And Then He: A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel Read online

  And Then He

  A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel

  Kateri Collins

  Gripping Tales LLC

  Contents

  JOIN THE ROGUE MOUNTAIN CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part II

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Part III

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  ONE YEAR LATER

  JOIN THE ROGUE MOUNTAIN CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

  Acknowledgments

  JOIN THE ROGUE MOUNTAIN CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

  Kateri Collins writes romantic suspense starring strong females who search for their own happily ever afters.

  She believes.... Everyone deserves a Happily Ever After including you.

  If you can't trust your friends, who can you trust?

  Join the Rogue Mountain Circle of Friends to keep up to date on new releases, bonus materials, and all things romance!

  JOIN THE CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

  Part One

  Chapter One

  The first sip hits the tangle of nerves in my stomach like a shot of heat lightning. The second wraps its arms around the knot in a loving embrace. By the third, a seductive fuzziness travels down my limbs straight to my fingertips and toes.

  “Another?” The hotel bartender asks. His dark brown eyes remind me of my favorite candy bar—savory and irresistible.

  I nod, as if the empty wine glass I pushed toward him isn’t enough of an answer.

  “Reunion?”

  I throw another ten on the bar. “Yep, my fifth.”

  “On the house,” he says, offering me his hand. “Isaac.”

  Mine disappears into his large, slightly damp one. “Tiffani.”

  “Well, Tiffani, you’re welcome to come back and visit me all night.” He squeezes my hand, not to the point of discomfort but enough to encourage me to take him up on his invitation.

  “Tempting,” I smile. A little harmless flirting with the handsome bartender makes me feel less like the lonely left behind girlfriend and more like a woman who deserves to attend her high school reunion.

  “Two friends cancelled, and my best friend’s flight was delayed,” I hold up my glass. “I might need another one of these to hold me over ’til she gets here.”

  “I’ve got just the thing for you,” he says. He disappears to the other side of the bar and returns with a green bottle and two shot glasses. He winks at me, as he lets the dark gold alcohol spill over the top. The color reminds me of honey, but I know there’s nothing sweet or tame about this shot.

  He raises his. “To liquid courage.”

  “To liquid courage.” I smack mine against his before bringing it to my lips. The hellfire races down my throat leaving exposed nerve endings in its wake. “Holy! That shit burns.”

  “Tiffani?”

  Oh god. That nasally whine promises to strip away every ounce of pleasure I’ve stacked up this evening. My eyes connect with Isaac’s in a desperate ‘what the hell am I going to do’ cry for help. He shrugs and heads over to the customer he ignored while flirting with me. Abandoned with nothing but my slow-reacting, forever-doubting self, I latch onto my blossoming buzz with full intentions of riding it until smashing headfirst into the oncoming tsunami or at least until catastrophic derailment.

  I clutch my wine glass and turn to face Haley Dawson and Lara Rheingold, or as I like to call them, Thing 1 and Thing 2. I suppose in some cultures their outfits might be considered overdressed, but here in just-below-the-knee Central Pennsylvania, it’s one square inch from X-rated.

  “Girls,” I nod, managing a tight smile.

  Haley studies me from the top of my pitifully arranged, non-highlighted brown hair to the point of my red stilettos—thank god Cassie made me buy the shoes I labeled “impractical” and “overpriced.”

  She purses her lips, and I brace myself. Here, she will reopen the red daggered gates to her Bitchdom. I will not be permitted to tiptoe across the hot coals. No, I will be thrown right the fuck in. “Next reunion, spring for an up-do,” she says.

  I take a slow sip of wine, then smile. “That’s it?”

  She sucks in her breath. Her eyes go Exorcist round.

  Lara squeaks and glances over at her dethroned queen.

  “I…,” she starts.

  “You…,” she tries.

  “Cunt,” she finishes, spins on her spiked heel, and prowls out the door, leaving Lara to scurry after her.

  “Bitch,” Isaac hisses behind me.

  My finger traces the rim of my wine glass. “You have no idea. I thought five years away would heal all wounds—forgive and forget and all that.” As the glass begins to hum, I stop and look up at him. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

  He reaches for the green bottle. “Want another shot?”

  “No thanks, if I don’t join the rest of my classmates soon, I’ll wind up sitting on this bar stool all night, but I might take you up on that shot later.”

  He winks at me. “Tiffani, I look forward to it.”

