The Wicked Billionaire--A Billionaire SEAL Romance Read online

  At first she’d wondered whether the attraction for Griffin had been because Lucas was one of the Tate brothers, the adopted son of one of the country’s richest and most powerful oil billionaires, and somehow Griffin had been dazzled by that. Except Lucas never talked about his family or flashed money around or, in fact, gave any sign that he even had much of a personality to start with.

  Grace found him intensely uncomfortable to be around, not the least because not only was he cold, he was also the most physically perfect human being she’d ever met, a fact that her artist’s soul found absolutely fascinating.

  Then there was that other part of her, the free-spirited part, that always had the oddest urge to mess with him. Poke at him. He was like a frozen lake, all pristine white ice that she wanted to get on and skate across, cut great lines over, gouge holes in. Dig under to see what was underneath.

  Probably more ice.

  Yes, well, there was that. Though there had been times, once or twice, when she’d caught his silver-blue gaze on her and seen something else. Something that she thought might have been actual, honest to God emotion, though she couldn’t imagine what it was and when she’d looked again it had gone.

  Anyway, the last time she’d seen him had been at Griffin’s funeral, where he’d offered her the world’s stiffest sympathy speech before turning around and walking off before she’d been able to say a word.

  “Lucas?” She came to a slow stop on the sidewalk right in front of him, shock still coursing through her. “This is a surprise. What are you doing here?” And then, remembering that prickling sensation on the back of her neck, she narrowed her gaze. “Have you been following me?”

  He remained absolutely still, looking neither pleased nor particularly unhappy at seeing her, studying her with a detached kind of intensity, as if he were a scientist watching an experiment that he wasn’t particularly invested in yet was curious about the results of anyway.

  “How did you spot me?” His voice was as deep and cold as the arctic sea.

  It sent chills through her, made her feel like someone had slipped an ice cube down her back.

  Ugh, yes, now she remembered why she never liked it when he came round for dinner or joined Griffin for a beer sometimes on the weekends. That icy voice of his and his detached manner, coupled with the restlessness that seemed to grip her whenever he was near. A restlessness she could feel beginning to set in now.

  She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Grace shifted on her feet, folding her arms across her chest, trying to ignore the familiar urge to simply stand there and stare at him like a teenage girl in front of a poster of her favorite pop star. “It wasn’t hard. I looked out the window and there you were.” She let out a breath and asked again, “What are you doing here?”

  His heart-stoppingly beautiful features betrayed no emotion whatsoever, his jawline so perfect and sharp it was as if she might cut herself if she touched it. Not that she was going to touch it. He was like King Midas, except he didn’t turn things into gold, he froze them solid instead.

  “No one sees me if I don’t want them to.” He ignored her question completely, his gaze focusing on her like a laser beam. “How did you?”

  Grace folded her arms tighter, resenting his stillness and the weird effect he always had on her. It was probably the way that he loomed over her, even though she wasn’t standing all that close to him. She wasn’t used to having men tower over her, since she was a good five nine in her bare feet and six foot in heels. Maybe it was all that black leather he was wearing, the way it molded to his long, leanly muscled body, making him seem big and powerful and somehow dangerous.

  Ugh. She didn’t like dangerous.

  “Well, you can’t have been trying that hard, because it wasn’t very difficult,” she muttered. “Also, it’s not like there are a million guys hanging around in black leather watching me through the windows.” She frowned at him. “And you didn’t answer my question. You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t move and he didn’t say anything, that focused stare of his taking in every inch of her, from the top of her head to the soles of her Victorian-style lace-up black boots. It was so dispassionate, as if she were a map he was studying, or a set of instructions he was trying to decipher.

  It made her even more uncomfortable, which in turn made her even more annoyed.

  She’d never been pretty and she knew it, and she was fine with it. But being in the presence of such a beautiful man, with those uncanny silver-blue eyes studying her so intently, she was suddenly very aware of every single one of her physical failings. Her long nose and big jaw. Her squinty eyes and her long frizzy hair. All the things her father had constantly picked on and that she was self-conscious about.

  Yeah, she didn’t appreciate that little reminder, that’s for sure.

  “Can you answer the question, please?” she said more sharply than she intended to, flinging out a hand to emphasize her point. The collection of gold, silver, and beaded bracelets jingled on her wrist. “Have you been following me?”

  He didn’t answer her question. Or, at least, not immediately, his icy gaze continuing to take her in without any hurry.

  God, he was so still it made her feel like she needed to pace up and down, climb out of her skin, do something.

  “What makes you think I’m following you?” he asked after a moment.

  “Just a feeling.”

  His blond brows drew down. “A feeling?” He said the word like he had no idea what it meant and wasn’t interested in knowing either.

  But by this stage Grace had lost what little patience she had, and she’d never had much to start with. “It’s something to do with Griffin, isn’t it?” It had to be. Why else would his buddy be hanging around watching her?

  Despite the progress she’d made over the last six months, as soon as she said the name a small needle of grief caught underneath her ribs.

