Stripping the Billionaire Read online

  She was embarrassed and self-conscious about bringing this up, since their playful banter was much easier. But she wanted things to really be right between them, so she needed to get past her reluctance and be honest with him.

  When he didn’t say anything, she felt even more awkward. Her cheeks felt hot and she stared at the floor.

  “Anyway,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry for that. I want us to be friends again. We can just take things slow. Okay?”

  He reached out and tilted up her chin so she was looking him in this eyes. His expression was sober, completely open. “Then slow it is.”

  ***

  The next day, he came over to have the steak for dinner. Three weeks later, they’d fallen back into their old pattern, hanging out after work in the evenings and helping each other out with daily aspects of life.

  Mandy was happy that things were better between them, but she was having trouble keeping her attraction for him under control. If they were really going to be friends, then it was probably not a good idea for her to not be overwhelmed with lust for him at all hours of the day.

  But she was. And more and more as the days passed.

  One Sunday afternoon, they were hanging out together. She’d taken him shopping for more pictures to hang on his walls, and then they went back to his apartment to hang them.

  He was doing the hammering, and she was telling him where to hammer.

  She’d always liked to hang pictures, so she would have enjoyed the time had she not had to look at Ben’s tight butt in his old trousers and fight the almost irresistible urge to grab it.

  “It needs to be lower,” she told him, when he placed the picture hanger on the wall next the door onto the balcony.

  He gestured toward the framed print of a column that was currently leaning against the wall. “It’s a tall picture. It’s going to look strange that low.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “I think it will.”

  He’d been willing to comply with all her other placements, so she didn’t know why he was getting so obstinate now. She might have been slightly more irritable than normal because she was still having trouble not thinking about his butt, the span of his shoulders, the lean line of his back, the strong length of his legs. “Who’s the expert on interior design?”

  He gave her an impatient look over his shoulder. “Whose apartment is this?”

  “Okay,” she said with a frown, feeling irrationally hurt. “Hang it however you want.”

  He rolled his eyes and hammered the hanger into the wall. Then he lifted the picture to hang it up.

  “It’s too high,” she said.

  “It’s fine. I like it right here.”

  She made a face at him.

  He made a face back at her.

  She felt the ridiculous urge to giggle, but she managed to restrain it and give him a narrow-eyed look instead. “Where are you going?” she asked him, when he walked away.

  “To the bathroom, if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s fine with me.”

  As soon as the bathroom door shut, she hurried over to the wall and lifted off the picture. She pulled the nail out with the back of the hammer and lowered the hanger about two inches. She was about to hammer it in again when a pair of strong arms landed on her waist without warning.

  She shrieked in surprise and twirled around, brandishing the hammer.

  Ben laughed out loud. “Don’t swing it at my face. Please. I’d have to regrow my beard if you break my jaw.”

  She released her breath in a rush. “You jerk. You scared the crap out of me. What do you think you were doing?”

  “I was catching you red-handed, trying to rehang my picture.”

  She gasped in outrage and swatted him on the chest with her free hand. “You did it on purpose! You didn’t have to go to the bathroom at all.”

  “Of course not. I knew what you were up to, and I wanted to catch you at it.” He took the hammer out of her hand. “Let’s get rid of this, in case you get the urge to use it on me.” He was smiling warmly, fondly, and his eyes were soft as they gazed down at her.

  For a moment, she thought he would kiss her. Her body began to respond to his expression, excitement and feeling running up and down her spine. Without thinking, she raised the hand she’d swatted his chest with and slid it up toward his shoulder.

  His body was so big and warm and right there next to her. His face was so handsome, even with the stubble because he hadn’t bothered to shave today. His eyes were so deep, so kind, so intimate.

  She was glad to be his friend, but she had to admit that she still wanted to be a lot more than that.

  Her breath was coming out in little pants as she stared up at him, waiting expectantly. For something.

  Then something happened.

  Very gently, he removed her hand from his shoulder and stepped back.

  There was a kind of tension coming from him, but she didn’t know if he’d been thinking the same way she had or if he was afraid she was turning their friendship into something else.

  Either way, he clearly didn’t want to kiss her because he was turning away from her to rehang the picture.

  She told herself not to be so crushed.

  What she had with Ben right now was good—it was better and more real and more deep than anything they’d ever had before. And maybe it would turn into something else in the future, but he obviously didn’t want that right now.

  He was working through a lot of things, including his conflicted feelings for his family. He was trying to turn over a new leaf in a number of ways. And she wasn’t going to pressure him to do anything or be anything that he wasn’t ready for.

  It might turn out that she wasn’t what he really wanted, after all.

  ***

  A few weeks later, they were sitting on her sofa, watching television.

  Ben had come over for dinner, and he hadn’t seemed in a hurry to leave afterwards, so they’d been hanging out, flipping channels and chatting for a couple of hours.

  She’d just gotten up to refill their glasses with ice water and was returning with them when she tripped on the corner of her favorite Turkish rug.

