And Then He: A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel Read online

  I nod like an idiot. His sly grin suggests he’s well aware of the effect he has on women. He slinks across the stage toward me. His eyes intent with purpose. My breath catches. What is he doing? Is he coming over to me? I have to get out of here. What would Drew say?

  But instead of running, I remain rooted to the spot. His strong, able fingers reach down to the bottom of his shirt, and then he…, and then he lifts the tight black fabric inch by inch as if stripping for my personal enjoyment. First, he reveals a well-defined and glorious manline. Then, two…, four…, six…, ahh, a six pack of strong, lean, compacted stomach muscles. Gold chest hair covers two perfectly symmetrical pecs with firm, tight nipples. The stage lights capture the glistening Adonis, allowing him to shine in all his rugged outdoorsman glory.

  He sends a scintillating smile my way as he continues walking towards me. My eyes drop to his trail to paradise. A moan betrays me as every muscle in my abdomen tightens into one giant Kegel before a shiver rifles through my body. He stops at one of the speakers, grabs a different shirt, then turns to me. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

  YES. YES. YES!!!!! “Uh, no,” I manage to stammer before scurrying away to find Cassie, Allie, and the rest of the girls up at the bar.

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. Imagining and doing are two very different things, but still…Wow!

  “Are you okay?” Allie asks. “You’re all flushed.”

  Flushed? I’m damn near orgasmic.

  “Just hot from dancing. Did someone order me a drink?”

  Cassie pushes an empty shot glass toward me. “We ordered you a drink alright.” I glance down the bar. Cassie, Spencer, Allie, along with five or so others have shot glasses in front of them. “Blow jobs for everyone,” she yells.

  A female bartender pours Kahlua and Baileys into each shot glass, then tops it with whipped lightning, the literal icing on the cake.

  “Hands behind your backs,” Allie shouts. Then in her best cheerleader voice, she says, “Ready?”

  And we all shout, “Okay!”

  In one synchronized motion, our lips wrap around the rim of the glasses, and we swing our heads back. The deliciously evil shot travels down my throat without a hint of danger.

  Exhilaration courses through me as I set the glass back down on the bar. My eyes meet amber ones. Green flecks dance around the irises in a waltz begging for a partner. He lifts his thumb to the corner of his lip and swipes back and forth, which is odd because there’s nothing on his lips. He clears his throat and exaggerates the motion again. My finger touches my own lip. My eyes widen in surprise. I grab a napkin. Embarrassment colors my cheeks. I curse myself for not wearing more foundation. He flashes a knee-melting, panty dropping smile my way before strolling back to the stage. I close my eyes when he’s safely out of range. There’s just no end to my idiocy, is there?

  Cassie waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Tiffani, Earth to Tiffani.”

  My eyes shift back into focus. I try to pay attention to her conversation with Spencer and Allie about where they bought the decorations and how much the caterer charged, but the damn singer’s asking me if I want him or not.

  My god, I think he’s actually trying to kill me. My hips sway to the music. The rhythm pulls me away from the bar and toward the stage.

  Cassie grabs my hand. “We need to get Tiff to the dance floor or she’s liable to climb up on the bar and go all Coyote Ugly.”

  I grin at the spring break memory. It is that kind of night.

  Chapter Five

  Memories of rock hard abs spur my dancing for the next hour. I scream. I shout. I woo-hoo with each song. Each one, a favorite. Each one, a top pick on my playlist.

  When the singer announces the next fifteen minute break, Cassie whispers in my ear, “Want to go up and talk to him again?”

  I giggle, feeling light and airy and thirsty, really thirsty. “Nooo, my heart belongs to Drew.”

  “You know what they say, ‘when the cat’s away, the mouse will play.’” She knocks her hip into mine. Cassie will never be a mouse.

  Allie drapes her arms around our shoulders. “So, what are we talking about?”

  “Sex and faraway boyfriends,” Cassie says.

  Allie lifts her eyebrows. “Do tell.”

  I sense our conversation veering down a treacherous and bumpy path. It’s up to me to steer us back on track. “Bar and shot?”

