Loving The Billionaire (The Sherbrookes of Newport) (6 page)

It took a few tries, but she settled on her favorite new floral skirt paired with the dark green cowel-neck sweater her mom bought her for Christmas. The outfit wasn’t as formal as the gown she’d worn last night, but it was dressy enough if they went to a restaurant. Or at least dressy enough for the restaurants she frequented. She didn’t want to think about some of the places Warren ate at. They probably didn’t even let you in the parking lot unless you wore an evening gown and a thousand dollars worth of diamonds.

Once satisfied with her appearance, Ruth switched on the radio. She had ten minutes to kill. Watching television made no sense. Besides, she didn’t care for any of the Sunday night shows this season. Helen’s stack of weekly magazines remained on the table, so as Rod Stewart’s voice filled the room, she thumbed through
The Star Report
, which she hadn’t finished reading.

Even though she expected Warren, she still jumped when she heard the doorbell ring. After taking a slow measured breath, Ruth stood and smoothed down her skirt. Then she forced herself to walk and not run for the door.

Just act like always. It’s only Warren. I’ve known him forever.
She fed herself those lines right up until she pulled open the door. Her eyes went immediately to the bouquet of flowers he held in his gloved hands, and the monolog disappeared.

“Warren.” She took a step back so he could enter.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He held out the flowers and gave her a smile that warmed her from head to toe.

For several seconds Ruth stood there and memorized the sight of him holding flowers for her. Then her brain kicked back on. “They’re gorgeous.”

“Tradition calls for roses on Valentine’s Day, but I remembered your favorite flowers are calla lilies. I thought you’d prefer them.” He closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold air.

“You were right. Do I have time to put these in water?”

“Take your time. There’s no rush.”

For the millionth time, she wondered what his plans were. “I forgot to give you your jacket last night.” Ruth felt his eyes on her back as she filled a vase with cold water.

“I realized that when I got home.”

She stuck the flowers in the vase. “Let me grab it, and we can leave.”

As they drove, Warren asked her about her day but otherwise gave no clues about their destination. Ruth tried to guess as they passed the many restaurants and hotels in Newport. When they got to the intersection of Memorial Boulevard and Bellevue Avenue, she gave up. Whatever his surprise, she’d have to wait and see.

She gazed at the opulent mansions on Bellevue as they passed them. Few were privately owned anymore, but at one time they’d been the summer getaways for America’s wealthiest families, each more breathtaking than the one next to it. Over the years she’d toured a few. A person couldn’t live in Newport and not visit at least one.

Warren slowed the car and stopped just long enough to punch in a security code. The wide wrought iron gates slid open, and he continued down the winding driveway. She never would’ve guessed he planned to take her here tonight.

“When you said it was someplace special to you, I should’ve guessed you meant Cliff House.”

He opened her car door and cold air sneaked inside, but she hardly noticed. “You’re not disappointed are you?”

How the heck could she be disappointed? “Just surprised. I’ve never been inside.” She took his outstretched hand, and they started up the stairs.

“Ruth, you’ve been here. I know you have.”

“You brought me here so we could go sailing. We never went inside.” One day a few years ago, she mentioned she’d never been sailing, so he’d taken her out on his sailboat. That was the closest she’d ever been to Cliff House.

As they approached the massive front door it opened and a forty-something-year-old man dressed in a black suit greeted them.

“Good evening, Mr. Sherbrooke.”

What a voice
. She’d only heard such a flat monotone on television.

“Trevor, this is my guest, Ruth Taylor.”

Mr. Monotone turned his attention to her. “Miss Taylor, if you would please give me your coat, I will put it away for you.”

When in Rome.
Ruth slipped off her jacket and handed it over.

“Do you wish to have dinner served now, Mr. Sherbrooke?” The man stood as still as a statue and expressionless.

She bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. Mr. Monotone—she couldn’t think of him any other way—obviously took his job seriously, but she found the way he addressed Warren hilarious.

“First, I want to show Miss Taylor around. Tell Henri we will eat in half an hour.”

