Island Road: The Billionaire Brothers (6 page)

“Why not?” Miles trailed his fingers down her arm and took her hand in his. Lifting it to his mouth in the smooth, practiced gesture that regularly made rival CEO’s wives titter and blush, he pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles and gave her a slow smile from under his lashes. “You’re an adult, taking a bit of rare time off from an all-consuming job. You deserve a break.”

“This is more than a break.” Greta stared at him, her fingers stiff in his grasp. “This is like something out of a fairy tale, the handsome prince swooping in to carry me off on his white steed, to his castle in the clouds.”

“Only in this case, the steed is a Eurocopter EC135 with interior design by Hermès, and the castle in the clouds is my penthouse on Central Park South. But basically, yes.”

“This can’t be happening for real.” Greta’s eyes were round and dark as she watched the branches whip sparkling fans of rainwater in all directions as the wind from the rotor shook them.

Alert to any signs of disbelief, Miles was quick to say, “Greta. Have you ever been farther away from Sanctuary Island than the transplant hospital in Winter Harbor?”

She shook her head mutely, terrible longing and nervous excitement sending a flush to her face.

“There’s a big world out there. And the thought that you’ve never experienced any of it—let me have that first experience with you. Please.”

Reaching up a hand to touch one of those hot, fever-bright cheeks, Miles tilted her head to the perfect angle for a kiss.
Just to seal the deal,
he promised himself.

But from the first touch of his lips to hers, he was lost. When she kissed him back, her mouth opening under his and meeting him hunger for hunger, Miles’s brain was washed clean of everything but Greta.

His last clear thought before the whir of the helicopter and the overwhelming pleasure of the kiss obliterated sanity was,
This is a dangerous game we’re playing.

And for the first time in a long time, Miles wasn’t sure he even knew what winning would look like.

*   *   *

Riding in a helicopter was everything Greta had always imagined it would be. Partly because even her wildest imaginings could never have dreamed up a helicopter as comfortable and luxurious as the spacious four-seater cabin of Miles’s EC135, with its buttery leather seats and burled-wood accents.

It was too noisy to talk, and Miles spent most of the three-hour flight working on the laptop the pilot had produced when they boarded, along with a bottle of chilled champagne and a pair of flutes.

Greta had never been more sorry to have to turn down alcohol in her life. Sinking back into the deep cushions of her seat and staring around at the opulence of the interior, she said, “Kidney transplant, remember? I try to stay away from anything that puts stress on my body.”

Miles frowned a little at the reminder as he waved the black-uniformed pilot back up to the cockpit with the champagne. “Sorry, I gave instructions for the helicopter’s return trip before I knew about your medical situation.”

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Greta said, buckling up with fingers that shook from the thrill of doing something she knew would cause her mother to have a total meltdown. “The transplant changed my life, made me healthy in a way I’d never been before. I’m fine now. I can do almost anything a quote-unquote normal person can do.”

“If you believe that,” Miles said slowly, “then why is this your first real trip away from home?”

Greta was spared from having to come up with a quick response by the helicopter lifting off. The sudden intensification of sound and vibration from the engine and the propellers made conversation impossible.

But as the small aircraft soared up and over the flowering trees and backcountry roads spiraling out from the heart of Sanctuary Island, Greta thought about it. She tried to reconcile the pure, elated joy she felt at this moment, impulsively running away from home to have an adventure with a handsome stranger, with the nagging coil of guilt at leaving her mother behind without a word.

Miles had already promised they’d be back before the shop opened the next day, and reminded her that he’d told Esther he’d take care of her. He’d offered to have the pilot wait while Greta called her mother, if she wanted to explain where she was going, but Greta had refused. It was one thing to buck her mother’s authority and climb onto a helicopter, but it was another to tell her mother all about it and hear the naked fear and worry in her voice.

Resolving to put negative thoughts out of her mind and simply enjoy the madcap craziness of this spontaneous adventure, Greta focused her attention out the window for the entire three-hour flight. When the vast stretch of rippling blue ocean gave way to the towering gray skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline, Miles closed his laptop and leaned over her.

