The Billionaire's Private Scandal Page 10

  Brandon heard his own breath grow louder as he stared at the teen, his muscles twitching as they primed for a fight that he knew would never be. Still, his body responded, ready to squeeze the life from this bastard as surely as it would have been snuffed out of Megan.

  He watched as the teen wriggled against his captor, nearly falling over the final stair. The cop jerked the kid’s head up and recognition registered on the scum’s ugly face as his gaze fell on the car with Megan alone inside. Brandon twitched, barely managing to rein in his need to put himself between Megan and danger. She was safe in the car and if he did anything to let on what had happened, she might try to get out.

  Rapid-fire Spanish flew from the bastard’s mouth, his tone taunting and nasty. Brandon’s brain translated immediately, as if the words had been flung in English. He didn’t know he’d lunged until the younger bodyguard blocked his way, the older man’s arm firm across his chest.

  “That garbage isn’t worth it.” The older man spoke, but seemed to know better than to release his hold until the patrol car door slammed.

  …

  Megan clutched Cash to her chest, her breath still unsteady. The hard glint in Brandon’s dark eyes haunted her from the mirrored walls of the elevator. He’d barely spoken to her in the last few hours, nothing outside of one-word answers she wouldn’t have disagreed with even if she wanted to. Right now, he was not a man to be crossed.

  And she wasn’t in any condition to fight. The aftershocks of seeing what they’d done to her apartment still echoed in her mind. There was no telling what they would have done to Cash if he’d been there, to her if she’d come home alone.

  It was all a tangled mess of things she didn’t want to ever have to comb through. If only she could shave it from her mind completely.

  It would be hard to forget the words they’d written on the walls, how they’d torn every piece of clothing she owned, or her irrational anger at the mess they’d made on her great-grandmother’s quilt. She’d always remember the way Brandon had stood beside her, lending her his silent strength when hers had depleted. He’d even shaken off the quilt and put it in a garbage bag, giving it to the front desk with the directions to have it cleaned and repaired.

  Funny, she’d toiled for weeks to earn enough money for the charging pad for the phone, but she’d been cut low by the desecration of the one thing she’d brought with her. As the elevator doors parted, she had the strange realization that though she and Brandon had been together in his penthouse countless times, they’d never ridden up in the elevator together. They’d always kept up the pretence and gone up separately.

  She followed him into the small foyer, the door to his penthouse on the right, what had been her father’s on the left. No one had once questioned why she frequented the hotel, always assuming she used the penthouse after a night of partying rather than returning home. They were right, just not about which penthouse.

  Brandon held open the door for her and she walked into the place she’d spent more nights than not before her world tilted and she slid into oblivion. Hearing the door close, the slide of the deadbolt, the beep of the alarm, Brandon’s footfalls as he retreated to the bedroom, all of it served to relax her shoulders and lower her guard. In spite of the events of the night, she hadn’t felt this safe in months.

  Cash wriggled from her arms, his nails clicking on the marble tiles on the entryway before being silenced by the thick rugs on the dark wood floors as he scampered into the kitchen. She wondered if he’d be disappointed not to find his water dish in the butler’s pantry, but when she heard his faint slurping her heart tumbled. For better or worse, they were as close to home as they got.

  Brandon emerged from the bedroom wearing only a pair of black lounge pants slung low on his hips. She couldn’t help but notice the hard ridges of his abdomen and the smooth planes of his muscled chest. She looked for the evidence she’d left on his body, but didn’t see the slightest trace.

  He crossed the room to the wet bar and poured himself more bourbon than she’d ever seen him drink. He didn’t like to drink, didn’t like to blur the edges or lose control. He tossed it back with barely a wince and poured another.

  “You need to give it a minute and let it kick in.” She ran her palms along the rough lace of her skirt, unsure of what to do with her hands.

  “I don’t think I have enough for it to even make a dent.” He swallowed another glassful, banging it on the marble countertop.

  “Unless you’ve started drinking, it shouldn’t take long for things to get fuzzy.”

  “Promise?” He poured another.

  “Seriously, give it some time.”

  “Go to bed, Megan.” He swirled the glass, never once looking up at her as he walked to the wall of windows and stared out at the twinkling lights of the city.

  She twisted her hands in front of her. “I’m going to need to borrow a T-shirt to wear since I don’t have anything.” Her voice cracked, but she swallowed and continued. “And I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

  “Whatever you want, Megan. Your closet is nearly full, but go ahead and take whatever you want.”

  The urge to go to him and wrap her arms around him and apologize for how he felt was strong, but she didn’t give in. She was as shaken by the events of the night as he was, which didn’t leave her in a place to comfort someone else, and so she retreated.

  She’d rarely been in the guest bedroom of the penthouse, always staking her claim on the king bed and the man who slept in it. The guest room was decorated like the rest of the hotel, understated with light colors and rich fabrics. She sat on the bench at the end of the canopy bed and slid off her heels, rubbing at the soles of her feet.

