The Billionaire's Secret Read online

  ~ Dare Valley Meets Paris Mini-Series ~

  Volume Two

  Margie & Evan

  © 2015 Ava Miles

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  After resisting Margie Lancaster for one month as part of the gamble he'd lost, Evan Michaels is now in the free and clear to romance her. And it's all the easier since Margie is taking French baking classes in Paris--where Evan lives year-round--in advance of her opening Hot Cross Buns, Dare Valley's new bakery. But there's one catch. Margie comes from money and was tragically disowned by her family, and she's not particularly fond of rich people, especially billionaire alpha playboys. So, Evan is romancing her in the City of Love with his secret hanging over his head, hoping to make her fall for him as much as he's falling for her before she discovers the truth that could destroy everything between them.

  To Hem and Fitzie and all my writing spirits.

  And to my divine helpers for opening up the magic of Paris to me all over again.

  Dare Valley Map

  Chapter 1

  Paris, France

  Few cities had captured Margie Lancaster’s imagination like Paris had.

  The weeks she would spend in the City of Love stretched before her like a gift waiting to be opened. She had finished most of the preparations for her new bakery in Dare Valley, so there was nothing to impede her enjoyment of her ten-day baking apprenticeship. While she was away, her contractor would install the new glass display cases she’d ordered, and her manager would oversee the shipments of the new tables and chairs. Hot Cross Buns would be ready to open shortly after she returned. This was her time to forget about home for a while.

  And soon she would see Evan Murray again. Her heart skittered with anticipation. Back in Dare Valley, Evan had been her tenant and her painter/handyman, but now that he’d returned to his apartment in Paris and she was here for her apprenticeship, nothing stood in the way of them being together. Romantically.

  Evan had come to Dare Valley for inspiration, to reset his buttons, and to decide what his next chapter would be. Though she hadn’t expected it or asked for it, meeting him had changed her life too. It wasn’t easy for her to let people in, but with him, it had felt natural from the beginning.

  She rushed into one of the ladies’ bathrooms at Charles de Gaulle Airport to tidy up her hair and makeup after the twelve-hour journey. While she wasn’t vain per se, Evan was picking her up, and she hadn’t seen him in two weeks.

  After applying a few dabs of fresh powder and a touch of lipstick, she navigated the twists and turns of the airport—Customs, baggage claim, and then finally the exit.

  She spotted Evan the moment she walked through the doors. Her rapidly beating heart seemed to burst at the sight of him. His sandy blond hair was less curly than she remembered it, but his lakewater blue eyes were familiar and warm. He gave her a rakish smile, the effect enhanced by his sexy beard. He wore a simple outfit of jeans and a white T-shirt, but his clothes seemed different somehow, more tailored. Perhaps it was just the romance of Paris. In his hands, he held a bouquet of red-tipped pink roses. When she arrived in front of him with her wheeled suitcase, she felt like she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.

  “Hi,” he said in that deep sexy voice she’d missed so much since they’d said goodbye.

  “Hi,” she returned with a grin and then leaned in to kiss his cheek.

  His free hand curved around her waist, and she breathed in deep. He was wearing some wickedly spicy cologne, and she allowed herself to rest her head against his muscular chest for a moment.

  “I know it was only fourteen days, but I missed you,” she whispered. And she had, in little ways that kept surprising her. Every time she pulled something out of the oven, she remembered how he’d smile and hum to himself while sampling her creations, and when she turned on the TV at night to relax, she’d remember all the cooking shows they used to watch together. Most of all, she found herself missing the way he’d explain his oddball ideas to her—and how his face would light up with the happiness of sharing himself.

  Against her cheek, she could feel his heartbeat, its beat as rapid fire as her own.

  “I missed you too,” he said softly.

  Then any need for talking disappeared. The connection between them had been immediate, and it had twined them closer and closer over the course of his four weeks in Dare Valley. Now those delicate ribbons were weaving them together all over again.

  Part of her had wondered if their connection would follow them to Paris, but her heart had known the truth. It wasn’t just Dare Valley that bound them together, and while she was scared she was going to leave Paris with an aching heart, she wasn’t going to pass up the chance to be with him like she wanted. He’d come into her life unexpectedly and given her something precious—a reminder of how joyful passion and friendship could be. Before coming to Dare Valley, he’d pledged to stay celibate on his journey of self-discovery, but now that they were in Paris together, she planned to soak him up like a sponge.

  He kissed the top of her head since he was so much taller. “I can still smell your cinnamon rolls in your hair,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

  “I brought you some rolls as a present.” She had purposefully not washed her sable hair after preparing his present, knowing how much he enjoyed the scent of her baking. A few people on the plane had commented on the heavenly smell, making her smile in secret.

  He edged back, but kept one hand on her. “You did? That was nice of you.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes, the full force of her flirtation coming out now. “I’ve been known to be nice.”

  He gulped. “You’re always nice. And these are for you. Obviously.” The roses smelled like sunshine and earth and magic.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better welcome.”

