Free The Billionaire's Desire (A Billionaire BWWM Steamy Romance) by Mia Caldwell Page B

the plan." I pause to look around the incredible bedroom, the
great expanse of wooden floor, gleaming and polished and warmed by the rays of
the morning sun that's only just risen over the horizon. The waves are lapping
their continuous melody outside of the opened windows and the air smells like
flowers and the sea.

 
    I hear
Carter somewhere in the vastness of his house. His words are muffled, but his
tone is angry and cold. I think back to the switch he made last night, the two
Carters. The coldly polite and distant one seems to have returned with a
vengeance.

 
    This is
what I need in order to be able to leave right now. I need to believe that
Carter is unstable, unsuitable, not the right man for me.

 
    The
only way I can walk away is if I can convince myself of that.

 

 
 
    Chapter Twenty

 
    Carter

 
 
 
    For the
second time in as many days, I am watching the helicopter take Sanniyah Jones
back to the mainland. Except this time I am not angry at myself. I am angry at her.

 
    I don't
want to be. I want to be civil, to be understanding. She got cold feet, sure,
these things happen. I realize my circumstances aren't exactly normal, and I
try to be accommodating of that fact. But my mind, the broken part of me that
tries to always build defenses around myself won't stop with the nagging,
intrusive thoughts. The conclusions my nightmare jumped to.

 
    She works for the tabloids.

 
    She had a secret camera.

 
    She's going right to them. She'll tell them
everything you told her because you were stupid enough to open your heart
again. When you know better, Carter. You know better.

 
    Fuck.

 
    I
resist the urge to shout obscenities, and instead I strip down to my boxers and
pull on a pair of running shorts. A punishing run in the sand will soothe the
paranoia, but there's not much I can do about the ache that has settled into my
heart.

 
    Because
I liked her. I fucking liked her a lot. I liked her body, and her laugh and her
brain. I liked her smile and her toes and the way she went from prim and proper
professional to wildcat in the bedroom. I liked the way she tasted and I liked
the way her moans sounded as she moved underneath me.

 
    I liked
her enough that I couldn't help but wonder if I might be ready to try being
normal again.

 
    And then she fucking left. Again.

 
    So much
for normalcy.

 
    Anger
wells up in me again the minute I step back into my bedroom. I am sweaty and
dripping, and in desperate need of a shower, but there's something that needs
to be done first.

 
    "Carter?"
Cammy sounds surprised to hear from me out of the blue on a Sunday morning. She
sounds like she has just woken up. "Everything okay?"

 
    "Yeah
everything's fine," I say in my big brother reflex, then pause.
"Actually, no, it's not."

 
    "Can
I help?"

 
    I sigh
when I hear Cammy's concern. My sweet baby sister, I can picture her expression
exactly. She is leaning over the edge of her bed, cupping the phone with both
hands, ready to jump through the lines if necessary to help me however she can.
I feel a rush of love fight with the annoyance. "Actually, yeah, you
can."

 
    "Name
it."

 
    "Fire
Sanniyah Jones as your wedding planner."

 
    Cammy
is silent for a long while. The longer she waits, the angrier I get. At Cammy
for hiring Sanniyah in the first place, at myself for sounding like a
vindictive asshole. And at Sanniyah for...well, I wasn't actually sure about
that. For leaving, I guess. For leaving when I really fucking wanted her to
stay. "Carter?" she finally says, her soft voice reproachful.
"Carter, what did you do?"

 
    "I
didn't do anything."

 
    I can
hear the ugly petulance in my voice, and so can Cammy. "Carter..."
she presses, sounding for all the world like our mother.

 
    I sigh.
"I might have really fucked up, Cam."

 
    She's
silent, waiting. My sister won't judge me. I'm doing enough of that myself.
"Sanniyah came over for dinner last night," I tell