The Billionaire's Return Page 6

  Her eyes grew wary, and he had to force himself to continue.

  “Can I…shit…this thing will require a dress, and I don’t want you to have to use your hard-earned money to pay for it.” He exhaled sharply when she stayed silent. “Please say something. I promise I won’t shower you in jewelry, but I’ll want to at some point, Margie. You’d look beautiful in rubies.”

  The pain in her eyes made him wish he could call back the words. They were both thinking of the engagement ring he’d given her. It had been a ruby as well.

  “This is hard for me, Evan. It’s so important for me to pay my own way.”

  “I know it is,” he said softly. “But we have to start somewhere.” And then he made himself say it. “If you become my wife, what’s mine will be yours. I wouldn’t ask you to sign a pre-nup—in case you were wondering.”

  Her gaze flickered to his before she looked away. “Chase doesn’t like that.”

  Chase might have changed his mind about Margie, but his own lesson with Trisha had been too bitter to be forgotten. “Chase isn’t the one who wants to marry you,” he said. “I am. And I trust you. With everything I am and everything I possess.”

  “I’m glad we talked about this, Evan,” she said quietly and stepped away to pour herself a glass of water. But she hadn’t given him an answer about the dress.

  The front door slammed, and he wanted to kick the kitchen island in frustration. This was the reason they usually didn’t linger in her home. Margie’s bedroom was off limits to them for obvious reasons, and with three tenants, there was always someone coming and going from the common rooms. The only one Evan hadn’t met yet was Alice, a history major at Emmits Merriam.

  “Hey, Margie,” Martin said at the kitchen door. “Hey, Evan.”

  They both gave a weak hey back. He waved awkwardly and stepped out of the kitchen. Evan was relieved. Martin had been a little weird with him since learning the truth about him being a billionaire inventor.

  “I’ll have to go to Denver for the dress,” she said in a quiet voice in case Martin was still downstairs. “I know what’s required for this kind of event. And I’ll need shoes too.”

  That was no indication she would let him buy the outfit for her. He could feel her slipping away, awash in the past. Grabbing her hand, he squeezed it gently as if to say, I’m here and you’re not in that life anymore.

  She shook herself.

  “Would it be over-the-top if I went all practical on you and had a designer come to Dare Valley to make you a dress?” he made himself ask. “I don’t want you to have to take time off from the bakery to shop.”

  Her free hand was trembling as she lifted the glass of water to her mouth. “Is that practical?” she asked with a hoarse laugh after taking a sip.

  “In my world, it is,” he said, forcing himself to meet her troubled gaze. “It would be a pleasure to arrange it for you.”

  She was quiet for so long, he locked every muscle in place to keep himself from reaching for her and rocking her through the storm rolling inside her.

  “All right,” she finally said. “You can do that for me. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  “You could never embarrass me, Margie. Ever.”

  Her nod almost broke his heart.

  “You’re talking to a formerly geeky inventor here, remember? I couldn’t make an outfit match to save my life. I still can’t tie a tie properly. I can manage a bowtie with a tux better somehow. Weird, huh?”

  “I guess I should be grateful the reception isn’t black tie, or I’d need a gown,” she said with a forced smile.

  But there would be others, he could hear her thinking. And there would be.

  The front door slammed again, and she jumped. The realization that she was nervous because of him, because of what he was asking her to do, broke his heart.

  “We should go,” she muttered.

  He took her hand when they were outside, but even though they were connected by touch, he couldn’t feel her heart.

  And it scared him.

  Chapter 5

  Margie had thought being fitted for her cocktail dress was bad enough, but then Jill stopped by the bakery to tell her she’d made the news. A picture of Margie and Evan walking down the street holding hands had made the front of a major magazine with the caption, The Billionaire and the Baker. The media had been around, sure, but she’d thought they were focusing on Evan’s philanthropy. Or that’s what she’d told herself. Most of them were, and while a few of them had asked how she and Evan had met and if they were dating, no one had given her the paparazzi vibe.

  Until now.

  “At least it’s a good picture of you two,” Jill said, patting her hand as Margie drank from the water bottle she kept near her while she was baking.

  “Thanks for running over here and showing it to me,” she told her friend, who was now sampling a pain au chocolat. Margie had already sent her other two bakers home since it was nearing one o’clock.

  “You don’t sound grateful,” Jill said, licking the crumbs off her fingers. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” She handed Jill another pastry to head off more questions.

  Her friend took it, but then wagged it at her. “I know a diversion when I see one. Brian tries to pull that with me all the time when he doesn’t want to talk. You’ve been quiet since you returned from Paris, and I’ve let you stay that way.”

  “Let me? I think you might be going a little overboard.”

  “Do you think I can’t get it out of you?” Jill asked. “You’re worried about all of the other women he’s been with, right? I’ve seen the pictures.”

  It was so far from the truth, she couldn’t help but laugh. “No, that’s not…oh, yes. Yes, it is.” If her friend believed that, maybe she wouldn’t have to talk about what was really bothering her.

