The Billionaire's Secret Boxed Set (8 page)

“Oh!  You’re the one who bought the
Semple mansion!” Belle cried, her eyes widening. 

“Yes.
Re-purchased, actually.  Madeleine and John Semple, who built the house, were my great-great-parents on my mother’s side. My name is Gregory Thorne,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I remember hearing your name when we first heard that the place had been sold. What made you decide to buy it back?” Belle inquired.

“Well,” Greg began, “I only came here once or twice when I was a small child, to visit my grandparents Mabel and Peter, but I have fond memories of the house and grounds.  My father died when I was young, and my mother died about a year ago.  I have no remaining siblings, and so I felt that I should try to reconnect with some aspect of my family, even if it’s only through this house.  I was surprised and thrilled to find out it was on the market.”

“It has been for a long time,” Belle recalled. “That house has been empty for almost ten years now.”  She had been a young adolescent when Mabel
Semple had died.  Since then, the house had stood vacant, falling into disrepair.  Belle had always felt sad for the place, as though it were a neglected person.  She had been happy to know someone would be coming back to take care of it.  “It’s a beautiful old place,” she said now, looking at Greg with a smile.  “It looks like they’ve done a wonderful job with the renovations.”

“Yes, they have,” Greg said approvingly.  “I’m very happy with the results.  Perhaps you might like to come see it sometime.  I’d be more than happy to show you.” 

Belle felt her cheeks redden as the thought came unbidden that he was being something more than merely friendly. 
Of course not, don’t be stupid,
she told herself crossly. 
He’s just being nice.
Whatever his intentions were, however, she couldn’t bear to pass up an opportunity to see what had been done to the mansion.  “I’d love to, actually,” she admitted. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Wonderful.
Perhaps next week sometime.” Greg smiled at her, and her stomach fluttered nervously.  He finished his beer and stood up, reaching into his wallet to peel off a bill, which he tossed on the bar. 

“Looking forward to it,” Belle said, trying not to sound too eager.  “Goodbye, now.”

“Goodbye, Belle,” he breathed, his eyes seeming to penetrate to her core.  “I’ll see you very soon.” 

As heat flooded her body, she willed her voice not to tremble as she said: “Very nice meeting you, Mr. Thorne.”

“Greg.  Please.” His eyes were serious, but his full lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

“Greg,” she repeated, smiling shyly back.

That night, Belle found her thoughts returning again and again to the handsome stranger.  As she prepared her dinner, his gleaming ice-blue eyes and full lips kept appearing before her. 
She couldn’t remember ever having such an instant, physical reaction to a man before.  It was as though he could reach inside her and touch the most intimate part of her simply with his eyes.  Even now, remembering the way he had looked at her as he said goodbye, she felt herself grow moist and swollen.  An immediate, all-consuming wave of want coursed through her, so strong that her breath hitched in surprise.  She could almost
feel
his physical presence and heat, as though he was there with her. Laughing shakily, she forced herself back to reality. 
Come on, Belle, every woman who meets Greg Thorne has the same reaction.  You’re hardly the woman who could win a man like that
. 

Sighing sadly, she sent a silent prayer out to the universe that someday, she would find someone who would awaken her body the way she fantasized about when she was alone in the dark.  Though Belle had had a couple of boyfriends over the years, those relationships had never lasted long.  Now, at twenty-three, she had yet to be truly awakened by a man’s touch.  She longed to believe that there was someone out there who would make her body
sing under his touch.  Granted, she knew that she was unlikely to find that person -- if he existed -- in the town where she had spent her entire life.  She knew that she needed to move on to someplace bigger, someplace where she could finally begin to live the life she had always wanted for herself.   She had been steadily putting money away toward that goal, and hoped that in the next year, she would be able to move to the city and enroll in college courses toward a degree in hotel and restaurant management. Maybe in that new life, she would eventually meet the man of her dreams.  Until then, she could only focus on the future and hope that she would eventually realize all her goals.

After dinner, Belle threw her freshly-washed uniform in the dryer and walked into the bathroom to wash away the grime of the day.  In the shower, the steamy water caressed her body and she again found her thoughts moving unbidden to Gregory Thorne.  She shivered to imagine his hands on her, running softly along her skin.  Belle closed her eyes and moaned softly as she wondered what his lips would feel like as they traced a burning path to her breasts.  She felt herself grow moist and swollen with longing. Reaching between her legs, she softly caressed her weeping sex with a finger, gasping at the strength of her need.  Slowly, she feathered her stiffening nub with her fingers.  Belle threw back her head and moaned louder.  She was already so
close, she’d never last long like this.  Plunging two fingers deep inside her, she rocked her hips as slowly as she could stand.  Her hips thrust against her palm; her breath grew shallow and ragged.  In her mind, Greg was licking her, sucking her, making love to her between her legs until she could take no more.  “Oh, God…” she whispered, and then cried out as a shattering orgasm rocketed through her, leaving her breathless and panting against the shower wall.

Shakily, she stood under the water as her body recomposed itself. 
The water massaging her back and shoulders as she panted and waited for her breathing to slow.  Exhausted by the strength of her release, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself with a large, plush towel.  Belle combed through her damp hair and padded to the bedroom.  Turning off the light, she got into bed and fell almost immediately into a deep, satisfied sleep.

The wolf, standing at the edge of the wood, watched as the lights went out one by one in the small house.  The air around him seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then suddenly a man was standing where the wolf had been. 
Here
, he thought.
Here is where she lives.
  His instinct had somehow led him to this town, to the bar where she worked, and now to her home.  She was his, he was sure of it.  She didn’t know it yet, but that made no difference.  Her body, her scent was calling to him.  He knew that she sensed it, too: he could smell it on her, by the way her pheromone levels increased during their conversation. 