  “Did you have a good flight?” he asked.

  “I didn’t sleep much,” she admitted, “but I didn’t care. All I could do was imagine how things would be here.”

  “You’re going to love it,” he said. “Let me take your bag while you hold your flowers.”

  They made the switch, which was awkward and fun, and had her laughing.

  “And give me your carry-on,” he said, holding out his hand. “But I draw the line at taking your purse.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of letting you carry my purse,” she said. And she gave him what she hoped was a saucy wink as she handed him the bag.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  She nodded, and together they followed the signs to the parking area. When he opened the door to a shiny red Fiat, she put her nose into her roses again to inhale their sweet scent.

  “The car suits you,” she said.

  He looked over at her sharply, pausing with her suitcase suspended over the trunk. “You think so?”

  “Yes. Sexy and understated. Maybe even a little practical.”

  He rolled his eyes and arranged her suitcase and carry-on in the tight space. “Practical? I’m almost offended.”

  “Are you not the man who invented the Paint Prep Mistress? I’d call that practical.”

  He opened the door for her, which made her smile. But when was he going to kiss her? She’d spent half the flight imagining his hungry mouth devouring hers again like it had in that moment of pure passion they’d shared when she’d dropped him off at the Denver airport for his return flight to Paris.

  “That was efficient,” he said, waiting for her to sit and tuck her legs inside. “Practical sounds boring.”

  “It’s not,” she said when he folded himself into the driver’s sea
t. “Practical is getting up at two every morning and baking bread because you love it. Someone has to bake it.”

  He winced as he turned on the car. “I have a whole new respect when I eat my morning croissant, let me tell you.”

  “It’s going to be wonderful. Everything is going to be wonderful.”

  She’d spoken with her boss briefly on the phone before leaving. Brian had said Chef Andre was a pretty easy-going guy whose passion for bread matched her own. He’d assured her they would get along great, and she wasn’t worried. Well, only a little bit.

  When Evan reached down to put the car in gear, she placed her hand on his to stop him. Deciding to ask for what she wanted, she simply said, “Are you going to kiss me?”

  His eyes darkened. “I had hoped to, yes, if you still wanted me to. But not at the airport. Your first kiss in Paris should be somewhere special.”

  The roses fell onto her lap as his sweet regard rolled through her. “Are you planning to take me there soon?”

  His brow lifted. “You must be tired after that long flight. I thought I would drop you off at your apartment so you could grab a shower and then nap. When you wake up, I’ll take you to dinner, and we’ll make sure your first kiss in Paris is as romantic as in any Hollywood movie.”

  That sounded like too long to wait to her, but the romantic side of him appealed to her. And he was right. Her first kiss in Paris did deserve to be special.

  “It’s sweet of you to have thought about it,” she said, removing her hand so he could put the car in gear.

  “I thought of little else while we were apart,” he said with an edge to his voice. He paused. “That sounded—”

  “I felt the same way,” she interrupted. “Evan, we knew things were going to be different between us here.”

  “I just want you to be sure,” he said, navigating them out of the airport and accelerating onto the highway. “There’s still so much we don’t know about each other.”

  His brow knit like he was struggling again. She could tell he was worried about something, worried about her, and it was sweet, really.

  Her friend, Rhett Butler Blaylock, had gone all big brother on her before she left town, warning her again to be smart about Evan. Rhett was one of the people who’d convinced Evan to take his siesta in Dare Valley in the first place, so he clearly liked him. She’d assured him—again—she’d be fine. She knew how to handle artistic types. From the tension in Rhett’s face, she could tell she hadn’t convinced him. But she was a big girl. And she trusted Evan. Even if he didn’t trust himself.

  “So, we’ll get to know each other while I’m here.”

  “And what about when you have to leave?” he asked.

  “We live in the moment,” she told him. “I know we live in two different places, Evan. Let’s just—enjoy being together in this magical city.”

  He shifted to second gear as traffic suddenly slowed to a crawl. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She put her hand on his knee for a moment until he met her eyes. “No one can hurt me unless I allow it.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You really are Venus incarnate, aren’t you? Talking big like that.”

  “It’s the truth,” she said, settling back in her seat and removing her hand. His nickname for her—Pocket Venus—was just another thing she’d missed. “Now, I want to know what you’ve been up to since you’ve been back. Texting doesn’t give enough details.”

  He was silent for a long minute, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then he reached for some reflective shades on the dashboard and put them on, covering his gorgeous lakewater blue eyes.

  “Well, I…”

  ***

  Evan was feeling the weight of his secret. He’d had two weeks to think it through from every angle imaginable, but it boiled down to two simple facts.

  Margie hated—no, loathed—rich people because of her upbringing, one he still didn’t know much about.

  It was undeniable that he was a rich person—a billionaire—and had sometimes lived the shallow lifestyle she’d eschewed.