  Damn. Actually, she didn’t want it to be about Griffin, because the last thing she felt like doing was discussing her dead husband with this icy statue currently masquerading as a man. Especially not when what she should be doing was getting out and finding inspiration for her last piece, so she could meet her deadline for the exhibition she had scheduled in Craig’s gallery.

  It had taken her months of calling and badgering to finally get him to agree to let her show, and even though she knew it was only because of some vague connection to her grandparents, she didn’t care. It would be her very first exhibition, the realization of a dream.

  Not that she was expecting to sell a lot of paintings, because God knew making it as an artist in Manhattan was next to impossible. It was the exhibition itself that was important, to show her grandparents they were right to have faith in her, as well as give the big middle finger to the memory of her father, who hadn’t had any faith in her whatsoever.

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he knew exactly what the sound of her husband’s name had done to her. Yet when he spoke, his voice was the same, devoid of anything even remotely sympathetic. Devoid of anything but ice. “Yes. Of course it’s something to do with Griffin.”

  Great. Well, there went any hopes she had of not feeling crappy for at least one day.

  She let out a breath. “Okay, can it wait till—”

  “No,” he cut her off without a second’s hesitation. “It can’t wait. I need to talk to you now, Grace.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Yeah, it was official. Lucas really didn’t like Grace Riley.

  She stood in front of him with her arms crossed over her flat chest, surprisingly tall for a woman and willowy with it, her amber eyes narrowed.

  There was nothing about her that should have appealed to him, nothing at all. Yet that feeling that gripped him was the same one that gripped him whenever he’d visited Griffin and Grace happened to be there, the strange pull he had toward her.

  She was … golden. And red. And orange. And pink. Like a flame or a sunse
t, with those eyes of hers and that long apricot hair, and the gold dress she was wearing that he could see between the edges of her leather coat. Gold across her cheeks and nose too, in the dusting of freckles across her pale, milky skin.

  He didn’t understand the feeling that tugged at him and he sure as hell didn’t like the way she’d apparently spotted him so easily through the window of that art gallery. Targets did not see him if he didn’t want to be seen. Yet apparently she had, and he found that deeply disquieting.

  “What do you mean, you want to talk to me now?” Her voice too was oddly fascinating, all smoky and rough round the edges, and soft like worn velvet.

  He didn’t like that either and he definitely didn’t want to be having this conversation. But the choice had been taken out of his hands the moment she’d somehow seen him through the window.

  Of course he could have gotten on his bike and ridden away before she’d come out to confront him, but Lucas had never run away from anything in his life and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “Now as in immediately.” He glanced down the street, automatically checking for threats and finding nothing. “We need to go somewhere a little more private.”

  “Wait what?” She held out her hand yet again, her bracelets making a soft, silvery chiming sound as they moved on her narrow wrist. “I can’t go anywhere now. I’ve got a meeting with the—”

  “Now, Grace,” Lucas said icily, his tone final and precise as a blade. He had no time for arguments, not when a life was at stake.

  Her straight red-gold brows arrowed down in a scowl. “Excuse me?”

  Christ. It had been a while since he’d had to deal with civilians and now he remembered why he preferred being in the forces. With his team, no one had to be polite. Everyone shut up and did what they were ordered to do and there were no goddamn arguments.

  “Your life is in danger,” he clarified. “Which means I do not have time to stand around on the sidewalk answering your questions.”

  Grace blinked rapidly. Her mouth opened, then shut again. Then she uncrossed her arms, put her hands up, and pushed back the mass of her hair, raking her fingers through it.

  So soft …

  What the fuck? Why was he thinking about her hair?

  “My life is in danger?” Grace repeated blankly. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  Lucas dragged his gaze away from her hair and back to the street, scanning for a safer place to take her where they could talk that wasn’t right out in the open.

  A few doors down from the gallery he spotted what looked like a bar.

  Excellent. That would do.

  Grace was talking again, but he wasn’t listening. Instead he reached out and slid his fingers around her elbow, gripping her. “Come with me,” he said tersely before steering her in the direction of the bar.

  He’d obviously caught her by surprise, because she went with him without hesitation. For a second. Then she stopped dead and he felt resistance travel the entire length of her body. “Hey. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Yeah, he really wasn’t a fan of civilians.

  Keeping hold of an elbow so she didn’t take it into her head to run or do anything else ridiculous, he said, “There’s a bar down the street. We can go there and talk.”

  “But I don’t want to go anywhere and talk. I need to go back to the art gallery and—”

  Lucas ignored her, deciding to keep her moving, urging her subtly along with him. He kept up a surreptitious scan of their surroundings, noting vehicles and people hanging around, including the tops of the buildings, since most people didn’t bother looking up and being up high was a strategic place to hide if you were planning on taking someone out.

  “Lucas.” Grace tried to pull her elbow out of his grip. “Let me the hell go.”

  Okay, this situation was not developing at all like he’d hoped. First, she’d spotted him, which she should never have been able to do, and second, she’d come out and straight-up confronted him. And now if he wasn’t careful she was going to create a scene and draw attention, which he definitely did not want.

