Rosabel And The Billionaire Beast (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 6) Read online

  Opening the front door, she ambled inside. Duncan shuffled forward, gripping the screen’s rotund handle. The glimpse of his rattled expression was the last satisfying sight she captured before closing the door on him.

  * * *

  Rosabel thought over her conversation with Duncan during a silent dinner with her drooping father while her teeth contemplated the texture of the steak she’d selected. She thought it over while helping to undress Dad and ready him for bed. She thought it over in the shower while steaming hot water streamed down her back.

  After she wandered into an uneasy sleep on the living room recliner to keep a better watch on Dad, Duncan paraded in her dreams, popping up unwanted with flowers for her at every intersection on the road. He appeared so often she woke up irritated at him, and annoyed that, as Dad wasn’t walking the halls, she could have gotten some decent rest for once. Not a good sign.

  She ignored his calls and texts all the next morning long, gratified at being able to hold this over him. And yet somehow, she’d ended up packed and wasn’t at all surprised when Sarah showed up on the doorstep with a bag and an explanation at having been generously paid to stay for the next two months, rotating with two other hospice nurses throughout that time period.

  Rosabel was stunned. Two months? How could a grandma’s birthday party last that long? She’d been expecting a single weekend.

  Well. She still hadn’t agreed. She had to get Duncan’s word on a few things.

  Dad sat at the kitchen table, hands on his knees as he stared at his slippers. Rosabel parked her suitcase near the door before hugging her father, breathing in his scent of soap.

  “I’ll be back, Daddy,” she promised, pushing away a twang of worry. He’ll be fine, she told herself. He’ll be getting the best care he’s ever had.

  Dad’s distant, shrouded gaze swept the room before landing on her. “Henry. Where’s Henry?”

  With a sad smile, she kissed his cheek, bade Sarah goodbye, and rolled her suitcase to her car. She’d handled Duncan’s ventures plenty of times. At least this time she didn’t have to plan the flight the way he’d had her do in the past. He’d even had her plan a honeymoon for his friend Maddox, and though Maddox had been gracious, and she’d claimed she hadn’t minded, the request had riled her.

  She didn’t mind that Maddox needed help. She was always on the lookout for a way to do someone a good turn, and Rosabel happened to really like him. Maddox was a great person, always kind and courteous, and he hadn’t stopped expressing his gratitude for her help since. What bothered her was the way Duncan had handled it. He hadn’t asked her first; he’d referred to her like she belonged to him. Like she was something he could share. He’d made her feel cheap and dispensable.

  No, a relationship with Duncan wouldn’t be possible, not unless he changed the very fabric of who he was. And no one could change that much.

  5

  Duncan paced along the runway’s asphalt beside his car. Sunlight baked the back of his neck, and a bead of sweat trailed down his spine. The warm day hinted at the coming summer and only added to the heat of his frustration. He’d texted Rosabel the departure time. She knew the way to the airfield. Yet, apart from his awaiting driver and the pilot standing at the jet’s threshold, Duncan was there alone.

  What was taking her so long? Why wasn’t she here yet?

  He yanked his phone free and sent the thousandth testy rant to her via text.

  I can’t wait here all day. Where are you?

  She hadn’t replied to any of the previous messages, so he didn’t expect a reply to this one, but still. Punctuality was common courtesy. Especially when he’d done so much to make this as easy as possible for her. Fleetingly, he worried something had happened to her father, but he brushed the concern aside.

  From his standpoint on the airplane’s entrance ramp, the pilot waved Duncan down and pointed to his watch. An irritated growl rumbled from Duncan’s throat. He hated keeping people waiting. How inconsiderate could she be? Now she was making him look bad!

  Duncan’s thumbs were at the ready on his screen when Rosabel appeared across the runway at his left, dragging her suitcase behind her. Relief stole over him, while his temperature cranked up a few more notches. She wore jeans that hugged her just right, along with a floral shirt beneath a navy-blue cardigan. Her hair was pulled halfway back, leaving the rest to pool to her shoulders. Man, he’d thought she killed it in a pencil skirt, but casual? She was downright brutal.