  Since they were only going to be together for her time in Paris, it wasn’t like she needed to know everything about him. After all, there were plenty of things he didn’t know about her. Perhaps if she told him about her past, he would change his mind.

  Besides, he loved the fact that she liked him for himself, not his success or money. People hadn’t liked him when he was a nerdy scientist with bad skin and untamable curly hair. And he’d finally admitted to himself that the wealthy jet setters he palled around with weren’t exactly friends. Margie was a breath of fresh air.

  Being around her had relit the creative fire inside him, and since he’d gotten back, he’d continued to work on the simple inventions he’d started in Dare Valley.

  His secret would remain a secret. For now at least.

  But there were some truths he could tell. “Well, I’ve been working on the prototypes that came to me while I was painting your bakery. You should see them now.”

  Her brow arched. “So you really are an inventor and an artist?”

  The traffic was slowing down the closer they came to the city, and he forced himself to divide his attention between her and the road. If he hadn’t been hiding the truth, he would have picked her up in the Rolls Royce and let his chauffeur handle Paris traffic. He’d bought the Fiat to perpetuate the ruse that he was the normal person he’d pretended to be in Dare Valley.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Yes.” The answer contained a grain of the truth, but it was an unforgivable understatement. After all, his inventions, which supported the defense departments of the major democratic countries in the world, had made him rich and famous. “I’ve also been painting since I’ve been back.” Granted, he was just painting a few rooms in his penthouse—ones no one but him would see.

  “I would have thought you’d want a break from painting after Hot Cross Buns,” she said.

  “No,” he answered. “There’s something about it. I can’t explain it, but it’s helping me…I don’t know, find my way back to something I’d lost.” Painting cleared his mind, and he was certain it had put him on the cusp of a huge discovery, something that would revolutionize his company. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

  “Your creative fire,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

  This was why they were so good together. She knew him. Really knew him.

  “Yes.” He steered them to the exit that would take them through downtown to her rented flat in St. Germain. “I’ve been without that spark for a long time.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve found it again,” she said. “I remember what it feels like to live without it. It’s a…dark place to be.”

  Her tone had changed to one of loneliness, and he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll have to tell me about that time. How you came to Dare Valley.” About why you came to loathe rich people so much, he thought.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you,” she said in a small voice. “But maybe not. I just want to be happy here. There’s so much to be grateful for. The past is past.”

  Her openness to life awed him, and since he wanted to give her back some of the awe she had given him, he angled the car to drive along the Seine—even though it would take them a little out of the way.

  When she started to ooh and ahh next to him, his chest expanded with the same effervescent feeling he had while working on a new invention. How wonderful it was to share this with her, as she had shared her home with him. He pointed out the landmarks as they traveled down the Quai de la Tournelle, Margie was glued to her window. Notre Dame, in all her magnificence, never failed to make an impression, but it was too bold and touristy for him.

  “Even though it’s an incredible church architecturally,” he said, “it’s not my favorite.”

  “I remember going there in high school when I visited with...a group from boarding school.”

  He nodded because he could almost sense her feeling
him out after revealing this new piece of information. “That doesn’t sound like a fun way to see Paris,” he said casually.

  “It wasn’t.” She looked over her shoulder at him, shadows in her green eyes. “Besides, I wasn’t too interested in churches then. I was in my rebellious stage.”

  “You? Rebellious?” He couldn’t imagine it. But she was nothing if not independent, so it made sense she would rebel against a life she hated. In his own way, he’d done the same.

  “Like I said, it’s in the past.” When she looked away, he didn’t press for more details. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who needed time to feel out what—and how much—to say.

  They passed the stream of tourists wandering along the Quai, stopping to browse at the Bouquinistes of Paris, or “green boxes,” for antique books and artwork.

  “If you’re interested in picking up a print or book, I’ll take you to some of my favorite dealers. Did you know there are nine hundred of those green boxes along the Seine on both the Right and Left Banks?”

  “Wow! Nine hundred? How do you know that?” she asked, but didn’t take her eyes off the scene.

  Who could blame her? The sky was blue, and the Seine sparkled like diamonds in the sun.

  “When I moved here, I read everything I could about Paris.” In truth, he’d never really felt at home anywhere else—until he was with Margie in Dare Valley. To him, it had only seemed logical to learn everything he could about the place where he’d decided to plant his roots.

  She settled back into her seat with a gusty sigh. “I still can’t believe I’m here. And with you.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Margie.” His voice was gruff. “Paris was waiting for you.” He wanted to say, I was waiting for you, but it was too much, too soon.

  He continued on the Quai de Conti and pointed out Pont Neuf Bridge, where he planned to take her later. When he came to Rue de Saints Peres, he turned left and headed to her flat.

  “Your street is one of the finest in Paris, but it’s not the quietest.” Which worried him. She needed to get her rest if she was going to get up at two every morning for her apprenticeship. He’d wanted to find her the prettiest and quietest flat available with the best views of Paris. The flowers and the small gift he’d made her would have to suffice as welcome gifts.