The Billionaire's Touch (The Sinclairs Book 3) Read online

  The bitter-cold Maine winter wind blasted them both mercilessly as they exited the sleek aircraft, but Micah’s expression stayed grim, as though he was thinking too much to even feel the brutally frigid air. His dark-blond hair ruffled in the breeze, but he seemed totally oblivious to his surroundings. “Have I done everything I can?” he asked quietly, almost as though he were talking to himself rather than Evan.

  “You have,” Evan replied staunchly. There was no reason for Micah to feel otherwise. “Let’s get to the car. I’ll give you a lift to the Peninsula.”

  “Thanks,” Micah acknowledged gratefully, nodding at Evan like he was silently thanking him for his support, even though neither one of them would voice their emotions aloud. “My car is already at Jared’s place.”

  Evan watched as Micah jogged toward the Rolls, shaking his head as he thought about the mess Xander was in at the moment. Thank God those days of worrying about the sanity of a younger brother were over for him, and Jared had finally healed. But Evan couldn’t help but have sympathy pains for his eldest cousin. He’d been where Micah was now, and it had been pure hell just dealing with Jared’s alcohol binge. He couldn’t imagine adding drugs into the mix.

  “Welcome to Amesport, sir,” his gray-haired chauffeur told him in a monotone voice, a sound that always greeted Evan in nearly every city he visited. His driver was dressed just as he always was: a gray suit and tie, his silver hair seemingly immaculate even though the wind was blowing. He took Evan’s small suitcase and his laptop from his hands and put both in the front seat.

  “Stokes,” Evan acknowledged with a single nod as the old man opened the back door for him.

  Micah didn’t wait for Stokes to move around to the other side. He slid through the open door and scooted over on the backseat, making room for Evan. Stokes closed the door firmly after Evan had taken his seat, and the elderly man stoically took his place behind the wheel and put the vehicle in motion almost immediately.

  Evan silently approved of the way Stokes handled the expensive vehicle, even in blowing snow and poorly cleared roads. The chauffeur had been with Evan for years and knew exactly what his boss wanted. Evan always wanted to reach his destination with as little drama as possible. Usually, he’d be working in the backseat—like Micah had started doing as soon as he’d gotten settled in the car. Stokes got him safely from place to place, so he was generally unconcerned about traffic, the roads, or what was happening outside of the vehicle, but Evan knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work today.

  He was too worried about whether or not he’d see her.

  Why do I care? She’s really not worth the wasted time I spend thinking about her, or wondering why we can’t seem to be together without irritating each other. So what if we see each other at the party? We’re two grown adults. We can be civil for a short period of time.

  Not that he and Randi had ever accomplished being nice to each other in the past, but Evan vowed that he wouldn’t let her bait him this time. He wondered once again—he thought about the subject way too often—why he and Randi Tyler couldn’t seem to get along without throwing insults at each other. He never lost his temper to the point of bellowing, like some men did, but he’d come close with the she-devil he’d been forcefully paired with three awkward times. First it was Grady’s, and then Dante’s, and finally Jared’s wedding. Every experience had been a lesson in patience.

  She’d decided he was arrogant and bossy.

  He’d decided she was bitchy and impatient.

  Strangely, Randi didn’t seem impressed by his wealth or his status as a Sinclair. She’d started out treating him like a friend, teasing him like she did with her friends and all the other Sinclairs. That had made him uncomfortable, so he’d ignored her. In turn, she’d either snubbed him or insulted him every single time he saw her, after the first time.

  “She’s overly sensitive, unpredictable, and emotional,” Evan muttered under his breath, relieved when he saw that Micah was apparently answering emails on his phone and hadn’t heard him. Randi Tyler was everything he disliked in a woman, but for some reason he was still highly attracted to her. It was perplexing, confusing. He didn’t like her, but his cock certainly did. Her personality might annoy him, but there was never an encounter with her when he didn’t want to pin her to the wall and fuck her until he was completely sated. It was a situation he’d never experienced before, and he didn’t like it. He’d never had such a volatile reaction to a woman, and it wasn’t comfortable.