  “I knew you couldn’t resist my charms,” he said at her approach. Duncan felt like puffing out his chest. She’d come after all.

  Relief remained heavy and insistent. For several moments, he’d worried she would blow him off, but he’d arranged things with his caretakers. How could she say no after that—especially since he’d handled the preparations himself? He should get a gold star.

  “Is that what you’re calling them these days?” She looked squarely at him, no nonsense. No smile.

  Duncan refused to falter. He gripped his suitcase handle. “Come on. Clock’s ticking.” He was halfway to the airplane’s ramp before he realized the only suitcase and footsteps he heard were his. Slowing, he glanced out to find she hadn’t moved.

  Frustration scattered through him all over again. Leaving his suitcase near the on-ramp, Duncan stormed back down, his shoes thumping heavily on the metal until they hit the pavement once more.

  “What’s the deal?” he demanded. “We’ve already delayed fifteen minutes for you. Let’s go.”

  Rosabel folded her arms. “Have you really forgotten?”

  “Forgotten what?” He was here. She was here. The plane was here. What more did he need to know?

  “My terms.”

  Their conversation wafted through the edges of his mind. He vaguely remembered her mentioning something like that. Duncan rested a hand on his hip, feeling the sun beat against his neck. Time ticked its urgency against his sternum, but he pushed his impatience down. “All right, then. What do you want, other than what I’ve already offered?”

  A muscle tightened at her throat. “I get my own room. My own schedule. We tell your family the truth—I am your assistant, there to assist. Nothing more.”

  His jaw tensed. “Anything else?”

  She abandoned her suitcase and crossed the remaining distance with so much irritation burning in her expression, he braced himself to either be hit or kissed. He wasn’t sure which he preferred at this point.

  Who was he kidding? He’d take the kiss.

  Rosabel did neither, but that didn’t mean her presence was without impact. Her perfume wafted toward him, and she was close enough he caught the light glinting off the rage in her brown eyes. “I am my own person with opinions and interests. You no longer shoot me down just because our opinions on things don’t always coincide. If I’m going on this trip, you treat me with the respect I deserve—”

  “I treat you like I’ve treated all my assistants—”

  “As a human being,” she finished, talking over him. She gave him a smile that was anything but friendly. “I like soft answers. I like being treated like I’m intelligent, rather than ignorant. I expect you to hold my door, ask how my day is going, gauge my feelings in each situation we’re in—act like you value me as a person.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Almost. I have one more. While we’re there in—where are we going?”

  “Eureka Springs,” he said.

  She paused at the name. The unusual moniker usually had that effect when he mentioned the town to people. “Okay, then. While we’re in Eureka Springs, you agree to an act of service. Something of my choosing, something that might put you in someone else’s shoes and bring you down a few pegs off your high horse.”

  “I’m not on a high horse. I won’t have time for anything else but overseeing my lake house and handling my investments.”

  “Those are my terms,” Rosabel said without backing down. She heightened her nose for good measure. “If you can�
��t do that, then I’m not going.”

  “This is ridiculous.” He turned away from her, pacing, needing to think. Who did she think he was? What did she think he’d hired her for? First she made him a full twenty minutes late, and now she waltzed in with these … expectations? This wasn’t happening. He’d hired her. She had to do his bidding.

  Apparently, she took his silence as an answer. “Fine.” She turned away and began rolling her suitcase back toward the parking lot.

  “Wait,” Duncan snapped, loud enough for her to hear.

  She halted and wheeled her suitcase back. Duncan met her halfway. Any minute now she’d face him; she’d relent from whatever power trip she was on and cater to his wishes.

  She did neither.

