A Date With A Billionaire

“Yes?” she mumbled into the receiver.

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?”

“Uh…Emily.”

It was her business partner at the clothing store. They got along great except for her being one of those annoying morning people who woke with the sun. Of course, she had incentive—a husband who worshiped the ground she walked on, along with a darling daughter and another baby on the way. Most of the time Beth managed not to envy Emily, but for the last several days she’d found her heart aching more than usual.

It didn’t make sense, because she didn’t want something from Kane. She just wanted…something. Beth dropped her head back on a pillow and wondered when her comfortable life had become inadequate.

“Yup, it’s me,” Emily said. “You have to get up, you have one hour to make yourself beautiful for Kane O’Rourke.”

Beth made a face. “That would take more than an hour, it would take a miracle.”

Her friend sighed. “You’re a very attractive woman.”

“Says the woman with the face of an angel,” Beth retorted. “I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

Putting the phone down, Beth pushed away the blankets, yawning and stretching, relishing the cool morning air on her bare skin. She’d already packed an overnight bag; it waited in the living room.

Padding into the bathroom, she glanced into the mirror. Her nipples were drawn tight, crowning her barely B-cup breasts. “A little cleavage would have been nice,” she murmured. Overall her figure wasn’t awful, but it certainly didn’t inspire any great male fantasies.

She’d barely been touched by a man, even during her brief engagement. It was her own fault. Curt had wanted to make love, but she’d been determined to “do things right” with a traditional wedding night. Now she wished they had made love a hundred times. At least she’d have something to remember…something to distract her from thinking about Kane O’Rourke.

“At least I’m a natural blonde,” Beth said, lifting her chin. Dark blond, to be sure, but blond. Not that Kane would ever see the proof of it.

When the doorbell rang fifty-five minutes later she was just finished swiping mascara on her lashes. She grabbed her purse and overnight bag and hurried to the door.

“I’m ready,” she said, flinging it open.

Kane waited, one hand holding a bunch of flowers, the other tucked into a pair of jeans. She stared, breathless at the difference casual clothing could make. A white shirt emphasized his shoulders—shoulders that seemed even more broad and muscular now that they weren’t covered by an expensive suit. He looked younger, more relaxed, and altogether sexy.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, taking the bag from her fingers.

“Yes. I mean, no. Nothing.”

He held out the flowers and she tore her gaze from his face and took the bouquet. It was a surprising mix of small yellow roses and daisies. “Thank you.”

Beth locked the door, her heart racing even harder. Kane O’Rourke in a suit was enough to make a woman think twice about all kinds of things; in a pair of jeans he could make serious inroads on her principles. Especially carrying daisies.

The bouquet did make her wonder, but it was probably just for publicity. At the thought, a thread of sadness crept through her. She loved flowers, but Curt had been the practical sort who didn’t go for romantic gestures—or else she just didn’t inspire that kind of thing.

At the curb sat a black limousine. Behind it idled a Chevy Blazer, black also. A photographer was filming them from an open window and her cheeks warmed. It had to be the newspeople Kane had warned her about earlier in the week. The opulence of the stretch limo made her grateful for the early hour since her neighbors would still be in bed—a hope that was dashed when she saw a curious face peer from the house across the street.

Swell.

She waved and scrambled into the vehicle with more haste than grace, sinking into the butter-soft leather seat. She put the flowers to one side and pushed her hands into the cushions, trying to sit straight.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

Kane handed Beth’s bag to the chauffeur and climbed in next to her. “What’s ridiculous?”

“Spending this kind of money on a car.”

He hid his smile. “There’s nothing wrong with a little luxury. Besides, it gives us time to talk.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea. Like we have anything in common to talk about.”

“We’ll find something.” Kane stretched his legs out and rolled his shoulders. He suspected Beth was one of those people who got up a little irritable in the morning, which unfortunately led to thoughts of the ways he could find to wake her up in a better mood.

He wouldn’t be taking it anywhere, but it was baffling the way she made him feel. Beth Cox was too young for him, too innocent and too damned much trouble.

So why did he have this urge to spend the next seventy-plus miles kissing her senseless?

Chapter Three (#ulink_bb6e732c-858b-59dc-891e-c2f2c6db92e8)

“I can’t believe we’re actually taking a limousine to Victoria,” Beth said as they climbed to the passenger deck of the ferry. “Talk about conspicuous consumption.”

Kale shrugged. “It’s easier to have someone drive us around the city. But if you want, we can walk off with the foot passengers, rather than ride the limo.”

“You mean, in company with our chaperons?” She cast a significant glance at the camera crew toting equipment along behind them. They were lagging behind, struggling with their load on the steep and rather narrow stairway.

“Hey, I warned you there’d be photographers.”

“As if I had any choice in the matter.”

He chuckled, knowing there was a shred of truth in what Beth had said. She could have turned down the money for her charity, but he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d found a way to change her mind. It was one thing for him to be embarrassed by a newspaper article, another for his brother’s business—and pride—to be hurt, however innocently it might have happened.

They walked to the bow of the ferry and stood with excited passengers as the ferry chugged away from the pier. Seagulls screamed and dove above them with impertinent challenges, and as the boat made its way around the breakwater, the breeze picked up and the sea became choppier.

Beth leaned on the rail and gazed into the horizon, a far-off expression on her face. Gradually the cold early-morning wind off the Strait of Juan de Fuca drove their fellow passengers inside, leaving them alone on the deck—alone except for the stubborn camera crew, who had set up a discreet twenty feet away. At least they didn’t have to worry about every word they said being recorded.

“Aren’t you freezing?” he asked finally.

“No, but you don’t have to stay outside because of me,” she murmured.

Kane rested his elbows on the rail next to her. “I’m fine, but I’m wearing more clothes than you are.”

“Is there something wrong with my clothing?” Beth asked, her head tilted in challenge.

“Nope. You look terrific.” His tone grew a little husky and he hoped she’d put it down to chilly wind and noise from the ferry engines. The cold air was doing what a lover’s hands would accomplish, puckering her nipples beneath a thin green T-shirt. White shorts cupped her trim bottom, the cuffs a respectable three inches above her knees, and a pair of sandals emphasized the slender length of her legs.

There was nothing obvious or overblown about Beth, just an understated elegance he’d never fully appreciated before in a woman.

“So tell me,” he said, forcing his gaze out to the blue-green water of the Strait and away from temptation. “You never explained what was so terrible about us going on a date together.”

“I told you, this isn’t—”

“A date,” Kane finished for her. “I know. But it doesn’t matter what you call it, you still said ‘no.”’