  I can just avoid her, not react to her taunts.

  The problem was, he never knew whether he was going to get the cold shoulder or if she’d decide to throw insults at him. Honestly, he preferred she did neither. He rather missed the way she had treated him that very first day . . . like a new friend. It had been . . . nice. But he hadn’t quite known what to make of her behavior then. He hadn’t been able to form the words fast enough to react to her friendly behavior. She’d taken his silence as disapproval—which it really wasn’t. Evan just hadn’t been certain how to respond to her, especially since she gave him an instant case of blue balls that never went away whenever he was near her.

  Sometimes I wish I could do everything with Randi all over again from the beginning. It would have been nice to have another friend. But nothing has even changed between us, and it’s a little too late to try to start over again. Besides, I’d still want to nail her. Having a friend you wanted to fuck could become a problem.

  The disagreeable female did have a killer smile. Too bad he’d never seen it directed his way again after their first meeting.

  Evan only had one real friend, a female he’d shared much more than he should with, but had never met in person.

  Have I passed her on the street in Amesport, or even talked to her?

  The woman he’d been corresponding with from Amesport, formerly known as A Concerned Resident of Amesport, still remained a mystery to him. He’d tried his best to figure out who she was, because his curiosity had finally overridden his agreement with her not to share identities. Now, he wished he’d never agreed to her suggestion to not reveal their real names. It had made sense at the time, at the beginning of their correspondence. He wanted to meet her now, though she still didn’t know that he was wealthy—or a Sinclair. She had always presumed he was an employee of the Sinclair Fund, and he’d never corrected her assumption. In fact, he’d lied, verifying to her that he was just an employee several times. He’d rationalized the falsehood by telling himself she didn’t want to know his identity, and by sharing what his position was in the company, he’d reveal who he really was. Part of him wanted to remain a mystery to her, just a man instead of a billionaire from one of the most prominent families in the world. But as they’d continued to correspond for over a year, his desires had slowly changed. He wasn’t sure how they’d communicate face-to-face, but he’d really like to find out.

  At one time, he’d wondered if the woman was his now sister-in-law, Mara. His mystery emailer had started signing her letters simply with the initial “M.”—and Mara had been in Dante’s wedding. However, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Mara was head-over-heels in love with Jared, and that she wasn’t his secret letter writer.

  Would I have fought my own brother for Mara if it was actually her?

  Evan shook his head slightly as he watched the town of Amesport pass him by on the way to the private peninsula where his house was located. Jared deserved to be happy, and Evan would never have stood between his brother and a woman who brought him that much happiness. Luckily, he’d felt nothing for Mara except a platonic fondness that he still had for her today. She was perfect for Jared, and Evan had pushed and tested his younger brother to the limit to make him see that he needed to snap up Mara before someone else did. If his tactics had been a little deceitful, it hadn’t mattered. His actions were a means to a happy ending for Jared.

  He released a pent-up breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Evan’s hand itched to chec
k his email on his cell, see if he had an email from his . . . friend.

  I won’t. I can’t. I don’t need to be checking email several times a day like I’m obsessed. She’s my friend, but that doesn’t mean I have to open that mailbox like a madman, pathetically hoping for a reply.

  Absently, he fingered the stone keychain some crazy elderly woman had sent him several months ago with a note attached, telling him he needed the stone to clear his blocked paths to happiness. He should have thrown the Apache-tear rock away. Apparently, according to the letter that accompanied the gift, she’d stocked up on this particular crystal since she’d decided that every one of the Sinclair men and their prospective mates needed one. He’d met . . . what was her name? “Beatrice,” he whispered gruffly, remembering the senior citizen he’d met at Dante’s—and then Jared’s—wedding. She seemed harmless enough, but she was definitely “touched” or suffering from some sort of dementia.