  Fear and exhaustion combined to make her both wired and tired. Maybe Brandon’s idea of drinking into a stupor had some merit. She got up and opened the door of the walk-in closet, turning on the light as she stepped inside. Confusion flooded her as she looked around at more clothes than she’d seen since she’d left her parents estate.

  Looking closer, she tried to place when and where she’d worn things last. These weren’t the things she’d left at her parents or things she’d sold at the consignment shop, but clothes she must have left here over the years. There were shelves of sweaters, which made sense because they were always the first to come off and she doubted she ever took the time to look for them when she left. Jeans, dresses, shoes, evening bags by the dozen.

  Had she really been so disconnected that she hadn’t realized just how much was here? She usually came with a bag, but it was obvious she’d rarely left with one.

  She turned to her left and her heart stuttered. Her entire lingerie collection hung neatly on padded hangers, carefully finger-spaced apart. Maybe she’d never noticed the things she left behind because everything must have been tucked into his closet like her lingerie had been.

  At least he’d had the decency to transfer her things before he moved Gemma in. Since so much remained, Gemma probably had no idea what he kept hidden in the guest room. If she’d found such a stash she would have burned every piece.

  Thoughts of Brandon’s new lover did serve to push down the events of the night. Megan rubbed her face, knowing that staying here was only a temporary option. She couldn’t stomach having to see Gemma and Brandon play house.

  She reached out and fingered the soft silk of one of her nightgowns. None of them were entirely appropriate for sleeping. Lingerie had been more playwear than anything else. Brandon had a thing for red. And sheer. And lace. And flyaway baby dolls that would release with a quick tug on the ribbons holding them closed. Some of it was playful like the Santa teddy. Some had made her feel so incredibly sexy.

  She found an aubergine nightgown with a slit so high even her legs seemed long in it. The lace along the halter neckline seemed to push things together and used to make her feel like a siren. She lifted the hanger and carried it into t
he ensuite bathroom and hung it on the back of the door. She turned the steam shower on full before stripping out of her dress and underwear.

  Beneath the spray, she tried to scrub off the events of the day, of the last few months. Maybe if she scrubbed hard enough she’d get back to who she used to be, how she used to feel. Steam billowed around her, curling her hair and relaxing her muscles. She let the water course over her body until her limbs felt week and heavy.

  As she dried off, she wondered if she might be able to make it to bed before the sensation evaporated like the steam. She finger-combed her hair and toweled it dry before slipping the nightgown over her head. The silk whispered against her skin, the lace of the bodice molding to her curves.

  The cool air prickled her skin as she left the bathroom in search of Cash. The penthouse was dark, only the faint moonlight illuminating the rooms. Megan knew every inch as if it were her own home, but that didn’t make finding a tiny black dog in the dark any easier.

  Everything was still, and she didn’t want to wake Brandon in case his bourbon binge had led him to sleep. After a few minutes of searching, the calm of the shower was gone as she realized the only place both Cash and Brandon could be was the master bedroom.

  Chapter Seven

  Brandon leaned back against the padded headboard and watched Megan patter about the darkened living room. He crossed his legs at the ankles and enjoyed the view as she searched the place for something while wearing the sexiest nightgown she owned—and given her collection that was saying something.

  With the French doors of his bedroom open, he could clearly see her as she rummaged around, but he couldn’t think of what she might be looking for. He was nearly past the point of thinking at all. A few more drinks and he might actually be able to sleep. Megan was right in that he hadn’t been much of a drinker before she left, but since she’d been gone he’d taken to having a glass or two each night as he stared at a door that never opened.

  It used to be that he never knew when she’d show up. Sometimes he’d come home to find her playing show tunes on the piano in the living room, other times she’d bound in tipsy from a party and demand a proper nightcap. He liked it best when she’d wake him out of a sound sleep with her mouth. It was almost worth falling asleep just for the possibility. But given the state of things between them, the probability was nil.

  She moved to his doorway, peeking in as if she didn’t belong. Brandon blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, and then realized that she couldn’t see him. He’d drawn the drapes, so his room wasn’t showered in moonlight the way the rest of the penthouse was. She took a tentative step inside and his cheeks tightened in a smile.

  “Too scared to sleep?” he asked, setting his half-full glass on the nightstand.

  She jumped at the sound of his voice, placing a hand on the exposed skin of her chest before she turned towards the bed. “I didn’t know you were up.”

  He wanted to make a comment about her nightgown causing his current state, but couldn’t. In the dark she didn’t know, and they weren’t in that place anymore.

  She cleared her throat and looked around again. “Is Cash in here?”

  “He’s asleep in the loft. His bed is next to Money’s.” When she turned, he could no longer see her face, just the shadowed curve of her body. Somehow he’d escaped hell, only to land in purgatory.

  He caught the smile on her face as she turned. “You have his bed? I thought it must still be at Kimberly’s.”

  “Oh, it probably is. I got a smaller version of the one I have for Money. He seemed to like it.”

