Propositioned by the Billionaire Moose Page 5

  “Better get used to it because I intend to touch you a lot.” He pulled her closer, and her pulse went into overdrive, thumping madly. Blood rushed, making her hear only a roaring rush, and her lips parted.

  “That’s better. Now you look like a woman waiting for a kiss.”

  He released her and walked away. Meanwhile she wanted to cry out in disappointment because, dammit, she had been expecting a kiss!

  And the jerk didn’t give her one. Sad meow.

  Chapter 9

  If the moment had a hashtag it was probably #blueballed.

  The drive to his house was hard—almost as hard as his erection because, dammit, Melanie looked tempting. So very, very tempting.

  In her worn clothes, she’d been attractive. Dress her in something a little more upscale, toss on a light dab of makeup, and with her hair pulled back and shining…wow.

  Like big fucking wow. As in, he wanted to toss her over a shoulder, take her somewhere private, and show her how hot he found her wow.

  Somehow he doubted she’d agree to that. The only reason she sat in this car was because of the deal they’d made. The realization kept him in check—and his hands on the wheel instead of stroking her thigh.

  “Where are we going?” She broke the tense silence in the car.

  “The mansion for a family dinner.”

  “I thought your grandfather was sick.”

  “He is.”

  “Yet we’re having dinner with him?”

  “Yeah. Him, my so-called cousin, his fiancée, and us.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “Granddad insisted so we could get to know each other better.”

  “You don’t believe he’s your cousin.”

  “Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ on the answer. “I find it a tad too convenient that, as my grandfather is ailing, some guy we never even suspected existed shows up out of nowhere claiming he’s family.”

  “And your grandfather believed him?”

  “So he claims. He is, however, getting a DNA test done. The results are just taking longer than expected.”

  “I thought DNA stuff was pretty quick these days.”

  “Usually it is. However, our usual lab had some technical problems, and since we don’t trust anyone else”—because they certainly couldn’t give shifter blood samples to humans to play with— “we kind of have to wait.”

  “If I were a believer in conspiracies, I’d say that’s very convenient for your cousin.”

  He slapped the steering wheel and exclaimed, “That’s exactly what I said! But grandfather is being a senile old coot. Waxing all sentimental about how Rory looks just like Trixie, if his sister were a girl, of course.”

  “What if he really is your cousin?”

  His grip tightened on the wheel, making it creak. “He’s not.”

  “But what if he is?” she insisted.

  “Then I guess we’d better make sure we’re wed before he is.” What he didn’t add was the pregnant part. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, although—he cast Melanie a glance—bedding Melanie wouldn’t be a hardship. Not one bit.

  “Tell me some stuff about yourself. If we’re going to make this work, then I should have some kind of idea who you are.”

  Good point. “I’m twenty-six. I work for Towering Oaks Incorporated. My parents are dead. Dad was shot by a hunter when I was ten.” Bloody poacher thought he’d tagged a real moose. Imagine his surprise when he went to bag his prize and found a bleeding man instead. “My mom was taken by a car accident.” An event that crushed not only a young boy who loved his mother, but the man who’d sired her. In their grief they’d bonded, but that bond was tested over and over again due to his grandfather’s ornery nature. “What about you?”

  “You know about my mom. Dying of liver cancer and making everyone suffer along with her.” Melanie didn’t hide the bitterness in her words. “Never knew my dad. He took off when I was young, too young to remember him. I don’t even have a name or a face. My mother never shared anything about him.”

  “That sucks.” At least he’d had time with his.

  “Yeah, well, if he didn’t care enough to stick around, then it was probably for the best. I don’t have much else interesting to add. I went to college. Had just graduated when my mother insisted I care for her.”

  “No offense, but it doesn’t sound as if you like her much.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why did you come back to care for her?”

  A deep sigh heaved out of her. “A feeling of obligation. The woman gave birth to me. Then abused me. And heaped guilt upon guilt. Rationally, I know I should walk away…”

  “But?” he prodded.

  “She’s the only family I have. Once she’s gone, I’ll truly be alone.”

  The lonely words struck him, especially since he understood. As much as his grandfather drove him batty, he also was his only family tie. Once he died, it would be just Bryce.

  Just me. For a moment he understood his grandfather’s burning desire to see a great-grandchild. To know that a part of him would live on.

  Melanie spoke. “How much of my real life did you want me to use? It’s not very glamorous, so I’ll understand if you want me to pretend to be someone else.”

  “No. I want you to be yourself.” The world was already full of pretense.

  “You do realize that it’s not just my upbringing that will set me apart. I never learned any fancy manners. I might not know which fork to use.”

  “So long as you don’t eat with your hands behind your back, face first in the plate, you’ll be fine.”

  “I think I can manage that.” A snicker left her, the mirth-filled sound wrapping around him and tugging forth a smile.

  “You’ll do great.” Better than great because Melanie had an innate sweetness about her, a softness with a steel core. She wouldn’t bend easily, but she could be shaped into something wonderful. Someone perfect for a billionaire in need of a wife.

