Her Guardian Billionaire (Forbidden First Time Romance) (8 page)

Tugging on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, she looked around the room. The room she’d come home to every summer for the past eight years. The room she’d never see again.
Goodbye fantasy land, hello reality
. Grabbing her purse, she dug for her phone when her hand brushed black velvet.
The diamond
.

Pulling the box out of her purse, she opened it up and shook her head. It still glittered and sparkled like the expensive bauble it was, but all she saw was empty glass. He thought she was a liar? Someone hell-bent on ruining his life? Fine. She’d ruin something all right.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she walked out of her room and down the hall to the front entry—a grand marble affair with curving staircases and an oversized mirror on the wall. Walking up to the mirror, she took stock. Hair a mess, eyes bloodshot and puffy—a disaster. Only fair that he had a mess to clean up, too.

“This is for you, Mr. Davenport. You deserve it.” She pulled back and with all the force she could muster, hurled the diamond straight at the mirror. It hit with a sickening crunch and the mirror shattered—shards of glass spraying in all directions—destroying the image of a wounded girl surrounded by riches.

Turning around, she headed for the front door when a voice called out. “Miss Anna? Please wait.”

Anna spun on her heel and Malcolm rushed up to her. “I’m so sorry, Anna. I’ll talk to him. He’ll come around.”

She smiled and patted Malcolm on the arm. “No he won’t, Malcolm.”

“Give him some time. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for your things to be shipped to your apartment. They’ll be there in the morning.”

“Thank you. I’m going outside to call a cab.”

“No. Go to the garage, pick a car. It’s yours.”

“What?”

“James’s request.”

She looked down and blinked. “I don’t want anything from him.”

“Then don’t think of it as from him. Think of it as from me. A going away present. He did say to pick any car he had.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Any car?”

“Yes, miss. Any car.”

She shook her head and reached out, wrapping Malcolm in a huge hug. He squeaked and hugged her back. “Thank you, Malcolm. Take care of him, will you?”

“I always do, miss.”

Anna stepped back, and Malcolm backed away with a nod.

With a deep breath, she turned, standing tall as she walked out the front door and out of James’s life. A sob bubbled up from her chest, and she bit her knuckle to keep from crying out.

If she’d only left when she was supposed to. Driven away before Malcolm had given her the invitation. Then she’d be miles away, living her own life without a hole inside her that she’d never be able to fill. Damn James and his fear.

She ran to the garage, blinking back a fresh wave of tears, and stared at all the cars. Pushing her hair off her face, she tried to get it together.
 

But all she could see was the future with James. The man she’d fantasized about for years and finally got. The man she’d foolishly given her heart. His hands as he stroked her bare flesh, his lips as he kissed her, his tongue making her come. She’d wanted to give him everything—her virginity, her love, all of her—and he’d thrown her out without giving her a chance.

All she wanted was to hurt him back. To twist a knife in his gut the way he’d done to her. Her gaze flitted over the hoods—Mercedes, Porsche, Range Rover, Aston Martin.
The Aston Martin
.

Smiling through her tears, she grabbed the keys from the wall and beeped the coupe open. Slipping into the leather seat, she rested her head on the steering wheel and took a breath. James babied the coupe. Only driving it when the weather was clear. A Sunday drive to air it out and keep it running. Sitting up, she stuck the key in the ignition and took a deep breath.
Lucky me, it’s Sunday
.

Starting the car, she backed it out of the garage in a rush, squealing the tires and revving the engine. If the car was her parting gift, she was sure as hell going to use it. Punching the gas, she flew down the drive, through the gate and onto the narrow road. A few miles of curves and she’d be on the highway and away from the Davenport residence forever.

She might as well see how fast the car could go.

P
RESSING
HIS
HEAD
into the bedpost, he closed his eyes and breathed in and out. The last two days meant nothing. She was gone and everything would resume as if she’d never disrupted his life at all.

“She’s gone, sir.”

Spinning on his heel, he ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “Thank you, Malcolm.”

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

Amnesia would be nice
. “No, thank you, Malcolm.”

The butler nodded but stayed still, refusing to leave.

“Is there something else?”

“It’s not my place sir but…are you sure you did the right thing?”

James snorted and stared past his butler to the open doorway, remembering her naked body as she tore down the hall. “What thing are we referring to Malcolm? Kicking Anna out? Falling for a charlatan? Please, enlighten me.”

“She’s not a charlatan, sir.”

“And how would you know anything about it?”

“I’ve been her only friend for eight years.”

James didn’t miss the regret laced through the butler’s words. “Did you tell her about Bianca?”

“No. I did not.”

“Well, someone must have. And she used it—it’s the past all over again—I let a woman into my life and look what happens. She betrays me.”

“Are you sure about that, sir?”

“Of course I’m sure! I read her acceptance letter for god sakes. They splash my name all over it.”

“But do you know what she wrote them? What they based that acceptance on?”

James frowned and focused on the floor.
Did he?
He’d read the letter. But she’d looked at him with such hurt and sadness.
No, she couldn’t have been telling the truth
. “It was right there in black and white.”

