Betting the Billionaire Read online

  The door didn’t budge.

  God, he was an arrogant asshole. He should have stayed in the damn car and waited out the storm.

  “Too little, too late numb nuts,” he said, the words escaping from between his chattering teeth.

  In an act of impotent frustration, he wrapped his stiff fingers around the metal bar used to open the door and banged it back and forth, hoping the lock would give.

  It didn’t.

  But a light snapped on.

  A person emerged from a back room and strode toward the door. Man? Woman? Alien? He couldn’t tell by the outline since he, she, or it was backlit, but he didn’t care as long as they opened the damn door. Relief thawed out some of the ice in his veins. The person flipped on the light in the shop’s lobby.

  A woman.

  Tall.

  Curvy.

  Black.

  Giant afro.

  Crowbar in hand.

  She stopped three feet from the door and eyed him warily.

  “Please,” he shouted against the glass. “Let me in.”

  Ten very long seconds later, the door opened, and he stumbled inside, warmly welcomed by the auto shop’s heater, if not the woman wearing grease-covered coveralls.

  Keeping a tight grip on the crowbar, Keisha gave the man a once over. Wet, a wool cap pulled low, a beard covering the bottom half of his face, and covered in snow, he looked more like Jack Frost than the kind of moron who went for a walk in a blizzard. So much for spending the evening elbow deep in grease while she brought her baby, a 1955 Ford Thunderbird, back to life.

  There would be hell to pay if the abominable snowman dripping all over the lobby floor turned out to be a burglar. The guy was tall, at least half a foot bigger than her five-feet six-inches—not counting her hair—broad shouldered, and shivering as much as a Southern Belle in a bikini at the North Pole.

  If he was up to no good, he picked a shitty night to try to rob the auto shop. The owner, Hud, had taken the cash and receipts to the bank hours ago.

  “Th-th-thank you for letting me in.” Even through his cold stutter, there was no missing that he was an out-of-towner.

  Big city accent. Perfectly groomed beard and mustache, both of which matched his chocolate-brown wool cap. Ruined shoes that had probably cost more than her monthly rent. The brightest aquamarine eyes she’d ever seen, so brilliant that they almost glowed against his dark olive complexion. Even with his skin tinted blue, he presented a package that would have girls sighing all over the county.

  Yeah, if he was local, she would have found an excuse to meet him a long time before he showed up half frozen in the middle of what passed for a blizzard in Virginia. Still, who went for a walk during a snow storm? “What were you doing out there on a night like this?”

  “My c-c-car broke down.” He crossed his arms and rubbed his palms up and down his biceps.

  The man tried to cover it, but she could see his teeth chattering, and if the tip of his nose got any more red, she’d have to call him Rudolph. Her gut hitched, but her granny would smack her with a wooden spoon if Keisha failed to offer some Southern hospitality to someone so obviously in need.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of your clothes.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  Heat steamed up from her toes. My, her foot sure was tasty tonight.

  “I’ll grab some mechanic’s coveralls for you before you make more of a mess on the floor. Hud’s gonna kill me as it is for even letting you in to his shop.” She took a few steps down the hall toward the garage, spurred on by the embarrassment burning her cheeks. “You can change in the—“

  The lights flickered.

  Keisha’s pulse skyrocketed.

  The florescent bulbs in the ceiling buzzed and came back on in full force.

  Thank God. Being stuck in the dark in the middle of a snow storm with a stranger while she hyperventilated was not her idea of a good time.

  “You can change in the break room, and I can take you up to my apartment above the shop afterward for something warm to eat. The break room is right over—“

  Darkness engulfed the auto shop.

  It wasn’t so black she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, but the man was a blob of an outline lit only by the red haze of the emergency lighting. Sucking in a deep breath, she swallowed past the panic that dark or confined spaces always ignited. She tightened her grip on the crowbar until the metal bit into her palm. “Please tell me you’re not a serial killer.”

