Page 10 of Eluding the Billionaire
I press the button to wind down the window on my Mercedes-Benz and fill my lungs with the fresh scent of an unseasonably warm spring day. The light breeze blowing across the green fields is earthy, with the faint hint of the nearby sea spray. Maybe being out of the city for a few days won’t be so bad after all. This is the first time I’ve been to this corner of England, and I like it. From what I’ve seen so far of the county when I’ve passed through quaint historic towns or caught occasional distant glimpses of the ocean, I’d like to come back and explore more on a vacation.
Reoriented, I start my car and pull out onto the narrow road winding between waist-high, thick hedgerows. The GPS was right; it was only another five minutes to the village and then another ten minutes to the remote cottage.
I pull into the graveled area beside the small white-washed house. This has to be the place since the road stops here, and beyond the barricade is sea cliffs, then ocean as far as you can see.
It feels good to stretch my arms high and work out the kinks in my spine when I step out of the car. Maybe I should have taken more breaks instead of powering through. Birds whirl above me, performing aerial acrobatics from the cliffs, squawking to each other in what I imagine is bird speak for,Look at what I can do. This is a ruggedly beautiful place, and now I understand why someone would want to escape here.
With a final deep intake of sea air, I walk carefully through the gravel to the wooden deck. I’m not entirely happy with the damage the tiny stones are likely doing to my Louboutin heels, but my bad. I probably should have worn more sensible shoes. Instead, I was too caught up in the idea of portraying a professionalI mean businesskind of image and these heels make exactly that statement. Well, at least they do when I strut into a boardroom. Out here on a clifftop in Cornwall, maybe not. Oh well, it’s too late now. I’m here and eager to get this first meeting with Mr. Campbell over and done with.
The clip-clop of my shoes across the wooden decking sounds loud above the trill of the birds and the distant crash of the waves far below. I’d hoped this announced my arrival, but when I stop at the front door, I don’t hear any movement coming from inside. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, a bit like those sea birds, and I tamp them back down with a slow, calming breath in and a shake of my hands. I have no idea what reception I’m going to get.
Rap, rap, rap.
The brass knocker is loud when I tap it against the wooden door. At least it should get his attention. I listen again. This time, after a minute, there are distinct shuffling sounds with a different kind of clip-clop approaching.
The door swings open, and I step back, my mouth dropping open fully.
It takes a moment for my vocal cords to work, and I squeak out, “Drew?” A name I never expected to utter again. Not after my one-night stand from months ago disappeared before I woke the next morning without even a goodbye.
I’ve struggled to forget the mysterious Scotsman who rocked my world multiple times. How can I, when it’s his face, his hands, and his body I imagine in my dreams or when my magic wand is bringing me to orgasm?
But all that aside, why would Drew be here? Where is Mr. Campbell? Nothing makes sense to my muddled brain, which is firing questions, none of which are spoken.
Instead, I end up saying, “What the hell are you doing here?” My voice is harsh, unfiltered by politeness. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me,There is no need for that tone.
I shake her voice back into the recesses of my brain. There is every reason for me to be angry this time. This is the guy who snuck away while I slept, like a thief in the night stealing my orgasms.
My eyes travel quickly from his dripping wet hair to his damp bare chest and down to the low-slung black sweatpants hooked on his lean hips. A large white towel in his hand indicates that I’ve interrupted his shower. I drag my gaze back to his face, and a smirk teases the corners of his lips as he swipes the towel over his hair. Memories of the talented things that mouth could do spring to mind.
Realizing my own mouth is now hanging open, I quickly close it. He knows I was checking him out and almost drooling over the sight of his half-naked body. But I’m not about to let that distract me. He leans casually against the doorframe, and I know he’s not surprised at all to see me. I’ve been set up, and I don’t like it.
With a shake of my head, I recover enough to confidently demand, “Why are you here?” in the voice I use to address the boardroom.
His mouth ticks up into a full smug smile as he replies simply, “I live here.”
I’m not amused by his flippant response, and I push for more. “But this is where the author A.V. Campbell lives.” My brain is struggling to put all the facts together.
Drew tilts his head, left, then right before holding out his hand to me and saying, “Aye, I’m Andrew Vincent Campbell.” I ignore his outstretched hand, and he drops it, then shrugs his shoulders. “Would you like to come in, Ms. Carlson?”
Huh, so he does know exactly who I am. It’s all beginning to make sense, and he’s got some explaining to do.
I can’t believe he has deliberately deceived me into coming all this way. Why?
At least I get why he would never accept my calls, because I absolutely would have recognized his voice. How could I forget the sound of his deep, sexy growl when he whispered dirty words into the shell of my ear?
To say I’m angry would be a gross understatement. I’m foot-stomping, steam-coming-out-my-ears furious. And filled with so many questions that I can’t settle on the first one to ask.
Instead, I stomp into the room, spin on my heels, and with hands on my hips blurt out, “You lied to me.”
“Sorry,” he says before turning his back on me and moving in an awkward shuffle the short distance over to a set of open doors at the end of the room. I stare at his back and another question forms.What’s wrong with him?He no longer seems to move in the swift, athletic way I remember from our night together.
Brushing the thought aside, I follow him, not happy that he dared to walk away from me before I’ve had my say.
“Hey, buddy. I haven’t finished. In fact, I haven’t even started with what I have to say.”
He stands statue still in the open doorway, his back to me. It’s like he didn’t even hear me. I move to stand beside him.
“Are you going to say anything? Like maybe explain to me why the hell you felt the need to lie to get me here at literally the end of the country? And more importantly, why now, months after we met?” I look down at his arm where my finger is poking him. I didn’t even realize I’d been waving it at him, and now it’s pressing on his warm, firm skin.
