A Billionaire for Christmas

“Daddy! Daddy!” This time something in Anne’s voice tugs at my heart. I almost stay put, afraid to even hope, but I have to know.

I turn slowly, and there he is. Damien. His jaw is scruffy with beard stubble. His jeans are rumpled. And from the look of it, he’s been wearing the same white button down for days.

As far as I'm concerned, he’s never looked better.

I stand there like an idiot, just staring at him. Just breathing in the fact that he’s here and he’s whole and he’s mine.

“I didn’t want to take time to change,” he finally says, and the words seem to break the spell. I plop Anne on the ground and rush to him.

“You’re here,” I say, then repeat it over and over as his arms tighten around me until I can barely breathe and I hope like hell he never lets go. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“Neither did I.”

I pull back to search his face, soaking up the love I see reflected back at me and wondering about what’s happened to him. He releases me, and as I step back, I start to ask. But the words die on my lips. Because there, stepping up behind Damien, is my father, looking at least as rumpled as Damien.

“Dad?” My heart twists, and tears flow down my cheeks.

“Hello, sweetheart. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

I look between him and Damien, my mind spinning. “How—?”

But Damien just smiles. “Merry Christmas,” he says, holding tight to my hand. “We’ll tell you all about it later.” He reaches out with his free hand to Lara and Anne, both of whom race toward him.

I step back so that he can squat down and gather our kids to him. He hugs them tight, then looks up at me, though I can barely see him through my tears.

“The full story, I promise. But right now, I think it’s time to go watch the show.”Chapter ThirteenDamien held Nikki close, never wanting to let her go again. He kept his arm around her waist as they stood in the third floor open area watching as his father-in-law told the story of their adventure to the small group of friends and family who’d come back to the house after the gala for a private holiday celebration.

“So there we are at this gas station in the middle of nowhere with almost forty hours left on our drive. And Damien notices that there’s a plane behind the building. Now, I didn’t see it, but I guess that something in the dark caught his eye.”

“Let me guess,” Jackson said, his eyes finding Damien. “My brother bought it.”

“You know him too well, but you’re getting ahead of the story and stealing my thunder.” He aimed a mock scowl at Jackson, making the rest of the group laugh. “So I’m oblivious to the plane. And when I go inside to pay for the gas, Damien circles the building. And the next thing I know, he’s walking in and asking if it could fly. Hell, I didn’t even know what he was talking about.”

Frank paused for more laughter, then continued. But Damien had stopped listening. He remembered the conversation only too well.

“The Cessna back there,” he’d said in broken Spanish, his heart pounding in anticipation. Maybe—just maybe—he’d get home in time. “Does it run?”

The woman nodded, looking at him suspiciously.

“Can I rent it?”

Her brow furrowed.

“Can I buy it?”

She frowned, so after a quick glance at Frank, who simply looked confused, he wrote a check and passed it to her, relieved that he’d had the foresight to bring a checkbook on the trip. “For the plane? Okay?”

She lifted a cowbell and rang it, and a lanky kid of about seventeen had hurried in, looking suspiciously at him.

“I’m trying to buy that plane,” Damien explained, relieved to find that the kid’s English was better than Damien’s Spanish.

The kid inspected the check, his eyes going wide. “This really you? I know this name.”

Damien nodded. “It’s me. I promise, the check is good.”

He said something to his grandmother, nodded, then looked back at Damien.

“It is my grandfather’s plane, but he died. It still run, she say.”

“Then I’ll happily take it off your hands.”

“She will do this thing,” the kid said, and Damien turned to face Frank, who’d looked as relieved as Damien felt. “But this is too much. Plane old. Much too much.”

“It’s not,” Damien had insisted. “You have no idea how much I want to get home by Christmas. Trust me. It’s not too much.”

“I—but—”

“Please. You would be doing me an incredible favor. Especially if there are lights for that runway. I really need to get out of here tonight. This minute, actually. And with your grandfather gone, surely your mother can use the help.”

“I don’t,” the kid began, but then shook his head, not turning around to look at his grandmother. “Okay, sure. The plane is yours.”