“There’s the Statue of Liberty.”

Greta followed his pointed finger, craning her neck to see. Breath caught in her chest. The regal magnificence of the familiar form rose up, torch raised to the sky, and Greta felt tears spring to her eyes.

Slanting Miles a sideways glance, she refused to wipe the tears away. She wasn’t ashamed. “You’re probably going to regret bringing me to New York. All I want is to do all the horrendously touristy stuff you’ve probably done a thousand times,” she yelled cheerfully over the noise of the helicopter.

Miles made a face before pressing his mouth to her ear. “Like Times Square? I haven’t voluntarily set foot on Forty-Second Street in years.”

Figuring she could afford to be generous, Greta shrugged. “We don’t have to do Times Square. It’s probably too late to get tickets to a Broadway show tonight, anyway.”

But Miles only smiled, that enigmatic quirk of the lips that didn’t so much as hint at the man she’d started to see underneath his polished exterior, and pulled out his phone to send a few quick texts.

The helicopter glided over the East River and over the tops of tall buildings gleaming with glass and chrome. Peering as far forward as she could, Greta clutched at her armrests as she realized they were passing the Empire State Building. The city looked exactly the way it did in movies, huge and overwhelming. She could feel the energy of the streets below, the hustle and bustle of millions of people going about their daily lives.

The skyline passed in a blur of concrete and steel, and before Greta knew it, the helicopter was angling toward a swanky, tall building with a flat roof marked out as a landing pad.

Just as the helicopter centered itself and began to lower for touchdown, a gust of wind shot through the canyon created by the rows of skyscrapers. The helicopter fishtailed wildly, and Greta instinctively clutched for Miles’s hand.

He wrapped strong, reassuring fingers around her wrist, tight enough that she could feel her pulse throbbing to the double-time drumbeat of her heart.

“We’re okay,” Miles said into her ear. “Landing can be a little tricky here, but Arturo has never let me fall, yet.”

Greta nodded, her face and toes oddly numb. She didn’t get her voice or her breath back until the pilot had righted the helicopter and landed. Tumbling out as soon as Miles slid open the door in the side of the aircraft, Greta resisted the urge to kiss the dirty concrete of the landing pad, but it was a close call.

She ducked away from the minitornado caused by the swirling blades, heading for the relative shelter of a glassed-in structure on the far side of the roof. After a brief conference with the pilot, Miles followed her. And this time, Greta didn’t even try to resist the urge—she threw her arms around him and held on tight, a complicated wave of emotion crashing through her.

“Hey,” Miles said, finally able to speak without shouting as the helicopter powered down. “I told your mom I’d make sure you got back to her in one piece, and I meant it. I know, I know, you don’t need anyone to take care of you, but…”

“But that’s exactly it,” Greta said, muffling the words against the fine weave of his suit coat. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She could hear the frown in Miles’s deep voice. “I don’t follow.”

“The question you asked me before we left Sanctuary Island.” Great paused, feeling broken open, like an egg shattered on the ground. “About why I’ve never traveled.”

One of his big, warm hands came up to cradle the back of her head, and Greta let herself soak up the silent comfort.

“I tell myself—I tell everyone that I’m fine. Completely over all the crap from when I was a kid. But the kidney transplant could only do so much. It cured my body, but in my heart … I’m still afraid.”

“That seems very natural to me.” Miles petted at her hair as if he wasn’t sure what else to do or say, and the hesitance in his normally assured voice made Greta smile through her turmoil.

“I don’t want to be afraid.” She pulled back enough to look up into Miles’s concerned face. “I don’t want to be someone who needs to be taken care of. But I spent so many years unable to do much of anything, always weak and sick, making everyone around me worry. And now I’m the one who worries, that even if I had the chance to do all the things I dream of … I don’t have the guts to make it on my own.”

Dragging his fingers through the wind-tangled mess of her hair, Miles palmed her cheek and tilted her chin up. He dropped a tender kiss on her upturned lips, soft and brief enough to light Greta’s nerves up like fireflies.

