Only A Kiss With A Billionaire (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 1) Read online

  She shook her head and set it down, not sure what to think of his reappearance. "Did you forget something?"

  "You." He raced toward her, wrapped his arms snugly around her, picked her up, and spun her around. "I'm sorry. I won't leave you again. I did the exact thing I feared most."

  Emma pulled back, tears streaming down her face.

  "I left you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

  "I'm not hurt," she managed to say.

  "Then why are you crying? I'm the one that's drenched."

  "I'm happy." She smiled and laughed through her tears. "Because you came back. Because you braved the storm for me."

  "I'd brave the world for you." He squeezed her tighter, a promise never to let go again.

  After Will dried off and Bartholomew brought them both warm teas, Will looked up at her. "I've terminated your contract."

  "What? Will, I need to pay back my debt. I need to work."

  "I know. I owe you twenty-nine thousand five hundred and sixty dollars. I'll transfer it to your bank account. You'll pay off your debt. We can do it online. It should take less than five minutes. Thank you for being my fake girlfriend."

  "Uh, you're welcome."

  "It's not too late for us to think about New Year's resolutions. I've been meaning to take some time off work. Go on a holiday."

  "Yeah, that'd be nice, but I need to find another job."

  "Tropical breezes, warm sun…Your bags are packed. Mine too."

  "Stop teasing. I can't afford a trip right now."

  "No, but I can."

  She inclined her head and pressed her lips together. "I couldn't let you do that."

  "Why not?"

  "Because."

  "Because isn't a reason, an explanation."

  "I just don't know, Will. It's very generous of you, but…"

  "Well, what's your resolution?"

  "To trust more. Myself, others. You."

  He rubbed his thumb on the soft part of her hand. "Can you trust me on this then? It'll be good for both of to regroup and figure things out. No pressure. No extravagance. I don't even know if there's running water or electricity."

  "Where are you planning on taking me?"

  "I don't know, actually. I own an island. Somewhere in the Caribbean."

  "Will, that sounds crazy."

  "Not any worse than pretending to be my boyfriend."

  She stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides. The butterflies danced in her belly at the mention of that word, at the relationship it implied.

  "We both need some time to think, to figure out what we want next out of our careers, and maybe we can even relax."

  "That does sound like a nice idea." Emma had been working her entire adult life and hadn't taken a vacation since she and her sister went on spring break. The week between when her last job ended and she landed on her sister's couch wasn't very restful.

  "It'll be a long flight, but will you let me support you when we land—at least until you have everything sorted?"

  She thought about it for half a second and then threw her arms around him. "Yes." What started as only a kiss had become so much more.

  "I know you're an independent woman, intelligent, and have dreams of your own, but I have more money than I know what to do with and—" He shrugged. "Maybe you can help me spend some of it."

  Bartholomew appeared with the plate of cookies.

  Will reached for one. "Wouldn't want them to go stale." He went on to tell her about Jared and Veronica, the paparazzi, and their affair. "His suggestion we be in a fake relationship was slimy. I should've known. I'm sorry. It was wrong."

  "As you know, I've been tricked before by someone I trusted too. Remember, I signed that contract, but I must admit, even fake dating you would have been hard to resist."

  "So you were using me for my body?" He mock pouted.

  "And your brilliant businessman mind, your kind heart, and your baking abilities."

  "Are you saying you like my cookies?"

  Emma laughed. "We'll work on the recipe. I bet Birdie would love to bake cookies with us."

  "So you met my sister. How did that happen?"

  Emma explained when they'd met as they continued to sip their tea. "She should be back for Rupert, I think."

  Will clapped his hand on his head. "I forgot all about that. He was Sydney's dog, and I got custody of him. She got his old flat. When I say old, I mean huge. But still. Dog? Real estate?" He weighed his hands.

  "I'd go with the dog."

  Will smiled. "I said it would only be you and me, but do you mind if he came to the island with us?"

  Lying on the kitchen floor at their feet, Rupert sighed.