  Jill narrowed her eyes. “Okay, so if it’s not the women, it has to be the money.”

  “You know my background,” she said, taking some baguette dough out of the cooler to keep her hands busy. “I like things the way they are. I don’t want them to change. Money changes everything.”

  She was scattering flour on the counter when Jill stayed her hand. “I hate to state the obvious, but you’re in love with him. Things have already changed.”

  And now she was on the cover of a major magazine and there were national and international press sitting in her bakery eating her pastries. “I don’t like some of the changes. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to put up with them long-term.”

  “As much as I really want a crystal ball, I can’t tell you what your future is going to be like with Evan. But one thing I do know is that when you talk about him you light up from the inside in a way you never did when you were with Howie. You light up the same way you do when you’re talking about bread.”

  That made her stomach tremble. She knew she lit up around him—hadn’t she seen herself in the mirror?—but like she did about bread?

  Jill put an arm around her shoulders when her flour-dusted hands fell to the counter. “That, my dear, is worth the changes. Look at all the changes I had to make in my life for Brian. I kinda freaked out in the beginning, and sometimes I still do when Mia or Violet is crying for hours in the middle of the night, and I don’t know what’s wrong. But I wouldn’t change any of it.”

  “Evan said he’d live with me in my Victorian,” she said, only then realizing she’d said it again. Her Victorian.

  “He did? Man, that guy must really love you then.” Jill took a bite of her second pain au chocolat and moaned.

  “Yes, he does.” She picked up the dough and used the heel of her hand to roll it into a circle. “And isn’t that too much of a compromise? I mean really. His penthouse in Paris is ridiculous. What if he’s not happy here in Dare Valley? And what if he wants a bigger house two years down the road?” Perhaps he didn’t intend to live in the house long-term at all. Maybe he was just accepting the option as a part of a carefully designed
plan to win her over.

  Then she realized how much mistrust was in her thoughts, and she knew the roots of her childhood still burrowed deep inside her, poisoning her.

  “What if you want a bigger house two years down the road?” Jill asked.

  She blinked.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” her friend said, pointing at her. “Change. Nothing stays the same forever, Margie, and we’d all be bored to tears if it did.”

  The back door to the bakery suddenly flew open, and Evan stumbled inside holding a magazine. She recognized it immediately as the one featuring their relationship. His face was tense.

  “Hello, Evan,” Jill said, giving Margie a look—one that said do you see how worried this poor guy is?

  “Hi, Jill,” he said, tugging on a pewter suit jacket that matched his pants. “Margie.”

  His tone was oddly stilted when he said her name. Jill gave her a kiss on the cheek and grabbed her half-eaten pastry.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said and left.

  As soon as she was gone, Evan dropped the magazine on the end of the clean counter. “I promise not to intrude on your regular business hours, but this was important. I knew you’d be upset about the article, and seeing Jill here…” He crossed to her, his lakewater blue eyes troubled. “Talk to me.”

  There were so many messy emotions rolling inside her, she couldn’t hold his gaze. Taking the baguette dough in hand, she made the folds like Andre had taught her.

  “It was a surprise to see the article,” she said, pinching the ends to keep the seams tight. “I won’t deny it.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “Look at me. Have I lost you already? Over something like this?”

  Had he? When he cupped her cheek, her heart grew achy. His arms came around her when she lowered her head to his chest. Yeah, he could tell she needed this right now.

  “My hands are covered in flour,” she protested.

  “Like I care,” he said, reaching for them and fitting them around his body.

  She gave in, and he seemed to lean into her as much as she leaned into him. They stayed that way for minutes until he edged back and stared into her like he always did. She couldn’t help but stare back.

  “I love you,” he said, his voice strong and true even though she caught the fear still lurking in his eyes.

  “You haven’t said that since your first day back in Dare Valley,” she said softly, letting the beauty of those words fill her and calm her.

  “I was trying to give you your space—to decide.”

  “I love you too.” He needed to hear it as much as she needed to say it.

  Pulling her to him again, he rested his chin on top of her head. “Good. Good. Now, tell me how you felt when you saw the article.”

  It took some effort to draw oxygen into her lungs. “Exposed. Violated. Scared.”

  “All that?” he asked in a teasing voice, but she heard the tension there. “Good thing I have just the invention for you.”

  He let go of her and reached into his pocket. The pink device he withdrew was about as large as a smartphone.

  “What is it?” she asked, noticing metal teeth at the top, covered by a plastic screen.

  “It’s a hand-held shredder. I wanted to rig up something special for you, so Wayne helped me find the right parts at the hardware store. When you see something you don’t like in the papers, you can simply put it through this baby.”

  He walked over to the magazine and ripped off the cover. When he held the ragged paper out to her, she took it from him.

  “You just made this?” she asked, even though she shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

  “Sure,” he said. “The biggest hurdle was choosing the right shade of pink to paint it. Do you have any idea how many shades of pink are available?”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she looked down at the device. He’d chosen a hot pink. “It’s the same color as my tool box,” she realized.

