Shadows in the Curtain (Destination Billionaire Romance) Read online

  www.camichecketts.com

  Now Available from Gelato Books

  The Reclusive Billionaire

  from bestselling author Lucy McConnell

  Excerpt

  A light breeze shuffled across the upper deck of Lucas’s California-based houseboat. He’d owned the thing for years, using weekends in Santa Barbara as an incentive or bonus for his team members when they’d pushed too hard for too long. Even though he’d always pushed the hardest, this was the first time he’d set foot on deck.

  The houseboat was the one and only in Santa Barbara having been grandfathered in before city ordinances banning them were passed. Situated on a short finger directly off the main dock, the two-story house boat was easy to access. A small patio with a couple of chairs and a heavy table greeted visitors, not that he’d have any. A circular staircase lead to the upper deck where the view encompassed the marina and mountains.

  Moored on his forty-foot wide-tie, port of the houseboat, was his unused fishing boat. In a couple days, he might actually try it out.

  Inside, the lower level had an open floor plan where a seating area, table, and galley appeared spacious, though in reality they were quite compact. Through the galley there was a utility room, and on the other side of that was a glass-ceilinged hot tub space. Upstairs was also open; the entire space was used as a master bedroom. Surrounding the room was a four-foot-wide deck that afforded stunning views of the sunrise, the sunset, and the entire harbor . . . or so he’d been told.

  Intent on finding out if the view was as good as he’d heard, Lucas ventured out of the bedroom to take in the breakwater protecting the marina and a side view of Sterns Wharf. He scanned the skies. No clouds—just blue as far as the eye could see. He liked the openness. the airiness brought a sense of security.

  With the iron-gated, keyed entrance to the harbor, he felt sheltered from the paparazzi that had hounded him since the press conference last month. They’d besieged his homes in DC, Phoenix, and then Beverly Hills as Lucas moved from one to the other trying to find a moment to grieve for his sister. Unlike his homes in the city, where the press could hide behind his neighbor’s lilacs, the houseboat was a haven.

  Dissolving his team was the hottest scandal since ENRON or OJ. In a moment of clarity, or perhaps stupidity, he’d stowed away in his maid’s car and paid cash for a bus ticket to Santa Barbara, hoping to throw the barracuda and the rest of the flesh-eating reporters off his trail. After twenty-four hours of silence, he was finally starting to relax.

  Settling into a deck chair, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back to let the sunshine warm his face. His boat had been well maintained over the years, a feat he’d have to thank Juanita for, because he had no idea what it took to keep this thing afloat. She’d given him a run-through over the phone and emailed several documents, which he’d scoured. They’d given his mind something to focus on which was good. Even in his fog of grief, his brain wouldn’t shut down.

  For a moment, he thought about checking in with Juanita, and then he banished the thought. Juanita could run his life without him there—that’s why he’d hired her. If she had an emergency, she would call.

  He allowed his thoughts to wander and found himself pondering the Butterfly Formula written across the whiteboard in his head. The numbers and letters organized themselves like soldiers on a battlefield. His hand itched to hold a dry-erase marker. The pull of the puzzle never quite left. You could take a microbiologist out of the lab . . .

  He ran through the list of possible additives. If they moved the coefficient—

  “Excuse me? A little help here?”

  Mentally jarred by the intensity in the female voice, Lucas swiped the board clean and jumped to his feet. He scanned the dock and found it empty.

  “Down here!” A woman treaded water on the port side, next to the side-tie. She was pulling a red-headed person behind her and trying to lift him on board his boat.

  He hurried down the spiral staircase, across the patio, and got on his knees to offer a hand.

  “Here.” She shoved a head of wet hair into his palm. He scrambled for a handhold. There was nowhere without hair. It wasn’t a person! Finally, Lucas grabbed the beast around the chest, and realizing that it was a dog with long legs, bony ribs, and huge paws, he heaved it aboard. Overwhelmed, he landed on his back with the dog on top of him.