  I swagger away. My short red dress hugs my ass in all the right places, and the four inch slit reveals just enough leg to suggest there’s a whole lot more where that came from. For a girl who wears a stained yellow uniform twelve hours a day, I feel pretty damn sexy. Blame it on a heady combination of liquid courage and red stilettos, but the night might have potential after-all.

  Chapter Two

  I stroll up to the Welcome Table and listen while Allie Boock and Spencer Green discuss whether Allie reserved the banquet hall until eleven or Spencer reserved it until midnight. Suddenly, Allie turns to me and smiles. “Oh. My. Gosh! Tiffani Watson, how are you?”

  Elkmont may have lo
st a cheerleader the day she graduated, but the cheerleader did not leave the girl.

  “I’m doing…”

  “Oh. My. Gosh!” she shrieks. She grabs my left hand and yanks it to her chest. Somehow, the tiny diamond ring on my finger caught her attention though I don’t see how considering the glare coming off of Spencer’s. “Did you and Drew get engaged and not tell me?”

  “No, no,” I reply as I try to pry my hand from her surprisingly strong grasp. “It’s a promise ring. Between baseball tryouts and his draft into the minors, we’re too busy to worry about marriage.” I neglect to mention the fact that all his tryouts and our college loans have left us penniless. I charged the dress and the shoes along with the hotel room to a high-interest credit card that I’ll be paying off until the day I die. “He’s away at spring training in Boca Raton.”

  Allie claps her hands together. “How glamorous!”

  Spencer hands me a name tag. “We have to catch up later. The band’s playing Top 40 music from high school: Britney, Justin…all of it!”

  “Great,” I reply, trying to mimic her enthusiasm but failing miserably. There’s just some music that should exist only in the archives.

  Before joining the clusters of classmates on the other side of the banquet hall, I drain the rest of my glass in hopes of fortifying my nerves a bit more before answering the inevitable question, “So, Tiffani, what have you been up to?”

  Drew, I’m proud of. Me, a diner waitress serving trans-fat filled pie to diabetic townies? Not so much.

  An electric guitar rip blasts through the blue and yellow crepe papered room. I choke as I swallow, certain…, NO positive, my ears deceive me. Rock and Roll is one of my all-time favorite songs, and Led Zeppelin…well, hello, its Led Zeppelin, but Zeppelin’s not even from the right century of music, let alone decade.

  I must know what brave soul tackles Robert Plant’s high-pitch like it’s nothing more than a low tenor. My eyes take in the man owning the stage.

  Hmm…, well…that’s something you don’t see every day. A silver mask covers half his face.

  I casually check the clusters of classmates to make sure I didn’t miss a masquerade theme. It wouldn’t be the first Tiffani oversight. Thankfully, no one else is wearing one. The singer probably thinks masks are mysterious. He’s not wrong, but with lips mouthing Plant I don’t care what his face looks like.

  From Zeppelin, he transitions to the Doors, and I fall in love.

  Chapter Three

  While I’m off in my happy music place, Tom Keiper, Elkmont’s right tackle and Drew’s best friend, yanks me into a giant bear hug. “Tiffani Watson, how the hell are ya?”

  Once he’s crushed the air out of my lungs, he sets me back down and smiles.

  “Holy shit Tom! You scared the crap out of me. Did you just get here?”

  “Naw, I’ve been shooting the shit at the bar,” he says, indicating the private bar set up for the reunion on the other side of the ballroom. I was so absorbed in the singer, I mean the music, I didn’t even notice. “Drew couldn’t get out of spring training?”

  “He didn’t ask Coach—he didn’t think the stupid reunion was worth riding the pines all season.” Tom raises an eyebrow. “His words, not mine.”

  “Did you write the next War and Peace yet?”

  My cheeks flush. I blame the wine, not my own inadequacies. “Uh, no, work keeps me busy.” I glance around to make sure no one overheard our conversation and wants to know what ‘work’ is.

  His lips pull tight against his teeth in a sympathetic smile. “Tiff, you haven’t changed a bit since high school.” He puts his hand up to a stray ringlet and pushes it behind my ear. “Drew is a lucky guy, a real lucky guy.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  He creeps closer. I catch a whiff of the unmistakable scent of whiskey. Shit. The last time Tom drank whiskey, we were at Drew’s Spring Fling Baseball Party at SRU, and my ass became his favorite play toy. When Tom failed to take the hint, Drew decked him. A black eye and a killer hangover later, he promised never to drink whiskey again.