“Perhaps, if I might be so bold sir, you’d like to read her application.” Malcolm held out a handful of papers and James reached out to take it. Flipping past the biographical statistics, test scores, and the like, he sat on the edge of his bed and began to read. She’d detailed her ambitions, her goal to research grief and tragedy, just like she’d said before. He skimmed, searching for the proof of her cunning. When he glimpsed his name, he slowed.

Mr. Davenport plucked me out of nothing and changed my world. Everyone remembers the story—a ready-made Christmas miracle to fill the nightly news. Girl, orphaned from an accidental discharge of a security guard’s gun. Taken in by the owner of the company—a billionaire no less—and given everything she’d never dreamed of.

 
If he’d ignored me—thrown some typical apology into the press and had a Merry Christmas—I’d have been dumped into the system. A thirteen-year-old with nothing to call her own. What would have happened next? Probably the usual—depression, drugs, worse. I know because that’s all I wanted—to hurt myself physically, the way I hurt inside. I had no life, no family, no worth.

But that didn’t happen. He saved me. I’ll never forget my mother’s funeral. His strong arm wrapped around my shoulder, the words of comfort. He’d suffered as a child too. But he’d succeeded, become his own man, built an empire. He might be flawed and distant, but he’d survived. If he’d had someone to care for him, maybe he’d be different today. I know I’d be different without him.

It’s this type of past—those like Mr. Davenport’s and my own—that I seek to study. If I am accepted into the program, my goal is to work with trauma survivors to understand the effects of tragedy, the mechanisms of grief and how we can help children and young adults cope before they are thrust into the world on their own.

The papers shook in James’s hand, and he passed them back to Malcolm. “Does she really not know about the incident?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir. She asked me about it only a day or two ago. And she’s an honest woman. I can’t imagine she’d have lied to me.”

James glanced up at the ceiling and blew out a jagged breath. He’d been single so long, focused on the past and the hurt, that he’d forgotten there were good people in the world. And he’d just called one a liar and a whole lot worse. God, Anna was right. He could be a real asshole.

“You know her well, don’t you Malcolm?”

“Yes, sir.” The butler smiled. “I know her arrival was the result of tragic circumstances, but I am thankful I’ve been a part of her life. Someone like her doesn’t come around every day.”

“No. No they don’t.” Chewing on his lip, he stood up and paced the floor, striding between bed and dresser and running his hand through his hair. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I fucked it up. I ruined everything.”

“I wouldn’t throw in the towel yet, sir.”

James frowned. “Do you think I can win her back?”

“If anyone can manage that, sir, it’s you. Persuasion is a gift of yours, I believe.”

James nodded and thought over his options. He might have a chance. If he begged. As he laid out a plan, brainstorming ways to win her over, a siren wailed in the distance.

“Which car did you give her? The sedan?”

Malcolm swallowed and glanced at the carpet as the sirens blared louder. “I let her make her own choice, sir.”

“And which did she choose?”

“The Aston Martin, sir.”

James spun around with a start. “She took the Vanquish? It’s a beast, Malcolm!”

“And your favorite.”

A police car buzzed by the estate and blue lights flashed through the shutters. Seconds later the woo-woo of an ambulance followed suit.

“You don’t think…”

Malcolm glanced up at the windows and back at James. “It can’t be, sir. I know she was upset, but—” The estate phone rang, cutting the butler off. “Excuse me, sir.” Malcolm picked up the phone. “Davenport residence.”

James watched with a pent up breath as Malcolm listened on the line.

“Are you sure? And she’s not badly hurt?”

Without waiting for Malcolm to finish the call, James strode to his dresser and yanked on a t-shirt and jeans. He wasn’t going to stand around if Anna was out there, injured on the side of the road. He’d failed her mother all those years ago—he wasn’t going to fail her now.

The call ended as James slipped on his shoes. “Is it her?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. But according to the police, she’s okay. Just a bit shook up. Seems the Martin skidded off the road, through a ditch, and landed in a hedge row. Something about a sudden curve, I think.”

James grimaced and motioned for the butler to follow him down the hall. “Pull the Porsche out, I need to find her.”

“Yes, sir.”

James walked down the hall, passing the shattered mirror without notice. All he could hear were the sirens, all he could see were the lights, and he hoped the officer was right. If she was hurt, and he’d pushed her into an accident, he’d never forgive himself.

The words of her application popped into his mind as he entered the garage—how she’d have fallen into depression, drugs, worse—without him. He’d never given her the time of day for years, but she’d credited him with her survival. And he’d kicked her out without giving her a chance. He was no better than his father.

Slipping into the driver’s seat, he started the car and gunned the engine. Damn his insecurities.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Anna swatted away the paramedic and pushed the blanket off her shoulders.

“You crashed your car. You can’t be fine.”

“It’s not my car.”

“Then whose is it?”

“None of your business.”

The EMT threw up his hands. “Must be a celebrity, the way you’re acting. I wouldn’t want to be a part of that conversation when you tell him about it.”

Anna snapped up her head and glowered at the man. “How do you know it’s a him?”

“That’s an Aston Martin Vantage. It’s worth three hundred grand. What woman do you know who would buy that?”

Anna blew out a breath and hopped off the edge of the ambulance. She didn’t need to get into an argument with a jerk who thought women couldn’t buy nice cars.