  “Now, that’s a brilliant idea,” Cassie replies.

  “If you’re giving out blow jobs, I’ll take one,” someone hisses. Strong arms wrap around my waist. I’m sucked into someone’s chest—someone big. My heart stops. “Who the hell?”

  “Take your hands off the woman,” a deep, low voice warns.

  “Easy asshole,” says the guy holding me. A voice I now recognize as Tom’s. He stumbles to the left, then trips three steps to the right. Drunk Tom. Great.

  “I said, ‘Let the woman go.’”

  I struggle to discover what brave knight has come to rescue me from 6’3”, 275 lb. Tom, but Tom’s pinned me to his side. The ability to breathe becomes slightly more important than the identity of my rescuer.

  Cassie and Allie yank on Tom’s steel enforced shackles. “Tom, let Tiffani go. Tom, you’re drunk. Let her go.”

  He releases me from his grasp. “Fine.”

  I stumble forward, trip over someone’s shoe, and head straight toward a puddle of sludge. Just as I’m about to receive an unwanted face mask, two hands slip around my waist.

  I grunt as the wind’s knocked out of me. A loud, disgusting grunt that echoes through the entire banquet hall. No doubt the noise will be a topic of conversation for reunions to come—definitely the Elkmont newsfeed for the next few weeks.

  When breathing becomes a natural element of life again, the two hands clutching my waist pull me into a standing position. Two soft, warm amber pools sprinkled with gold and green flecks shine down on me.

  “Y-y-you,” I manage to say. I lean into his muscular arms. Then I remember my name and the fact I have a boyfriend. I leap away, knock into the back of a chair, and sidestep a half dozen onlookers who don’t try to catch me. His hands return to my waist. “Why don’t you sit down for a few minutes before you try to walk?”

  “Uh-ha, o-o-okay,” I reply. My English professors would be so proud.

  With one hand on my waist and the other grasping my shoulder, he guides me toward some gray leather sofas on the side of the dance floor. I assume he’ll drop me off and return to his pre-Tiffani life. So the moment he lets go, I plop back against the sofa and let out a giant exhale, releasing all the emotions and tension racing through my body. Imagine my surprise when I open up my eyes and realize he sat down on the opposite sofa.

  This singer, this man has heard more noises than words from me, and that’s not a promising start to any relationship. My spread eagle legs won’t win any points with Emily Post either.

  With as much dignity as I can muster and believe me, there’s not much, I shift upright. The skin on the back of my legs sticks to the leather. It makes a loud, horrible, squishy pluck each time I move, and I realize my dress rides mid-thigh instead of just above the knee. I prepare for the lightning strike, because after the sum total of embarrassing events in the last thirty seconds I shouldn’t live to tell the tale.

  Feigning interest with the reunion’s going ons, I look around while I inch the hem of my dress down to a more appropriate level. I happen to glance his way and catch him smiling at me as if I’m the best comedy act in town. Sadly, I probably am.

  I fold my fingers into my lap. “Thank you,” I manage to say without stuttering. He nods. I bite my lip and glance around the room again. Cassie and Allie returned to the dance floor with a herd of friends. Tom disappeared, hopefully passed out in a dark corner. Old classmates occupy every seat at the bar. The spinning disco ball decorates the room in a psychedelic rainbow, and still the singer remains on the sofa across from me, yet
to utter a word.

  I wring my fingers in and out of each other. Finally, when the silence grows too much to bear, I find my nerve. “Aren’t you on break?”

  “I am and I plan on spending it with you,” he says. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

  I nod, afraid my voice will fail me.

  He stretches out, draping his arms over the back of his sofa. “Good.”

  Another long moment of silence stretches between us. I surprise myself by not looking away. “Enjoying yourself,” he asks.

  I nod. Words do not come easily this evening. “You?”

  “Whenever I have the opportunity to play with the band, I enjoy myself, but it’s really a special treat to play for my high school reunion.”

  “You went to Elkmont?” I rack my brain, flashing through the pages of the yearbook in my head. Even with 400 students in our graduating class, I should remember his gorgeous face.