  For some unknown reason, he’d never gotten rid of the stone. In fact, he kept it on his person almost all of the time. Maybe it was the novelty of actually getting a gift from someone, or just the fantasy that the supposedly mystic woman had woven around the nature of the stone.

  I’ll find Beatrice in Amesport and give it back.

  It was the least he could do. Even he wasn’t hardhearted enough to offend a woman of advanced life experience by throwing away her gift. Maybe she could peddle it to someone else.

  Surprisingly, he realized they were already moving through the gate to the Peninsula and getting close to the long driveway leading to Jared’s home. The miles had sped by, but his mind was elsewhere.

  Damn! He’d meant to check out the progress Jared had made on restoring Mara’s old home and shop as he passed it by. It had been a mess after the fire that had almost taken Mara’s life. He’d looked forward to seeing it nearly restored, but had missed the chance by being lost in his own thoughts.

  Later. It’s not like I won’t see it while I’m in town.

  The former shop sat directly on Main Street.

  “We need to drop Micah off at Jared’s,” Evan told Stokes in a firm voice.

  “Yes, sir,” the chauffeur answered appropriately.

  Micah was dropped off quickly and efficiently, Stokes never missing a beat once he had instructions. Evan waited as they approached his home on the Peninsula, forcing himself not to look at his phone for messages. If there was one thing Evan had in excess, it was control. His life ran in a very orderly fashion, just the way he liked and needed it to be.

  The only two things that had even thrown him off-balance were his correspondence with the mysterious M.—and Randi Tyler. His pen-pal-type relationship with his mystery woman had been easier. He was drawn to her and her personality, but he had been able to remain anonymous, and he didn’t have the same visceral, gut-wrenching reaction to M. as he did to Randi. Maybe some of his desire to meet his email friend was curiosity, the need to find out if he’d feel the same reaction to her as he did to Randi if he met her in person. In some ways, it would really suck if he did. Then he’d want to nail two women who didn’t feel the same way he did.

  Once they arrived at his home on the Peninsula and he was settled in, Evan finally checked his email, because it was the appropriate time to do so. He seated himself in a recliner in the living room, his laptop on his long, stretched-out legs as he connected to the Internet.

  His heart raced just a little, and he felt the dampness of sweat on his forehead as the free email service took its damn time to appear. He might not have the visceral physical reaction to M. that he experienced with Randi, but he was always anxious to hear what she had to say. And then . . .

  Nothing!

  There were no new emails in the inbox.

  Is she okay? She usually answers right away. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s still mourning the loss of her foster mother and is really depressed? I should be there for her. She’s listened to me complain a thousand times.

  M. always listened to him as a person and not a boss, which was why he valued the relationship so much. It was unique to talk to someone like a normal person.

  Disappointed, but determined not to let an absence of any new emails bother him, he turned his attention to work just like he always did, trying desperately to lie to himself that it didn’t matter that she hadn’t yet responded.

  CHAPTER 2

  Dear M.,

  I can’t pretend that I understand your sense of loss regarding your foster mother, but I do understand your mixed emotions. I think it’s probably quite normal to want to see an end to her suffering, yet mourn your loss of her at the same time.

  It’s moments like these that make me wish we had never promised to remain strangers. I’d like to help, but I’m not certain I know exactly how. All I can do is send you virtual support and let you know that my thoughts are with you right now. You’re not alone.

  Sincerely,

  S.

  Randi sighed as she read the entry from her pen pal, feeling just a little bit better after reading his words. The email was short, but somehow comforting. Whatever S. said in his messages, she always sensed that he was sincere.

  Her foster mother, Joan Tyler, had passed away not long after the beginning of the new year from heart failure, and Randi knew she’d be mourning the loss of the last person on earth who would love her unconditionally for a very long time. Her foster father, Dennis, had died a few years ago, and Joan had never been the same after his death. Her heart problems had escalated, and she’d been declining since Dennis’s death. Sometimes Randi wondered if she’d actually finally died of grief rather than advanced age.

