Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) (15 page)

"Right," Jack said abruptly, pulling away from me with a strange sort of smile. And then, to my chagrin, my companion lifted a briefcase off the floor and onto his lap, then popped up the lid.

"Um, this isn't a business deal," I said, furrowing my brow in confusion. Although, maybe to Mr. Fish Sticks, sex and business
would
be intertwined. I'd read that the upper crust liked to sign pre-nups before marriage—maybe there was a similar contract that the Reynolds expected their lovers to agree to before sex? A nondisclosure agreement, perhaps?

"That's good to know," Jack responded with a smirk. "Here." He handed over a sheet of paper covered with numbers that at first glance made no sense to my addled brain, but that slowly materialized into STD-testing results. Jack was as clean as a whistle.

"I know you like things planned and controlled," Jack was saying as he pulled another printout from his valise and handed it over to me. "And when I start to undress you, I don't want you worrying about anything other than whether the neighbors can hear your screams of pleasure. Which they can't, by the way. This place is soundproofed."

The second report involved efficacy rates of various types of contraceptive techniques, numbers that would have scared me more if I hadn't been keeping track of my menstrual cycle and knew that I was at extremely low risk of getting pregnant today even if we used the least effective contraceptive method on the chart. That choice, apparently, was up to me since I could see condoms and other unidentified packets poking up around the remaining papers in Jack's briefcase.

Despite myself, I began to laugh. To any other girl, this businesslike rundown of the risks of intercourse would have been a turnoff, but coming from Jack, the data actually felt romantic—as if he fully understood my neurotic nature and had put a lot of effort into making this experience worry-free for me.

"Okay, a laugh right now isn't a good sign," Jack continued, his voice actually sounding a bit nervous when my only reaction was merriment. "But I can work with it. I want you to look at these statistics before you make your final decision." The paper my companion tried to thrust into my hands this time around was obviously compiled from several different sources, and I noticed that Jack had highlighted certain lines to make his presentation go more smoothly.

"I know that it's a huge leap of faith to trust me," Jack went on, and the paper I'd yet to accept began to shake in his grasp. "But if you read this report, you'll see that romantic relationships are actually beneficial to your health. Did you know that sex helps you grow new brain cells? That being part of a happy marriage increases your expected life span by the same amount that smoking a pack a day decreases your longevity?"

I knew it was time to put my couch-mate out of his misery, but I couldn't quite resist teasing him one last time. After all, Mr. Fish Sticks had made me squirm often enough in the early days of our whatever-this-was. "Is that a proposal?" I asked, keeping my face straight with an effort.

"No," Jack said firmly, then rushed to mitigate what might have sounded like a rejection. "Because I know you wouldn't trust a marriage proposal when we've only known each other for a few weeks...."

My companion could have kept digging himself out of that particular pit for quite a while, but I took pity on him. Accepting the final paper out of his hand and carefully placing it back into its folder along with the other reports, I plucked a foil-wrapped condom out of the briefcase in exchange. "I made my pro-con lists before we left home, Jack," I told him at last. "And the pros came out ahead by a mile."

To my delight, the sexy smirk that I enjoyed so much made a reappearance on my companion's face as he took in my words. "Can I see your list?" he asked, letting the briefcase fall to the floor and the papers flutter across the room as he pinned me to the couch.

"No," I answered. "But I'll show you something you'll like even better."

***

That oxytocin is some powerful stuff.
As I lay with my head on Jack's shoulder, the two of us sprawled across the king-sized bed where we'd eventually wound up, I felt my companion's energy pouring into my body in a gentle yet steady wave. In that moment, I knew that all of our differences were minor in comparison with the bond we'd already forged. This whatever-it-was between us was already as strong as Pippin's roots, and our connection was growing by the moment.

My happiness only expanded over the next two days as we finished up Lena's college tour. Jack was so solicitous of my needs that any niggling hint of doubt that might have impinged on my late-night mind was soon squashed. We toured the final school on our list, then spent one glorious afternoon at a botanical garden that nearly made me happier than all of the college libraries we'd toured put together. Not wanting the trip to end, the three of us opted to drive south rather than hooking back up with the Reynolds' jet, and Jack planned frequent pit stops at parks and tourist attractions along the way.

That's why, when all was said and done, we barely pulled back into my hometown half an hour before the Cuadic meeting began. But I didn't mind. I figured I could pick up Florabelle and bring her with me—most of the organization's members had expressed an interest in being introduced to my pet at one time or another, so today could be my show and tell. I wouldn't have traded a single instant of the hours I'd spent with Jack for solitary prep time to expedite the meeting to come, and I'd told my companion as much that morning when we were planning our excursion's final day.

Now, all three of us tumbled, laughing, out of the car as Jack pulled up in front of his house. "Come on! I want to see Florabelle before you go!" Lena demanded, yanking me out of the seat that I seemed to be glued to, and I let the girl drag me across the threshold and down the long hall. Even the Reynolds mansion seemed warmer and brighter than it had been when we left, as if Lena's happiness was soaking into the walls. I liked to imagine that my elevated mood was having an impact on the structure as well, the glow of my bond to Jack illuminating the dim hallway.

My cockatiel was thrilled to see us, and I couldn't resist wasting a moment to take the bird out of her cage and snuggle her under my chin. I hadn't missed my pet as much as I thought I would, my human traveling companions keeping me too busy to be homesick, but I was relieved to see that Shirley had been as good as her word, maintaining the bird in tip-top health. "Sorry to grab Florabelle and run," I said at last, stuffing the cockatiel back into her cage. "But I don't want to be late for my meeting."