  So much for lifelong promises and without Drew here to protect me, distance just became my new best friend. I shift away from him and back toward the stage. The singer’s eyes find mine. His shoulders exude a tension I don’t remember from earlier. I swear we share a moment. A moment.

  Tom’s hot breath wafts over my shoulder. Grimacing, I take another step away from him and scan the room for Cassie. Why isn’t she here yet?

  Spencer marches across the dance floor and stops in front of the singer. When the song comes to an end, she gestures wildly to him. He lifts his hand to his ear and leans toward her. She shouts again. He shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t hear you.” She puts her hands up to her mouth and yells. He says, “I can’t hear you,” stands up, and winks at me, as if I’m in on his little secret. The band transitions to It’s the End of the World by R.E.M., still wrong decade but party favorite. Classmates swarm the dance floor, and I let them sweep me away from Tom.

  Arms fly into the air as intoxicated dancers, including myself, jump to the music. Mid-bounce, Cassie seizes me into a hug, and my night gets a hell of a lot better.

  Chapter Four

  Dancing and spinning, teetering on the brink of collapse, my heart’s about to burst through my chest. Finally, the singer says, “We’re going to take a little break. We’ll be back in fifteen.”

  The Jonas Brothers wonder where the love is as an iPod takes over. At least the iPod follows Spencer’s strict music orders, but she won’t hear me complaining about the band. They’ve played every song on my playlist along with a dozen others I forgot I loved—songs that remind me of the rain, old friends, a favorite trail…

  Allie smiles at the crowd of sweaty dancers. “Drinks?”

  “Hell yeah!” Cassie answers for all of us. With a one-track mind, we move toward the bar. I stop halfway and evaluate my next course of action: risky but harmless, completely harmless.

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Cassie stops. “What’s up?”

  “I want to talk to the singer for a minute.”

  She narrows her eyes. Her left dimple pops out, as the corner of her mouth lifts.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Horny much?”

  My jaw drops before I regain myself. “No! I have Drew. I love Drew. It’s just he sings Zeppelin, the Doors, U2, Bon Jovi, Nickelback,…”

  She raises her hand. “I get it, I get it, you freakin’ music geek. I’ll see you soon.”

  On my way over to the stage, I smooth out my dress. The click, click, click of stilettos on the dance floor reminds me I have to thank Cassie. I take a deep breath, wishing for another shot of liquid courage to calm my nerves.

  I can’t believe I’m going to do this. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything. The singer’s not going to give a shit what I think of his music.

  But…, but the band’s so good, and I’ve never heard Zeppelin covered before and that’s like a dream come true.

  And…, and they sang U2. Who sings U2 anymore?

  Screw it.

  I march to the edge of the stage just as the lead singer removes his mask. The only coherent thought I can form is yum. First, a strong, defined jaw. Then, a perfect, well-proportioned nose that is only to be outdone, by a tan, chiseled face. He has no reason to hide behind a mask. In fact, he disservices his female audience. Cruel and unusual punishment really.

  Unaware of the crazy fan girl stalking him, he wipes his face with a towel. His movements slow and deliberate. Suddenly, his body stiffens. He turns toward me. Oh shit, what have I done?

  “Can I help you?” He says. His low, gravelly voice awakens something deep inside me. Lust. Need. Desire. His amber eyes remind me of a fleeting memory, a whisp of someone familiar, and then it’s gone.

  Warmth spreads through my cheeks. I blame the red wine again. I rub my hands together, feeling awkward and geeky, incredibly geeky. “Uhhh…,” I pause trying to remember what I want
ed to say. “Uhhh…,”

  He raises an eyebrow, a very sexy eyebrow. “Yes?”

  Think Tiffani, think. Now is not the time to panic. Grab him by the balls. Um, that’s probably not a good idea. Seize the moment. “I love your music. It’s like you’re a chameleon. You take on whatever the song demands—the highs, the lows…you’re brilliant!”

  Oh. God. Did I say that? I am a geek and evidently, still quite intoxicated.

  A slow, sexy smile crosses his full lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. We have some great sets coming up after the break that will please you.”

  Please me? I’m pleased already. An overwhelming desire to moan fights to escape my lips. I’m also fairly certain my nipples could cut glass, but I can neither confirm nor deny that fact for fear of drawing even more attention to myself because my dress is not only tight on my ass, but my chest too. I fight the urge to cross my arms.