  Duncan resorted to circling to face her. Of all things, he found strain on her pretty face. That expression struck him like a javelin. Was the prospect of being near him so awful?

  With a deliberate, conscious effort, he checked his tone. “All right. I accept. I will treat you with respect.”

  “That includes good manners, Duncan. Show interest in what I have to say. It’s called being considerate. Like we could be friends.”

  His brows drew together. Friends? He’d never considered her that way before. His only real friend these days was Maddox Hatter, and that was because Maddox was tolerable to be around. He put up with him and accepted Duncan as he was. “Friends,” he repeatedly dryly.

  “I assume you have some. That owner of Wonderland seems to like you, though I can’t imagine why.”

  His lips fought a smile. Banter was good; he could stand his own ground with her when she was like this. “Who’s being beastly now?”

  She narrowed her eyes. The look obviously said, Watch it, without her needing to utter a single syllable. If anything, her expression amused him even more.

  “Okay, Rosie. I’ll be your friend.”

  “Rosie?”

  He sensed he’d annoyed her again, which was completely satisfying. He needed an upper hand in this conversation. “Friends use nicknames, don’t they? Now, as for this act of service, what exactly did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave him her own satisfied smirk. “I suppose you’ll have to find out when we get there.” Without another word, she strolled toward the plane, dragging her suitcase behind her.

  Duncan lingered for several more moments. This was so … weird. What did she mean by accepting everything, just like that? He jogged to retrieve his awaiting suitcase and trundled up the gangway behind her, waiting for the bomb to drop.

  6

  Rosabel had never seen so many trees—and she was from Vermont. Duncan’s commissioned plane landed in Fayetteville about thirty minutes before, and while he was busy on his tablet tapping away and scribbling across the screen with his stylus, Rosabel’s attention gravitated to the window and the view outside.

  The sun added its gold luster to farms and fields—many of which harbored a stereotypical red barn. The scenery reminded her of the musical Oklahoma!, with its fields, blue skies, and corn. They passed another farm where she could fully believe an elderly woman would step onto its wide porch, wearing an apron, and set a pie to cool on the windowsill.

  During the entire flight in the seat across from Duncan, she’d relived their conversation and agonized over what she should have him do for an act of service. Worries for Dad under Sarah’s and other caretakers’ attention twenty-four seven also accompanied her, along with the dread at adding to the rumors of a supposed relationship between herself and Duncan—should Gale or any of the others at the office find out. Now that she’d here, though, and seen the surroundings, every single one of those worries slithered away beneath the quaint, rural Arkansas sky.

  “How far is Eureka Springs?” Rosabel asked. She’d researched the tiny town during their flight as well. It seemed charming and historic, two of her favorite things.

  Duncan scribbled on his tablet and spoke without lifting his gaze to her. “It’s about an hour from the airport. My lake house is on the outskirts of town.”

  “Your—lake house? You failed to mention that.” Then again, he had mentioned something during one of their recent arguments. If the countryside was this stunning, she could only imagine what a house situated at the edge of its own personal scenic view would be like.

  “It’s a recent investment,” he said, still looking at his screen. “I needed somewhere to stay when I come to visit.”

  Because a hotel wouldn’t suffice. Sheesh. Billionaires.

  “Do you plan on coming often?” If he did, said plans were news to her. Not that he passed everything by her, but he might as well, depending on how much business he expected her to help with.

  “Hm?”

  “Isn’t your family here?” she asked. The driver took another few turns as the road became more and more twisty. Her stomach began souring. She pressed herself against the seat.

  “I thought I already told you that’s why we came.”

  She squinted a single eye open in warning. He missed the action, and while she considered pointing out his rudeness, she chose not to protest. Her stomach wouldn’t let her.

  Rosabel exhaled. She’d never been one to get carsick, but then, she’d never been on such a winding road either. Risking a glance, she inched up and watched the narrow road out the window and the sheer number of trees surrounding them. Her unease increased. “You never told me we were headed into the backwoods.”