  The woman, soaking wet and weighing less than the behemoth lying across his chest and breathing foul air into his face, smiled, and Lucas felt like the whole world lit up. He stared into her almond-colored eyes, mesmerized by the light and innocence he found there.

  She dropped to her knees and lifted the animal’s eyelid, then his lips. Her medium-length hair dripped cold water onto his arm. “He seems fine; you can let him up.”

  Lucas squirmed. “I think it’s the other way around.”

  Her laughter sparkled like the sunlight across the water. “Come on, boy!”

  The dog slimed Lucas’s cheek with his tongue, managed to dig an elbow and a paw into Lucas’s stomach before getting to his feet.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  Lucas swiped his face clean. “I don’t know.” He stared at his hand wondering where to wipe the dog spit.

  She examined the shaggy mutt, and then him. “What do you mean? Isn’t he yours?”

  Lucas shook his head. “No.” He swiped his hand against his pants.

  “Of course he’s yours. I saw him fall off this boat.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears. “The harbor master is pretty strict about animal regulations.”

  “I know. I read the contract.” The last thing Lucas needed was to get harbor patrol involved in anything relating to his life. Wasn’t all that stuff public record? He couldn’t afford a citation; the press would eat it up. He grunted as he got to his feet and found his six-foot-one frame towering over his uninvited guests. How tall was she? “Swimming in the harbor is off limits, too.”

  Holding up both hands, she said, “Heaven knows I’m the last person to report anyone for a pet violation, but you should leash or kennel him until he gets used to his new home. He was swimming in circles and had gone under a couple times before I reached him.”

  “He’s not my dog,” Lucas insisted.

  “Sure he is. You’re the new guy, this is the new dog.” Her eyes flashed with triumph.

  “Sorry,” he growled.

  Her brow furrowed, and Lucas noticed a tiny vertical line appear above her nose. Most of the women he worked with would have had that Botoxed. He liked that she hadn’t, that she didn’t seem to mind her wet, shoulder-length hair or her soggy clothes hugging her in all the right places. She was, in the oddest ways, at peace with herself. He found that it was darn-right attractive in a woman.

  “Then whose dog is he?” she asked. They both regarded the retriever, who barked.

  Lucas shrugged.

  “There goes my date,” she muttered before motioning to the parking lot above them. “I can take him back to my clinic, but I’ll have to dry him off first. Do you have towels?”

  Lucas thought about his towel situation. His whole collection consisted of a body towel that he’d used to clean up the Moo Shoo Pork incident last night and a hand towel he’d used to dry off after an incredibly short shower this morning. “Not that I want to use on that filthy thing.”

  “Okaaaaay.” Her hand went to her forehead as if he were the issue here, not the homeless animal. “I have some. Keep him here. I’ll run to my place and grab them.”

  As she moved to leave, he hooked her elbow, the contact causing a sense of awareness under his skin. He pushed it away and said, “Take him with you.” Lucas had no experience with dogs—well, no pleasant experiences with them. He didn’t think getting chased by an angry mutt when he was seven counted for anything. Now that he was out from under the beast, he didn’t like the look in its eye. What if it turned on him when she wasn’t around?

  “I can’t.”

  “You hauled h
im aboard, you can take him.”

  “No, I mean I can’t be seen with a dog.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story that involves a labradoodle, a greyhound, and a paddleboard. There’s not really time to explain; he’s shivering and the patrol comes by at six.”

  “No. No. And no.” He released her and folded his arms.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Sit,” she commanded. The traitor plopped his backside on the wood and barked. She smirked. “I guess he’s staying.”

  Lucas pointed to the dock. “Go home!”

  The dog lay down and crossed his paws.

  “I’ll be right back.” She took off at a light jog, turning right on the main spur, where he lost sight of her.

  Lucas considered the dog, who was crawling on his belly, inching closer. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  The dog stood up and shook, sending water flying in every direction. When he was done, he settled back down as if he had all day to wait for that little sprite to return.

