Breathless In Love (The Maverick Billionaires #1) (4 page)

Will had never known anyone with such high spirits or as much freshness as Jeremy. He had almost died all those years ago, and he’d probably been in rehab for a good part of his life since. Yet he had a boundless nature.

A Birdcage Maserati.
On the drive over from the hangar, Jeremy had enumerated all the reasons why Will should build the car, most of which came down to the fact that it was awesome. And Jeremy was right—it was a truly incredible car. Having finished the Cobra a few months before taping
Hot Cars
, Will could use another project now. The problem? As he’d told Harper, there was no such thing as a Maserati kit car.

Then again...his friend Daniel Spencer had recently told him about a guy in Europe who could scrounge up just about anything.

Will started to get an idea, one that fired him up. He’d told Jeremy he wasn’t a genie, but maybe he could grant the boy’s wish after all.

He pulled out his phone to call Daniel, and his friend answered on the second ring. “You’re interrupting.”

“What? You watching paint dry?”

“More like a dozen cameramen all groaning since we’re going to have to do this take over,” Daniel told him. “Whatever you’ve got to say, make it snappy so that I can get back to it.”

Despite their razzing, Will knew his friend was happy to hear from him. They didn’t get together nearly enough lately, not since success had pulled the five of them in so many different directions. It was why Daniel had picked up Will’s call in the middle of a take for his home improvement show. Will would drop anything for any of the Mavericks, even if he was in the most important business meeting of his career. They, along with Bob and Susan, always came first.

Daniel owned the largest home improvement chain in the United States. He operated four plants across the country, manufacturing his own line of machines and tools. But the last time he’d held a paintbrush or a hammer—and used it for more than a shot on his TV show—had been in the previous decade. Will had started to wonder if that was a good thing for Daniel, who’d always been the guy that had not only
liked
working with his hands, but had also seemed to
need
it.

Just the way Will needed speed.

“You have the contact info for that guy in Italy?”

“Rupert?”

“Yeah. Sheet metal. Fiberglass fabrication. You said he’s damn near an artist.”

“Sure, I’ll text it to you now. That all you want?”

“Yeah, thanks. See you on Memorial Day. Bring beer.”

The conversation ended. They didn’t have deep discussions every day. But the Mavericks were always there for him no matter what. And vice versa.

The Maserati wasn’t a life-and-death issue that he needed to discuss. It wasn’t a business problem he wanted to mull over with one of the guys. Meeting a new woman didn’t usually rank up there, either. Yet there was something about Harper…

Something special.

The following evening, the tattoo high on Will’s right arm disappeared from sight as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over it.

The tattoo was of a muscle car with the words
Road Warriors
curved over it in stylized lettering, small drops of red dripping off the
W
and the second and third
R
. He never let anyone see it, not even the women he slept with, making sure that it was either dark in the room or that he didn’t take off his shirt. Even when dressed at his most casual, he chose T-shirts with sleeves of the necessary length.

When he was eighteen, Susan had suggested that he could get the tattoo removed. But he needed to leave it as a reminder of where he’d come from.

And of who he really was.

No matter how much Will changed on the outside, how many people he helped, or how much money he made—he knew he would always be his father’s son. A father who was a liar, a thief, and a bully.
You’re a chip right off the old block,
was what Gino Franconi had told him many, many times. And even though Will hadn’t seen his father in more than twenty years, he never wanted to forget that his blood ran dirty—didn’t want to think he could ever turn cocky and let his guard drop just because he hadn’t screwed up for two decades. He’d easily need a lifetime to make up for the liar and thief he’d been.

And yet, sometimes his need for that rush was just so damned strong...

Will had never put anyone in the hospital the way the teen who’d crashed into Jeremy had, but he’d still hurt a hell of a lot of people when he was younger, people who hadn’t deserved to have their cars stolen or their kids’ lives turned upside down by being dragged into a gang by a punk like Will. He’d hotwired stolen cars, drag-raced, fought hard, drunk hard. And that had been
after
his father had gone to prison and Will had moved in with Daniel’s parents. At the time, Susan had been a couple of years younger than Will was now, but she’d started going gray because of him. And Bob, the same age as Susan, had lost what little hair he’d had. Without Susan and Bob and the Mavericks, Will would have remained his father’s son for the rest of his life, still living in that dirty, neglected Chicago neighborhood.

Will wasn’t proud of the kid he’d been. And he definitely wasn’t proud that it had taken him so long to change. Way too long. And way too late.