  Emma looked at Will. "Are you kidding me? Me? The dog lover? Who threw you a dog-themed New Year's party? Who wrote Shuman a letter, demanding they donate the money you paid for the eggplant blob to a dog shelter?" She got on her knees and gave Rupert a pet.

  "Wait? You what?"

  She lifted and lowered one shoulder. "You told me to write Shuman a thank you letter. So I did, but I also pointed out that there are dogs around the world in need of food and care. Surely, they could spare some of the money you paid for that hunk of metal and donate it in Shuman's name."

  "That was bold of you, but I seriously doubt they'd do it just because you asked. Shuman is a renowned artist, revered, respected—"

  "It was that or William Wheaton was going to chuck the thing into the Thames. Publicly."

  Will sniggered then reached for Emma's hand and pulled her close. "You're rare, Emma. Priceless. A treasure. Worth more than a billion eggplant-spirit-of-the-ocean sculptures."

  "Considering what you paid for it, that's a lot."

  They both laughed and leaned closer. The rain pattered softly outside. The kitchen was cozy and warm. Will smelled fresh. She took a deep breath as their lips brushed.

  The doorbell rang. Rupert barked.

  They pulled apart.

  Charlotte and Birdie appeared, shaking off the rain. The little girl rushed up and gave Emma a hug.

  "So this is the lady Uncle Will fancies. Small world, huh," Charlotte said, giving Emma and her brother hugs in turn.

  They chatted for the next minutes and Will mentioned the vacation.

  "But not until after Sydney's memorial service?" Charlotte asked.

  "Certainly wouldn't miss it. I don't know what I was thinking. I default to work, but I'll work on that."

  "Ha ha," Emma said.

  "Uncle Will, I think you should play more," Birdie said.

  He considered it. "I like that idea, Birdie." He turned to Emma. "I know this might seem odd since we're just newly, um, together, but would you like to come with me as I pay my last respects?"

  "I'd be honored."

  The next weekend, Emma, Will, Charlotte, Birdie, Rupert, and dozens of other people attended Sydney's funeral. There were tears, laughter, and smiles. The reception was at an indoor garden terrace and the sun shone even though it was chilly. Emma admired the flowers in bloom and reflected on the bittersweetness of life, thinking about the people she'd lost, most especially her grandmother.

  Will stepped away from a group of people who'd offered their condolences and joined her. "I was so afraid of him leaving. But it still feels like he's with me."

  Emma smiled. "He's happy for you, happy for us."

  Will wrapped his arms around Emma and they stood there a while, finally together.

  When it was time to leave, Birdie kept asking her mother if they could keep Rupert.

  "Darling, I'm sorry. We can't keep him in our flat."

  "And I think Emma's rather fond of him," Will added. "But…"

  "But what?" Birdie asked, lighting up.

  "But Sydney left your mum his old flat."

  "Do they allow dogs there?"

  "They do."

  Birdie jumped out of her seat. "Mummy, can we stay there? It's near the park and I miss Sydney so much so if we're there it'll be like he's s
till here and it will be wonderful," she said in one long breath.

  "I haven't decided if we should move there," Charlotte said.

  "Isn't it what Sydney wanted?" Will asked.

  "Yeah. Something like that." Charlotte exhaled and looked away.

  As they walked toward the waiting car, Jennifer from Wags and Purrs animal shelter waved at them. She was hosting another pop-up adoption event in front of a busy storefront.

  "Hello, who do we have here?" she asked, gesturing to Rupert.

  Emma quickly explained while Birdie and Will petted the dogs.

  Charlotte stood off to the side as though deep in thought. A brown dog with shaggy fur nudged her hand. She absently mindedly petted it. Rupert sniffed her and they stood side by side.

  "Oh, you have a new friend. That's Molly. She's been with us a while. People don't like adopting senior dogs."

  Charlotte's eyebrows lifted.

  Birdie rushed over at the sight of her mom petting a dog.

  Will and Emma stepped aside with Rupert nearby. "Let's let them get to know each other." They said a quick goodbye with the promise to talk to them later. "We don't need to pressure them into anything."

