Beauty And The Brooding Billionaire (South Shore Billionaires 2)

“Since you’ve only been three feet inside the foyer, would you like the twenty-five-cent tour?”

Did he really just say that?

“Sure. I promise to keep my camera in my tote bag this time.”

He looked over, and her face held an impish expression that made his lips twitch. “Ha ha. Come on. I’ll put this in the kitchen first.”

He led her through the expansive downstairs. The kitchen was spacious and modern, and while he’d furnished one of the large living rooms, he’d left the other, the one closer to the den, unfurnished. She made appropriate sounds of approval at his den, and then they went upstairs, where she gave a cursory glance at the bedrooms and then sighed at the ensuite bath, which had a stunning view of the water. “Oh, man,” she murmured, stepping inside. “A Jacuzzi tub with an ocean view. All you’d need is a book and a glass of wine and you’d be in heaven.”

He was treated to a vision of what that might look like; her pale skin surrounded by bubbles and damp tendrils of hair down her neck...a long, wet leg and flushed cheeks from the heat of the bath. He tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the image from his mind. A better idea would be to get her out of his house. Or at least out of the upstairs.

She turned to him then and put a hand on his arm. “I have a confession to make. I figured out who you were after my first visit here. Now I kind of understand why you were so angry. I know I violated your privacy. I really did just come to say that I’m sorry. For everything, Mr. Black.”

He hated being called Mr. Black. It reminded him of his father, who had insisted on it from nearly everyone. The only person he’d ever heard call him Peter was his mother. And it had always been Peter, and never Pete. “Branson,” he replied, taken aback by her honest little speech. “And I was rude. You’re right. I didn’t have to be such an ass.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the tour, but I should probably get going.”

She slid by him, trailing a scent of something that reminded him of lily of the valley.

It really had been a peace offering, then. She hadn’t pressed her case about the lighthouse. Hadn’t asked him a thing about his books or his family...and what happened was no secret. It had been all over the internet and made it to several print publications. The one good thing about being an author was that his face was less recognizable than other celebrities. Clearly it hadn’t escaped her notice, though.

Then again, she was somewhat of a celebrity herself, at least in the art world. Or so it would seem.

“Miss Blundon?”

She turned around and smiled. “If I have to call you Branson, you have to call me Jess.”

“Jess.” It suited her. “About yesterday... I own part of the blame. If I hadn’t been such a jerk, you wouldn’t have had to rent a boat. What I’m saying is...if you want to take some pics of the lighthouse, that would be okay.”

The way her face lit up made him glad he’d said it. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was wide and free and full of joy. How long had it been since he’d felt such an unfettered, positive emotion?

Not even at Jeremy and Tori’s wedding had he felt so light. Their wedding had been a happy, wonderful occasion, but bittersweet for Bran. He’d been remembering his own wedding day years earlier.

Bu

t this was simpler. Granting a small favor, really, and it felt good.

“Really? I’d love that! Would it be possible to do a few sketches while I’m here?”

How could he say no now? Suddenly he realized he’d put himself in an awkward position. He’d thought a few pictures wouldn’t hurt. But he wasn’t sure he wanted her hanging around.

Her smile faded, and she put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. If it’s too much, just say so.”

The warmth of her hand seeped into his skin. Her fingers were strong, elegant and slim, like a pianist’s, and unadorned with any rings or nail polish. Was he enjoying the contact a little too much?

“A few sketches would be okay,” he answered, then cleared his throat. “I won’t jump down your throat if I see you at the lighthouse, okay?”

She squeezed his arm. “You mean I have permission to access it?”

He had no idea why he was going along with this, other than the fact that he knew he’d been horribly grouchy the day before, and he didn’t like that about himself. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

Her gaze softened. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’ve had such a hard time lately, and this is the first place that’s really fired up my creativity. It means more than you know.”

He could relate. He hadn’t written a word in nearly two years. But he merely nodded as she turned away and started down the stairs. He followed closely behind, not too closely, though. And wondered at the strange feeling settling in the middle of his chest. It was pleasure mixed with anxiety, an odd combination of enjoying the contact while feeling like it was a foreign sensation.

Had he been hiding away too long?

He walked her to the door, feeling more unsure of himself with each step. When they reached the threshold, she opened the door and stepped outside, then turned around to face him.