He tucked the shirt into his dark jeans and buckled his belt, thinking about the pact he’d made with the other Mavericks. The day they’d made that pact was the day he finally understood he’d found his true family in the Mavericks, never the Road Warriors. He, Daniel, and Sebastian were eighteen, almost out of high school. Evan and Matt had another year to go, but they were all ready to turn their backs on Chicago and everything in it, except Susan and Bob. They’d sworn to get out, to make it big. They’d come from hell, aimed for a heaven gilded in gold, iced with diamonds, and they’d done it, all of them. If it weren’t for the fact that Susan and Bob refused to leave their hometown, Will would never go back there. Thank God Daniel had at least convinced his parents to move to a decent suburb and accept a house the five of them could well afford to buy for the couple.

Yesterday, Harper had seen the entrepreneur, the businessman, the cars, the house, the money. She hadn’t seen the
Road Warrior
, and he planned to keep it that way. He was glad that she’d told him her story and he hoped to learn even more about her tonight. But he knew with utter certainty that
his
story wasn’t one he should ever tell her.

Not if he wanted her to stick around with him for even a little while.

And though he’d only spent a couple of hours with her, he already knew he wanted her to stick around a hell of a lot longer than that.

* * *

What was she supposed to wear to dinner with a billionaire?

Dressed only in panties and bra, Harper stared into her meager closet. A pile of discarded clothing lay on the bed—jeans, shirts, a couple of dresses. Nothing seemed right, certainly not any of her staid work clothes. She had one serviceable cocktail dress, but Will had been just as mysterious about where he was taking her as he was about everything else. For all she knew, he had something outrageous planned, like a hot air balloon ride in Napa, or a flight to Tahoe in his private jet for an intimate dinner in an exclusive casino restaurant. Didn’t rich men on TV always do things like that to show off on first dates?

Jeremy banged on her door. He did everything exuberantly, which she usually loved. Tonight, however, the loud pounding was reverberating a little too loudly through her brain. “Harper, he’ll be here soon. Aren’t you ready yet?”

She was showered, her hair washed, and her makeup done. She just had to decide on her outfit—hopefully before the next century rolled around. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Jeremy had talked nonstop about Will since yesterday. His cars, his garage, his tools, how nice he was. And secretly, she had to admit she’d been just as thrilled about how attentive Will had been to her. She didn’t scold herself for that, though. After all, what normal woman wouldn’t be affected by his attention?

Speeding beside him in the car, with the wind whipping her hair all around, had made her feel wild. And
free
. More free than she’d been in a very long time. For so long she’d been so careful, but Will had aimed right at the heart of all her secret desires, and in the end she’d been helpless to turn down dinner with him.

Just one night to pretend that she was a normal woman, with a normal life.

Surely, taking her eye off the ball for one short dinner couldn’t hurt anything, could it?

Jeremy banged on the door again. “Are you ready?”

She closed her eyes and stuck her hand in the closet, grabbing a hanger. Whatever it was, that’s what she’d wear. It turned out to be a flowing, brightly printed skirt that hit her at midcalf. Maybe just a little too sweet, so she paired it with a form-fitting cream-colored sweater and a pair of heels.

At long last, she picked up her purse from the dresser and opened her bedroom door. “Yes, I’m ready now.”

“Wow, you look really pretty!” Jeremy said, which told her she must have chosen well, since he rarely commented on her outfits. Then again, she rarely ever dressed up, since it was always just the two of them.

“Thank you,” she said, but he was already running off to get a snack from the kitchen.

They lived in a three-bedroom, two-bath house, plenty for her and Jeremy. Rather than waste the formal dining space, she’d converted it to her home office. They never used her mother’s untouched living room, though, preferring the den. Their family room was open to the kitchen, with a bar and stools in between that they could use for meals. More often than not, they ate in front of the TV, mostly because she had trouble keeping the bar clean of the junk mail and completed homework assignments that accumulated there.

The TV was tuned to one of Jeremy’s favorite car channels. A coloring book lay on the coffee table, surrounded by a huge box of crayons, from which he’d removed almost every one. He’d been working on an orange rooster. Coloring was an exercise assigned by his teacher, Miss Richards, to help his dexterity, though he often had trouble staying within the lines.

Harper eyed the two baskets of laundry plopped at one end of the sofa. She’d have to get to those sooner or later. Glancing at her watch, she decided there wasn’t time now to do the hated task.

The doorbell chimed, and she actually jumped. Okay, maybe she was a little nervous. After all, it had been over a year since she’d gone out with a man. And Will Franconi wasn’t just any man, was he?

“It’s Will!” Jeremy raced to the front door.

Harper grabbed her jacket off a chair, then scooped a few things off the hall table and into the drawer as she passed. When Jeremy opened the door, Will immediately took her breath away. His white button-down shirt was open at the collar, revealing a dusting of hair climbing up from his chest, and he should have been a jeans model, they looked so great on him.

