A Taste of Heaven (Billionaires' Secrets Book 3) (17 page)

“I don’t want a nice girl.” He edged closer to her. The closet was getting hot, water drops on their skin almost evaporating into steam. “I want a woman. One who isn’t afraid to make the life she wants. That’s you, Sam. You’ve been brave enough to start over again and again, and you’re not done yet.”

She looked past him into the gloom, where her much photographed outfits, each one laced with memory, hung in regular rows. “I’m not done with life, but I’m all done with marriage. Three is enough.”

“Says who? Zsa Zsa would disagree. And you two have a fair amount in common if this wardrobe is anything to go by.” He fingered a bold-patterned Anna Sui gown.

Sam lifted her chin. “You’re very argumentative.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

His hands wandered through her clothes, plundering them, his fingers roaming through the luxurious fabrics just as they’d roved over her skin. Which tingled with...annoyance. “Why are you in my closet?”

He hesitated, his eyes wandering to her mouth, which twitched, and her throat, which gulped, before replying, “because you’re here.” Louis lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. “I love you, Sam.”

The words closed around her heart like a fist, then swept away on a wave of panic. “You can’t.”

“I don’t take orders well.” His golden eyes glinted a challenge.

“Everything’s too complicated.”

“Nothing complicated about love.” He brushed a drop of water from her lip with his thumb. “Do you love me, Sam?”

She froze.
Yes
screamed across her brain. “No.”

He cocked his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“You’re shockingly arrogant, you know that?” Her voice rose.

“Yes.” A smile flickered across his lips. “I know what I want and I’m not afraid to go after it.”

“Maybe you should think about someone else for a change.” Her hands shook. “I have responsibilities to this family and to the whole Hardcastle corporation.”

His eyes narrowed. “And to yourself.”

“Exactly.” Sam shoved a hand through her tangled hair. “I’m thirty-one and I’ve been through three husbands. There’s something wrong with that picture, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it at all.” He held her gaze. “It’s unique. It’s your journey and you’re a beautiful person.”

Beautiful?

Sam cringed at the thought of what she must look like right now. Lucky she couldn’t see herself. Louis of course looked breathtaking. The shaft of light through the closet door sculpted his torso in gold, while water dripped erotically from his tousled dark hair.

“What is going through that intriguing mind of yours?” She tilted her head. “Just mulling some artistic options.” A smile slid across his lips. “As you should be. You’ve a lot to accomplish, Sam, and some lost time to make up for.”

“As it happens, I agree with you there. I’ve decided that I will take up painting. And I won’t even be mad at myself if I stink at it.”

“That’s the attitude. I knew you’d see it my way eventually. Now, back to my other question.”

Sam shrank into her towel. “I can’t marry you. It’s preposterous that you even thought of it. Even if you weren’t my
stepson.”
She shuddered involuntarily. “We barely know each other.”

“We have a deeper connection than most people.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this some New Orleans voodoo psychic angle you’re working here? I’m not as gullible as I look.”

“Remember what Madame Ayida said?”

“Follow my heart. Yeah, sure. I’m not even sure there’s one in there after all this time.” She glanced mockingly down to where her hands crossed over her towel. “Don’t forget she also mentioned the two roads, neither of which seemed to lead anywhere I’d want to go.”

Louis looked at her for a second, then laughed. “How do you know if you haven’t walked on one yet? Didn’t she say one is familiar and one is strange?”

Sam crossed her arms over her chest, which left her fumbling for her towel. “If you look at it that way, then it’s getting married that’s familiar, and not getting married that would be strange. I’ll go with strange.”

“Fine. We can live in sin.”

She couldn’t help laughing at his deadpan comeback.

Then her smile faded. “I’m sure the tabloid press would enjoy that.”

“Absolutely. We’ll really help ’em sell some copies. Just think, if we have a bunch of kids, they could accuse you of being mother to your own grandchildren.” His eyes shone with humor.

Sam froze.
Children.
She’d told him how much she wanted a child, so his comment was a low blow.

“Tarrant’s children are my children,” she said stiffly.

