The Billionaire's Con (9 page)

“See,” Cara sat back in her chair, “that’s the trouble with guys with cute butts. You forget to ask the pertinent questions, like do you live in this hemisphere?”

She smirked at Cara’s innocent look, ignoring Shan’s and Erin’s chuckles. “Who was it that took one look at Finn’s ass and couldn’t dredge up the slightest interest in another male from then on?”

“Touché.” Cara grinned.

“Anyway, I may not know exactly where he lives, but I did ask. He works up and down the east coast. He said he has a place in Virginia, but he spends a lot of time in Boston and Atlanta. He’s got money that his father left him when he died, and he apparently invested it well. So, he’s not some deadbeat after me for my money. Which is a good thing, since I’m technically broke.”

“We could always hire an investigator,” Cara offered. “Have him checked out.”

The suggestion horrified her. “No, I don’t want to do that. I would hate it if someone was sneaking around behind my back like that. Besides, he just signed a six-month lease, so we’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another. All I know is he makes me feel all soft and mushy inside, and I don’t seem to be able to do a damn thing about that. The only option I see is convincing him he feels the same way.”

“Amen, sister,” Erin piped in, and they all laughed. That had been her strategy with Ryan, and she’d succeeded wonderfully.

Meggy sighed, remembering the look in his smoky eyes as he’d slipped inside her. “If I’m reading him right, he’s halfway there already. So, we’ll take it slow. Well, not too slow.” She wiggled her brows. “I plan to enjoy myself while deciding what I want to do with him. If I decide to keep him, I’ll just have to see to it he says the words first.” Confidence warred with insecurity, and thankfully, confidence won the fight.

Cara laughed, and tapped her mug against hers. Shan and Erin followed suit. “To keepers!” Cara toasted. She waited until Meggy brought the mug to her lips to add, “So, did you take any pictures?”

****

Trevor’s big Mercedes was luxurious, the ride smooth. When he stopped in front of the Bluebell Diner, Meggy raised her brows in question.

“Tess promised to pack us a bagged lunch. I just need to run in and pick it up.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips then slid from the car.

She stared after him as he disappeared inside the diner. Tess? He’d been in town less than a week, and he was already on a first-name basis with the Bluebell’s pretty waitress? Hmmm.

“Tess?” she asked the moment he settled himself back behind the wheel with a large paper sack. “Didn’t take you long to get friendly with the locals, did it?”

He grinned and handed her their lunch. “Just doing research, fairy girl. The Bluebell is a great source for those yarns you told me about. I’ve met several of the town’s more colorful and more talkative citizens while bellied up to the counter, including Maive Cataldo and Jasper Watson.”

The flash of jealousy she’d felt at the thought of Trevor spending time with the pretty Tess cooled at the mention of the town’s two oldest citizens. She smiled. “Maive keeps everyone in line at the Bluebell, but Jasper is an old sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Trevor eased the big car out onto the road. “‘Sweetheart’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe the old goat, but I know what you mean. He’s a character.”

She chuckled. “He’s an institution in Palmerton and a hopeless flirt. He’s proposed to every woman in town at one time or another. His wife, Bertie, is a saint.”

“Her name has come up a couple of times.”

“You should make a point of talking to her. She’s led a pretty interesting life. Did you know she was a welder down at the shipyards before Jasper came back from the war? A real life Rosie the Riveter. And Jasper’s sister Clara was a naval nurse. She’s a hoot.”

“And wears some interesting hats.” Trevor laughed.

“You
have
been busy.” She eyed him, not really surprised he’d already met so many of the townsfolk. He was here to do research, after all. She was interested to hear what he thought of Clara, though. Like her brother, ninety-three-year old Clara Watson was a fixture around town, and didn’t go anywhere without a hat. She had long been the reigning queen of eccentricity in Palmerton. “So, you’ve met our Clara.”