  “Yeah! That’s where I got the idea. So, you turn the power button on here. I used AA batteries by the way. Then you fold the paper and feed it into the device like this.”

  She did as he suggested, her vision blurring now. The machine hummed, but it ate up the paper. She watched in awe as the metal teeth ground it into pieces that resembled confetti.

  “Then you throw the whole mess in the trash,” he said, sweeping the strands into her waste basket. “I suppose you could stomp on it if you like. Maybe we should tango and dig our heels into the shreds.”

  She knew what he was doing, and it warmed her. He was trying to make the situation lighter, but it didn’t erase the fact that the article had been published. And it wouldn’t prevent others from being published in the future.

  “Say something, please,” he finally said, setting the pink machine on the counter. “I’m dying here. I don’t know how to make this better for you.”

  Her mouth lifted in a poor attempt at a smile. “You are making this better. One pink homemade invention at a time.”

  A smile flitted across his face, but he couldn’t maintain it either. “I’m still working on what to do when we see ourselves on TV. It seems excessive to bash a flat-screen with a pink bat, but I’ll think of something.”

  News? They were going to be on the news? She realized it might already have happened. “They’re going to find out who I am.”

  His eyes narrowed because he knew she wasn’t talking about being a small-town baker. “I’ll protect you. I promise you, Margie. If I’d realized how much press this gift to the university would generate—”

  “No. You did the right thing,” she said, taking his hand. “I’ll handle it.”

  Their touch sparked immediate electricity, and she felt her belly pool with lust. His eyes met hers, and this time he smiled for real.

  “I’m sorry for this. For all of it.”

  “I know you are.” Her chest might be tight with nerves, but her heart felt warm and cozy. She was enthralled by the sweetness of her love for him, even as the possible consequences terrified her. Maybe Jill was right; maybe love was change.

  “I don’t want to cause you one minute of hurt or anxiety,” Evan said, raising her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of her palm—like he’d done so many times in Paris.

  “I know you don’t. I need to remember that no one can get to me unless I let them. I had a…slight tumble here, but I’ll be okay.”

  She could all but hear him ask, Will you be next time?, but she didn’t have an answer for that yet.

  “I can’t control the press,” he said, “but we can stay out of their line of sight until after the speech. That way we won’t feed them any more pictures of us holding hands in public. That was an error on my part.”

  “Evan, if all I can do right now is hold your hand, we’re not going to stop.” And hiding would be cowardly. That wasn’t who she wanted to be. “Maybe you could invent something to make the press disappear.”

  His mouth parted, and then he laughed. Just a few chords at first, but then he was holding his stomach and heaving with full-out laughter. She couldn’t help but join in. It’s what she’d hoped her comment would do.

  “I’ll have to tell Chase that one,” he said, wheezing now. “We’ve been missing a critical application for years. People would pay us millions for such an invention.”

  They probably would. And he would keep getting as rich as Midas because his inventions didn’t just change lives, they changed worlds.

  Suddenly, it hit her. She was off her axis, like a planet hit by a comet. It had happened the moment she’d danced with him in her house after the cinnamon roll tasting. The deeper their connection grew, the greater her axis tilted.

  “I’m looking forward to your speech tomorrow,” she said.

  “You don’t have to come.” He pressed her hand to his chest now, not bothering to disguise how his heartbeat was racing. “Or to the reception either. The press will be there.”

  Butterflies danced in her
stomach. “I’m coming.”

  “If it makes you uncomfortable—”

  “I can always use the beautiful invention you made to destroy any stories they publish about us.”

  When he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, she felt the deep well of his emotions, which he’d been burying with talk of the hot-pink shredder.

  “Evan,” she said, using her free hand to trace a heart in the center of his chest, around their joined hands. “I wouldn’t miss your speech or the reception honoring you for the world.”

  He leaned down until their cheeks brushed, and it was still a new sensation to feel his clean-shaven skin brush against her own. “I’m glad, but if you change your mind, it’s okay. I would rather have you happy and not present. I mean it, Margie.”

  “I know you do, but I’ll be there because I love you too.”

  When he raised his head to stare at her, she could see the twin lights of hope and fear in his gaze. She understood. She knew those same lights were shining in her own eyes.

  “I’m about to break my rule again and kiss you,” he said, lowering his head.

  Because it was hard on both of them, she kept the kiss light, only the merest brush of lips against lips. The word heaven might have been used to describe a kiss like that.

  “I need to let you get back to work,” he said finally, releasing everything but her hand, which he raised to his lips one last time.

  “And I need to let you get back to rehearsing your speech. Evan, you’re going to do great tomorrow.”

  “I hope so, but if not, maybe I can borrow your girly shredder to destroy all the bad things they’ll print about me.”

  “Look in the mirror when you rehearse this afternoon and try and see what I see.”

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  She cupped his jaw. “A beautiful, smart, incredibly generous man who sees the world like no one else I know. And he knows how to change it for the better by just being himself.”

  “Thanks, Margie,” he whispered, and his eyes seemed to flash like they did when he was talking about his inventions. “I’m…humbled.”