A Taste of Heaven (Billionaires' Secrets Book 3) (14 page)

What a relief not to have to fill the air with false promises and phony reassurances. Around Louis it was okay to be confused and uncertain. To be truthful. Maybe if she spent enough time with him, she really would be able to figure out who she was and actually have a shot at “being herself.”

With that rather exciting thought floating around her brain, Sam drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

“Room service,” were the first words Sam heard on waking the next morning. They came from the other side of the door and barely penetrated her consciousness, but she still gathered enough sense to pull the sheets over most of her head and freeze in a panic.

Did Louis not care if people saw them together? It was one thing for them to enjoy intimacy in private, but quite another for the rest of New York to find out about it.

She heard Louis exchange pleasantries with the waiter, and when the door clicked, she emerged. “You could have warned me,” she murmured, pushing hair out of her eyes.

“You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t bear to wake you. And I’m starving.” His mischievous grin melted her pique.

“I can believe it. You were pretty athletic last night.” She blew out a breath, remembering some of the Kama-Sutra-style moves he’d introduced her to. Her insides shimmered at the memory.

“So I need some ham and eggs.”

“I’m surprised. That seems very traditional for you.”

“Every now and then I even surprise myself. I ordered plenty for you, too, and a basket of breads and pastries. We can call down for anything else you want.”

The smell of freshly baked brioche tickled Sam’s nostrils. “I’m sure I can manage with what you ordered.” Suddenly she was starving, too. She glanced around for something to wear, then remembered she had nothing but her rather uncomfortable little black dress from last night.

“Here,” Louis winked and threw her a robe with the hotel logo emblazoned on the pocket.

“Thanks,” she rasped, and pulled it on. She scanned the room for mirrors. “I’m sure I look pretty scary.”

“You look devastating, as usual.” Louis helped himself to a heaping plate of ham and eggs. He wore only a pair of cream-colored cotton pajama pants, and his bare, muscled chest made an attractive backdrop for the feast now spread on the table.

Sam’s stomach grumbled and she climbed over the bed. Louis abandoned his plate long enough to kiss her good morning. Her insides buckled at the soft touch of his lips on hers.

“Oh, goodness. What a night.” She smiled shyly at him.

“What a night.” He smiled back. “Now help yourself to some food and rebuild your strength.”

Sam chose a croissant and spread it with butter. Her personal trainer would have a heart attack at the sight of so much cholesterol, but if you were going wild, then why not go all the way?

Louis poured her a cup of coffee and she took an invigorating sip. A stack of newspapers rested on the far side of the table, and she wandered over to glance at the headlines.
The New York Times
newspaper was on top with an article about a corporate bigwig she knew slightly who’d apparently been nailed for tax evasion.

She shook her head. How could smart people be so stupid?

She lifted the
Times
to see what was underneath.

Merry Widow Makes Out.

Chapter Seventeen

S
am’s heart froze at the sight of the tabloid’s familiar moniker—for her. She grabbed the paper and managed to focus her eyes on the grainy black-and-white image underneath the headline.

“Oh, no.” She could make out a blurry outline of herself and Louis, locked in an embrace. The one clear and unmistakable thing in the photo was her face, lit up against the darkness, eyes closed in an expression of rapture.

Her legs grew shaky and she reached for a chair.

“What’s going on?” Louis looked up from a sip of coffee. At the sight of her face, he rose from his chair and moved around the table.

He took the paper from her hand and muttered a curse when he saw the headline and picture. “That’s not right.”

Sam’s temples started to throb. “I should be used to it by now.” She shook her head. “But at least in the past, it was all lies and innuendo. Now they actually have a story.”

“Do they know who I am?” Louis scanned the paper. “Damn.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. I’m your ‘handsome stepson.’”

Sam pushed her face into her hands. She didn’t want to see anything. She could feel the walls closing in on her as her delicately ordered world began to crumble.

She was dimly aware of Louis crouching down next to her chair. “Sam, I’m sorry this happened.”

“Me, too,” she breathed, her words barely audible.

“I mean, I’m not sorry I kissed you. I’m sorry those idiots made a story out of it.” She felt his hand on her spine, rubbing gently.

