Page 50 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

How had she, in such a short time, flipped his life inside out? Because of her, he’d started, just a little, to dream of accomplishments outside of his career, being a husband, having kids. Growing old with someone.

For the millionth time since leaving her alone at St. Urban he remembered that night, the pain in her deep, dark eyes.

After she’d spoken to Digby on the phone, he’d given her some time and space to process the reason for her adoption but when she hadn’t returned home by dusk, he’d headed back to St. Urban, needing to see if she was okay.

On the drive over, he reluctantly admitted he was already in love with her and if she stuck around, happy to continue their no-commitment fling, he’d only fall deeper and deeper in love with her. And when she finally left—and she would, she’d told him she was only sticking around for another year—he’d fall into a bubbling, flesh-and-soul-stripping volcano.

He knew he should put distance between them, to create a barrier between them, but he couldn’t leave her alone, not when she was upset and in pain. He’d try to be sensible later...if he could.

On arriving at St. Urban, he’d expected to find her crying but that wasn’t the case. She sounded fine,normal, and the realization that she was talking to her ex had literally stopped him in his tracks.

He’d stood there out of her sight, trying to control his jealously. But then her words started to make sense. They said that eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves but Ro’s honest and emotional declaration of how she felt nearly dropped him to the floor, in a good way. A bright, warm rush of love and a dose of happiness barreled through him and he’d hurried down the long veranda to get to her, prepared to yank the phone out of her hand and kiss her stupid...

She loved him, or something damn close to it.

Jack. Pot.

You’re not good enough, you’re unlovable, you’re nothing...

Those long-ago phrases had him placing his hand on the wall, needing to steady himself.

What the hell are you thinking, Triple M? Have you lost your damn mind?

Terror immediately replaced tenderness. Love, he reminded himself, was the greatest weapon of all, dangerous because it lulled one into complacency before it proceeded to slice and dice you.

He’d thought his mother loved him, but she’d shipped him off. Lu loved him, but she’d died. Susan pretended to love him in company and verbally annihilated him in private.

Muzi stared down at the wooden bar top, his eyes blurry with fatigue. Love confused and baffled him. He never knew which way was up. And that was why he avoided it.

And, Jesus, was it too much to ask for it to come with a guarantee or two?

“Hey, you’re going to frighten my customers with your sour face,” Pasco told him from the other side of the bar.

Muzi lifted his eyes and thought about asking Pasco for matches to prop open his eyelids. He hadn’t slept and he was exhausted. But as soon as he closed his eyes, he started to think of Ro and how much he missed her. Unable to deal with that suck-fest, he moved on to thinking about Susan and her lifelong campaign of terror and all that did was increase the volume of noise in his head.

By tomorrow, at least one of those problems would be solved. But getting Ro out of his head and soul was going to require a lifetime of effort.

Pasco placed a drink in front of him and Muzi nearly gagged at the sight of a Bloody Mary. “I can’t,” he muttered, pushing the glass away.

Pasco pushed it back. “‘You can and you will. And when you are done drinking that, you will go upstairs to my private apartment and take a long shower. I’ll send some food up and then you will sleep.”

Muzi heard the tough note in his voice and wondered whether he had the strength to argue. He didn’t, so he picked up the Bloody Mary and downed it, trying not to gag.

“I’ll go home, have a shower there and try to sleep,” Muzi told Pasco, sliding off his barstool.

“Upstairs,now,” Pasco ordered, sounding like Gordon Ramsay in a very bad mood.

He didn’t have the energy to argue. “Yes, Chef.” Muzi took a step toward a door marked Staff Only. He stopped, turned around and slid his hands into the pockets of his rumpled shorts.

“By the way, if you are serious about wanting to move back here, I heard that the owner of the Tempest-Vane trust is thinking about converting St. Urban into a luxurious boutique hotel and wants a restaurant on the premises. It might work for you.”

Pasco’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’sinteresting. I’d wondered why Ro was putting her heart and soul into restoring that wreck.”

Muzi winced when he comprehended Pasco’s meaning. “Pas,crap. How did you know?”

“I’ve got eyes, don’t I? She and Digby are two peas in a pod.”

Dammit. “You can’t...don’t...nobody is supposed to know.”

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