Ruth stifled a laugh. Warren never called her anything but Ruth.

“Very well, sir.” Mr. Monotone walked away, her coat in his hands.

No longer able to hold it back, Ruth laughed. “Is he always like that?”

“Trevor?”

Ruth nodded as she looked around. She’d never seen anything like the foyer they stood in. A marble staircase two or three times wider than a normal staircase stood before them. Large marble pillars rose upward supporting the vaulted ceiling. She heard the trickle of a water fountain somewhere nearby.

“More or less. He has worked here for about ten years, and I think I’ve only seen him smile once. His wife is the complete opposite.”

“He’s married? He must be a load of fun to live with.”

Warren laughed, a deep rich chuckle, and then he slipped his arm over her shoulders. “How about a tour before we eat?”

He led her from one amazing room to the next, each more gorgeous than the one before it. The entire time he kept his arm around her. A part of Ruth said the gesture should feel awkward, but it didn’t. It felt natural, like they should walk together this way all the time.

“Last one down here before dinner. If you want, I’ll show you around upstairs after we eat.” Warren opened the last door.

She’d never seen anything quite like this office. Floor to ceiling bookcases lined two walls. An enormous antique desk stood in front of a set of windows, and she could picture Warren’s father or grandfather sitting behind the desk staring at the view. Two leather wingback chairs faced the desk. A dark leather couch and several more chairs were positioned near the fireplace, which had a painted family portrait hanging over it.

“I’m sure you can guess this is my grand—I mean father’s office.”

“Never would’ve guessed.”

Warren flashed her a heart-stopping smile. Was it possible for a person to turn into a puddle of melted goo? If he gave her another smile like that, she suspected they’d be finding out.

“I keep thinking of this as my grandfather’s office.” Warren closed the door.

“He doesn’t come here anymore?” She knew his grandfather was a senator in D.C. and assumed he spent most of his time there. Still, if she had a place like this, she would visit every chance she got.

“Not much. He surprised everyone and signed Cliff House over to my father this past summer.”

They entered a dining room they’d skipped on the tour. They’d stopped in the formal dining room; this one was much smaller in size but no less extravagant.

“Why was that a surprise?” She sat in the chair Warren pulled out at a beautifully arranged table. Not a single detail had been overlooked. Tall white taper candles in silver candleholders stood guard on either side of an arrangement of calla lilies and red roses. Fine crystal water and wine glasses marked both place settings.

“Traditionally, Cliff House passes to the oldest Sherbrooke male upon the death of his father. The last I checked my grandfather was alive and well. But he rarely came here anymore, and he decided it was time.”

That was one heck of an inheritance. “What happens if the current owner doesn’t have a son? Does it go to his daughter?” She heard footsteps and then someone reached out and filled her wine glass.

“No, then it would go to his eldest nephew. That is how my grandfather inherited it. His uncle had two daughters but no sons, so when he died the mansion went to my grandfather.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this. Someday you will inherit Cliff House from your father.
But
if you have children and they’re all girls, you won’t leave the house to one of them?” Was Warren’s family living in the seventeenth century or something?

“Only if I follow tradition. Between you and me, I’ve always thought it unfair.”

Warren’s modern opinion soothed her irrational ire. After all, why should she care how his family did things?

Warren drummed his fingers on his thigh. So far the evening had proceeded just as he planned. Henri had once again outdone himself in the kitchen. The filet mignon topped with mushroom cabernet sauce was exceptional. The French Bordeaux the chef chose from the wine cellar complimented the meal. Marsha had done a wonderful job preparing the room for dinner. Everything was perfect. So why was he still nervous?

“I think that was the best meal I’ve ever had.” Ruth patted her lips with her napkin.

“Henri never disappoints.” Warren moved so his plate could be taken away. “Are you ready for dessert or would you rather wait?”

“Wait. I couldn’t eat dessert right now.”

Her answer pleased him, or at least part of him. With dinner over, he could take her in his arms and tell her the truth. At the same time, he feared the moment when he’d tell her just how he felt. Once he did, there would be no taking back the words, and their friendship would be altered regardless of her response.

