was in high school, but seeing him
lay a six foot two ex-football jock out in two seconds flat
confirmed his credentials.

I gulped and stifled a
laugh.

I wasn’t paying Lance nearly
enough.

Jackson groaned as Lance manipulated
his spine with his knee.

I winced just from how painful it
looked.

But… as much as I wanted
Jackson Burk in pain, I said, “Lance, I don’t like seeing him in
pain
like that
.
Would you let him up please?”

Lance looked up to me, his perfect
mouth pursed in question. “Are you going soft on me?”

Good question.

“
No, I’m still the bitch
that hired you, but I don’t want you to end up in jail.”

Lance scoffed. “There are plenty of
surveillance cameras on this street. They’ll all show he went to
touch me first. I was just defending myself.”

Jackson groaned again as Lance rocked
his weight a little more into the hold. I walked around the two
until I could look into Jackson’s face. Even in pain, and pushed
half into the pavement, the bastard was gorgeous.

I bent down and said, “I’m sure Lance
here can be persuaded to let you loose if you promise not to touch
me again.”

Jackson shook his head—quite a feat
since his face was smooshed against the pavement.

“
I can’t promise that. I
have all kinds of plans for touching you… later on.”