Page 8 of Billionaire's Runaway

“Best omelet ever,” I said after a couple bites of my food, which was admittedly more farmer scramble than farmer omelet-shaped eggs. It tasted awesome, and my ravenous belly agreed.

Luke grinned and raised a brow while he chewed a bite of toast.

Once we’d gotten to the building on Park Avenue, he’d ushered me up to his top-floor penthouse then shown me around. It was three floors, plus a private terrace overhead. There were four bedrooms, including the primary, and he’d put me in the one closest to his. I was grateful he hadn’t tried something dumb like dropping my bags in his room, but no, Luke was a gentleman. The spacious floorplan was beautifully appointed in steel and glass, with plush chairs and couches in the living room. Overall, though, everything but his bedroom, which I’d only seen on a glance, seemed utterly unlived in. It even smelled brand new.

“Have you been here long?” I asked before I took another bite of my omelet. We were eating at the marble-topped table in the kitchen that was all matching white marble and starkly white wood. A huge window behind him showing miles of city lights, while the planked-wood floor gleamed beneath our chairs.

“No. I bought it a little over four months ago. My company procured the place to renovate after the previous owner found it legally judicious to move to a non-extradition country. I liked the floor plan and wanted to move into Manhattan, rather than commute from Tarrytown, so I purchased it.”

I didn’t say anything, but he probably saw the wheels going in my head.

“I made the decision the day after we met atBradford’s,” he continued. “We might have had a few minutes together in a club, but it was enough to spur me into making changes.”

I looked around. “It seems…almost like you don’t live here.”

“I haven’t been here a lot. I plan to be much more, though. It was still under renovation when I purchased it, then when I could move in, I had to hire a decorator to do everything. I’ve only been in residence since the end of December.” He followed my gaze around the bare room and grimaced. “It is a little bland—”

“The whole place is nice,” I said quickly. No need to hurt his feelings, even if every bit of the décor in the three-floor penthouse was white, cream, sterling andlifeless.

“Laura, it’s boring. I get that. You can do whatever you want with it. Consider it your canvas.”

I raised an eyebrow, excitement bubbling inside me at the prospect of getting my hands on this place. “You know I studied design in college, right?”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“Do you know what my family’s business is?”

I shook my head slowly, trying to recall if Emerson had ever told me. “Something, something…big buildings?”

His warm, rich laugh spilled over me again. “We’re one of the leading construction firms in the whole of New York City and the surrounding areas. We cover all aspects of developmentprojects from architecture to building to final interior design, including security systems, landscaping and environmental remediation when necessary.”

“I… Really?” Suddenly, I was pretty sure I’d heard ofCassel Construction. I’d seen some of their signs while we’d traveled through the city tonight.

“Really. So, anything you want to do to make everything homier, you can have at it.”

I looked around the kitchen again, this time, letting ideas bombard me. Since Luke was letting me stay here with him, I could definitely do something less generic in all the rooms and make this penthouse into an actual home.

And if it became a space I wanted to live in forever… Well, I’d deal with that later. In my opinion, it wasn’t the walls that made a home anyway; it was the people. And the current resident was already burrowing deep down into my soul.

Four

Luke

I lay awake listening to Laura tossing and turning in the room one floor down from me. I’d never realized how sound could carry in this place. I’d never had company here, so this was the first time I’d noticed how rustling could carry through the open space, especially if we left doors open and I flipped on the monitoring system. Yeah, I’d done that. Because I wanted to be sure she was okay. At least, that’s what I told myself.

After a few minutes, the rustling stopped, but my heart clenched when I heard a sniff, followed by a muted sob.

“That’s it,” I muttered, getting out of bed and walking into the hallway to take the curved staircase downstairs. I was halfway down when I remembered I only wore my black silk pajama pants, but screw it. I couldn’t leave her in misery.

I stood in front of her door for a full minute, before finally reaching out and knocking. “Laura, can I come in?”

“Yes,” she answered softly.

I pushed open the partly closed door to see her sitting up on the bed, the blankets piled around her, her back against the headboard and her arms around her knees. I strode into the room and sat next to her on the edge of the mattress.

“Baby, are you okay?”

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