His instinct was to immediately descend on the house, to take her, now, this instant.  But he knew he had to wait.  He had to lead her to him, to lead her to the knowledge that would be difficult for her to understand or accept at first.

Until then, he would wait.  And watch.  And do everything he could to keep her delicious, tantalizing scent from pushing him over the edge.

The man crouched, the air crackled, and the wolf appeared again. 
His nostrils flaring, he stood staring at the house for a few more moments.  Then, soundlessly, he turned and padded into the night. 

Less than a week later, Belle looked up from the cash register where she was keying in a customer’s bill to see Gregory Thorne walk into the bar again. He looked around for a moment at the crowd, searching.  As his eyes fell upon Belle, he smiled in recognition and headed toward her. 

“Hello, Belle,” he greeted her with the heart-stopping smile that had been burned into her mind since their first meeting.

“Hello, Greg,” she smiled, blushing slightly. “How are things going at the house?”

“Fantastic.  Renovations are basically finished, minus some final touches.  I came to ask you whether you’d like to come for a visit.”

He remembered,
she thought, her stomach doing a somersault.

“Um, yes, I’d love to,” she stammered. 

Suddenly, it felt as though every eye in the restaurant was on the two of them.  Frank Lautner in particular, seated down the bar, had stopped his conversation with Phil the bartender, and seemed to be watching their conversation intently. 

“Would this evening work for you?” Greg asked.

“Uh…”
Oh, God! This evening!
  “Yes, I think so. I get off in a couple of hours.” 
I’m filthy, I can’t go like this!
  “Um, could I run home and take a shower first?”

“Of course, no problem,” Greg agreed.  “Can you show up around seven-thirty?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be great!” she enthused.

“Excellent.  And don’t eat dinner.  You’re dining with me tonight,” he smiled. 
“Until then, Belle.”  His eyes locked on hers for a moment. Then, turning, he strode out of the bar without a backward glance.

Dazedly, Belle turned back to her work. 
Dinner?  This was starting to feel uncomfortably close to a date.  Mentally she began going through her closet, wondering what in the world she was going to wear.

“What was that about, Belly?” Frank asked in a strange tone as she walked past him.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Belle said distractedly.

“That’s that rich guy who bought the
Semple place, right?” he persisted.

“Yes, that’s right.”  She looked at him.  “Why do you ask?”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “What’s he want with you?

“It’s none of your business, Frank,” Belle replied snappishly.
Doesn’t he think a man like that could be interested in me?

Frank looked down at his beer, as if considering whether to continue.  He looked back up at her, in his eyes an expression that might have been jealousy or might have been something else. “You want to be careful of rich city boys, Belle.  His kind
ain’t like us.”

So much the better,
Belle thought, suddenly angry.  “What’s it to you, Frank Lautner?” she challenged.

“Nothing… nothing,” he replied hastily.  “But be careful all the same. There’s something about that guy that rubs me the wrong way.  He looks at you… like he wants to eat you!”  

Belle laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! He’s just invited me to take a look inside his mansion, now that it’s been redone.”

Frank snorted and rolled his eyes. 
“Yeah, right.  I’m sure his intentions are completely honorable.”  He took a long drink of his beer and looked her in the eye.  “Guys like that don’t come out to places like this to live.  They just don’t, Think about it, Belle.  Unless it’s to take advantage of unsuspecting rubes. Don’t fool yourself.” Setting down his beer, his tone turned bitter and sarcastic: “But don’t listen to me, I’m just a dumb rube.  I’ll shut up now.”

Belle opened her mouth to say something, but found she had nothing to say that wouldn’t have sounded defensive. 
He’s just jealous of a rich guy’s money
, she told herself.  She turned away from him without a word and went to check on her tables.

But Frank’s words had hit their mark.  Belle spent the rest of her shift in an emotional back and forth.  She was excited about the prospect of spending an evening with Greg, but a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that Frank was right.  She didn’t know why Greg was being so nice to her, but she just couldn’t believe it was because of any real interest.  Men like him – rich, sophisticated, gorgeous -- didn’t go for women like her, and she would do best to remember that.  She needed to rein in her body, which seemed to respond almost instinctively to his with an intensity that frightened her a little.

Belle watched the minutes tick by on the clock with a mixture of excitement and dread.  When the end of her shift came, she went to the back office, made a mental note of what she needed to do tomorrow, checked to see who else was on the schedule, and headed out the back door to her car. Back at home, Belle agonized over what to wear for her dinner with Gregory Thorne.  Frowning in front of her closet, she finally chose a light, casual dress in a coral color that offset the green of her eyes and her chestnut hair, which she left loose.  She smoothed on just a hint of lip gloss, left the house and drove to the Semple mansion (
the Thorne mansion, now
, she told herself), arriving just a few minutes after 7:30.

As she rang the front doorbell, a wave of nervousness shook her.  What if she was greeted by a servant? How strange and uncomfortable that would be.  Suddenly, she felt woefully underdressed.  She looked back at her car wildly, wishing she could go home and change.  But her fears were unfounded when Greg himself answered the door, dressed in jeans and a light blue button-down shirt that accentuated his eyes.  His sleeves were rolled up, and Belle could tell that he had been working in the kitchen. His eyes raked over her body, lingering at every curve.  Belle fought the blush that threatened to bloom in her cheeks, to no avail.  “Belle,” he greeted her, his voice deep and rich like chocolate.  “Please come in.”

Greg motioned her through the door.  He placed a warm hand gently against the small of her back to guide her as she passed, and Belle felt a current run through her at the unexpected contact. She walked as though in a trance as Greg led her through a front hall containing a large round table topped with an enormous bouquet.