  “If I did, would you believe me?” His voice sounded closer in the dim light.

  Keisha yanked the crowbar up, holding it like a baseball bat. She may have been a soft touch for the little match boy and let him inside, but she was not going down like that.

  “I’m kidding.” He stepped back, and it looked like he raised his hands, palms forward. “Shit, sorry, I have the weirdest sense of humor. I’m an asshole.”

  She eyeballed him as best she could. Her dad might tease her about being too trusting, but nothing about the stranger set off her I’m-about-to-die-and-have-my-murder-made-into-a-Lifetime-movie alarm bells. “What’s your name?”

  “Gabe. Gabe Campos.”

  Shock loosened her grip, and she almost dropped the crowbar. “What is this, some kind of setup? What the fuck are you doing here?”

  He took a step back, keeping his hands up like she was about to mug him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh really?” Even though she couldn’t see him, she could practically taste the lie in the darkness. He’d probably just rolled around in the snow after stepping out of a stretch limo to make it look good when he banged on the door. “You just happened to get stuck in the storm. You just happened to decide to take your chances walking on the road when anyone with half a lick of sense knows to shelter in place? You just happened to seek refuge from the storm at Fix ‘Er Up?”

  He stopped under an emergency light on the wall. The red glow was enough to see the soft, cautious smile he wore like a shield. It was the kind of smile people used with territorial dogs and overly tired children so they wouldn’t go totally berserk. “Um…yeah.”

  “I should throw you back out on your ass.” The nerves pulled taut throughout her body screamed for her to do just that. This time, he’d crossed the line.

  “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but—“

  “I know exactly who you are. You’re the asshole trying to put my father out of business.”

  The defensive smile slid from his face, replaced by wide eyes and a slack jaw. “Keisha Jacobs? You look different than the crappy picture on the company website.”

  So did he. The tabloid picture hadn’t done him justice—even in the dim lighting and his new beard.

  “If it’s not a setup, what are you doing in Salvation?”

  “Right now?” He grinned. “Freezing my ass off.”

  Damn it, no matter her threats to do so, there was no way she’d make him go back out there. She’d been raised with better home training than that. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “There’s a break room over there.” She pointed to a closed door on the other side of the lobby. “I’ll get you dry coveralls to change into.”

  “Hey, Keisha, thanks for letting me in.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable. I still might change my mind. Let me give you a flashlight.” As familiar with Fix ‘Er Up as she was with her own interior design business or her father’s manufacturing facility, she strode over to the counter and opened the bottom drawer. She pulled out two large flashlights and handed one to Gabe.

  The flashlights didn’t banish all of the shop’s gloom, but the narrow beam of light sure slowed her heartbeat down to a steady beat. “I’ll meet you in the break room.”

  He gave her a small salute and walked in the opposite direction from the main garage where she was headed.

  It took a couple of minutes to find a clean pair of gray coveralls that looked like they’d f
it, but she’d finally located some in the supply room. Just in case, she grabbed the First Aid Kit and one of the towels Hud used to protect a car’s interior if he was working inside the vehicle. Better to be safe than sorry.

  Taking a quick glance at her reflection in the Thunderbird’s shiny bumper, she pinched her cheeks and puffed her ‘fro. Not that she cared what she looked like. It was habit. Really. Ignoring the twinge in her conscience, she hurried back into the lobby and strode to the closed break room door. She tapped her knuckles three quick times against the wood and turned the doorknob.

  “I think this will—“ The rest of the sentence died on her lips.

  Gabe stood in the middle of the break room with his shirt off and his jeans unbuttoned. With his fly halfway down, the denim clung for dear life to his hips. The flashlight threw shadows across his bare, muscular chest, but there was no missing his well-defined abs or the brown happy trail drawing her gaze farther down than she had a right to look. But look she did, because he was damn fine, and it had been a long, long time since she’d seen something so yummy. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she gave up any pretense of being a normal human being who’d had sex in the past six months.