  She managed to catch herself before she fell, and she even kept one of the glasses righted so it didn’t spill. The other one, however, got jerked too hard. The water flew out of it, spilling on her arm, her shirt, and the floor.

  “Damn it,” she gasped, straightening up and putting down the one full glass of water.

  Ben had jumped up when she tripped. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Just spilled water all over me and my rug.”

  His face relaxed into a smile. “A little spilled water isn’t the end of the world.”

  “But it’s all over my rug.” She put down the empty glass and ran to the kitchen to get a towel. Then she knelt down to blot up the moisture from her rug.

  “Surely a little water isn’t going to hurt it.” He crouched down next to her—to inspect the rug, she assumed.

  “I hope not. But this is an antique. I don’t want the dye to fade or anything.” She carefully blotted up as much of the water as she could, sighing when she felt the rug to see how wet it still was.

  When she looked up, she saw that Ben was looking at her strangely.

  “What?” she asked, dropping her eyes self-consciously.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s something. Why were you looking at me that way? It’s not that strange to love a rug, is it?”

  “Not any stranger than putting up with a hulking Neanderthal like me.” There was a fondness in his voice that was impossible to deny. It made her heart start to pound in her chest.

  “I don’t mind putting up with hulking Neanderthals. You don’t even look like one anymore.”

  “I’m still pretty much the same guy, though.”

  “I was always crazy about that guy,” she murmured, affection pushing her into speech, even though she’d resolved not to pressure their friendship i
nto anything deeper.

  “Was?”

  She was so lost in churning emotions that she couldn’t figure out what he was asking. “Was what?”

  He smiled down at her, kneeling next to her on her favorite damp rug. His expression was like the sun breaking free from the clouds. “You said you were always crazy about that guy. Is it past tense now?”

  “Oh.” She swallowed and twisted her hands in her lap. “No. It’s not past tense. But I know we’re just friends now, and I’m really okay with that. I know I pressured you before, and I’m not doing that now.”

  He gave a low chuckle and took both of her hands in his. “If we’re just friends, then you’re going to need to go put on a dry shirt.”

  “What?” She stared up at him, breathless and confused.

  “Cupcake, I’m going to make love to you in about thirty seconds if you don’t tell me to stop.”

  “What?” A new kind of excitement was rising, overflowing, surging through her body and her heart.

  His eyes were hot and hungry as they rested on her face and slid down to her chest. She glanced down too and saw the damp fabric was nearly transparent, one of her nipples clearly visible.

  “Making love to me would be okay with me, as long as that’s what it is.”

  He took her face in both of his hands. “Do you mean that?” His voice was rough and urgent.

  “Of course, I do. I want you so much, Ben, but I can’t just have sex with you if it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t do that to myself. But, if you mean it, if you mean it, then I’ve been wanting to make love to you too.”

  She saw his body twitch just slightly, like he was holding himself back by force. He gently stroked her cheek, his touch very light and careful. “Have you really?”

  “Yes. I thought you didn’t want it, though.”

  He gave a little muffled groan. “Baby, I’m so in love with you I can’t even see straight. But I didn’t want to offer you less than you deserved. I know I let you down before, so I wanted to make sure you knew you could trust me again. I didn’t know how long I should wait.” He gave her a little smile. “And, honestly, I’ve been getting a little impatient.”

  She was so overwhelmed with surprise and joy that a giggle escaped her lips. “I’ve been impatient too. I’ve been wanting to tear your clothes off at all hours of the day.”

  He leaned in closer. “How’s this hour of this day? Just for starters, I mean.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He kissed her then, his mouth claiming hers and his arms wrapping all the way around her. Then they were both raising themselves higher on their knees so they could press their bodies closer, and Mandy was clutching at his back, trying to draw him toward her even more.

  When they finally tore apart, Ben was panting and his eyes blazed with joy, a joy that matched the one she was feeling as well. “So am I understanding this right?” he asked hoarsely. “Does this mean you love me too?”

  “Of course, I love you. I love you exactly as you are. Ben Cain or Benjamin Damon or whoever it is you want to be. I love you. Just you.”

  He groaned again and pulled her into an embrace, murmuring, “I love you,” every time his lips pulled away for another kiss.

  Eventually, they got up off the floor, and he carried her into the bedroom.

  And Mandy had to conclude that being neighbors was good. And being friends was better. But being this—being in love—was the best thing ever.

  Epilogue

  Cyrus Damon had spent all of his life trying to shape something beautiful out of the world.

  The world so often was hard, and sterile, and shallow, and ugly, and he’d always felt called to offer something else. He’d built his company with the vision of creating spaces where aesthetics and tradition met in perfect unity. Where art, music, history, culture, and all five senses came together into genuinely meaningful experiences. He’d used all of his resources, talents, energy, and taste to offer the world moments of beauty. The perfect meal. The perfect night’s sleep. The perfect cup of tea.

  He’d lived his life believing that ideals like honor and civility were more than empty words. He’d tried to embody them in his own life, in his company, in those around him.

  And he’d failed most of the time.

