The Billionaire's Christmas Bargain: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 3 Read online

  “And your father?”

  Even at nearly twenty-eight years old, it was all she could do not to ball her hand into a fist and punch something. “Not in the picture. I never knew him.”

  Not for trying. At first, it’d been a name, only learned from Mama after years of begging. Then she’d hunted him down on the Internet and found out he was actually famous, even though Mama had met him at a local bar, a dive where only has-beens and wannabes would bother. When she’d finally saved up enough to visit him, she’d been young enough to think he might be glad to hear from his long-lost daughter. Instead, he’d turned his back on her. Again.

  A loud thump caused the dishes to clatter. Kelsey jumped in her seat and jerked her gaze to the end of the table.

  Pushing away from the table, Harvey sneered at her. “I can’t believe you two actually thought you could pull it off.”

  It took all her self-control not to flinch, and a quick glance at Gordon confirmed he looked guilty as hell.

  “Did you think your sob story would actually make me feel better? Make me appreciate what I had?” With each word, Harvey’s face twisted harder, growing darker, the tendons standing out in his throat. “I had great parents. I had money. I get it. You didn’t have that. My life is a piece of cake, right? But you can’t possibly understand what I’ve been through.” He slammed his fist down on the table again, and her glass tipped over, spilling wine all over the pristine tablecloth. “What I lost! So don’t tell me I had it so good, because I lost everything that ever mattered to me.”

  He swept his hand across the table, grabbing the linen and dragging it toward the edge. She grabbed her plate, and Gordon made a dash for the candles, but he could only reach one before the other tumbled off onto the floor along with the dishes. The bottle of wine rolled around on the wood floor, and all she could think about was a fire. This grand old mansion would probably go up like a dried-out Christmas tree. She set her plate off to the side and scrambled out of her chair to help Gordon. The candle in his hand sputtered as he swung it about wildly. The fallen candle caught the tablecloth on fire. She grabbed a fallen vase that hadn’t shattered, still half full of water and flowers, and dumped it all on the flame.

  “Harvey!” Gordon roared. “You could have burned the whole house down!”

  Harvey stared at the mess, but in the darkness, she couldn’t see his face. Was he ashamed at the show of temper? Embarrassed? Moved to tears at his own grief? He stepped closer and leaned down to glare into her face.

  The surviving candle cast flame and shadows eerily across his ravaged face. His hair fell across his forehead, a wild mane once more. He might have smiled, but with the scar tissue tightening his face, it could have been a scowl. “Next time, let the whole fucking thing burn to the ground. Preferably with me in it.”

  Chapter Six

  Panting with the effort of containing his rage, Harvey sat in his father’s office by the bay window looking out toward Summit Avenue. Usually he kept the heavy curtains pulled shut, but tonight he’d opened them enough to stare out at all the life happening outside his house.

  His prison.

  A group of people wearing Santa hats walked up the street to hit the condominium building across from his home. Even through the thick glass, bits of “O Holy Night” reached him. He wanted to shatter the glass with his bare hands and scream at them until they ran down the street like a pack of hellhounds were on their heels. They taunted him with his mother’s favorite song. The song she’d never hear again.

  He pressed his face against the window pane, the glass chilling his fevered cheeks. If only he could ice over inside, rather than rage with this infernal fire that gave him no peace. Ever since the accident, he’d carried that fire inside him, heating his veins and burning everything inside him to ash. He couldn’t rest. He couldn’t keep on any weight.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. Without lifting his face from the cool glass, he answered the call. He didn’t bother looking at the number. The only person who ever called him, at any hour of the day or night, was his attorney. Finally, a bit of good news.

  “Good evening, Mr. Caine,” Stephanie Gyles said with the painfully cheerful voice that told him he’d been gravely mistaken. She was calling with something truly horrendous.

  “What is it?”

  “I have some troubling news.”

  Mentally, he counted to three, biting his lip to keep from screaming at her. He couldn’t afford to start over again with a new attorney, not this late in the game.

  “The agent we enlisted to bid on Holly Park called me this evening. He informed me that he’d been in contact with the caretaker and Mrs. St. John directly and he was unable to procure the property.”

  Harvey squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing down the volcano threatening to erupt. Of course his aunt had been called. The cottage had been a sore point between them for years. Nearly two hundred years old and probably not worth the constant drain of its upkeep, that cottage was more priceless to them both than the billions tied up in Caine Enterprises. His father and aunt had spent summers with Gram in that cottage. Then Harvey had done the same for years, until Great-Gram Holly had passed away.

  Unfortunately, the little cottage of family memories had not been listed in Nathan’s will when he passed away, leaving Harvey to fight his aunt for both it and the company. That little stone cottage high on the cliffs of Whitsand Bay had been like a visit to fairyland for him. He’d sworn Gram was a witch, or at least half-fey, and her garden had been a place of endless adventures. He’d looked forward to spending his honeymoon there someday, as his parents had done. And then sending his children to spend magical summers there too. Before the accident, of course. Now, he’d hoped to leave it to Maxwell. At least someone in the family should live there, and while not the Scotland of his birth, hopefully Maxwell would live many carefree years at the little cottage, staring out at the ocean and walking the beach.