“I had lunch with her at the Bluebell on Sunday,” he explained with an indulgent smile. “She insisted on going Dutch, and then paid her half with five empty gum wrappers.”

“That sounds like Clara.”

“She had a brown paper bag folded up like a clutch purse. It was decorated with crayons and glitter to match the paper flowers glued to her straw hat.”

“Hard to believe she’s the richest woman in town, isn’t it?” His stunned expression made her laugh out loud. “Their family once owned the mineral rights to a large chunk of the North Shore. You have something in common with the Watsons, Trevor. Jasper and Clara made some very wise investments when they sold the rights.”

He stared at her open-mouthed for a long moment. Then his jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “I’ve been
had
by a pair of geriatric swindlers,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I’ve picked up both of their tabs at the Bluebell for the last three days.”

Meggy burst into uncontrollable laughter.

He frowned. “You think that’s funny, do you?”

“Oh, Trevor, you’ve been had by more than just a couple of crafty old-timers.”

“How so?”

She controlled her mirth long enough to inform him. “The Watsons
own
the Bluebell.”

Again, he was silent, studying her face for the truth. Wry acceptance was heavy in his sigh. “I’m losing my touch. I used to be able to read people. No one in this town is who they appear to be.”

“Cheer up, Trevor.” She patted his arm in sympathy. “They’ve spent ninety plus years perfecting their acts. It took you less than a week to catch on. Cara’s dad bought Jasper breakfast for two months when they first moved to town. They’ve been conning newcomers since the diner opened.”

She grinned when he glanced at her sharply.

“Don’t be surprised to find an envelope full of cash shoved at you once you let it be known you’re on to them. They’re not cheap. They just have a running contest to see who can run up the biggest tab. The next time you’re in there, ask one of them about the pair of ceramic cows up above the cash register. That’s where they keep their ill-gotten gains.”

Trevor shook his head in disbelief. “Small towns.”

“You have no idea. But there’s no surer way of knowing you’ve been accepted in Palmerton than to have your cash in those cows. The Watsons don’t waste their talent on people they don’t like. Clara especially, she’s a very discriminating woman.”

“Yeah, I could tell that by her paper purse,” he grumbled.

She giggled. The man was so darned sexy when he grumbled. “I didn’t say she isn’t eccentric, just a good judge of character. So, you’ve discovered the Bluebell. How is your research coming along? And the book? Can I read what you have so far?”

“No.” He kept his gaze focused on the road.

“Come on, Trevor,” she wheedled. “I’ve never tried to write anything, but I’m sure I could be a big help with your story. I have a vivid imagination.”

“And I’ve never tried to cook, but I have an insatiable appetite. Shall I come help you in the Palmer House kitchen?”

“Not on your life.”

One corner of his lips lifted in a smug smile, but then, her smile was smug as well.

Chapter Eleven

They crossed into Boston on the Tobin Bridge, exiting the highway, heading into Charlestown. Trevor wove his way through the narrow streets to the marina parking lot. The gleaming masts and blinding white hulls of the docked vessels painted a perfect picture against the dark water of the harbor. They climbed from the car.

The occasional screech of seagulls and dull gong of buoys disturbed the soothing lap of water against docked hulls. The cool, yet humid, breeze carried the sharp tang of the sea and the intermittent waft of cooking food from the many restaurants across the harbor. She snapped pictures while Trevor carried their lunch.

Over the wooden planks of the dock, they made their way past the impressive yachts berthed on either side. Her eyes widened as she gaped at the sleek, white sailboat when he stopped. Noting the name emblazoned in bold, golden letters on the stern, she looked up at him. “Christos’ Chariot?”

“Christos is a family name.” He passed her the bagged lunch and handed her aboard. “And she’s well named. She rides the wind.” He invited her to look around, leaving her to her own devices as he went about preparing to sail.