  Stopping short, he turned and met her irritated gaze, not loosening his grip one iota. “Right now, you are a target,” he said flatly. “And continuing to argue with me only makes you more of one.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I need to get us somewhere out of sight where I can tell you what’s going on, okay? There’s a bar just down the street and that’s where I’m headed, so how about you keep quiet and let me get you to safety.”

  There was definite heat in her eyes, a hot amber glow, and her mouth had flattened into a line. Clearly she was not happy with the situation.

  Well, that made two of them.

  Finally, proving she wasn’t entirely stupid, she said, “Okay, then. But this had better be good, because you’re creeping me out.”

  He didn’t answer, mainly because he didn’t want to waste any more time being out on the street, turning instead toward the bar and moving her along with him.

  You should let her go now.

  Yes, he probably should. Somewhat reluctantly, and he couldn’t figure out why he was reluctant when he shouldn’t have any feeling about it either way, he released her arm. She stepped away from him, her hand half reaching to rub at the place he’d touched, then falling away as if she’d only just noticed herself doing it. There was color in her cheeks, pink and pretty, and she didn’t look at him.

  Strange. Why was she blushing? Not that it was relevant to the mission. At all.

  Looking away from her, he kept his gaze ahead as they walked, continuing to scan the area for any potential threats. She kept pace with him, her long legs matching his stride easily. “So,” she murmured. “Are we going to—”

  “Not here. I’ll tell you in the bar.”

  “I would really like it if you didn’t interrupt me just once.” There was an annoyed edge in her smoky voice.

  “If you stopped talking I wouldn’t have to interrupt you.” He gave a guy across the street watching them from the doorway of a store a narrow glance.

  Could he be a lookout?

  “It’s rude, you know that, right?”

  The man looked away unhurriedly, which could have been a front, but Lucas didn’t think so. Not given the way he was now eyeing a woman in a tiny dress with a certain amount of appreciation.

  “I don’t care if it’s rude or not.” They were approaching the bar now and Lucas stopped, pulling open the door for her. “When a life is at stake, polite is the last thing on my list of things to be.”

  She gave him an irritated glance but said nothing as she stepped into the bar. He followed her, letting the door shut behind them.

  The bar was nothing special inside, paneled wooden walls, a few tables scattered around, and red vinyl bar stools pulled up to the bar itself. There was a TV in one corner playing a hockey game, with the usual number of drunk and loud patrons all sitting watching it.

  Lucas headed to the rear of the bar and chose a table that gave him a good view of the door. Pulling out a chair, he gestured to Grace to sit down. “We’re going to need to buy a drink. Do you want anything in particular?”

  “Scotch on the rocks.” Her gaze flickered. “Make it a double.”

  He wasn’t really interested in drinking, but the barman wasn’t going to let them sit there for nothing, so Lucas went to the bar and ordered the scotch, getting a beer for himself. Then he came back to the table and put the drinks down, taking the chair that had its back to the wall.

  Grace leaned her elbows on the table, her hair falling over one shoulder in a long silky curtain. “So what’s the deal? Why are you here and why on earth are you telling me that my life is in danger?”

  Lucas had a lot of patience. As he was a sniper, it was virtually his middle name. But now he found himself impatient at the pointlessness of the question. “I’m telling you that your life is in danger because it is,” he said coldly. “Do you serious
ly I think I’d spend three days following you around if it wasn’t?”

  Her eyes widened. “So you were following me?”

  There was no reason to deny it. “Yes, I was.”

  “But why?”

  “Did you miss that part where I said your life was in danger or were you simply not listening?”

  She scowled and reached for the tumbler full of scotch, taking a decent swallow before cradling it in her hands. “I think you’d better start from the beginning. Because yes, you’ve told me that twice, and yet I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Well, that suited him.

  “Before Griffin died, he was selling weapons to arms dealers,” Lucas said, seeing no need to beat about the bush. “In fact, when he died he was in the middle of an important deal. Money had exchanged hands, but Griffin hadn’t arranged the shipment. Now the arms dealers involved are pissed because they paid a lot of money for nothing and they don’t give a shit that Griffin’s dead. As far as they’re concerned, he’s got their money and they want it back.”

  Grace’s eyes had gotten very large. “Weapons?” she echoed faintly. “Arms dealers?”

  Lucas stared at her, a small needle of irritation sliding beneath his skin. People normally listened attentively to what he had to say and he did not like having to repeat himself. Sure, this would come as a shock to her, but all the more reason for her to listen.

  “Yes, weapons.” He let none of his own opinions about his erstwhile friend being a traitor show in his tone, and not because he didn’t have them. He just didn’t want to get into that now, not with his widow. “Griffin was paid a lot of money by a man called Cesare de Santis to put some high-tech weaponry onto the black market. De Santis used to own DS Corp, a weapons-manufacturing company with some big government contracts, but he lost control of the company last year so I assume he was trying to earn himself a little cash selling weapons on the side.”