“I have no doubt that you’ve got the courage and strength to do whatever you set your mind to,” Miles said, all hesitation erased from his voice. “But for now, you don’t need to go it alone. I’m going to be right beside you, every step of the way.”

Greta knew her smile was shaky, at best, so she pressed up on her tippy toes and kissed him to hide it. And to thank him, because he was trying so hard, and he made her remember how glad she was to be on this adventure with him.

For now
.

Chapter 7

It wasn’t that Miles had previously been unaware of the benefits of being a billionaire. The benefits were obvious, many, and varied. From last-minute reservations at the best restaurants in town to having a chauffeur on staff to drive him through Manhattan’s terrible traffic, Miles enjoyed the lifestyle he worked so hard to maintain.

But nothing he’d ever spent money on compared to the fun of splashing out to give Greta Hackley the most lavish first trip to New York anyone could imagine.

One text to his assistant, Cleo, was all it took to get the whole day set up for them, from box seats at whatever sold-out show was hottest to a very special final stop that required Cleo to pull more than a few strings. But it was more than worth it for the look on Greta’s face.

Watching her as she raced through his stylish apartment with barely a glance at the expensive, modern Italian furnishings and priceless art on the walls, just so she could get downstairs and run straight across the street and into Central Park … Miles couldn’t do anything but laugh and try to keep up.

He followed her as she plunged through the crowds of shoppers mobbing Fifth Avenue, fingers twined together like schoolkids. When he tried to get her to go into Bergdorf Goodman, already imagining her in a slinky couture cocktail dress, Greta refused in favor of studying each artful window display.

When they walked by a street musician playing a Bangles song from the eighties to the delight of the tourists bopping along to the beat, Greta mentioned that she’d always been fascinated by ancient Egypt. One more text to poor, beleaguered Cleo netted them a private tour through the Metropolitan Museum’s famed Temple of Dendur exhibit.

The awe on her face as she peered into the dim recesses of the reconstructed temple left Miles with no choice. In response to his firm nod, the museum docent smiled slightly and backed out of the temple long enough to let Miles kiss Greta under the weight of centuries-old stone from a faraway land.

When Miles got confirmation that the tickets had come through for the hot show, which turned out to be a musical based on a comic book superhero, he gritted his teeth and pretended to be excited at the prospect of watching actors in tights sing and dance their way around a Broadway stage.

But once the curtain came up and Greta leaned forward, the motion making the sequins on the cocktail dress he’d had sent up to his penthouse catch the stage lights and sparkle, Miles couldn’t have cared less that the show was nothing he would have chosen for himself. All he cared about was the delight in Greta’s grin every time the guy playing the superhero was hoisted up to fly through the air, borne aloft on the magic of stagecraft. And the fact that she let him press her into the shadows at the back of their private box during intermission and kiss her against the worn red velvet that covered the walls.

She made everything feel new again.

After the show, Ira maneuvered the Bentley through the packed street at the side of the theater. Greta slid across the black leather seats with a noise that sounded like relief. Reaching down to rub at her arches, she gave him a rueful smile from beneath the dark gold hair curling loosely around her face. “I’m not used to three-inch heels. Steel-toed work boots are more my style.”

“They wouldn’t exactly go with that dress.” Miles leaned down to pull her bare feet into his lap, carelessly tossing the black patent Louboutins to the floor.

Greta blushed and shoved the hem of her cocktail dress down before it could ride up and reveal too much of her creamy thighs, but Miles concentrated on her feet. He dug his thumbs into her arches, swept his knuckles around the ball of each foot, and smiled when Greta stopped squirming and just moaned. The low, guttural sound from deep in her chest vibrated down her legs and into Miles’s lap, making him go hard and thick against the press of her feet.

“That’s miraculous.” Greta laid her head back against the tinted side window, careless of messing up her hair. “This whole day has been miraculous.”

“It doesn’t have to be over yet,” Miles offered, keeping up the foot massage to see how much more he could melt her. “I had planned something special for after the show, but if you’re too tired…”

Greta struggled to sit up straight, her eyelashes fluttering. “No! I want to see it all, do it all, whatever you have planned. Although I can’t imagine what could top everything we’ve done so far.”