The Billionaire's Forbidden Desire (5 page)

Nothing. That was the problem. Drinking for the last four—or was it five?—days hadn’t done a thing to make him any sharper. And he’d had more than three bottles of scotch, despite what he’d told her. He’d just lost count after the second day, but he was going through more than three a day.

Something painful he wanted to either forget about or run from
…

Damn it.

How weak and vulnerable that sounded. He wasn’t running from anything. Every shitty memory was a life lesson. Every harsh word he’d heard stripped another blindfold from his eyes.

Dane studied her face. He wished he could trace the delicate line of her nose…the smooth curve of her lower lip…the stubborn sharp tip of her chin. But he didn’t dare do anything that could wake her up. If she opened those honest, perceptive eyes of hers and looked at him, his resolve to leave might crumble. So instead he drew in close and inhaled her sweet scent one last time, etching every subtle fragrant layer into his memory.

He went to the dresser and found a memo pad and a pen. He scrawled ten digits, all neat and legible. Then he added:
Call in case of unintended consequences
.

She’d been sure she wouldn’t get pregnant, but nothing was one hundred percent certain in life. He should’ve never given in to the urge when he didn’t have a condom, but he hadn’t been able to resist.

Probably a five percent chance she’ll dial the number
. That was five percent too high, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to regret spending the night with her.

And precisely for that reason, he got dressed and left.

It had been two months, but Sophia couldn’t stop looking at the memo from time to time. There was no signature, but she didn’t need one to feel Dane’s touch on it.

“Girl, you have it bad,” Libby said, stepping onto the deck in a sky-blue bikini that brought out her eyes.

Her best friend had arrived the previous week. Sophia had already told her everything over the phone, but Libby had made her go over it all again face-to-face.

Sophia folded the memo. “It’s nothing.”

Libby plopped herself down on a lounge chair and smoothed her curly brown hair behind her. “So throw it away.” She sucked down a juice drink, her bright pink lipstick smearing the straw.

“Maybe later.” Sophia still couldn’t figure out why he’d just…vanished. She’d racked her brain, thinking about everything that had happened, but still couldn’t come up with a reason.

“Don’t let it get to you. Some men take advantage. But that’s on him, not you. We’ll find you a nice guy when you get back in town.”

“But I told you he didn’t. I started it, and I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have done anything.”

“Oh, come on. He’s a man, and you’re gorgeous.” Libby frowned. “You think maybe he was scared of Chad?”

Sophia shook her head. “Doubt it. He’s not the type to be intimidated.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he didn’t, you know, shrink back when Chad gave him the once-over. It wasn’t an entirely friendly appraisal.”

“Fine. So call him.”

Sophia flushed. “For what? I’m not pregnant.” There was no other interpretation of “unintended consequences,” was there?

“Yeah, but what if he changed his mind? He wouldn’t know how to get in touch with you or want to drop everything and come back here on the small chance that you might still be around.” Libby pursed her mouth. “I just hate seeing you being indecisive. I know he was your first, but…” She sighed. “It looks like you need some kind of closure. So go get some.”

Biting her lower lip, Sophia unfolded the memo and stared at the ten neatly written numbers again. She recognized the area code as L.A. She and Dane were in the same time zone, and it was only eleven in the morning. “You know what? You’re right.”

She pulled out her phone from her tote bag and dialed. As her phone rang, she waited, her heart pounding in her ears. Da-dum, da-dum.

After the third ring, it clicked. “Rosenbaum, McCracken, Wagner, and Associates. How may I direct your call?” came a modulated, professional female voice.

“Uh…” Sophia swallowed. “Sorry, wrong number.” She hung up.

“What?” Libby asked.

“I think I misdialed,” Sophia said, her mouth dry. “Let me try again.”

The second time also got her the same, professional voice. “Rosenbaum, McCracken, Wagner, and—”

Sophia hung up again. Embarrassment heated her face.

“What is it?” Libby asked.

“It’s not his cell phone.”

“What then? His office?”

Sophia shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s a place called Rosenbaum, McCracken, Wagner, and Associates.”

