Homecoming: The Billionaire Brothers (27 page)

And he’d make damn sure she never, ever found out the truth about how this all started.

*   *   *

Jittery anticipation made Greta fumble as she slipped off her heels and kicked them across the marble-floored foyer of Miles’s penthouse. She caught herself against a sleek, glass-topped display case that held what looked like an ancient family Bible and several framed photos.

Greta nudged the spindly legged table back into place with a guilty glance over her shoulder at Miles, who was distracted by a phone call to check in with Cleo, who’d been gone by the time they came down from the secret deck.

The baritone hum of his low voice behind her sent pleasurable vibrations into her stomach and chest. Her heart rate, which had finally slowed to something resembling normal on the car ride uptown, ticked up again.

To distract herself while she waited for Miles, Greta leaned down to study the pictures in the display case. Several were old, sepia-tinted shots of people staring straight at the camera without smiling, and there were a few soft-focus baby pictures.

But the one that caught her eye was of a bright, smiling woman with her head leaning on the broad shoulder of a tall, handsome man with Miles’s stern jaw and electric blue eyes. Ranged in front of them was a toddler waving a wooden bulldozer and an older kid with a bored expression and a book clutched to his chest. A tall, teenaged boy stood beside his father, mimicking his straight-backed posture and the gleam of pride as he gazed at his family.

Eyes and nose stinging, Greta blinked quickly to stop any tears as Miles stepped up beside her. She pointed at the photo. “I love this one.”

“It was taken a few years before our parents died. Car crash, very sudden,” he said, sounding totally matter of fact. But the slow, tender way he took out his silk pocket square and wiped at the fingerprints she’d left on the glass told another story.

She’d seen it over and over in the short time she’d known Miles Harrington. From the outside, he appeared so buttoned up and focused, nothing but will, arrogance, and pride. But that wasn’t who Miles was inside.

Greta believed the real Miles was the one who knew the name of every person who worked for him, and freely showed them his appreciation for all that they did. The real Miles was the man who invited his assistant along on their date as a thank-you, and then called to make sure she’d made it home safely.

The real Miles was the man who met a woman who’d always longed to see the world … and gave her a view of it that would be seared into her memory for the rest of her life.

“I never knew my father, and I still miss him,” Greta said, feeling her way. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, to lose both your parents so young.”

Miles shrugged heavily, and Greta could almost see the weight that had dropped onto those shoulders along with that tragic loss. “It was worse for Dylan. Poor kid was on his own, had to go live with our grandparents. At least Logan and I could escape to school. I was almost done with college, and once I finished, I always planned to ask Dylan if he wanted to come live with me instead. But by then, he was settled with Nana and Gramps, and the board of directors was pressuring me to pick up the reins at Harrington International. I got my MBA at Columbia, working weekends and nights while trying to make sense of the chaos the company had fallen into without a Harrington at the helm. Dylan was better off where he was.”

Greta swallowed, not sure what to say. “I’m sure Dylan was fine with your grandparents. But Miles, he would have been fine with you, too. You know that, don’t you?”

He glanced away, into the dark interior of the spacious living room. “Maybe.”

Grabbing for his hand to keep him from walking away, Greta insisted, “No maybe about it. I’m not saying you did the wrong thing by concentrating on the company—that’s your family’s legacy, it’s important to all three of you. But if you’ve been thinking all along that you couldn’t have taken care of Dylan when he was a teenager, I just have to tell you, I think you’re completely wrong. I’ve never known anyone to take care of people the way you do, Miles. It’s part of your nature, it’s who you are. The way you treat the people who work for you, the things you’ve done for me—even how you fight with your brothers! All that tells me you have a whole lot of love to give. Don’t ever think different, okay?”

Even in the muted golden glow of the backlit display case, Greta could see Miles’s throat work silently for a long moment before he shuddered and reeled her in for a deep, drugging kiss. Greta’s knees wobbled, and with a few short, sure steps he’d backed her against the foyer wall and pinned her there.