  Pulling up in front of the house, behind a sports car with the top down, the vanity plate reading RoryBeau, he paused for a moment.

  Could he truly go through this charade? Lie to his grandfather just to inherit?

  He looked over at Melanie, biting her lower lip, looking adorable, and it struck him.

  Maybe it doesn’t have to be fake.

  Chapter 10

  It wasn’t just butterflies dancing in her tummy. Melanie had a few frogs hopping around, an octopus squeezing her innards, plus a pacing nervous kitty making her heart race.

  She stood outside a mansion. As in three stories tall, bigger than her apartment building, freaking mansion.

  And Bryce lived in it.

  He came around the car, frowning. Probably because he’d realized how preposterous her being here was. She didn’t fit into this world. She was a fraud.

  “You should have waited for me.”

  “To what?” she asked with a creased brow.

  “Open your door and help you out.”

  She blinked. “But I know how to get out of a car. Why would I need your help?”

  “Because it’s what gentlemen do.”

  At that, she laughed. “You mean treat women like invalids?”

  “It’s called courtesy.”

  Mischievousness had her popping back into the car and slamming the door shut. He crouched down and peered at her through the window.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Letting you be a gentleman.”

  At that, he snorted, but he did open the door and offer his hand. She slid hers into it, and tingling awareness raced through her as he tugged her out.

  He didn’t release it, even once she stood beside him. She tilted her face to peek at him. “Is that better?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky.

  “Much better,” he rumbled, his thumb stroking over the skin of her hand.

  He held it as he began to move toward the massive front door. She had no choice but to follow. The steps, made of individual stone and not co
ncrete, spanned at least ten feet wide, offering a wide stoop to enter the house.

  The portal opened before they reached it, and she bit her tongue lest she giggle, for there, in a suit, looking every inch a butler, was a butler.

  “I swear, if you say his name is Alfred, I’m going to start looking for your cape,” she muttered.

  “The cape would clash with my rack.”

  An odd statement to make.

  “Evening, Kendrick.”

  “Master Bryce.” The butler nodded his head. “If you’ll follow me. The other guests have arrived and are seated in the dining room.”

  “Including grandfather?” Bryce sounded surprised.

  “He insisted, sir.”

  “He’s being an idiot,” Bryce muttered. “The doctor said he was supposed to preserve his strength. Dinner was supposed to be in his room.”

  As he pulled Melanie inside, she had only a moment to take in their surroundings. Lots of wood being the predominant theme. Gleaming wood floors, their dark sheen polished and broken up by intricate lighter inlays. The baseboards and door trims were wide and of the same deep color, contrasting with the pale gray walls.

  The furniture all appeared antique, the legs spindly, probably hand carved and expensive. Nothing like her melamine furniture at home.

  The long hall had several doors along it, pocket ones that provided a grand entrance when Kendrick grabbed the handles and slid them into the wall recess.

  She wanted to hide and most definitely blushed hot when Kendrick, in a most somber tone, announced, “Master Bryce and his lady friend, Melanie Rusch.”

  How had the butler known her name when they’d not been introduced, she wondered?

  It took a moment of ogling the giant dining space—walls papered in burgundy and gold leaf, the wainscoting the same dark wood as the floor. The massive table stretched long enough to feed a football team, the chairs lined in two rows with a more massive throne-like one at each end.

  Candelabra lit the room, the candles providing flickering light, enough of them that she could see the occupants. A young man with blond hair, a gorgeous woman with the brightest red lipstick she’d ever seen, and an older fellow, tucked into some blankets at the head of the table.

  “There you are, my boy. I was beginning to wonder if you’d join us.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bryce said a touch too brightly.

  “And you’ve brought a friend, I see.”

  “More than a friend,” Bryce said, sounding utterly sincere. “This is Melanie.” He drew her closer to his side, making a point of showing they were a couple.

  “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” The old man leaned forward eagerly.

  “It was a chance meeting in a coffee shop. She was kind enough to let me buy her breakfast.”

  She bit her lip at the partial lie.

  “Come closer. Let me meet the girl.”

  Girl? She might have taken offense except a man his age probably saw anyone under fifty as a girl or boy.

  As they neared the head of the table, the young man—that must be Rory—stood while his lady friend remained seated.

  Bryce slowed. “Chanice? I wasn’t expecting you here.”

  He knew the woman?

  “I thought I mentioned I was having dinner with my fiancé’s family when I popped by today.”

  “Rory is your fiancé?” Bryce turned a glare on the man.

  “Yes he is.” The red lips pulled into a smug smile. “We met while I was out on the West Coast. Imagine our surprise when we found out he was related to the Elanrouxs, especially given how close our families are.”

  “Imagine that.” Said flatly by Bryce.

  “Small world, eh, boy? A fine choice my nephew has made, but it looks like you’ve also done well for yourself. Come a little closer, young lady. This old body isn’t as spry as it used to be.”

  Melanie inched closer, a little daunted by the fierce blue gaze. She couldn’t avoid slipping her hand into the callused one of the old man. He gripped her tightly and drew her closer, the strength at odds with the bundled body.