  “Thanks.” He held out his hand. When she didn’t move, he grinned. “Or I can stay like this. I’m feeling a lot warmer now.”

  Chapter Three

  Dressed in scratchy gray coveralls, Gabe tried to get the lay of the land from what his flashlight’s weak beam illuminated. All he could see were flashes of off-white wall, laminate flooring, and old hunting magazines on a worn coffee table. “So, you live here?”

  Keisha didn’t bother to slow her pace as she led the way through the dim auto shop. “Not everyone in the world lives in a penthouse, you know.”

  He didn’t need the light to imagine the dirty look she was probably giving him. Fuck. Why did he always say the wrong thing around her? It happened on the phone, too. He just couldn’t stop himself. So much for being Mr. Smooth. If the tabloids could see him now, they’d be eating this shit up.

  “That’s not how I meant it. It just…” He struggled for the right words. “…seems a little odd for you to live above an auto body shop.”

  She jerked to a stop and whirled around, her hand planted on her round hip, and shot him a glare, made even more intimidating by the way the narrow light from her flashlight played off her high cheekbones. “Why? Because I’m a girl?”

  Damn. He had sisters. He knew what that look meant. He gulped.

  “That’s not—“

  “What you meant.” She snorted. “Of course not, because that would be totally sexist bullshit.”

  He opened his mouth but clamped it shut before he could say anything else that would get him in even more shit.

  Keisha quirked one eyebrow, the look on her face daring him to say something. Anything.

  Fuck, the whole badass chic vibe she threw was hot.

  What is wrong with you, Campos? She’s just another girl. You’ve charmed the pants off more of those than you can count.

  Gabe took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up from where they’d slipped down his nose. “Can we start over?”

  “Why?” She jutted her hip out, accentuating her generous, hourglass curves.

  He almost swallowed his tongue.

  “Because I have a serious medical condition.” Gabe shook his head ruefully. “It’s called foot-in-mouth disease. I’ve donated half my fortune to finding a cure, but until the scientists do, I will continue to say stupid things when it’s really the last thing in the world I want to do.”

  She arched one eyebrow and pursed her cherry-stained lips. “Does that line ever actually work?”

  “I’ll let you know in a minute.” He held his breath, waiting on the outcome, trying to ignore the little voice telling him he cared too much about her next words.

  Keisha shook her head, and her afro did a shimmy wave, echoing the movement. “You’re crazy.”

  Relief whooshed through him. “That’s what they told me when I wanted to invest in Tesla, but after I got to drive an early test model, I couldn’t not sink some money into it.”

  “You got to drive a Tesla? I heard it performs like a dream.” Her voice vibrated with excitement, and she took a step closer.

  Shit. A car girl. Of course, it was the one thing he knew jack shit about. He racked his brain for something to say. “It was pretty cool taking it around the track. It has this crazy thing where the car is speeding around the raceway, but it’s totally silent. It’ll be the electric car that will really get American drivers on the gas-free road.” Oh yeah, that sounded like something a semi-intelligent fifth grader would mumble.

  She flipped around and started up a set of stairs. “You know a lot about cars?”

  Fuck, no.

  “Only enough to know where the key goes in the ignition.” Following behind her on the narrow staircase, he couldn’t help but admire the view illuminated by his single-bulb flashlight. Some parts of his anatomy were definitely defrosting faster than others. “But I know a good thing when I see it.”

  Her footsteps paused.

  His stomach sank. “So I take it you like cars?” The words rushed out of his mouth before she could lock him back out in the cold.

  “What gave it away? The fact that I live above a garage or the grease on my overalls?”

  Damn, the woman did not give an inch. He liked that almost as much as how her loose-fitting coveralls gave the barest outline of her high, round ass with each step she took up the stairs. “My brilliant powers of deduction?”