  And that ass, don’t forget that ass.

  “I feel like an asshole, but what’s your name?”

  His slow, sexy smile returns. I’m glad I’m sitting, because I’m pretty sure my knees would drop me to the floor, stilettos, panties, and all. “Tiffani Watson, you don’t recognize me?”

  My breath catches. He knows me. He knows me.

  “It’s Jeb, Jeb Rolles.”

  His name doesn’t even ring a bell. Jeb Rolles…Jeb Rolles… “Did you graduate from Elkmont?” His jaw clenches. A flash of anger dashes across the gold and green flecks. He turns his head to the side and brushes his chin against his shoulder. His face rearranges into a mask of composure. “I moved to Elkmont the second half of our freshmen year. I attended Elkmont my entire sophomore year,” he pauses. His fists knot into tight, white-knuckled claws.

  His drastic mood shift surprises me. I’ve never witnessed anyone react so strongly to something in a few words. He glances over at me, as if suddenly remembering I’m there. He takes a deep breath and the tension rolls off his shoulders. “And then my parents shipped me off to prep school for my junior and senior year. They called it character enhancement.”

  Ahh, that’s why I don’t remember him. Half way through Sophomore year Cody died. Cody Landow, my first love, the boy who knew me better than I knew myself. The boy who made me believe my life would get better after mom and dad divorced and left me as the gross reminder of a failed marriage.

  His fingertips butterfly kiss my knee. “Everything alright, Tiffani?”

  I blink away the tears that threaten to fall. Thank god for Drew and his midsummer move our junior year. “Just passing down memory lane,” I say and try to smile, but it probably comes out more like a disturbing leer.

  I become mesmerized by the way the gold and green flecks orbit around each other as if on opposing elliptical planes. I can’t believe I don’t remember his eyes.

  If only an old yearbook was floating around or if I had one of those damn smart phones, I could run a search in the bathroom, but alas, smart phones are another luxury I can’t afford.

  He clears his throat. I realize he asked me a question, and I haven’t answered him. It really is amazing I haven’t been struck down yet.

  Spencer stomps across the dance floor. Her high heels echo off the laminate, growing louder with each approaching step. She crosses her arms. A scowl the size of Pennsylvania’s Grand Canyon scrunches her face. “I believe we are paying you to SING tonight.

  His jaw tightens. He stares at me for five more seconds before taking a long, ‘all the world comes to a breaking halt’ blink. “I’m just finishing up my contracted fifteen minute break.”

  BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  He pushes up his shirt sleeve and presses a button on his watch. “Breaks over.” He rises from his leather throne, inches from Spencer. She steps back, and he allows her one, quick knee-melting smile. She stumbles in her heels. The corner of his lip lifts at her reaction.

  “Tiffani,” he says, nodding at me. He turns on his Doc Marten sole and prowls away. Spencer and I stare after him. His dark blue washed jeans do him justice.

  She fans herself with her hand, the very one with the giant engagement ring. “You know him?”

  “Jeb went to school with us.”

  “I don’t remember him,” she replies, as if since she didn’t recognize him he didn’t go to Elkmont.

  “He moved here the end of freshmen year, stayed his sophomore year, and then went to prep school for his junior and senior year.

  “That’s a shame, that’s a real shame.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  She arches away from me. “What?”

  “Aren’t you a happily engaged woman?”

  Her face burns crimson. “Of course, Tiffani. Of course I am. A girl’s allowed to look isn’t she?”

  I have a feeling given the opportunity and enough alcohol, Spencer would do more than look. For reasons I can’t explain and certainly don’t understand, a pang of jealously runs through me.

  Chapter Six

  Jeb spreads his arms wide, as if pulling the audience into a giant embrace. “Goodnight Elkmont, and enjoy the rest of your evening!”

  We cheer. We beg. We plead for more, but he disappears beneath the shroud of darkness. Beyonce’ asks us to put a ring on it, and after a night of consumption, we are a fickle crowd. As long as there’s music, we’ll just keep dancing.