  But Aunt Lauren saw fit to fight him for the cottage as well as steal the company out from beneath him.

  “Tell him to double his offer.”

  “I did,” Stephanie replied. “I told him money was no object. But Mrs. St. John could not be moved. She informed him to tell his buyers that Holly Park wasn’t for sale at any price.”

  At any price. Oh the irony. Everything had a price. Even a worthless old family cottage with its roof falling in.

  “I must have that cottage. I’ll see it willed to someone who’ll love it and treasure it as my father did. Not the…” His voice trembled and he paused, grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “My aunt can’t keep this property from me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Caine, but there’s nothing I can do. This is the second agent in as many years that we’ve sent to her with offers, and she’s rejected every single one. She holds the physical deed to the property.”

  “She must know I’m the only fool in the world who’d even care about the damned place. She’s deliberately denying this property out of spite.”

  “That may be, Mr. Caine, but unless she will accept an offer to buy outright, you have no legal recourse. The property was left to both your father and your aunt with the stipulation that it would not be split between them. Since your father didn’t specify otherwise, the property passed fully to your aunt.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye. His attorney was used to his eccentricities, aka rudeness, because he paid her extremely well to ignore them.

  He banged his head on the window pane hard enough he saw stars. Maybe he’d bust a pane and the splintered glass would put him out of his misery. Even if he successfully took control of Caine Enterprises, he needed Holly Park for Maxwell. He couldn’t trust that his aunt wouldn’t destroy the place out of revenge when she realized she’d lost control of the company, and that cottage was meant to be loved. As his parents had loved it.

  His skull throbbed. The carolers cross
ed the street toward his house and for a moment, his heart clenched with dread. He didn’t want them knocking on his door. No carol would put him in the holiday spirit. Nothing ever would again. Laughing among themselves, the group walked past his window and he drew back in the shadows, watching them. They were a mix of old and young people, even a couple of children. A man carried a young boy, who couldn’t be older than three or four years old. The man tickled him and the child cackled with glee.

  Harvey winced. That sound was like razorblades on metal to his ears.

  “Let me pick the song, Daddy.”

  The man tossed the boy up in the air and he squealed again. “All right, son. What’s our next song?”

  “I want to hear the Grinch song!”

  Laughing, the carolers agreed to sing the requested song at the next house. They hesitated a moment at the sidewalk leading up to the Caine house, but no lights were on. Certainly no holiday lights gleamed in the windows or in the shrubbery. The carolers took the hint and headed on down the sidewalk.

  Truth be told, that was probably the only Christmas song Harvey wouldn’t have minded hearing.

  Chapter Seven

  On her hands and knees, Kelsey scrubbed at the darkened spot on the hardwood floors damaged by the toppled candle last night. Gordon couldn’t get down on his knees, so if she couldn’t get the spot up, they’d have to bring in a repairman. Evidently the only thing worse than a repairman was a guest. An unwanted, uninvited guest like her.

  Simple soap and water had helped diminish the blackened spot, but the eraser sponge worked a miracle and wiped the rest away.

  Footsteps behind her alerted her to Harvey’s presence. She knew it was him, because she’d warned Gordon to stay away from this area of the house. If she was going to be down on all fours, in the scandalous maid uniform, as Harvey had called it, she sure didn’t want the older man discovering what color of underwear she wore today.

  Even though the spot was almost entirely gone, she put more effort into the scrubbing, making sure to wiggle her backside and arch her back.

  Harvey cleared his throat so hard his voice was raspy when he spoke. “Excuse me, Miss Marley.”

  “No, I won’t,” she replied in a cool, even voice without looking at him.

  “Wha…what?”

  “I won’t excuse you. Sir.” She deliberately sneered.

  “Um… Okay. I guess I should have just said by the way, lovely red panties you’re wearing today.”

  She flashed a smile at him over his shoulder. “I know. How naughty of you to notice.”

  “In my defense, I doubt any breathing male would fail to notice such a splendid display.”

  She pushed back to sit on her heels, waiting on him to decide whether he was going to continue the conversation. All he had to do was turn around and leave the same way he’d come in.

  Instead, he came around in front of her. A no less impressive view in her opinion. She wore a matching red plunge bra beneath her thin white blouse, which was only half buttoned in the first place. His eyes widened and he jerked his gaze away, audibly swallowing. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

  “So apologize.”

  His unscarred cheek reddened and he ran a hand through his overgrown hair. He wore the same clothes as last night and his eyes were bloodshot. She guessed he hadn’t slept at all.

  “I’m very sorry about last night.”

  “Not good enough.” He jumped as if she’d whacked him across the backs of his knees with a cane and shot her another wide-eyed look. Maybe he thought a Domme couldn’t be masterful on her knees. Maybe a Domme had to be tottering around on six-inch heels in a latex catsuit and whip in hand.

  Or maybe it’d been a very long time since someone had called him on his bullshit.

  “Be specific. What actions that you committed have caused you to feel regret this morning?”