"I'll clean up her papers later," Lena offered, picking up my basket of supplies at the same time as I hefted the cage, then walking with me back toward the front door. Halfway down the hall, though, the girl froze in her tracks, her face suddenly grimacing with such pain that if we'd been in the woods, I would have looked down in search of an ankle-biting snake. But since we were safely indoors, I was flummoxed by my charge's abrupt change of mood...until I heard the faintly familiar voice coming out of the living room.

"This kind of behavior is totally unacceptable," Mr. Reynolds senior said coldly, his words stronger because of their complete lack of emotion. "And to think I believed you when you said this trip was all about your sister." The girl in question shot a glance my way, and in unspoken agreement, we opted to stay where we were rather than entering the living room or leaving the mansion. We both wanted to hear what the siblings' father had on his mind.

"It
was
all about Lena," Jack retorted, not managing to maintain the same emotional distance in his voice that came so easily to his father. "The kid has been poring over college catalogs the whole way home. I think she's already planned out her undergraduate degree, her masters, and two or three doctorates by now."

Jack was telling the truth. I'd noticed Lena scribbling away in the backseat several times over the course of our long weekend, and she'd even allowed me to browse through one of the thick booklets on my own. The course descriptions felt like an all-you-can-eat buffet—so many delectable options that it was obvious you couldn't fit them all in before you popped. If Mr. Reynolds senior cared about his daughter at all, he should have been thrilled by the academic excitement that this trip had generated.

But, apparently, the older businessman wasn't impressed. "You expect me to believe that
this
is part of a college tour?" Jack's father demanded, the rustle of papers suggesting that some sort of damning evidence was being thrust into his son's face.

"Shit." Jack's expletive was quiet but tinged with desperation. I could almost see the younger man's shoulder's drooping, even though a wall stood between us, and my stomach suddenly clenched in sympathy. I didn't want to know what had made my lover sound like he'd been struck in the gut, and I tried to force my feet to turn toward the door and the meeting I was already late to. But I remained frozen to the spot, unable to leave the scene of what was sure to turn into a spectacular train wreck.

"You need to stay focused, Jack," Mr. Reynolds continued. "I didn't think I had to explain to you how lucrative this plant could be. You
do
understand that our business is what pays for your Lamborghini and tickets to Broadway shows, I hope?"

I sucked in my breath, suddenly guessing what incriminating evidence Jack now held in his hands. The flashbulbs, the society reporters. Had they captured that instant when Jack reached behind my back to protectively cup the base of my spine, the gesture nearly as intimate as what had followed the subsequent day? Even on Saturday night, I'd known that my employer's touch wasn't one that a man would share with his daughter's companion. Did it look equally incriminating on the printed page?

In the hallway, Lena and I were too petrified to even exchange another glance, and the lack of sound coming from the living room suggested that Jack was similarly preoccupied with his own thoughts. But Mr. Reynolds didn't give his son time to recover. "I think it's best that I take Lena home with me until you get your head on straight and remember where your priorities lie," the patriarch of the clan said, his tone brooking no opposition.

But Jack was always ready and willing to fight for his sister's best interests, even if he wasn't willing to stand up for his own self. "Lena needs more attention than you can provide," my lover began, only to be interrupted by his father.

"And apparently she needs more attention than
you
can spare either, if we want this plant approved and in construction by the end of the summer," Mr. Reynolds senior rebutted. "I'm well aware that your sister is a loose cannon, and now the girl's lack of sense appears to be rubbing off on you. I've always said you were the sensible one—don't prove me wrong." Then, as an afterthought, his daughter's future no more than a bargaining chip in the executive's mind: "Perhaps if you stomp down the local opposition quickly enough, Lena can come and spend the end of the summer here before you move on to your next assignment."

I thought of how closed off Jack's sister had been when I first met her, how depressed and angry with the world, and I hated to think of Lena regressing back to that state. But what else would happen if the girl was forced to return home with her father, the man's indifference verging on sociopathic behavior? I was sure that the senior Reynold's house was even larger and more elegant, but also even colder and more impersonal, than Jack's mansion had felt when I first set foot inside. In fact, I could almost sense the warmth being sucked out of my charge's body as she stood by my side and listened to her father's words.

So, I understood why Jack said what he said next. My lover thought it was the only way to keep his sister out of harm's way. I appreciated that fact...but I also couldn't help noticing the way the words sounded unbearably true coming from the mouth of a man who had spent the last few days wooing me in every manner possible.

"Dad, you're overreacting," Jack said, his tone as controlled and passionless as his father's now. "I thought you understood that I was trifling with Cuadic's organizer, taking their little protest group apart from the inside out. She's not my
girlfriend
, for crying out loud. She's a tool in Clean Power's campaign to win the community over as quickly and cheaply as possible."

"And the photograph?" his father volleyed back.

"A sign that I've just about got the girl where I want her," Jack confirmed, his tone gloating.

"Good," his father approved. "Then focus on that strategy, and you'll have Lena back in your custody before you know it."

And then the siblings' father had joined us in the hallway, his impeccably tailored suit and dashing frame making him look like an older, more distinguished version of the man who I now admitted that I'd fallen in love with.

But who clearly hadn't fallen in love with me back.

"Come, Lena," Mr. Reynolds senior said, as if his daughter were a dog to be brought to heel. The man seemed totally uninterested in the fact that our presence meant we'd overheard every word that he and Jack had said. Perhaps the businessman really didn't care that his daughter had listened to him admitting that she was little more than a chess piece in his hands.

And did
Jack
care? I was too afraid of what I'd see in my lover's eyes to risk the contact, so, instead, I turned toward Lena, who was beginning to cry now that she realized that her protector wasn't going to be able to shelter her any longer.

"Jack?" she asked, her voice choked.