Her back stiffened. “I’m sorry about both.”

She turned to face him, angry at herself and angry at him, too, for letting her do something so stupid.

She reached for the paper and Louis pulled it back. “Why read it?”

“Because I need to know what’s being said.” She heard the same clipped tones she used when her assistant, Kelly, tried to keep the morning papers away from her on one pretext or other. Louis handed her the paper and she scanned the lines.

Speculation has it that the widow isn’t content with the mere millions she inherited from late retail tycoon Tarrant Hardcastle, and that she wants to get her manicured fingers on the rumored billions stashed away for his heirs. If this kiss is any indication, she’s struck the jackpot.

Sam let out a fierce growl. “Ugh! How do they come up with this stuff? It was my idea to have Tarrant set aside money for his heirs.”

Louis took the paper and read it, then shook his head. “They’re mad at you because you’re young, beautiful and rich. Simple jealousy. You can’t let it get to you.”

“Trust me, I try not to, but this time it’s my fault.”

“Because you kissed me?”

“Because I kissed you out on a public street in New York. I must be losing my mind. Right on Fifth Avenue.” She shook her head in disbelief at her own stupidity.

He was a grown-up, too, and old enough to know better, even if he was her
handsome stepson.

She cringed and hurried around the bed, looking for her dress. She shook it out and stepped into it, then crammed her bare feet into her high black stilettos.

“I guess everyone out there will know I unexpectedly stayed the night somewhere anyway, so no big deal trying to look decent.”

She didn’t like the bitterness in her voice, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. How could she have been so stupid as to hand her head on a stake to the tabloid press?

Fiona would see it.

And Dominic and Amado.

All the staff at Hardcastle Enterprises.

Not to mention her personal staff at home.

Her face burned with shame and tears pricked her eyes.

“I wish I could do something to make it all go away,” said Louis softly.

“You can’t.” The angry shrew voice sprang from her mouth again. “Gee, I thought New Orleans had all that old black magic and voodoo stuff. I’d think a carefully laid curse here and there—maybe a couple of stringer reporters turning into toads—wouldn’t be too much to ask.”

Louis shot her a pained smile.

“I guess that would be bad for my karma or something. Not that it could make much difference, really. How much worse can it get?”

“Sam, calm down. Nothing has actually happened. No one’s hurt, no one’s died. Put it in perspective.” Louis stood in front of her, sculpted arms hanging by his sides, his handsome face set in an expression of easy confidence.

She hated the fact that heat flashed over her—even now, when arousal should be the very last thing on her mind.

The unwelcome desire morphed into a kind of crazed fury. “Nothing has happened?” she spat the question at him. “I’m hurt. You’re hurt.”

She paused, gasping for breath. “And Tarrant has died. If he hadn’t died, none of this would have happened. Why did he have to die?”

The last part emerged on a wail. She grabbed her dark glasses off the table and tears blinded her as she rushed for the door.

“Sam, wait.” She heard Louis’s voice behind her while she struggled with the knob and crashed out into the hall. “Sam.”

She cringed at the sound of his voice calling down the hall as she stood waiting for the elevator, then the doors opened and she stepped in.

In the elevator she tried her best to fix her hair in the reflection on the mirrored walls. She adjusted her big sunglasses over her tear-filled eyes. Then she breathed in as deeply as she could and prepared to face the worst humiliation of her life.

Chapter Eighteen

S
am could hear her phone vibrating in her clutch purse on the side table.

Or maybe it was just the whole mansion vibrating with distress.

The staff slunk along the walls, trying to be invisible. No one would look her in the eye. Except Fiona.

“How could you do this?” Her stepdaughter’s face was blotchy and pale. “I mean, he’s my brother! That’s just sick.” Her pretty features contorted with disgust.

Sam’s gut twisted. “It was an accident.”

Fiona blew out a snort. “Good one. Try again.”

Sam shoved a hand through her tangled hair. “I had no idea who he was when I met him. I didn’t even know his name.”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to sleep with him?” Fiona scowled. “Jeez, and don’t I remember you giving me a maternal lecture about choosing my partners carefully just a few months ago? I guess it’s
Do as I say, not as I do.”