  He was thinking mostly about the failures as he walked into the walled garden on Damon Manor, which had been prepared and decorated for his nephew’s wedding with the same cultured taste and expense that he applied to everything else in his life.

  He’d grown up in the States but had moved to the U.K. years ago and bought an old estate that he could restore as a beacon of the past. This walled garden—the “secret garden”—was one of his favorite spots.

  Jonathan and Sarah had wanted to get married here, and this afternoon they would.

  He’d made an effort not to pressure them with any expectations of his own, so the wedding was small—only family—and informal. Cyrus had on a dark gray suit, and it was the first time in his life that he hadn’t worn black to a wedding.

  He paused to talk to the wedding planner, who was getting everyone in order, and then he went to take his place. A string quartet was playing classical music, and the climbing roses were in bloom, filling the garden with their rich scent.

  A few minutes later, Sarah and her father walked down the short path to where Jonathan was waiting.

  Jonathan’s hair was rumpled, as always, and his tie didn’t look entirely straight. But his face was blazing with feeling as Sarah approached, tears streaming down her face, surrounded by the scent of roses and the wafting music of the strings.

  It was beautiful here. Right now. One of those perfect moments of beauty Cyrus had always believed the world needed more of. And it didn’t matter that Jonathan wasn’t entirely pulled together or that Sarah was already pregnant. The wedding was beautiful anyway.

  He couldn’t help but wonder how surprised those who knew him would be that he’d had such a recognition.

  On the thought, he shifted his eyes to Benjamin, who had his arm around Mandy and looked more at peace than Cyrus had ever known him to be.

  He still didn’t know how or why he’d broken down like he had when Benjamin had appeared unexpectedly in the inn at Greece several weeks ago. He never did that. He never lost his composure. He never showed weakness. But he’d been so overwhelmed by Benjamin’s making the gesture of coming to see him—when he’d been resigning himself to losing him for good—that he’d simply lost it.

  It wasn’t something he ever did, but he couldn’t regret it. Benjamin had returned his hug, and they’d been making efforts at communicating ever since.

  Things weren’t perfect. Benjamin still wouldn’t come to work for Damon Enterprises, which was a dream that Cyrus still had. But he was using his name again. He called himself Ben Damon. And he looked happy and like he was desperately in love with the lovely, polished, soft-hearted young woman beside him, who had the most beautiful smile Cyrus had ever seen.

  He hoped, in not too long, he could be part of their wedding too—another moment of beauty in a difficult world.

  Andrew and Laurel were here too, and Cyrus’s eyes lingered on his nephew’s grinning face. Andrew had given Cyrus a lot of worry and embarrassment from his reputation with women and partying, but he’d settled down at last. He looked like he had purpose now, and it was a maturity Cyrus was happy to see.

  Andrew still called him “Lord Uncle,” an appellation Cyrus had always secretly liked. He caught his uncle looking at him now, and his grin broadened with unmistakably affection, a kind of joie de vivre so often lacking in this world.

  Cyrus had been too hard on him in the past. Another recognition that pained and surprised him. Andrew had always been a light to anyone around him, and he was still the warmest, most generous soul Cyrus had ever known. He should have appreciated it more.

  Jonathan and Sarah were saying their vows, using the traditional words that spoke back into centuries, connecting their
present lives back through centuries of human history.

  It was a different kind of music, and it spoke to Cyrus deeply.

  But his eyes drifted over the familiar faces and the lush garden until they landed on Harrison.

  He was watching the vows with a characteristically serious expression. Like Cyrus, Harrison was dressed in a gray as close to black as a suit could get.

  When Cyrus died, the leadership and responsibility for the company he’d poured his life into would land squarely on Harrison’s shoulders. Harrison was the only one of his nephews who wanted it, and there was no one more capable of carrying on his legacy.

  His whole life, Harrison had been a help and support, carrying the weight of the family responsibilities. Not once, had Harrison broken faith with him. Not once, had he abandoned him. And Cyrus realized with a wrenching pain in his chest that one of his biggest mistakes had been trying to take away the one woman who had brought his nephew joy.

  Marietta was sunny and smiling beside her husband, and her face seemed to be glowing today even more than usual. Glowing in such a special way. And Cyrus had thought—so narrowly, so stupidly—that the family would be better without her.

  He’d almost lost Harrison because of it, and he’d never even apologized. And, all these years, he’d never said “thank you.”

  To Harrison, whom he would have wanted for a son.

  Harrison glanced over toward him and must have noticed his gaze. He met Cyrus’s eyes and gave a little nod. Just a little thing. A moment of connection. A reminder that they were family.

  Cyrus felt a sudden surge of feeling, and he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  It shouldn’t have been clear what he was talking about—that he meant to thank Harrison for all the years of faithfulness. But Harrison must have understood.

  He glanced away with a quick jerk of his head, his face twisting slightly. And Cyrus realized it meant something to him. Something as little as that.

  Marietta hadn’t seen the interaction, but she noticed Harrison’s reaction. She reached up to stroke his neck, giving him a questioning look.