Jeremy was dancing around him on the front stoop. “She took forever to get ready, Will. I had to keep pounding on the door.”

Harper closed her eyes briefly in mortification.

“That’s a woman’s prerogative,” Will said with a smile she saw once she braved opening her eyes again.

“Well, I’m ready now,” she said brightly.

“Not just ready, Harper,” Will said in that low voice that sent tingles coursing through her, head to toe. “
Gorgeous.
”

He held out his hand and she let his warm fingers close around hers, palms resting together. It felt good. Too good. But she simply couldn’t make herself pull away. Not when it felt like there hadn’t been nearly enough good things in her life...and certainly nothing
this
good.

“I’ll have her back home safe and sound, Jeremy, don’t you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Jeremy said with all seriousness. “She gets to stay out as long as she wants because she’s an adult.”

“Trish will be here in half an hour,” Harper reminded Jeremy.

She didn’t mind his being alone for half an hour, but certainly not a whole evening. Number one, Jeremy didn’t like the dark. And two, though she’d trained him to use 911, she wasn’t confident about his reaction time. Harper always had Trish, their neighbor’s college-age daughter, come in for a few hours if she was going to be late.

“I know, Harper.” Her brother gave an exaggerated wave as Will led her down the front path.

She’d expected a muscle car like the Challenger. Even an expensive Ferrari or a Porsche. But he held open the door of a BMW for her. Nothing flashy or showy, though it was elegant and luxurious. He helped her with a hand to her elbow, and she felt his heat through her jacket. She couldn’t remember ever being this aware of a man—the true-blue color of his eyes and the thickness of his black hair, wondering how soft it would be against her fingers.

As he closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, she firmly reminded herself that she needed to maintain dignity and control tonight.

Because something told her that Will Franconi not only had plenty of practice in sweeping a girl off her feet and making her feel completely breathless, but for some reason she couldn’t understand, he was planning on putting those skills to use tonight.

With her.

Beside her, Will filled the car with his overwhelmingly male presence. When he was near, it felt to Harper as though everything and everyone else was eclipsed. Case in point: Despite her intention to be happy with her life the way it was—just her and Jeremy—she was heading out on a date with a man she barely knew and still wasn’t at all sure she could trust.

As Will headed up Sand Hill Road, out to the freeway, he said, “I hope you like Italian. I know a great place in Woodside, not far from here.”

“It sounds lovely.” Though her job was talking and bringing people together, she felt horribly tongue-tied. What was so different about Will that simply sitting next to him made her heat up all over and her brain go blank?

“Why recruiting?” he asked into the silence after he’d merged into the freeway traffic.

Glad that at least one of them was able to think straight enough to start a conversation, she said, “I’ve always liked connecting people and helping them find a career that’s just the right fit. Plus, it’s a fairly flexible job, so I can work from home or arrange meetings around Jeremy as I need to.”

They exited at Woodside and headed west. The roads were winding and two-lane here. The town was small and quaint, surrounded by horse farms and large estates. They passed a small vineyard with bright green leaves and grape clusters just starting to appear.

“I know you’re not looking for anyone to give you credit, but you’ve obviously done an amazing job taking care of your brother.” He glanced at her, and she was surprised to see admiration in his expression. “Especially when you’re so young. And with all his special needs, not many people could handle that.”

But she didn’t feel particularly young. She’d grown up fast after Jeremy’s accident. “He’s got school and a job at the local grocery store. So he keeps pretty busy without me, actually.” And she felt guilty letting Will think she’d taken miraculous care of Jeremy on her own. “The truth is that I couldn’t have managed without the trust.”

“Trust?”

She’d already told him too much in his garage. But he was obviously quite good at realizing when there was more—and at getting her to share it. “The father of the teenager who hit Jeremy set up a fund.”

Will was silent a long moment before saying, “I wanted to ask you before, did the kid go to prison?”

“No one saw anything. And my parents had to take the money because they couldn’t pay for everything that Jeremy needed.” Though she knew it might sound defensive, she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “My parents did what they had to do.”

Will took his hand off the stick shift and placed it over hers for a moment. One that was too brief before he had to change gears again, but long enough for her to be seared by his heat—and touched by his obvious compassion.

“Of course your parents did what anyone would have done in their position.”

It meant a lot to her that he didn’t seem to be judging either her or her parents for using the trust to take care of Jeremy. Still, she felt as though she’d told him pretty much everything about herself at this point. Now she wanted to know
his
story. Because even if this was just one night away from real life, she couldn’t help but want to know where he’d come from and how he’d gotten here.