  “Uh-huh.” She halted and opened a door at the top of the small landing. “Come on in. Welcome to the Fix ‘Er Up penthouse.”

  He stood in the doorway as her flashlight beam traveled around the room, shining on brightly colored knickknacks and pillows before landing on a brick hearth.

  “We’re lucky this building was a house before Hud’s family bought it and converted it into an auto shop, otherwise we’d be stuck shivering in the break room.”

  He followed her voice until they were both within the combined glow of their flashlights. A small stack of logs formed a pyramid inside the fireplace. They both grabbed for the pile of newspapers at the same time, each ending up with one end of the front page. The light played off her mocha-colored skin, making it seem like it shimmered. She looked up, and he nearly fell into the depths of her big brown eyes. The sense of excitement that crawled up his spine whenever he was about to close a big deal hit him with full force.

  The unexpectedness of it all coldcocked him.

  “Sorry,” he croaked and released the paper as if it were on fire.

  The newspaper fluttered to the floor between them. Keisha’s expressive eyes darkened, and she gulped.

  “No worries.” All the brass in her tone had softened into a breathy half sigh.

  Expectation hung in the air between them.

  In the chill of her tiny, dark apartment it seemed as if all the months of back and forth on the phone had been building up to this moment. She parted her full, red lips slightly, and her teeth grazed the juicy bottom lip. The need to kiss her barreled through him like a living, breathing thing. The reaction surprised him so much he dropped his flashlight.

  The plastic tube banged against her floor and rolled until it thunked against something hard and came to rest a few feet away. Keisha blinked and straightened before setting her flashlight on the hearth. “Here, you make the kindling. I’ll grab some candles.” She hustled out of their circle of light.

  And that fast, he was sitting alone in the dark wondering for the first time in years what it would be like to kiss a girl. Not about a no-strings fuck between friends. Not about a blow job in the limo. Not about a quickie after a night at the clubs.

  Just what it would be like to kiss her.

  The logs in the hearth crackled as the blaze grew, casting waving shadows across Keisha’s tiny living-slash-dining room. The apartment above the garage wa
sn’t spacious or modern, but it had a big brick fireplace that threw out enough heat to keep the cold at bay. Not that Keisha needed any help in that department with Gabe nearby.

  The man had her running hotter than an engine without oil. If she didn’t watch it, pretty soon she’d combust. Standing in the kitchen doorway, holding two steaming drinks, she barely felt the heat on her palms.

  Gabe sat in front of the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. The firelight highlighted the warm brown of his hair and reflected off his glasses, blocking her from seeing the brilliant blue of his eyes. Her stomach flip-flopped. He’d almost kissed her earlier, she was sure of it. And she’d wanted him to.

  Badly.

  Anticipation and trepidation at the thought of standing next to him again went skipping through her, leaving her body confused and wanting. He was an arrogant, cocky billionaire too used to getting his way and the last person who should get her this hot and bothered. Still, her brain knowing that and her body accepting it were two very different things.

  Oh God, what if Ellen was right? Had she been spending too much time with muscle cars instead of muscled men?

  Fact was she couldn’t unsee his hard abs. Some things stuck with a girl and made her remember that battery operated boyfriends were good…but not the same.

  Get your big girl panties on, K. You can make it through an evening of chit-chat with a hot, rich dude without embarrassing yourself.

  Pep talk had, she raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. “I made you a hot toddy.” As she walked out of the kitchen into the living room, steam wafted up from the mason jar filled three-fourths full of warm, amber liquid.

  A deep V formed in the middle of his forehead. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  She crossed over to him and sat down on the opposite side of the four-feet-wide area rug. “Don’t worry, my granny taught me to mellow out the bourbon with ginger ale and a lemon slice.”

  “How can I say no to your granny?” The grin that curled his lips managed to be both sweetly charming and panty-melting at the same time. The man was a one-thousand-horse-power, V-8, twin turbo engine of trouble.