  “I said Ozarks.” He said this as though she’d left a few IQ points back on the plane.

  Rosabel ground her teeth. She didn’t care how motherly she sounded as she snapped, “Tone, Mr. Hawthorne. You promised you’d be civil.”

  That did it. Finally, Duncan lifted his attention from his device and glanced at her. Any other person would catch their faux pas and apologize. Either he didn’t get it, had never been taught empathy, or he was just plain disregarding her earlier request.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “My stomach doesn’t like the twisting roads.”

  “You get carsick?”

  The car took another turn, the driver slowing down substantially to handle the curve at a more careful rate. Rosabel winced and gripped the door’s handle. “Apparently.”

  “Here.” Duncan set his tablet aside and dug through his bag, retrieving a bottle of rattling pills. He shook two free and passed them to her, their skin brushing just enough to make her notice.

  “Thanks,” she said, surprised by his unexpected kindness. Rosabel muscled the medicine down and rested her head on the back of the seat, closing her eyes and attempting to be content with the silence until the meds kicked in.

  “Anything else?”

  She cracked an eye open. He asked if he could help her? Rosabel swallowed. She wouldn’t mind a drink of water, but that was her own fault for not planning ahead. “Um, music helps. Could your driver put some on?”

  “Clive?” Duncan called.

  The driver’s dark brows were visible in the rearview mirror. “Anything in particular you’d like to listen to?” he asked from the front seat.

  That was a no-brainer. “The Beatles.”

  Duncan snorted. “Seriously?”

  She cracked her eye open again and found him goggling at her. “What?” she said. “The Beatles are classic.”

  Duncan continued studying her as “Eight Days a Week” began strumming through the car’s sound system. The familiar guitar worked like a lubricant to her joints. She settled a little deeper into her seat.

  “I never pictured you as a golden oldies type,” Duncan said.

  Rosabel stopped herself from singing the lyrics, instead settling for nodding her head. “I love oldies. Honestly, I think I was born in the wrong time period.” A few lyrics leaked out as she finished. She didn’t care if Duncan minded. This was who she was. It was time he found that out.

  Wonder of wonders, he lowered his tablet and gave her his full
attention. “What do you mean by that?”

  Rosabel shifted, eagerly swallowing the distraction he provided. “Everything, I guess. My favorite books are classics. Jane Eyre. Pride and Prejudice. Dracula. I adore period movies too, and even old shows—like The Dick van Dyke Show? He was hilarious! Granted, society was more sexist back then, but still. You don’t find that wholesome humor in shows today.”

  “So you wish you were born in the 1950s?” Duncan asked.

  She thought the question over, humming in time to the song. “Hmm. If I could pick any time period, it would have to be 1837.”

  This amused him. He fought back a smile, which hinted at a dimple in his cheek. “So specific?”

  “Sure. That was the start of the Victorian Era. I would have one of those delectable Victorian homes with their decorative roofs and gingerbread-house gables that have those really ornate ridge tiles, you know? And the bay windows with their own roof. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the stained-glass mosaics.” She sighed before finishing, “They’re exquisite.”

  “Sounds like it,” he said pensively.

  “I love the clothing, the dresses, the men’s attire, the manners …”

  “The social classes,” he went on, “female oppression, lack of sufficient medical care …”

  “Hey,” Rosabel pouted. “The time period sounds horrible if that’s all you focus on.” The car took a sharp turn, and she tightened her fists in her lap, pressing her head to the back of the seat and praying the meds kicked in soon.

  “They’re arguable detriments to the time period,” Duncan argued. “A woman had very little rights, and her best chance at success was to get married, but even then, everything she owned belonged to her husband.”

  Rosabel sat up. This was no new dispute to her, and for some reason, arguing with him was invigorating. “I like the romance of the time period. If you were to look at today, you’d find our own flaws as well, despite all the amazing medical advances and women’s rights.”