“Including me, I guess.”

“Yes.” She gave him the hardest stare she could muster. “That’s my preference.”

“You can’t have kids your own age.”

“Sure you can.”

They stared at each other.

He blinked first.

“You think
I’m
stubborn,” he said, eyes glinting. “You’re downright delusional.”

“Then leave me alone with my delusions. We’re happy together.”

Louis stared at her for a moment, then laughed, slowly. “You’ve certainly got the wardrobe to be a delusional billionaire widow.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But I won’t let you throw your life away.”

He leaned in until his words vibrated off her skin. “You’re meant to be a mother, and not some kind of fake, fairy-godmother type of mother, but a real mother who has to get up in the night because her baby is crying, and has to miss an important meeting because her toddler has a fever and has to relearn long division to help her nine-year-old with his homework.”

A flash of pain almost blinded her. How would he know that she craved the challenges of parenthood as much as the photo-album moments people raved about?

She tried to keep her breathing steady. “I thought you didn’t want kids.”

“I didn’t know what the heck I wanted until I met you, Sam.” Emotion darkened in his voice and shone in his eyes.

Her insides churned and she felt her grip on reality growing more fragile.

“This is insanity. Why are we standing here with no clothes on?”

“I don’t have any clean clothes.” He looked at her, eyes glinting. “And I don’t think yours would suit me.”

Sam blinked. Swallowed. “Some of Tarrant’s are still in the other closet.” She pointed to the door. The air was so thick she could barely breathe. “Help yourself.”

She collapsed against the rack of clothes as he opened the door and slipped out.

Her heart rattled like a runaway train.

Why did the craziest things seem possible with him around?

Get dressed.
She didn’t want to be standing around in a towel when the police came to the door with their sniffer dogs searching for an intruder.

Especially since she was harboring one.

The racks of couture originals usually comforted her, the rich colors and fabrics a balm to her spirit. Today they seemed to hang around her like carcasses.

I bet you’d look cute in a pair of Levi's.

Louis crept into her consciousness. Of course there weren’t any Levi’s to be found. There was one pair of Frame jeans folded up on the top shelf. A gift from Fiona that she’d never found occasion to wear.

Sam pulled them down and climbed into them. She tugged on a fitted black shirt and buttoned it, fingers shaking. Maybe she could just stay in the closet all day and not go out to face the mess that she’d made of her life.

Or Louis.

“Are you still in there, or is there a secret tunnel to Barneys?” His voice resounded through the wood door.

Sam smiled. “I wish there was a secret tunnel.”

She braced herself as the door opened. He stood there in a pair of pale linen pants and a loose shirt. She couldn’t recall ever having seen Tarrant in that outfit, which was no surprise since he’d had almost as many clothes as she did. “You look nice,” she stammered, to cover the awkwardness she felt.

“I am nice.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

He reached for her hand, but Sam shrank back. “Be sensible. They’re looking for an intruder, remember?” Suddenly her mind was clear and clicking. In crisis mode. “We’ve got to get you out of here somehow. Now, how can we do it without the staff seeing you?” She pressed a hand to her temple. “Maybe we can get you down to the underground garage and into the car with the tinted—”

A high-pitched noise made her jump. “My phone.”

She ran forward and snatched it off the dressing table. “Where the hell have you been?” cried Fiona, the moment she pressed it to her ear. “I was pounding on the door. I figured maybe you went out on the fire escape or something. What’s going on?”

Sam gulped. “We...I...” She didn’t dare look up at Louis.

“On second thought, I don’t want to know. I’ve been trying to find you because Dominic and Amado are here.”

Sam’s heart stopped.

“They’re out in the street arguing with the reporters. Turn on your TV to Channel Five. Or heck, just open a window.” Sam ran past Louis, grabbed the remote from her dressing table and flicked on the TV above Tarrant’s dressing table on the opposite wall. It reflected into her mirror right next to her own startled expression.

In a surreal montage, her own front door floated above her cosmetics bottles, decorated with a familiar network logo. Dominic stood on the steps, his proud features rigid. “This rumor is ridiculous, and neither Hardcastle Enterprises nor the Hardcastle family will take it lying down.”

