Claimed By The Billionaire Husband

"Wow," Dominic said.

I could have said the same thing about him. He was dressed so effortlessly, in a white linen shirt casually rolled up at the sleeves and faded jeans. He was barefoot.

I stepped out of the elevator and into what was apparently his living room. "Wow, good, or wow bad?"

"Wow, good, of course. Wow stunning. Now I feel underdressed. I can change into something more formal if you'd like. Maybe I should at least put on shoes."

I laughed. "No. That's okay. I felt like dressing up."

"I'm glad you did."

"Oh, here." I dug in my purse and found his watch. It was a Patek Philippe and probably worth more than I owed in small business loans. Taking his hand in mine, I slipped the platinum watch over his wide hand and buckled it around his wrist.

"Thank you. I've never done that before, left a watch behind." His eyes studied my face as I made sure the watch was snug.

"You were distracted."

"I was. I still am." He pushed out a breath and rubbed a hand over his short hair. I could have sworn he was nervous.

"Let me show you around." He slipped an arm around my waist and steered me into the sleek condo.

He kept his hand on the small of my back as he led me through his house. Each room was sparse, with modern accents in shades of cream and blonde wood. It was a bit too sterile and calculated for my taste-I loved colors, coziness, and found objects. He'd never like my house. Christ. What was I thinking, planning? This was a one-night stand. A man like him would never want me as a long-term partner.

"And the bedroom," he said, opening a door to reveal an all-white room with near-black wood accents. One wall was lined floor-to-ceiling with books, which was impressive. He hadn't been bullshitting about being a reader, like so many guys did.

"Are those windows behind the curtains?" I asked, pointing to the heavy, white drapes lining two walls.

He nodded and walked in, pausing at the nightstand and flashing me an intense stare. "Come."

Wow, this was only a hookup. Maybe he didn't even intend to have dinner. My smile faded. Sex was all he wanted. Sure, it was what I assumed I'd wanted, too. Now, I was a tangle of double standards and mixed emotions as I made my way toward the bed. Why did I care so much about what he wanted?

The blood whooshed in my ears as I eyed the large platform bed, covered in a simple white duvet. He touched a button on a remote, and the curtains on both walls parted to reveal a bank of glass and a sliding door on one end. I pressed my hand to my chest when I saw the view. "Oh! My goodness."

"Here," he said, sliding open one side of the glass. I stepped outside, and a warm wind caressed my skin. I stared, open-mouthed, at the miles of twinkling lights that stretched before us in the darkness. It was as if all of Florida was below, the entire flat state at our feet.

"The balcony wraps all the way around the condo. I thought we'd eat outside, it's so warm out."

I mumbled in agreement, still stunned by the view. "There's the big Ferris wheel," I said, pointing at the Orlando Eye and leaning onto the balcony rail. "So Disney must be west..." I searched in the distance.

"There." He stood behind me and pointed, his body pressed against mine. I leaned back into the hard wall of his chest and shivered from the heat emanating from him. He rested one big hand on the balcony railing next to mine, and with his other hand, swept my hair away from my neck. A pleasurable shudder traveled through my body.

"Look. What do you see?" His murmur was like a kiss, one I desperately craved.

"Um, I see lights and darkness and..." The feel of his lips along the outer edge of my ear short-circuited my thoughts.

His hand went to my chin, and he tilted it a few inches to the right. I was shocked by how he'd just taken charge of my body and my thoughts, with a single motion.

"There." His hand slowly caressed my neck. Every inch of my skin sparkled like the lights that carpeted our view.

I gasped when I saw the magical bursts of blue, red, and green in the air. "The fireworks! You can see Disney's nightly fireworks show from here."

I realized I sounded unnatural-at least for me. A little breathless and giddy. Because I was.

It was after Dominic sat me at the balcony table, poured wine, and served a delicious bowl of fresh pasta with tomatoes, capers, and mozzarella that I finally relaxed a little. The condo, the view, him-it was overwhelming. Almost too luxurious, way more than I was used to. And despite his obvious wealth, he didn't seem arrogant or oblivious to his privilege. Or if he was, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it.

He seemed more interested in talking about me, asking questions about my life and my work. I tried to keep the conversation light and didn't tell him about my underemployed father who worked as a theme park janitor, my uncle who went to prison for dealing drugs, or how I was the first in my family to go to college. My mother died of heart disease. She hadn't gotten proper treatment because she lacked insurance. How, as a teenager, I was forced to learn to love retro fashion because it was cheaper to assemble a cool wardrobe from Goodwill than shop for new clothes at Walmart.

Was I ashamed of my background? Or angry because of it? Maybe a little. Maybe around people like Dominic. These weren't noble traits, and I was working to overcome them. My attitude toward rich people was complicated, and I didn't feel like unpacking it over a dinner conversation.

Not on his balcony while the candles flickered and Miles Davis songs played softly in the background. Not as he fed me little bites of pasta, and not while he laughed when I told him stories about the quirky customers at the bookstore. I didn't reveal the store's problems because I only wanted to exude pure, positive energy.