“Tell me about you, Will.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw right before he gave her a crooked smile. “My life is already out there on the Internet.”

But all the Internet said was that he was a self-made man from Chicago who’d dated several gorgeous models and actresses. She also knew that he was part of a consortium called The Maverick Group, whose members were all self-made men like him.

Everything else about Will Franconi—the man, not the billionaire—was a mystery. One that she couldn’t help but want to solve.

And yet, at the same time, she knew she shouldn’t let herself get invested in him. They weren’t going to fall madly in love, get married, and live happily ever after—it was just a drive and dinner, after all. Not the first night of the rest of their lives together.

As if by design, before she could ask anything more, he pulled into a parking lot and said, “We’re here.”

She was pleased to see that the restaurant looked homey, a place she’d be comfortable in, rather than a flashy see-and-be-seen kind of place. The small yard of the yellow Victorian house with a wraparound porch and dormer windows was filled with flowering bushes and a carved wood sign that read
Ristorante Cannelli
.

Will got out, but Harper didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. Not that she minded men holding doors for her, but it seemed odd to sit there waiting for it. Seeing that she’d taken care of herself, he retrieved something from the backseat, then offered her his arm like a gentleman as they crossed the gravel lot.

Had he learned his manners from his mother? Or maybe he’d modeled them after his father? Yet again, she found herself wanting to know the answers despite herself.

“Mama Cannelli makes a duck ravioli to die for.” He kissed his fingers in a very Italian gesture.

A young hostess greeted them as they entered. She was obviously of Italian descent, with long dark hair, dark eyes, and a full hourglass figure. “Mr. Franconi, Mama will be so happy to see you. We’ve held your special table.”

“Thank you, Katerina.” Harper shouldn’t have cared that he didn’t react to the other woman’s beauty. But she couldn’t help but be pleased that he only seemed to have eyes for her tonight. “Please tell Mama Cannelli I have a surprise for her.” Will held up the tin he’d taken from the backseat.

The house hadn’t been gutted to make a large dining room. Instead, tables with red-checked cloths had been set up in each of the rooms, the formal dining room to the left and the front parlor to the right. A big picture mirror over the fireplace reflected the patrons. Candles in glass jars and small pots of flowers gave the room a homey touch. Harper wasn’t overdressed nor was Will underdressed.

It wasn’t what she’d expected at all. No show, no flash. No private jets or hot air balloons.

And she loved it.

She also loved the tang of tomato sauce, garlic, and spices that trailed behind them as Katerina led the way upstairs and along the landing. Will’s special table was by the window overlooking a back garden awash in azaleas and hydrangeas.

Katerina laid down the menus as Will pulled out Harper’s chair. “Your usual drink, Mr. Franconi?”

“Please.”

“And for the lady?”

“A Riesling would be lovely if you have it.”

The girl left, and Will set the tin on the table as he sat. Harper could see only the back label, the print too small to read.

“This place looks fabulous.” Harper expected that they’d be fawned over, the center of attention. But Will was treated just like any other diner in the room.

“Great food. Good price.” Will unrolled his utensils from the napkin. “I’m a big believer in value.”

“Is that what you do? In your business, I mean. Give people value?”

“I give them what they
want
. I pay attention to current fads, but I’ve always had an eye for the good stuff. Something exclusive and expensive. The value is in how badly people want something unique. And that’s all in the perception.”

Glad that he didn’t seem to mind talking about his business, at the very least, she asked, “Like what?”

“Some people will pay anything to be able to say something is one of a kind, so that they’ve got bragging rights. They don’t want to walk into a store and buy it or get it on the Internet. It’s designer couture. Like an award-winning Japanese single malt whiskey of which only fifty bottles were produced. Or a Turkish rug that took two years to weave. My customer is happy to pay for that one-of-a-kind perceived value, and then I pass it on to the artisan and make my profit at the same time.” He spread his hands. “Everyone’s happy.”

It couldn’t be standard business practice to share the wealth with the people who did the actual labor, but she already knew from her time in his garage with Jeremy that Will wasn’t typical. Not when most rich men would have tossed Jeremy’s letter in the trash—or treated him like there was something wrong with him.

Still, she didn’t entirely understand. “What kind of people would pay so much?”

“The kind of people who have more money than they can possibly spend.”

He’d compared luxury goods to designer couture, the fifty-thousand-dollar designer dresses celebrities wore to the Oscars. But the exorbitant amounts were beyond her.

Just like
he
was beyond her.

Harper had a perfectly good sense of self-worth, and yet she wasn’t going to lie to herself and say that everything about Will’s world didn’t make her head spin. She couldn’t imagine living a life like his.