Sam felt tears prick her throat. She’d tried so hard to be a good role model for Fiona, whose own mother was a preoccupied socialite with little time for her “plain” daughter.

It had taken her three full years to gain Fiona’s trust, and they’d bonded even more closely since Tarrant’s death. She’d cried on Fiona’s shoulder more than once in the emotional aftermath, and she’d come to think of her as a younger sister. Now their hard-won relationship lay in ruins.

Fiona glanced over her shoulder at Sam’s bag. “I think your phone is ringing.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. It’s not even my business.” Fiona crossed her arms over her green T-shirt. “But that buzzing is driving me nuts. Are you afraid to answer it in case it’s the press? There must be twenty of them gathered on the front steps.”

Sam froze. “You’re kidding.”

“Didn’t Beatrice tell you?”

“No.” The housekeeper had been avoiding her glance as if she couldn’t even stand to look at her. “Is it just newspapers or are there TV cameras, too?”

Fiona cocked her head. “Why? Want to know what kind of direction to give your makeup artist?”

Irritation flared in Sam’s chest. “Fiona, did you leak this to the press?”

Fiona cocked her head. “Do you really think I would do that?”

“You’re the one that leaked the story about Dominic and Bella, aren’t you? No one else could have known the details.” The younger woman froze.

Anger and hurt rose in Sam’s chest. “I’ve tried so hard to be a friend to you, Fiona. I do think you’ve had a raw deal around here and I can see why you feel sidelined by all these new siblings you never asked for. But it’s not fair to try and destroy other people’s lives as revenge.”

Red blotches stood out on Fiona’s pale face. “I admit, I did leak the story about Dominic and Bella. I was so mad! Dominic came out of nowhere and suddenly Dad’s all dewy-eyed and can’t wait to hand over the whole empire to him. I felt invisible. But I swear I didn’t say anything about you and Louis. How could I? I had no idea.” Her voice cracked with desperation—and what sounded like honesty.

“Really?”

“Really. Who on earth would imagine you, little Mrs. Goody Two-shoes, would be shacking up with her own stepson?”

Sam gulped. “You have a point.”

“And Sam—” Fiona swallowed “—I really do like you. You’ve been so kind to me, even though I’ve tried my best to make you hate me. Sad as it is, you’re probably the best friend I have.” Fiona’s lip quivered.

Sam’s heart squeezed. “I like you, too, Fiona. I really do. Oh, dear. What are we going to do now? Is it just local press?”

“It’s national. You’d better pull yourself together. You’re not looking your best. Breath mint?” Fiona pulled a tube of mints from her pocket and held it up.

Sam shook her head, but the strange humor of the gesture gave her a slim ray of hope that all was not lost. “I don’t think a breath mint could do much for me now. I’m just going to barricade myself in the way I usually do.” She paused and rubbed her eyes. “And believe me when I say that if I could undo what I did...”

“Well, you can’t. But that’s life, isn’t it?” Fiona winked. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief that you’re not such a freaking saint after all. You’re always so loving and giving and generous, with time for everyone, and never a hair out of place.” She cast a glance at Sam’s hair and chuckled. “Guess you’re human after all.”

The phone started to buzz again.

“If you don’t get that, I will.” Fiona started across the room.

Adrenaline flashed through Sam and she rushed after her. “I’ll get it!”

“Afraid it’s lover boy?”

Yes.

“It could be Dominic or Amado calling to find out what the fuss is about.” She hadn’t faced them yet, since they didn’t live with her in the Park Avenue mansion like Fiona.

She shoved a hand into her purse and pulled out the vibrating instrument. “Hello.”

“Hey, Sam.” The soft, deep voice seemed to reach right out of the dark metal and caress her ear.

She recoiled from the sensation and her finger hovered over the disconnect button.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Fiona stared at her, emerald eyes narrowed.

Sam nodded. “Hello,” she croaked.

Part of her wished he’d just disappear to Europe, or even New Orleans, at least until this whole thing blew over. And part of her wished he was right here, holding her in his strong arms.