  And did he…smell her?

  He smells funny, too. Kind of like Bryce did, but it was hard to tell with the cloying perfume of the candles and other scents in the room.

  “It’s n-n-ice to meet you, s-sir,” she managed to stammer.

  “Please, call me Theo. After all, if you’re dating my grandson you’re almost family.” The lips spread wide in the creased face. “And might I say, what a delight. It’s been a while since I’ve met one of your kind.”

  Kind? Was this a jab at the fact she came from the wrong side of the tracks? She cast a startled glance at Bryce but he didn’t seem to think anything was awry as he pulled out a chair for her at his grandfather’s right hand.

  The woman, Chanice, had the left.

  For a moment, after everyone sat, silence hung thickly in the air and everyone stared at each other.

  Kendrick was the one to break it. “Is my lord ready for his dinner?”

  Theo clasped his hands. “Indeed. I find I have quite the appetite.”

  Dinner proved lavish, starting with a soup, a tomato bisque, with crunchy bread to dip.

  Initially there was little conversation, the silence awkward. Melanie couldn’t stand it. So she said something to the cousin that kept eyeing her. “How did you find out you were related to the Elanrouxs?” Probably a socially gauche move, yet this entire experience thus far seemed more fit for a soap opera than real life.

  The blond man took a sip of wine before answering. “My father finally told me after my mother’s death. He’d promised to keep it a secret so I wouldn’t stop caring for her when I realized she wasn’t my birth mother.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

  “It was hard,” Rory said, “but finding new family,”—a blazing smile at Theo, a more rapier slick one for Bryce—“has helped me deal with the loss.”

  “I’m sure the money helped,” Bryce muttered under his breath.

  “No sad talk.” Chanice jumped into the fray with a clap of her hands. “This is supposed to be happy dinner. I am sure I’m not the only one curious about how you and Bryce met. He mentioned a coffee shop. Do you work there?”

  The rudeness might have startled Melanie if she’d not expected it. “At the moment, I’m between jobs, as I care for my mother.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve met her,” stated the old man.

  “Count yourself lucky,” she muttered, wondering why he’d even say that. Being the town’s richest member didn’t mean everyone living in it was a vassal that had to kiss his feet.

  “So, I was thinking of touring the factory tomorrow,” Rory tossed out.

  Bryce immediately stiffened. “Why?”

  “Just taking an interest in the family biz, cousin. After all, you and I are the only living heirs.” Emphasis on the living.

  “For now. We’ll see what the blood work says.”

  The barely veiled threats had Melanie watching the men, her gaze bobbing between them.

  “Have you made the plans for the wedding yet?” Theo asked, ignoring the tension.

  “While I know my darling fiancée wanted something large and lavish, she’s agreed to something smaller and intimate. We’re planning something simple for next week that you and her family can attend, and then when we fly back west, we’ll throw something a little more lavish.”

  “Next week?” Bryce barked.

  “Is there a problem, cousin? I would think you’d be happy for me. After all, we both know all grandfather wants is for his bloodline to continue.”

  Bryce’s jaw stiffened. “His true bloodline.”

  “What are you saying?” Rory glared.

  “You know exactly what I’m saying. You’re an imposter.”

  “And you’re a spoiled boy who is whining because he can’t win. Get over it. Maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll let you work in the factory.”

&n
bsp; The tennis match of barbs turned tense.

  Scree. Bryce shoved his chair back and stood, tension bristling through his body. “You’ll never get your grubby paws on it.”

  “That’s not up to you, is it?” Rory stood and faced Bryce.

  “I won’t let you steal my inheritance.”

  “How are you going to stop me? Gonna wave your great big rack and moo like a cow?”

  The taunt made no sense, and yet, with a cry of rage, Bryce dove over the table and tackled Rory, their bodies crashing to the floor.

  The sound of meaty thumps filled the air as fists flailed and found flesh.

  Appalled, Melanie turned on Theo. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “Boys will be boys.”

  “This is sick.” She yanked the napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table before standing. “Family shouldn’t be like this.”

  She stalked out of the room, not sure how she’d get home but desperate to leave.

  The butler popped out of a room. “Can I help you, miss?”

  “I need…” A cab? No money. “Nothing.” It would take a while, but she’d walk.

  She strutted out into the cool evening air, the briskness of it pimpling the skin on her arms. She’d made it past the ornate gates when the headlights illuminated her.

  A car slowed to a stop beside her, and the door opened. Bryce leaned across, his hair tousled, his lip bloody, and growled, “Get in.”

  “No, thank you.” She kept walking.

  The car kept pace. “Don’t be stubborn. You can’t walk all the way home.”

  She didn’t plan to. Once she got out of sight, she planned to change and run on four legs. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “What are you talking about? Grandfather loved you.”

  Stopping, she stared at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Stop moping and get in.”

  “I am not moping,” said the woman who moped rather than get driven home.

  Don’t be stupid. Get in the car. After this farce, the least he could do was give her a ride home. She sat in the car and crossed her arms, determined to ignore him.

  “You’re cute when you’re angry.”