Need, hot and urgent, raced through Greta’s body with every beat of her fast-pounding heart. She made a muffled moan, the noise trapped between their lips, and wrapped one leg as high as she could around Miles’s lean hip. There was an achy emptiness at the core of her that made her restless and fretful, unable to simply dissolve into the kiss and let Miles set the pace.

Greta wanted him. And now she knew he wanted her back, despite his earlier assurances of her own guest bedroom.

“Shh,” he whispered against her lips when she whimpered again. “We need to slow down, sweetheart.”

Clutching at his shoulders to feel the line of his hard muscle under the stiff structure of his suit jacket, Greta shook her head. “Don’t want to go slow. Please. I know you’ve already given me everything I asked for today—but I’m greedy. I want this, too.”

Groaning, Miles fell on her mouth again, licking into her voraciously. She could feel each separate imprint of his fingers where they shaped the curve of her waist. When he came up for air, shaking his head as if he were attempting to shake some sense into himself, Greta panicked.

Reaching for the concealed side zipper, she whisked it down and shrugged out of the black sequined dress before she had time to think it through or get nervous. The light was perfect, a low glow that gilded the skin and minimized the faded line scored above her hip. The look in Miles’s wide, stunned eyes as he took in the sight of her small breasts cupped in black lace and the matching lacy undies, made Greta feel beautiful. Womanly and desirable, for the first time in her life.

“Come on, Miles.” Her voice was a low, husky whisper in the darkness. “I want the whole fairy tale.”

His eyes went hot and wild, but when he reached for her, his touch was soft, tender, careful. He slid his hands into the tumbled mess of her hair so gently, his fingers never snagged on a tangle. Framing her face, Miles’s thumbs drew lines of fire over the fragile skin below her eyes, the blood-warmed flush of her cheeks.

Greta stood there, stripped down to her underwear while Miles still wore his three-piece suit, and smiled. She ought to feel naked or embarrassed, she thought dimly—but instead, clothed in nothing but wisps of lace and the heat pouring off of Miles’s big body, she’d never felt safer.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his gaze searching her face intently.

In answer, Greta stepped close enough to feel the brush of fine wool suit cloth over every inch of her bared skin. She pushed her hands into the open jacket and wound her arms around him until they were pressed heartbeat to heartbeat.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” The words were a throaty whisper against the salty delicious skin of his neck, and they had the exact effect Greta had been hoping for.

Miles groaned, then all of a sudden, bent at the knees to sweep Greta off her feet and up into his arms. “You want the fairy tale? You got it,” he muttered as he carried her down the hall toward the sumptuous master bedroom.

Laughing into his shoulder, Greta hung on tightly and surrendered to the magic of the moment. Her last coherent thought before Miles laid her on his Egyptian cotton sheets and proceeded to slowly, tenderly take her apart with pure pleasure, was to send a fervent prayer of gratitude up to heaven.

After years of wondering what the fuss was all about, years of looking at herself in the mirror and wondering what was so wrong with her that no man on Sanctuary Island ever seemed to glance at her twice, Miles came along and made her glad she’d never caught those boys’ eyes.

Thank you,
she breathed silently as stars burst behind her closed eyelids.
I’m glad you made me wait.

Miles Harrington was worth waiting for.

Chapter Nine

Greta pushed open the door to Hackley’s Hardware, twitching her hips to the familiar tinkle of the entry bell, and flipped the sign from Closed to Open.

“Good morning,” she called out, sashaying down the aisle toward the back. It was all she could do not to skip.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Esther poked her head out of the back office. From the ink smudges on her fingers, she’d been doing her morning crossword before settling in to checking inventory.

Brimming with affection for her hardworking mother, Greta rounded the counter and planted a loud, smacking kiss on Esther’s powdered cheek. “Isn’t it a glorious day? I don’t know when I’ve ever seen Sanctuary looking prettier.”

After a long night of passion, she’d slept through most of the predawn helicopter flight back home, but Miles had kissed her awake in time to appreciate the aerial view of the sun bursting over the horizon to shine down on Sanctuary Island.

Esther’s silvery-blond brows climbed toward her hairline. “My, my. Someone’s in a good mood.”