  Joan and Dennis had been in their early seventies when they’d brought Randi to Amesport, and both foster parents had lived a long, happy life—well into their eighties. Knowing that still didn’t lessen the pain of losing them for Randi, or make her wish any less that she’d had more time to spend with them.

  Nothing had prepared Randi for the deep emptiness she’d experienced since her loss. Dennis’s death had been heartbreaking; Joan’s had been unbearable. She wasn’t sure if the uncontrollable ache she felt every time she thought about her would ever go away.

  Looking at the note, she smiled sadly. Her correspondence with S. was more like a continual conversation. Their entries often weren’t long, and sometimes they wandered into subjects that weren’t really important, but that was part of the fun of having a secret friend.

  I still can’t believe that I’ve befriended a person who started off as such an asshole!

  Her buddy, formerly known as Unsympathetic in Boston, had been a jerk in the beginning, but what had started off as what she assumed was a practical joke soon turned into a conversation, and eventually mutual admiration. Randi felt a connection to the author of these emails that made her laugh and cry, and were sometimes so thoughtful—like his email in front of her—they made her melancholy.

  She shared mostly thoughts and emotions, something that was easier when she could be anonymous. She suspected he’d felt the same way in the beginning. Lately, he’d been hinting at the possibility of the two of them meeting in person.

  “Do I ever really want to meet him? Do I ever want to reveal my identity to him?” she whispered to herself as she stared at the screen in the Center.

  Yes.

  No.

  Oh hell, she didn’t know. She’d shared more with S. than she’d ever shared with anyone about her true thoughts and emotions. They never shared details. About the only few facts he knew about her were that she was in her late twenties and that she had been fostered by a loving, elderly couple when she was fourteen, a life-changing event that had brought her from California to Maine.

  The only information she knew about him was that he was male, worked for the Sinclair Fund, was entering his midthirties, wasn’t married, and seemed to be around a computer when he probably should be out dating. He’d captured her interest when he’d simply replied to her snide return email, complimenting
her intelligence and humor, telling her she’d made him laugh, like it was a very rare occurrence for him. She assumed it was something he didn’t do often.

  He’s listened to me through my grief, trying to understand my pain and fix it. Somehow, he always seems to know I feel alone now.

  Dennis and Joan had brought her into their home fourteen years ago, and she’d felt the sense of actually being “home” for the first time in her life. She’d only left Maine for college, returning home with her teaching degree. The Tylers had been so proud of her, so encouraging. They’d never been able to have children of their own, and they didn’t have close family. They weren’t rich, but they’d been happy together for almost sixty years. Randi hoped she’d find a love like theirs someday. “Everything I am, I owe to them,” she said softly as she clicked the “Reply” button on her friend’s thoughtful email.

  Dear S.,

  Sorry it’s been a few days since your email and I haven’t answered. I’ve finally tackled the task of going through my foster mom’s things. She wouldn’t want them to be wasted. I’ve donated as much as I can, and kept the things that are sentimental. Everything feels more final now, and I still feel alone in my parents’ empty house. But thank you for your kind words. I don’t feel as conflicted anymore. I’m glad the suffering is over, though the loneliness remains. I try to just focus on my job, and appreciate my friends. I think it will just take time.

  Speaking of parents, are yours still alive? We’ve never spoken much about family.

  Hoping you’re staying warm in this incredibly cold winter!

  M.

  Randi sent the email, hoping she hadn’t crossed the invisible line that she and her pen pal had drawn by asking for personal details. She’d shared her situation with her foster parents willingly, though she’d left out the particulars. They shared thoughts and feelings, but never details.

  He had recently said he sometimes wished they could meet face-to-face. Sometimes Randi wanted that, too, and more often than not she wanted to know more about the man who had been her confidant through some very difficult times.