“Sounds like a law firm. Lemme check.” Libby pulled out her phone and tapped away. “Yup. A law firm in L.A. Found their website.” She scowled. “You think he works there?”

Sophia shrugged helplessly. “Maybe.”

“What a dickhead. He could’ve at least given you his direct line. Let’s see… Oh, they have a section on their lawyers.” She tapped a few times. “You said his name was Dane, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a pause as Libby tapped. “He’s not listed anywhere.”

“He’s not?”

“No. But maybe he gave you a fake name. Does anyone here look familiar to you?” Libby handed over the phone.

Sophia scrolled down, looking at a series of professional headshots of lawyers. None of them was Dane. Her stomach twisted. “No.”

“What the hell?”

Dane never wanted to see her again. That much was clear. She didn’t even know why she cared—it was just a one-night stand, and they hadn’t made any promises to each other. Given how gorgeous he was, he probably had plenty of women throwing themselves at him, all of them undoubtedly far more sexually experienced and skilled than she was.

She gave the phone back to Libby. “Well, there’s my closure.”

They sat for a few moments, watching the waves crash and ebb along the beach.

“This sucks,” Libby said.

“Hey, at least I’m not pregnant,” Sophia said, forcing some cheeriness into her voice.

She crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash. Mexico was supposed to be about letting go of her past and planning her future. She shouldn’t be wasting even a moment moping on a stranger who’d never wanted anything but sex from her.

* * *

Spinning his pen absent-mindedly, Dane stared out the window. A new tech guy was blabbering on about some business idea or other.

Normally Dane would give the man his undivided attention, but somehow he couldn’t. His thoughts kept wandering back to Mexico. Or more precisely, what had happened there. Maybe it was the view from the conference room that got in the way of his focus. It was bright and sunny in L.A., the sun reflecting off the metal and glass skyscrapers. And somehow it reminded him of sun reflecting off the sea…

And the pen… He clenched his hand around it. Every time he saw something spin, his mind drifted to the first time he’d noticed Sophia—leaping and spinning in the air and landing on one foot. She’d looked so graceful and powerful, her lithe body taut and in control. She’d seemed like some kind of goddess…until she’d lost her balance and stumbled.

It’d been two months, and his lawyers hadn’t contacted him, which meant Sophia hadn’t called. He was certain she’d seen his note. And apparently there was no reason for her to reach out.

He should be relieved. He
was
relieved. And yet…

Her face kept flashing through his mind at the most inopportune moments. And it wasn’t even the sublime expression of bliss as she’d come. No, it was her gorgeous, bright smile. Or that sweetly earnest look she’d had when she’d asked him not to be upset for not telling him she’d been a virgin. Or the soft empathy in her eyes when she’d told him about how vulnerable he’d been…

He licked his lower lip. Sometimes he thought he could taste her there…but that was ridiculous. It had been months. There was nothing left.

Perhaps he should’ve given her his personal number. If he could go back in time to that moment, he would have. Not that it would’ve made a particle of difference since she wasn’t pregnant and didn’t have any reason to call. But he wished he could’ve left her his mobile—

He shook himself mentally. What did it matter? Who gave a damn what number he’d jotted down on the piece of paper when the outcome was the same? And surely he didn’t hope she’d gotten pregnant. What a disaster that would have been. He had zero interest in becoming a father. There was already enough on his plate.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“We were wondering—” the entrepreneur said hesitantly.

“The idea may have potential, assuming the costs can be kept down.” It was a stock answer. “Send me the slides and let me study them again before making up my mind.”

“Yes, of course.” Everyone scribbled on their notepads.

Dane glanced at his watch. Two p.m. “Anything else?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Well then.” He got up and left, his wide strides eating up the distance between the conference room and his office. Restlessness rode him, and he resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck.

His assistant straightened at the sight of him. She was impeccably put together with a sleek French twist and a neat dark navy blue skirt suit. Anything less wouldn’t be tolerated in his office. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said.

“Anything from my lawyers?”

“No.” She frowned. “Would you like me to call them?”