  A hand settles at the base of my back. The next thing I know, Jeb and I are facing each other on the sofas. I’m not sure why I didn’t fight him when he steered me away from my friends and classmates. I’m not sure if I should be sitting with him when my boyfriend is several hundred miles away, and I’m not sure I can blame excessive alcohol for my indecision.

  I spin Drew’s ring round and round my finger. It reminds me of the dangerous waters in which I tread. Jeb catches the movement. His light mood evaporates as his lips set in a hard, unforgiving line. “Are you engaged?”

  Self-conscious of my new borderline obsessive habit, I pull my hands apart from each other and smooth my dress instead. “No, no…, it’s just a promise ring from my boyfriend. He gave it to me a few days ago.”

  The stiffness in his shoulders disappears, and the corner of his lip lifts as he raises his eyebrow.

  “It’s silly I know.”

  “I don’t think it’s silly. I think it’s sweet. There are those who believe romance is dead. The gesture is very romantic, although…,” he pauses. He studies my face. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I want to scream, Spit it out, spit it out!!

  He raises his hand and shakes his head. “Forget it, it’s none of my business.”

  I lean toward him. “What?” Then self-conscious that I might be showing more cleavage than I intend too, I sit back again. “What were you going to say?”

  His eyes watch mine for what seems like several long minutes. My insides turn to jello. I force myself not to blink. “A promise ring is a wonderfully romantic gesture but giving it to your girlfriend days before her high school reunion seems a bit…” He lets his words hang in the space between us for one, two, three seconds. “Never mind, I shouldn’t say anything.”

  “A bit what Jeb? Tell me.”

  Christina Aguilera belts out “Beautiful” in the background. Drew wooed me with that song. He captured my heart when I didn’t think I had any left to give after Cody’s death. Yet here I sit with Jeb, dying to hear what he has to say.

  “A bit Neanderthalish. Like he’s staking his claim.” He sticks out his chest and bangs it with his fists, as he chants in a deep, low voice, “This girl mine. Stay away!”

  I think back to three days ago. Drew’s packing a suitcase for spring break. I’m in the kitchen washing dishes. He pulls my soap scum hand out of the sink and slips a ring on my finger. Astonished, I study the white gold with the small, square diamond unable to believe my eyes. He pulls me into his chest. “Someday, when I make it to the Show and we finally have money, you’re going to pick out an engagement ring, but until then, this is my promise to you and t
he world, we’re together forever.”

  Without another word spoken, we tore each other’s clothes off and had sex on the counter. A rare moment of spontaneity I couldn’t resist.

  His hidden agenda does seem a bit obvious now. We never even mentioned marriage before, and I accepted the ring, so happy to possess a token of his love that I never even considered the possibility that his motives weren’t pure.

  He reaches out to touch my knee again. His fingers linger this time. Thank god I remembered to shave. “Tiffani, are you alright?”

  “Huh? What? Oh yeah.” I catch myself spinning the ring and shove my hands under my hips instead.

  Jeb straightens himself and looks around. “So, where is the lucky man?”

  His feigned interest makes me laugh. If Drew was within a five mile radius, I certainly would not be sitting with Jeb. Again I wonder why I am.

  “Drew plays for Wellsboro’s minor league baseball team, the Lumber Riders. He’s down in Florida for a few weeks at spring training. He went to Elkmont though,” I pause to think about time frames, “but you probably never met him. He moved in the summer of our junior year, after…,” I gulp, still not ready to talk about Cody.

  He raises his hand. “Wait, weren’t you dating someone else…”

  “Cody,” we say at the same time. He leans back into the soft leather and clasps his hands behind his head. “Yeah, Cody. Nice guy. Haven’t seen him tonight though. You?”

  I chomp on my lower lip to hold back the tears. Even after all these years, the devastation of his drowning destroys me.

  “Oh my god Tiffani,” he says, reaching over to clasp my knee. “I forgot. Now, I’m the asshole.”

  His touch pulls me away from my memories and back to the present. “I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  I nod, forcing a smile.