For one night, this night, I wanted to be the glamorous, sultry woman holding her own with a worldly, gorgeous man on a penthouse condo terrace. Tonight I wanted a fairytale. Tomorrow, when I unlocked the door to my shop, I'd have plenty of opportunities to wallow in the complexities and struggles of real life.

"Dominic, why are you staring?" I teased. He'd leaned back in his chair and smiled, watching me drink wine.

"I thought your eyes were my favorite thing about you until I heard you laugh, really laugh. Your laugh turns me on."

"Stop. I sound like a dolphin."

"You do not sound like a dolphin. You sound sexy. I can't quite describe it. It's breathy. Did you know you make little noises when you laugh? Little mmms and ohhhs in between the giggles?" He reached out and playfully tugged a lock of my hair.

This, of course, made me laugh more.

I discovered a lot about him, too, the superficial stuff that you learn on a first date. He went to an exclusive private high school in New England, then the University of Florida on a soccer scholarship. How his parents were retired and living in southwest Florida on an island. In addition to his sister, he also had a younger brother who was close to my age. All three worked in the family business, and Dominic was in charge of the entire company. He said he often spent twelve or more hours at the office each day.

"But you must do something other than work. What do you do for fun?"

"Hold that thought." He rose from the table and squeezed my arm as he slipped past my chair. After a few moments, he returned carrying two small bowls.

"I'm not all that interesting, Isabella. I work too much. I push papers around and lobby politicians to get permission to build things. I'm really focused on a couple of big projects now-one in São Paulo that I told you about and another in Miami. Everything else, I let my brother and sister handle. I'm so consumed with these two buildings that I don't know what's going on anywhere else in the world. That night at Story Brothel, then the coloring night at your bookstore, were the first times I'd been out in months. It felt good."

Dominic set a bowl down in front of me. "Dessert, as I promised. It's strawberry basil sorbet."

"Now you're really going out of your way to impress me. First, the delicious pasta, and now sorbet? You made sorbet?"

He laughed. "I confess. No. I didn't. It's from Whole Foods."

I let out a mock sigh. "Okay. Whew. I was thinking you were perfect there for a minute." He smiled, tight-lipped.

"Seriously. I'm shocked you're single. Why aren't you taken?" I dug into my dessert.

"I was," he said softly.

The cold mouthful of sorbet melted on my tongue, and I swallowed hard. "You...were?"

"I was married for ten years. My wife died of cancer when we were both thirty-three. Seven years ago."

I stared at him, my mouth open and the spoon in mid-air. "Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." I rested my spoon on the table and wiped my mouth with a napkin. God, I could be an idiot sometimes. That was why he wasn't taken. He was pining after his dead wife.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, and then he smiled. It looked like a sad smirk, and I wondered if I'd ruined the night.

"I haven't been in a real relationship since she died. I occasionally take women out, have fun, but nothing serious."

Nothing serious. Just as I figured. I took the last bite of my sorbet, which had been tart and sweet and sparkled from the unusual taste of basil. Now it tasted muted and flat.

"And you?" he asked, his sad look replaced with a curious one. "I'm surprised you're not married."

I shook my head. "I had a boyfriend for a long time in my twenties, but I felt like I was too young to get married. We eventually broke up when I was twenty-eight. Since then, I've had casual relationships. Nothing serious, as you say. I'm not sure I'm wife material."

Now wasn't the time to tell him about how I'd fallen hard and quick for a secretive man who'd led me to believe he was single. Who really had lived at a Residence Inn during the week and claimed to visit his dying mother every weekend. Whose wife had called me one sweltering summer day and told me that she had two little kids and that her husband was a pathological liar and that I could have him if I really wanted. I'd considered it, briefly, because that's how much I liked him. Then I said no thanks and changed my number.

"Then we sound perfectly suited for each other," he said, resting his hand on my knee.

As I guessed. One night. It's all good, I told myself.

We finished our wine in near-silence, smiling at each other, making little remarks about the unusually warm Florida winter weather. He told me that the building-Blu-was one of his.

I giggled.

"What?" he asked.

"Why did you name it Blu, without the E? That's-"

"Stupid?" he offered.

I nodded, then burst out laughing.

"It was my brother's idea. I handle projects in South Florida and Latin America. He does the rest. And I was on the losing end of a bet."

"What did you bet?"

"Colin went to FSU. He's a 'Nole. I'm a Gator, of course. We had a bet on the game a couple of years ago, and whoever won got to name the next building."

I grinned. Football wasn't my thing, but seeing the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughed and talked about the bet was charming. I could tell that he loved his brother a lot.

"What were you going to name it had you won?"

"O."

"O?"

"Yeah, O. As in Orange. Or Osceola. Orlando. Good Florida names."

"I like that better than Blu. A lot better than Blu. O is a good letter."

A wicked smile spread across his face. "O is an excellent letter. And speaking of letters and words, why don't you read to me?"

"Out here? It's kinda dark."

He stood. "No, let's go into the living room."

I followed him inside, and he pointed to a sofa. "Get comfortable. I'll refill our wine."