  “I ruined our dinner and tossed it on the floor. Which I see you’re cleaning up today.”

  “If I wasn’t here, who’d be cleaning this up today?”

  He ducked his head and mumbled, “Maxwell.”

  “And how old is Mr. Maxwell now?”

  “He’ll be seventy this year.”

  “And how old are you, Mr. Caine?”

  “Twenty-nine. Wait, no, thirty. I forgot my birthday was in October.”

  “You forgot your own birthday?” She shook her head, somehow unsurprised. “Have you apologized to Uncle Gordon for ruining the dinner he prepared for you?”

  “Not yet. I found you first on my way to the kitchen.”

  “He deserves your utmost respect, not only because of his age, but also because of his dedication to you and your family. Go see him first and then come find me.”

  His stared at her intently, eyes narrowed. “For what?”

  She started to climb to her feet, surprised when he stepped closer and offered her a hand. She let him pull her up but didn’t release his hand. Drawing him closer, she lowered her voice to a silky purr. If he knew her better, he’d be sweating with dread and anticipation. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Caine?”

  “I…” He gulped, reflexively tugging on his hand, but she tightened her grip, keeping him close.

  “Seems to me like you might be fishing for something more than forgiveness for your childish behavior last night.”

  “No, not at all.” He breathed rapidly, his eyes wide and dark. The pink, tight skin across his cheek still looked tender, as if it still hadn’t healed. Smooth and almost purple in spots. At least it hadn’t taken his eye, but from the trail of scars disappearing into his collar, she suspected he might have burns on at least his upper body as well.

  She released his hand and took a step back. His shoulders drooped with relief, but as soon as she stepped aside to return to the kitchen, he slid over to block her path. Arching a brow at him, she waited to see what he’d say.

  “I just want to talk to you. If that’s all right. I’m curious. About your other job,” he said hurriedly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Not… Yeah. The job. Just curious. Besides, you promised, remember? You said you’d tell me the difference between when you’re hired, and when you’re playing for yourself.”

  “So I did.” She laughed lightly and reached up to pat his face, making sure to touch the scarred cheek so he’d know it didn’t bother her. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous. I’ll be cleaning the library for a while. Come see me for a little demonstration. If you dare.”

  * * * * *

  One of his fondest childhood memories wasn’t of his parents at all, but of coming home from school and running into the kitchen.

  To Maxwell.

  The kitchen was always warm and full of good-smelling treats. Cookies, scones, a spice cake, brownies, mingling with the savory dinner smells already in preparation. Maxwell would have died before serving a store-bought snack.

  Harvey’s parents were nearly always at work—Dad at the corporate office, and Mom at her prosthetic clinic—so Maxwell was his after-school ride to practice and homework assistant until he’d left for prep school. When Harvey had girl problems, Maxwell gave the first advice. Not that his parents weren’t there, because they were. But Maxwell was first. In many ways, Harvey had three parents. Three people who loved him as their son. Maxwell had never let him down, even through Harvey’s careless stupidity and reckless rebellion.

  And now, his hopeless rage.

  Maxwell stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot while humming a lilting tune beneath his breath.

  Unsure what to say, Harvey sat down at the bar, the same as he’d done when waiting for an after-school snack.

  “Good morning,” Maxwell said without turning around. “Hungry?”

  “Always.”

  Maxwell pulled a covered plate out of the oven and set it before him. “Biscuits, scramb
led eggs and bacon.”

  Scrambled eggs sounded so mundane, but nothing could be further from the truth. Maxwell’s secret ingredient—cream cheese—made an otherwise boring breakfast staple an indulgent gourmet treat. And these biscuits had certainly never come from a can. Crispy on the outside, soft and flaky on the inside, they made the perfect breakfast sandwich. Harvey spread a layer of eggs topped with bacon on each biscuit half. Closing his eyes, he savored every bite.

  A soft clink made him open his eyes. Maxwell turned away from the steaming cup of tea he’d placed in front of Harvey and returned to stirring the pot. China, of course—his mother’s simple but elegant ivory with a delicate gold band at the edge. Tea always tasted better in a china teacup. Licking the crumbs off his fingers before picking up the cup, Harvey took a sip. Even laced with cream and sugar, the tea was stout and bold. Exactly the way he liked it.

  Maxwell took care of him in a hundred different ways. Which made him feel like a complete and utter jerk.

  “Have you heard from Ms. Gyles yet?” Maxwell asked.

  It seemed like a simple, innocent question, but Harvey read between the lines easily enough. Maxwell wouldn’t endlessly debate over his plans to steal the company out from under his aunt’s nose. He wouldn’t say I told you so if the deal went bad. But he still managed to make his disapproval known, even if Maxwell had no idea of the depths and layers to Harvey’s plans. “I tried to buy Holly Park.”

  Maxwell faced him, his brow creased. “I had no idea you were interested in the cottage.”

  I’m not. It’s not for me. “Twice, actually. Both times Aunt Lauren refused to consider my agent’s offer.”

  “Did she know the offer came from you?”

  Harvey snorted. “Not directly.”

  “Yet you’re holding her refusal to sell her grandmother’s property against her.”