Warren pushed back his chair. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

Ruth didn’t argue.

He’d instructed Trevor to start a fire in the library while they ate dinner. He figured a blaze in the fireplace would create a romantic atmosphere and help get rid of the chill. As much as he loved Cliff House, the old girl could be chilly in the winter, even with the heat on.

“I think this is my favorite room.” Ruth walked closer to the fireplace. “I could spend every day relaxing by this fire.”

Warren closed the door behind him. “It’s my favorite, too.”

He’d spent hours preparing what he intended to say tonight. Now, standing just feet away from Ruth, the words got stuck somewhere between his head and his mouth. “Ruth, we…” His voice trailed off when she fixed her gaze on him.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed, the sound extra loud in the silent room.

“Something wrong?”

Forget words
. Before he changed his mind, Warren stalked across the room and pulled Ruth against him. He met her eyes for a moment and saw her surprise. Rather than explain, he captured her lips, channeling all the passion and love he’d been carrying since summer into a single kiss.

Ruth didn’t push him away or try to stop him. Instead, she put her arms around him and kissed him back. Whatever worries he’d had about her feelings disappeared. If she didn’t love him, she’d never kiss him with such passion.

He’d been about to pull back for air, but Ruth did first, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder.

Warren ran his hand over her hair. She’d left it down, something she didn’t do often, and he loved the way the silky strands felt under his fingers. When he assumed he’d taken in enough oxygen to speak again, he tilted Ruth’s face up toward his. “I love you.” So much for his well thought out speech.

She blinked a few times, and he noticed a teardrop course down her cheek. Not the response he’d expected, considering the kiss they’d shared.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She wiped away the tear and sniffled. “I love you, too.”

Relief almost knocked him to his knees. “I have a present for you. Let’s sit.”

“But then I’ll have to let you go.”

Warren kissed her again. “That’s a problem I can solve.”

Before she could question him, he picked her up and carried her to a chair by the fire. Without letting go of her, he sat with her on his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. “How’s this?”

She rewarded him with a kiss. “Perfect. Like everything else tonight.”

He’d sat down so he could give her the necklace he’d bought, but now he took his time just looking at her. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.” She placed her hand on his check. “I can’t believe you went through so much trouble tonight.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted tonight to be special.” He reached for the jewelry box he’d left on the end table. “This is for you. I hope you like it.” When she didn’t take it from him, he removed her hand from his check and wrapped her fingers around the box. “It doesn’t bite.”

“You didn’t have to buy me anything.”

“Open it.”

She took her other hand off his shoulder and opened the box. “It’s beautiful.” She held up the gold locket that was inside.

When he’d walked into the jewelry store, he’d been unsure of what he wanted. At first he’d picked out a ruby and diamond pendant. It had been something his sister or his brother’s girlfriend would have loved. The more he looked at it though the more he realized it wasn’t Ruth. It was too flashy and not something she would wear often. Then he’d noticed the locket, and he’d known it was the gift for her.

“It reminded me of the one you had.” When they’d first met, she’d almost always worn a simple gold locket her grandmother had given her. Unfortunately, she’d lost it swimming in the ocean one day.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” She kissed him, making it impossible for him to answer.

***

“Are you ready for dessert now?” Warren stopped kissing her neck just long enough to ask.

She almost protested when he removed his lips. “Depends. What’s for dessert?” It would take something special to get her to move. And who could blame her? She sat in the arms of the man she loved, who was also the most handsome guy she’d ever seen.

“Sachertorte.” He went back to kissing her neck again.

“Never heard of it. Is there chocolate in it?”

He laughed, his breath warm against her skin. “What do you think?”

“Knowing you, I’d say yes.” She let herself enjoy the tiny explosions each of Warren’s kisses set off inside her. “I’ll agree to dessert now as long as you promise we can come back to this later.” On the off chance she was dreaming, she wanted to spend as much time in Warren’s arms as she could before she woke up.