Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance

Oh my freaking God.

I’m staring down at a black and white page. My eyes bug out of my head. My jaw hangs open like a trout fish.

Gabriel’s beautiful face stares right back at me.

He’s lying in the sand. His arms are behind him, his head resting in his hands. The white shirt he wears is halfway unbuttoned. Black slacks with his long legs crossed at the ankle as the foam of a wave laps at his bare feet. His sultry eyes beckoning the reader to join him.

A tiny bottle of perfume rests in the corner of the page. Escapade, for men. The crisp fragrance that will make her want to run away with you.

It can’t be. How did I not know this about him? The private jet, the penthouse suite at Vegas, Baby… of course, a gym owner couldn’t afford those things. But I just can’t wrap my mind around it. “There’s no way…”

I remember the photographers when we landed.

“Oh, there’s more!” She jumps up, running over to the bookcase once more. This time, when she returns, she drops a paperback book into my lap. “He’s the cover model for this incredible Mafia Romance I’m reading.”

I hold it in my hands, staring at the cover in disbelief. Gold swirling font dances across the front, proudly stating, Mafia Mania: An Enemies to Lovers Romance. And it's Gabriel’s freaking face on the cover. It’s another black and white shot. His arm is crooked behind his head, showing off his smooth bare chest with abs for days. Damn. Have I even seen him with his shirt off yet?

“This can’t be him.”

“Oh, it’s him. I almost peed my pants when I answered the door and saw you standing there with what is basically America’s current top male model. To think, my big sister dating Gabriel Lord.”

“Did someone say my name?” Gabriel’s face appears in the doorway. I shove the magazines to the seat beside me and flash him a grin.

I blink at the man in the doorway. In full color. Not in black and white. Not speckled with grains of sand or the words Mafia Mania written across his perfect forehead.

Just, Gabriel. The man who knew I needed to get home. The man who let my mother interview him so I could connect with my sister.

The man who stands here now, staring at me with such care, such concern that his gaze alone makes a warmth grow in my chest.

I need him. I need him by my side, to help me get through this.

He might be a playboy. This might be a one-time thing to him. Hell, he might even just be a means to an end, a paycheck I need to get my mother the help she wants. But I need his support to get through this—whatever amount he can offer me. I quickly gather the magazine, the book, sliding them to the floor.

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and though every single fiber in my being tells me to back away, to run in the other direction... I don’t.

Instead, I jump.

I stare into his eyes. “Yes. I was just saying how grateful I am to have you.”

His smile warms me like the sun.

Lexi smirks, excusing herself. “I’ve made up the guest bed down here for you two. Thought it would give you a little more privacy. It’s getting late. I should get Mom settled. Then, I’ll head home.”

“Thank you, sis. Do you want help?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay. She’s had a big day. It’s probably best if I put her to bed and you visit with her more tomorrow.”

“That makes sense. I’m proud of you, Lexi. You’ve been so strong.”

We hug and she scurries from the kitchen. Leaving Gabriel and I alone. The magazine sticks out just a bit, begging for attention. I don’t know why I’m not ready to cross that bridge—to admit to him, to myself that I’m with such a famous man. I kick it further under the table.

Where are my manners? The man must be starving. “Can I make you something to eat?” I open the fridge. Thanks to Lexi, it's fully stocked.

He brushes past me, taking the handle of the fridge door. “Let me cook for you. I find it relaxing.”

Now he’s cooking for me. Okay, yeah. Too good to be true.

Shut up, Miranda. Just let yourself enjoy being taken care of for once. “Okay. Sounds good. Thank you.” I take a seat at the table, using the opportunity to shove the book and magazine even further into hiding.

He makes us omelets with veggies, a light sprinkle of cheese, perfectly seasoned with salt and pepper. We dine together at the little table, making small talk, getting to know one another better. By the end of the meal, I’ve discovered he has a baseball card collection, a pet tarantula, and a fear of clowns.