Hiding a small, secret smile, Greta went to power up the cash register and flip through the change drawer to check if they needed to make a run to the bank. “I had a good night, is all.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

Greta hesitated. She’d always told her mother everything, but this … she wanted to hug the memory of last night to herself for just a little longer. Plus, she decided, she wasn’t at all in the mood to deal with Esther freaking out over the helicopter ride, and she could only imagine her mother’s horrified reaction to the death-defying trip to the top of the Empire State Building.

So all she said was, “I spent some more time with Miles Harrington.”

“Hmm.” Esther sounded amused. “I figured.”

With a sudden jolt, Greta wondered if she actually looked different today than she had yesterday. Could her mother tell she’d been with Miles?

But before she could spin out too wildly into embarrassment, Esther tugged lightly on Greta’s sleeve. Pinching the fine Italian wool between two fingers, she smirked a little.

“Is this the billionaire CEO version of giving you his varsity letterman’s jacket?” Esther asked.

Relief washed through Greta’s body, the sudden relaxation of tensed muscles making her vividly aware of the unusual ways she’d strained and stressed those muscles the night before. “I forgot I was wearing it,” she admitted, hunching her shoulders to inhale the complicated scent of Miles still clinging to the material of his suit jacket.

She wondered if she should tell him that the cologne he no doubt paid big bucks for smelled exactly like fresh cuts of the expensive cedar wood her brother bought to redesign their mother’s closet as a birthday gift.

The smell made her mouth tingle as if she’d just been kissed. Greta hugged herself, bunching the extra fabric and probably wrinkling it horribly, but if Miles minded that, he wouldn’t have draped it over her while she napped on the helicopter.

Something vibrated inside the inner jacket pocket. Startled, Greta fished out Miles’s slim black smartphone. A missed call from Cleo showed on the locked screen.

“Uh oh. I bet he’s already looking for this.” Greta stroked the phone fondly, remembering how she’d teased Miles about having it permanently welded to his hand.

“I can mind the shop if you want to run out and give it to him,” Esther offered.

“Nah.” Greta smiled her thanks at her mother. “Miles is on a mission this morning.”

“A mission that doesn’t require a cell phone?”

“A mission I don’t want to interrupt,” Greta corrected her. She couldn’t help smiling when she thought of Miles tipping up her chin and kissing her good-bye. For luck, he’d said.

He might need some luck. It was going to take more than a quick apology to mend fences with his brothers, but giving his blessing to Dylan and Penny’s upcoming wedding was a good start.

Joy bubbled up from her chest like fresh spring water. Everything was happening so quickly, and coming together so perfectly! The happiness she’d found with Miles made her immensely grateful to have been able to play even a small part in helping Miles come to grips with his brother’s engagement to Greta’s best friend.

Greta wanted everyone she loved, everyone she knew, everyone she’d ever met to be as happy as she was at that moment.

The phone buzzed in her hand, and she absently glanced down to see a text message from Cleo lighting up the screen.

She didn’t mean to read it, but the name “Penny Little” jumped out at her. Frowning, Greta looked more closely, confusion and dread tightening her stomach.

Got the PI report on Penny Little background check today, no obvious flags. I’m attaching in email, but she looks clean.

Greta breathed out, shaky and a little sick. Okay, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. So Miles hired an investigator—probably when he first heard about the engagement—and hadn’t called the guy off yet. No big …

The phone buzzed again. Greta tightened her suddenly clammy fingers around it and told herself not to look. It was a private message, between Miles and his assistant, and it had nothing to do with her.

But it might have something to do with Penny. They were so close, all of them, to getting what they wanted; Dylan and Miles were about to make up, then Penny and Dylan would live happily ever after. It was meant to be.

Unable to stand the idea of anything messing with her best friend’s perfect happy ending, Greta peeked at the phone’s screen one more time … and felt the bottom drop out of her world.

*   *   *

“Thanks for agreeing to sit down with me.” Miles spread his hands on the kitchen table, the same table his grandparents must have eaten at when this was their summer hideaway, and met the eyes of both people sitting opposite.