She knew nothing about sailing, or sailboats for that matter, but she knew expensive when she saw it. The forty-foot cruiser gleamed in the morning sunlight. Trimmed in glossy teak, she slid a hand over the smooth surface of the wood, admiring the craftsmanship while avoiding the intimidating rigging. “Do you need me to help with the ropes, or sails, or anything?” she called from where she stood at the rail. “Can you drive this thing without anyone to help? It seems awfully complicated.”

He laughed and continued preparing to shove off. “I can sail her on my own. You just sit back and enjoy the ride today. You can play first mate another time.”

Another time. Oh, I like the sound of that.
With a smile, she continued along the deck. She admired the large lounging couch formed into the deck along the front bow, then wandered back to the partially enclosed bridge with its impressive controls and captain’s chair. Shading her eyes with one hand, she pressed her nose to the smoked glass doors leading to below deck.

“Would you like a tour before we shove off?” Trevor appeared beside her.

“Do we have enough time?” She turned and smiled. “This thing is huge.”

His head dropped to hers to press a quick kiss to her mouth before he slid the door open. At the bottom of four laddered steps was a large galley. On the left, the port side, he explained, was a table and built-in L-shaped bench. On the right, the starboard, a gleaming white, U-shaped counter included a four burner stove and oven, stainless steel sink, and a glossy black refrigerator-freezer. On both sides of the galley, clean-lined windows followed the shape of the hull and let in the scenery.

She turned slowly. “All the conveniences of home.”

He grinned and took her hand, pushing open a set of louvered doors.

She leaned to look down the companionway at the comfortable-looking double bed framed in the shape of the hull.

“Guest berth,” he explained before leading her back around the main stairs. He paused at a door, opening it. “The head.”

She glanced around him at the full bathroom, complete with a generously sized shower enclosure.

He tugged her toward the back of the boat until he came to another door. He swung it open and stood to the side. A king-sized bed took up much of the large cabin, but the room was far from crowded with its built-in, teak-wood cabinetry, writing desk, and book shelves. The bed looked spacious and inviting with a masculine flair, done up in shades of burgundy and cream.

“Very nice.” She stepped inside to investigate. “There’s a lot more room here than you would think.”

“The builder is known for his clever use of space. He’s utilized every square inch, which translates into comfort and convenience, as well as efficiency.”

“And charm.” She ran her hand along the smooth wood of the desk. “It’s beautiful. Is yours like this?”

“Mine?”

“Your boat.”

His brows were arched when she glanced his way over one shoulder.

“
Just
like this.” He smiled gently. “This is my boat.”

She straightened from studying the bindings on a shelf of books. Slowly, she turned to face him. “This is yours?”

“Whose did you think she was?” Humor danced in his eyes.

“I don’t know. I just thought...” She shrugged. “I thought you’d rented it, or borrowed it, or something.” Her head cocked in thought. “You keep your boat docked in Charlestown? I thought you lived in Virginia.”

“I live in your carriage house at the moment. I just signed a six-month lease, remember?”

“Well, yes. But...”

“I had her brought up here so she would be available if and when I found the time to sail.”

“Oh.”

He took the step necessary to reach her and lifted her chin in his palm until her eyes met his. “Is there a problem, Meggy?”

“No,” she said softly. “No, I just didn’t realize...” His? This three-dimensional billboard for incredible wealth was his? The conversation with the girls flitted through her mind. She really
didn’t
know him. She was well on her way to falling in love with a man she knew next to nothing about. Suddenly, that possibility seemed more folly than fabulous. What could a small town chef have in common with a man who had his sailboat delivered a thousand miles—in case he felt the urge to use it?

Some of what she was feeling must have shown in her eyes. Because he took her hand and lowered her until she was sitting on the bed.

He sat beside her and brushed a fingertip over her cheek. “It’s just a boat, Meggy. An entertainment. I’ve been lucky enough to have been given opportunities in my life, but I’ve also worked hard to achieve what I have. The money is nice, it makes things convenient, but I’m still a man like any other. I’m still the same man I was last night.”