He shook his head. “Clear my calendar for the weekend. I’m going to—” He caught himself before he said too much. He wasn’t going back to that beach in Mexico. Sophia probably wasn’t even there anymore.

And even if he were to go, and she was still there…then what?

“Sir…?”

“Never mind. Leave my weekend as is.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dane grimaced as he made his way to the cemetery. The only thing worse than attending a funeral was attending one in the Pacific Northwest. The weather there was disgusting. Gray. Rain. And more rain. Fog. The dead deserved a courtesy of sunshine on their way to the other world.

He’d meant to arrive earlier, but the traffic had been horrendous. Some idiot had skidded off the road and of course everyone else had slowed down to rubberneck. You would think that they’d be more blasé, not to mention better drivers, living in a water-drenched area like this.

The shitty weather made him think of Mexico…which was ridiculous. He had no idea why everything these days kept reminding him of it. What possible feelings could he have for Sophia when it’d been almost three years now? It wasn’t like him to let his mind linger over a woman.

Was it because she’d been a virgin?

As quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it. That couldn’t be. He’d had virgins before. And his interest had always soon waned.

If he wanted, he could probably find Sophia again. The place where she’d stayed undoubtedly had a record of its renters. But then what? How ridiculously awkward would it be for him to just show up at her doorstep like some stalker—or worse, a lovesick fool.

Hi! You didn’t get pregnant
,
so I thought we should have a three-year anniversary meet
.

He shoved his thoughts of her aside and focused on why he’d come to this god-forsaken location in the first place: Rick Reed’s funeral.

It wasn’t difficult to spot the plot set aside for the man. Dane was the sole Pryce to attend, but only because he was in Seattle and Salazar thought he should for the sake of appearances. Geraldine had also agreed, albeit grudgingly. Rick wasn’t the one who’d wronged her, even if he had married Betsy Ford, who had taken Geraldine’s husband Julian Reed from her all those years ago.

Geraldine hid it well, but she was still bitter about the way Julian had dumped her for Betsy. Three beautiful children hadn’t been enough to ensure that he wouldn’t stray. In Dane’s opinion their parting was a blessing in that it freed Geraldine from a crappy marriage, but women could be irrational about stuff like that. And that was the only explanation for the simmering anger his aunt still harbored against Betsy and her children.

The Pryce family never associated very closely with the other Reeds—there was never a reason to—and thankfully they weren’t a prolific lot. Rick had been Julian’s half-brother and had a serious inferiority complex, but for some reason he’d decide to marry Julian’s second wife Betsy within a month of their divorce. The idiot had apparently never realized he was taking his brother’s leftovers.

Dane stopped at the sight of the grieving family. Betsy was there, of course, and somewhat familiar—a trim blonde with a beautiful face kept young by an abundance of Botox and surgical help. She stood with a hip cocked, feet encased in a pair of fashionable high-heel boots. She dabbed at her eyes daintily with a handkerchief and let out an occasional sob, like she was a star in a tragic movie.

Next to her was a younger woman who barely reached Betsy’s neck. Unlike Betsy she wore a black one-piece dress that reached an inch below her knees and sensible flat booties. Her shaking hands covered her face, and Dane tilted his head. Something about her tugged at his memory, and he had the most absurd urge to go put his arms around her.

A large, dark-skinned man in a suit was holding an umbrella over her, his body positioned like a shield between her and the crowd. A brown-haired fellow in his late twenties came over from the knot of people standing behind them and squeezed the girl’s shoulder—the gesture overly familiar in Dane’s opinion. The umbrella holder shot the other man a look sharp enough to draw blood and shifted closer to her. The younger man’s mouth twisted into an ugly line, but he didn’t back off.

She finally dropped her hands.

Sophia
.

The sight sucker-punched him; all the breath rushed out of Dane’s lungs as he stared at her. Tears dripped from her pain-filled green eyes, staining her colorless cheeks. She looked small and forlorn standing in the rain. The man next to her whispered something in her ear, and she nodded.

Dane’s hand tensed around the umbrella handle.

What the hell? The Sophia from Mexico was Rick Reed’s only child?