“Do you regularly travel to Japan and Turkey?” She’d never been outside the U.S. She’d had dreams, of course, but after her parents died, it wasn’t a luxury she could afford. Not yet, anyway, though she was saving up. One day she and Jeremy would see all the places she’d read about curled up on the couch at night.

“It’s one of the perks of what I do.” Smile crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.

“And do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No.” The crinkles disappeared. His face shut down. The muscle in his jaw jumped again. “Not by blood, anyway.”

Clearly, he was far more comfortable talking about his business than he was about anything personal. And she hated that she’d said something that had clearly prodded old wounds, especially when she knew how difficult it was to have to tell people the hard stuff over and over again.

Fortunately, just then a woman burst through the doorway, chattering in Italian to the wait staff. She swished through the tables, a tray balanced on her hand with Harper’s wine and a frosty mug of beer for Will.

“Mr. Franconi.” She set down both drinks with a flourish.

“Mama Cannelli.” Will rose to hug her.

She was the stereotypical Italian mother from the movies, with a round face, round body, and dark hair sprinkled with strands of silver. Her dress was something out of the 1950s, protected with a black apron.

“This is my friend Harper.”

Mama Cannelli beamed. “Very nice, very pretty,” she said in melodious, Italian-laced English. “I hope you don’t eat like a bird.”

“I very much enjoy eating good food,” Harper said with a smile. “Will recommended the ravioli.”

The woman’s entire face smiled—her forehead, her laugh lines, her mouth, even her dimpled chin. “Oh, he loves that duck.”

“I certainly do. And I brought you a present, Mama.” Will held out the tin.

“You don’t need to bring me presents whenever you dine with us. All you have to do is enjoy our food.” But she took the round tin in her hand, dipping into her apron pocket for a pair of reading glasses.
“Mio Dio.
I cannot accept. This is far too much.”

He touched her hand. “It’s a gift. I have an entire shipment. One small tin is nothing.”

“It’s a
pound
.” Her voice rose. “A
fortune
.”

“Why don’t you make us a special hors d’oeuvre with it? Make some for yourself, too, and then save the rest for your very special customers.”

What was in the tin?
Harper still couldn’t read the label.

“Please?” Will said.

“You’re a terrible one.” Mama Cannelli turned to Harper, her eyes sparkling. “You watch out for this one. He’s a charmer. He gets his way with everyone.” She turned back to Will and gave him a kiss on the cheek, one that clearly pleased him to no end. “
Grazie
, Mr. Franconi. It demands a simple preparation so as not to overwhelm the flavor. I will return shortly with the delicious treat.”

“I’m dying to know,” Harper asked after Mama had left them. “What was that?”

“It’s a surprise for you, too.”

She shot him a mock glare at keeping the mystery spinning out—something he was very good at—as the waiter arrived, introducing himself as Antonio. The Cannellis were friendly with Will, and he was very polite and considerate. No cocky finger-snapping. Maybe she’d seen too much TV, where rich people treated the help like second-class citizens who were not even worth a thank-you.

But Will wasn’t like that. At least, as far as she could tell. Because as they talked over their wine and beer—a little more about his cars, about the amazing weather they’d been having, about some of her best and worst clients over the years—he managed not to say much about himself at all.

Soon, Mama Cannelli arrived with her simple yet elegant creation. “I have taste-tested. Magnificent.” She kissed her fingers just as Will had earlier. “Any garnish would be a travesty.” She placed a small pot in the center of the table. Beside that she laid a plate of toasted bread slices and set a spoon by the pot. “Mother-of-pearl. We must not influence the flavors.” She threw out her hands expressively. “Now eat.” Then she leaned down to Will. “The ravioli tonight is on me. And a bottle of our best champagne.”

“That’s not necessary,” Will protested, but Antonio was already popping the cork.

“One cannot have caviar without champagne,” she declared. “And now I leave you alone with your beautiful lady.”

“You brought her caviar?” Harper examined the pot filled with tiny golden eggs.

“I found this about six weeks ago. It’s Ossetra caviar. The golden color is quite prized. And, as a bonus, the fishery is known for its conservation policies, given that the sturgeon is a threatened species.” He picked up the mother-of-pearl spoon, scooped up the caviar, dabbed it on the toasted bread, and brought the slice close to her lips.

“Taste,” he urged.

The action was intimate.
Sexy.

Her heart began to beat loudly in her ears. Just as he wanted her to, Harper ate from his fingers, her lips touching his skin. But the flavor that exploded on her tongue was far more decadent than caviar.

The most delicious flavor by far was
him
.