  The dog might have been fine waiting, but Lucas had other things to do. He shook off his arms—who knew what microbes were in this water. He stormed inside to find his pathetic hand towel, being sure to shut the sliding glass door behind him so the dog would know he wasn’t invited in. He came out on the patio at the same time the dog-saving pixie hurdled the space between the dock and his boat.

  She did a visual sweep of the area. “Where is he?”

  Lucas stared at the spot where the dog had been just seconds before. A large puddle was slowly evaporating. “You don’t think . . . ?” He couldn’t finish the statement. They both ran to the side where he’d first found them, but the water was clear.

  “He would have had to run past you on the dock to get out, wouldn’t he?” Lucas rubbed the towel through his shaggy brown hair, suddenly realizing how long it had been since he’d had it cut. Or shaved, he thought as he dried off his beard. He wasn’t exactly dressed to impress a woman—although, while impressing a lady should have been the last thing on his priority list, he suddenly wished he’d worn something better than the faded khaki shorts and T-shirt.

  “Not if he went that way.” She pointed to the walkway that led up the stairs to the locked gate and out to the parking lot. “I guess someone could have let him out.” She hugged the towels close. “I hope he’s okay.”

  Lucas grunted. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The sooner he got this woman off his boat, the better. She had him thinking and feeling and interested in all sorts of ways he wanted to avoid. Besides, she sounded like trouble, what with the labradoodle and the paddleboard thing . . . wasn’t there a horse or something in there too? He shook his head—didn’t matter.

  She checked a watch the size of an orange on her tiny wrist. “Snickerdoodles! I’m going to be late.” Without so much as a goodbye, she cleared the patio and ran toward the showers, still holding the towels to her chest.

  Lucas watched her go, her ebony hair bouncing with every step and her feet making a hollow sound as they hit the dock. A part of him—the part that used to enjoy life, living, eating, laughing—wanted to chase after her and hear that story. But that part was overruled by the cautious, grieving soul in desperate need of quiet time full of contemplation. Heading back up the staircase, he settled into the deck chair. He needed food. Picking up a container of last night’s noodles and giving it a sniff, he decided to live on the wild side. Well, the wild side for a microbiologist. Using yesterday’s fork, Lucas took a big bite. Who cared if he got sick? The cold food slid down his throat with more effort than it was worth, and he set the box on the floor at his feet.

  Being away from the office was like being the odd item in an empty warehouse. Nothing held his interest. Without restrictions, family, or a job, he could drink himself under the tiny table downstairs or get food poisoning and hurl chow mien over the side of his boat. He was free to ruin his life. Who would stop him?

  The answer bred anger like yeast on sugar. No one. No one out there really cared about him.

  Forget finding a cure. Forget trying to help. People were mean and demanding and ungrateful. You could give them the world, and they’d turn around and ask you why it wasn’t gift-wrapped.

  Lucas had created a memory palace inside his head. The structure housed the many projects he worked on. The technique of assigning each project a room allowed him to store vast amounts of information. He closed his eyes and walked through the front doors, up the broad staircase, and to the second floor, where the east wing was dedicated to his research on the butterfly flu. He shut the doors, turned the key, and locked the door. There would be no more puzzling over formulas or testing subjects.

  When he walked down the stairs, he mentally tripped as he was met by a dark-haired sprite with almond-colored eyes full of disappointment.

  Wrenching himself from the chair, Lucas tromped down his actual staircase, banning the sprite from his memory palace. Despite his efforts to distract himself by ordering pizza, Lucas couldn’t quite get his mind to leave her behind, and he found himself pondering a set of high cheekbones and full lips. Curse his eidetic memory.

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  Almost Everything

  Coming soon from Gelato Books

  Almost Everything by Taylor Hart.

  Excerpt

  Montana Crew stared at the crowd from backstage. How many had showed up tonight? Twenty thousand, thirty thousand? The arena was big, and the crowd electric. The energy surged through Montana like the roar of a diesel engine on a cold winter morning—loud and startling, signaling that it was time to wake up. A satisfied grin spread across his lips. Being a country-western music star had always been his dream, and it was a dang good life.