His face loomed as he neared the camera lens. “If you don’t retract this ludicrous story about my stepmother, Samantha, having an affair with my brother Louis, we’ll sue you for libel.” His lips settled into a hard line.

The reporters exploded into a blur of sound and motion. Sam staggered back, heart pounding. “Oh, no. We’ve got to stop them.” She murmured into the phone. “How can we get him inside?”

Just then an incensed Amado took a swing at a reporter who’d shoved a microphone in his face.

Worry propelled her out of the room, phone still pressed to her ear. “Beatrice, open the front door!” she shouted down the wide stairs as she shoved out into the hallway.

“We can’t. The mob will break in.”

“Dominic and Amado are out there. They could be hurt.” She ran down the stairs, bare feet cool on the limestone.

If no one else around here was brave enough to open the door, she’d do it herself.

“Madame, don’t go out there!” Beatrice and Sam’s assistant Kelly mobbed her in the front hall.

She pushed past them, single-minded, tugged on the heavy brass locks and yanked the door open, then blinked as light flooded in from the street outside. “Dom, Amado!”

She couldn’t even make them out in the throng of bodies. Microphones and cameras thrust toward her. Voices and clatter and commotion rose into a roar of sound that assaulted her ears.
Is it true? Are you having an affair? What about the photographic evidence?

The clamor assaulted her ears and she shrank back. “Dominic, Amado, where are you?”

Dominic’s dark head thrust through the crowd. “Sam, thank God you’ve come out to defend yourself. I won’t let them treat you like this. Tell them it’s a lie.”

Sam’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

To tell that it’s a lie would be...a lie.

“Come here, Sam.” Dominic stood right in front of her on the top step now, his face dark with anger. “Tell these vultures that you won’t put up with their bull anymore.”

“I...I...I...”

Amado pushed through the crowd, looking disheveled and irate. “This is a crime. An assault on an innocent woman in her own home. These people should be behind bars.”

Dom and Amado flanked her, and she felt their strong hands holding her up. “Go on, Sam, tell them.”

Silence throbbed as the gathered throng waited for her reply. Even the birds seemed to stop singing, and the traffic on Park Avenue ground to a halt.

“Come on, Sam, defend yourself,” murmured Dominic.

She hesitated, blood pounding in her brain. “I…I…I can’t.”

Chapter Twenty-One

S
am turned and plunged back into the house. She heard Dominic and Amado, pressing the reporters back. They both managed to get through the door and closed it behind them.

All of them stood, panting, in the hallway for a split second.

Then Dominic moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “Sam, what do you mean?” She shivered under his forceful touch.

Her voice wouldn’t come out. She dragged in a shaky breath. “I can’t deny it.”

“Why not?” His dark eyes peered into hers.

“Because it’s true.”

Shock washed over Dominic’s face. “It can’t be.”

He pulled his hands from her shoulders, a move so sudden it made her flinch.

Confusion contorted Amado’s handsome features. “What do you mean, Sam?”

The entire household staff gathered in the hallway; Beatrice and Kelly, the cook and her assistant, even Raul the ancient repairman who’d been with the house since its previous owner. Fiona stood behind him, her familiar headphones unplugged from her ears and her face pale.

All hung on her reply.

“Louis and I have…have—”
She
cursed herself for being unable to form a whole sentence.

But what was a polite—or even halfway decent—way to tell them what had really happened?

“We’re in love.” A deep voice resonated along the marble hallway.

Sam looked up and saw Louis at the top of the stairs.

Something hot and unfamiliar swelled inside her.

She crushed it down, angry that he’d made a public declaration even though she’d made it clear she couldn’t marry him. Some things weren’t meant to be.

Dominic and Amado stared at each other, then back at Sam.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to them. They were both so traditional, so worried about honor and the family reputation. They made her feel safe and protected.

And she’d betrayed them.

“Is it true?” Amado took her hand.

“I—” What
exactly was he asking? Was it true that she was in love with Louis?