  She inched closer to the bed and it took everything in him not to grab her, pull her to him and convince her of where she needed to be. “Thank you for taking him in. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” His throat tightened with emotions he didn’t want to feel and words he couldn’t say. He couldn’t tell her he was angry at the way she’d abandoned Cash, couldn’t tell her he was hurt at how she’d left him as if he were nothing, couldn’t even tell her how stupid she’d been about where she’d chosen to live. He couldn’t say a thing, because if he did, she’d walk right back into harm’s way.

  “Where is Money?” She stepped closer to the end of the bed, the slight shift from one foot to the other telling her nervousness.

  “Malibu.” He tilted his head, wishing he could see more than her outline. His Megan had only been nervous a handful of times in her life, always barreling through life with confidence in spades. This creature radiated anxiety, not that he could blame her after the events of the night.

  “You don’t keep him with you?”

  “I was in New York this week, so he stayed with the dog walker down there. Once it’s light out I’ll go get him.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll let you get some sleep.” She turned to go.

  “I’m not going to sleep, Megan.”

  She turned back towards the bed. “We could play backgammon if you want. I’ll even let you win.”

  “I don’t want to play games anymore.” His voice thickened as his throat grew tight. “Come here.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She hesitated only slightly before coming around to her side of the bed and pulling back the sheets. She climbed on and slid her feet beneath the covers as she scooted towards the middle. He pulled her to him, his body finally beginning to uncoil as he held her close. The terror of the night had wound him so tight, he’d wondered if he’d ever relax again.

  Her hair was slightly damp beneath his chin, her feet cold against his leg, but the reality of having her home and safe warmed his soul. He laid his cheek against her head and played with the strands of her hair.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered in spite of himself.

  He felt her nod as her arms wound around him. “I miss me, too.”

  He smiled until he felt her shudder against him, a warm wetness against his bare chest. “Hey now, you’re safe.”

  “They ruined everything I had left.” She choked out the words around sobs, the sound so pitiful it softened his anger.

  “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

  “I don’t know why they would do something like that. I never did anything to them, and now I have nothing. Not a single thing.”

  “You have Cash.” He massaged her scalp, choosing his words carefully. “You can have me.”

  She gasped, then let out a slow breath. The deep breaths that followed as she calmed herself lasted for long moments where he mentally kicked himself for pushing. He wanted to convince her that he knew what was best for the both of them, but he couldn’t risk pushing her away.

  “I don’t want you to go back there.”

  “Me, either.” She shifted against him, lifting her hand to wipe her eyes.

  “I want you to stay here.” The statement hung heavy in the air.

  “I don’t know if I can do that. I need to work and—”

  “So work for me.” She stiffened in his arms so he talked faster. “You could take care of Money for me and go to school, or you could get a job at the hotel. That’s why you got your GED, right? So you could do something other than serve people drinks?”

  “Yes, but I can’t depend on you for everything. I owe you too much already and I have no way to ever pay you back. The only thing I have that you want, it makes me, it’s just…” Her chest rose and fell with her heaving breaths as she struggled for words.

  “Were you with me for the last seven years because of my money?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I never even thought about it. But now—”

  “Now you need to realize that I’m not going to have any less money and you’re not going to be any less sexy. It is what it is, Megan. It hasn’t mattered for the last seven years and it doesn’t matter n
ow.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It’s not that complicated. Either you want to be with me or you don’t. Our bank balances never had a place in it before, and they don’t know.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You have everything. You’re the one with all the control. I have nothing to offer and so it’s like putting a price on my soul.”

  “For the last seven years you’ve dictated when and where we’d be together. You had all the control. For a long time I thought it was the ideal arrangement because I didn’t have to share you. When we were together, there was never anyone else around, no distractions, no competing for your attention. But when I wanted more, wanted you to move in here and stop sneaking around, you played it off like a joke. For God’s sake Meg, I asked you to marry me.”

  “That didn’t count.” She shifted against him, but he held her closer, not wanting her to get away before he had an answer one way or the other.

  “It counted for me.”

  “Brandon, we were together when you asked me.”

  “Of course we were together.”

  “No, I mean, you were inside of me every time you brought it up. I can’t take you seriously if you only mention it during sex.”

  He couldn’t help the laugh, and he couldn’t stop it even when she punched him in the shoulder. He’d always assumed that was romantic, that one day someone would ask her how he proposed and she’d give him a knowing look and they’d get back home as soon as possible. “When was I supposed to ask you? We didn’t go anywhere together except the Malibu house, and whenever we were together the odds were that we were making love. We’re very good at it, remember?”

  He pressed his lips to her temple, peppering tiny kisses down the side of her face. She lifted her head and he leaned in to kiss her, but she stopped him with a finger against his lips.

  “Brandon, why is it sex is all people see in me?” Her raw whisper tore through his heart. “It’s always been that way, and I never understood it, so it scared me. But tonight with the guys at the party and then the gang at the apartment, it all crashed down.”