  "Charlotte seemed sad."

  "She misses Sydney. They were best friends too."

  Emma gripped Will's hand. They fit together so perfectly. She couldn't believe they'd almost walked away from each other.

  When they reached the street corner, traffic blocked them from crossing.

  "Let's go this way," Will said. "It's a nicer walk."

  They passed through a park with low boughs of trees creating a canopy. Lights still strung up from the holidays, twinkled above.

  Will stopped when they were halfway through. "Emma, we've put all that nonsense about me being your fake boyfriend behind us."

  She nodded.

  "Well, now I'm wondering if you'll be my real girlfriend."

  Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes, Will. Yes."

  He drew her close and they kissed.

  Find out about Penny’s adventures abroad. Will she stick to her motto baking before boys?

  Excerpt from book 2 in the Only Us Billionaire Clean Romance series:

  Only a Night with a Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  Penny

  With a bag slung over her shoulder, Penny Jones stood just inside the door to her New York City apartment. She turned around one last time, glanced at the kitchen and sighed—she and her sister had affectionately dubbed the apartment the kitchen closet because the whole space was tiny, except the kitchen. Baking was at the center of Penny’s life and having the space for it was her only requirement. She’d miss her place in Manhattan but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to apprentice with David Park, master baker extraordinaire.

  She smiled, turned the doorknob, and with suitcase in tow, stepped into the hallway. As she closed the door behind her, her stomach did a little flip. She was leaving behind her secure job, her friends, family, and life as she knew it. “What could go wrong?” she whispered under her breath.

  In her silent, cat-like way, Mrs. Wong, Penny’s elderly neighbor shuffled past. “Everything, dear. Everything,” she said as if in answer to Penny’s question.

  “Huh?” Penny asked.

  The old woman passed her an envelope. “The mailman put another piece of your mail in my box.”

  Penny glanced down at her full name written across the front. Penelope Victoria Jones. She stuffed it in her suitcase. “You shouldn’t get anything more for me. I was selected for an apprenticeship with David Park.” Usually, when she said this, she got a polite smile in response—not too many people outside the culinary world knew of him.

  However, for avid bakers, he was a household name, being the master baker for the royals in Burklingham Palace, but commoners usually didn’t make the connection.

  She got just such a smile from Mrs. Wong but it quickly dipped into a frown as she opened her door. “There goes Pumpkin. She escaped again. If the super would take care of the rodent problem, she wouldn’t be so tempted.”

  A furry, orange cat streaked by at the end of the hall. Penny set her belongings down and quietly tiptoed down the hall after the cat so she didn’t startle it. She called his name and the images of pumpkin pie, pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread—all the delicious things she could bake inspired by that single ingredient—floated into her mind. What marvelous things would she make at the palace?

  She knew she was a bit on the older side when she’d applied for the position—most people applied for apprenticeships or to work as an assistant right out of culinary school, but she had bills to pay and had earned her way forward starting in the kitchens of some of the best bakeries and restaurants in the city because she couldn’t afford to work without compensation. But she’d scrimped and saved and eight years later had her opportunity. Better late than never.

  Penny was the kind of person who led with her heart but knew this was her only shot at moving forward in her career. She wasn’t poor but would be living off savings for the next few months and didn’t have enough for whatever would come after the apprenticeship was over. She was giving up her apartment, her security, and banking on her future—not to mention her baking abilities. People came far and wide for her lemon bars, her lavender cheesecake, and macarons. But she was best known for her cookies: good, old fashioned chocolate chip in particular.

  Penny scooped up the cat and then hurried to return him. “I hope you have a nice day, Mrs. Wong.”

  She nuzzled the giant orange and white feline then said, “Good luck.”

  “Thanks, I’ll need it.”

  As Penny wheeled her suitcase along the slushy and slippery New York City sidewalk, she looked forward to the gilded halls of the palace, imagining the wood floors and plush carpet. Though, she reasoned, she’d mostly be in the kitchen and pictured it classic but outfitted with modern equipment as well.