  Tiffany Chance and her band, Fusion, warmed up the crowd nicely. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of Tiffany’s husband, Sam Dumont, in the VIP section. Sam pointed at him, and Montana pointed back. Various football players from the Storm and the Destroyers were with Sam.

  Another football player and his neighbor and friend, Cameron Cruz, stood next to Montana and bit his lip. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Montana grinned, happy he could help make Cam’s dreams come true. “Oh, you’re doing it. I bought the rights to your song on the condition that you’d perform with me a couple of times a year.” Obviously, Montana didn’t need Cam to do this. No, Cam needed to do this for himself.

  Cam chuckled and clenched and unclenched his fists. “I feel like it’s the opening game of the football season.”

  Montana gave him a heavy pat on the back. “You’ll do fine.” Out of nowhere, he caught sight of golden-white hair in the crowd. Lily’s hair. Searching frantically, he looked for her … not seeing her. Of course it wasn’t her. Often, he would think he saw her somewhere. But he hadn’t seen her since the fateful day he’d left Springs Hollow seven years ago.

  She’d made her choice.

  Distracting himself, he turned to his manager, Kirk. “How much longer is this set?”

  Kirk put up two fingers. “Two minutes, boss; then you guys are up.”

  “You don’t think my song’s kinda cheesy?” Cam gulped back a swallow.

  Montana scoffed. “Songs about first love are always cheesy.”

  Cam sucked in a breath and nodded, turning a bit pale.

  Montana nudged him. “Put on your quarterback face, this the fun part. Think of it like throwing the perfect spiral into the end zone.” Montana loved the shock of energy the crowd always gave him, like a lightning bolt to his soul. He had the perfect life. Men would kill for his life. Thoughts of Lily’s face flashed into his mind. At least he had the perfect life when he wasn’t thinking about her—his first love.

  Lately, he’d been plagued with her face in his dreams. Closing his eyes, he tried to push out thoughts of her, but he couldn’t.

  * * *

  The first time he’d seen her, she’d been sitting on the edge of the Spring Hollow swimming hole. He’d only been in town a week.
Jason, part of his new foster family, had convinced him to come.

  Lily sat on the edge with her three friends, wearing a pink polka-dot halter top swimsuit. A siren calling out to him.

  When their eyes locked, he could swear there’d never been anything like her before or after. Instant attraction. His hands had gotten sweaty, and he’d been tongue-tied when Jason introduced all the girls. The only name seared to his brain was hers—Lily Ray Gold.

  Reaching out, she’d taken his hand all professional-like. “Want me to teach you how to go on the rope swing?”

  A big, dopey grin had filled his face. “Yeah.”

  After they’d climbed to the top, she held out the long, knotted rope to him. But he’d pushed it back to her. “You first.”

  “Are you a scaredy-cat?”

  Her words brought a quickened heartbeat and warm chills rushed through him. For the first time in his life, he actually wanted to get to know a girl. Smiling, he put the rope between them. “Then let’s do it together.”

  They went flying through the air, and her laughter rained down hot against his face. At that moment, he decided he’d fallen in love.

  “Montana!” Cam shouted at him, jerking him from his thoughts. “We’re on!”

  * * *

  Lily Ray Gold—L.R. Gold to her legal associates—watched the end of the concert far on the sidelines. It wasn’t her choice to be here. Hot wrath rose up inside of her. Refusing to go closer to watch the show, she stayed on the edges of the fence line. Hearing the music was enough to make her blood boil.

  Fire burned through her. She wanted to bolt, run, and leave like any reasonable, smart person would do if they were this close to a hot, bubbling magma-filled volcano. But she couldn’t. She’d promised Jason she would finish this mess.

  Tears instantly stung her eyes and she pushed the emotion down. She wouldn’t disappoint Jason. The memory of his hand inside of hers and his soft words as he’d pleaded with her to deliver the envelope … in person …