  She passed her favorite bookstore, the ramen place where she often grabbed lunch, and then the café where she’d met her ex as they’d each vied for the last butterscotch cookie. She won but ended up giving him half. After six months, he broke it off, which was what usually happened—the relationship not the cookie.

  In the end, she was convinced he was using her for her whoopie pies. Before him, she’d dated an investment banker and was left feeling like he just wanted her for her morning glory muffins. And the guy she’d met when she first moved to the city was all about her peaches and cream cake.

  She hadn’t dated much and had always told herself baking before boys. With the new beginning overseas, she’d stick with it because she’d given up on love and was focused on her career.

  Bound for the airport, she squeezed into the subway car. Someone sneezed on her, a toddler had a meltdown and threw himself on the floor, screaming (and kicking, Penny once), and a man decided that would be a great time to play the macarena on his saxophone. She’d miss Manhattan in all its zaniness, but imagined the peaceful tranquility of the palace.

  In the international terminal, when the ticket agent called, “Now boarding flight 3529 bound for London,” Penny had a little skip in her step as she got into the line.

  Unfortunately, she was seated near the very back of the plane and had to press past everyone else to get to her seat: between a teenager with headphones whose video game blasting was audible and an older man who decided then would be a good time to tell her the story of his near-death experience while on a commercial flight back in 1973.

  It was her first time on a plane and she made a mental note not to buy the cheapest ticket next time—her mother always said you get what you pay for. Her mother, off in the Caribbean with her latest suitor, never paid for anything. She liked to refer to the arrangements she made with the men she lassoed. Her strategy was to find someone rich, keep him happy, and be set for life. She insisted her daughters marry for wealth. Emma and Penny made a pact to marry for love. Lucky for Emma she got both, but Penny wasn�
�t interested in relationships anymore. Her career came first. Baking before boys. Nothing would come between her and her dream of becoming a successful baker.

  As the blasting from her seat neighbor came from one side and the older gentleman rattled on about the many calamities in his life, Penny rubbed her temples and reminded herself she was going to London. To the palace. To apprentice under the expert tutelage of the most renowned baker in the world.

  When the plane touched down, she gathered her belongings and only got lost once on the way to baggage claim. As the suitcases slowly rode past on the luggage carousel, and hers didn’t turn up, panic twinged in her belly. She thought back to when she stood in her apartment. There was a moment when she’d hesitated…had she made the right choice?

  She reported the missing bag and after being assured it would turn up and the airline would deliver it to her free of charge, the employee gave her a pink ticket. “If you have any changes or don’t receive it within forty-eight hours, call this number.”

  “Thanks,” Penny said, stuffing it in her bag. At least she had toiletries and some essentials. Namely, leftover cookies. She’d kept surplus in the freezer and in the last remaining days before her big overseas trip, she gave them away to friends, coworkers, and neighbors, leaving her with a few to remind her of home and for emergencies—losing her bag fitted the criteria. She took a nibble as she studied the map for the Underground, referenced the address for the flat she was renting for the next three months and once again, set off.

  In contrast to the New York subway, the Underground was tidy and quiet. She people watched and listened for her stop spoken in the smooth British accent over the intercom.

  She’d never been abroad but had fallen in love with all things British, especially the prince, at a young age. She even had a poster of Oliver in her room back in high school. The refinement, the customs, the royalty, it had always fascinated her. She lost interest in high school when it turned out he was a snob. Nonetheless, she fought the urge to tell the person in the seat opposite her she was on her way to the palace bright and early in the morning.

  When she finally arrived at her stop and emerged on the street, she was not met with the quaint neighborhood lined with trees and people walking their dogs photographed on the website where she’d found the place to rent. Instead, she stared at a brick wall smattered in profane graffiti. Trash littered the sidewalk and a homeless man shambled toward her. She glanced at the address for the rental. “Um, is this Pembury?” she asked him. It sounded so charming in the description and was the best she could afford in close proximity to the Underground.