Enticing You (How to Marry a Billionaire #1)

Episode 36

EPISODE 36

SEBASTIAN AND HEATHER'S DATE, PART ONE

Sebastian

I re-read Heather’s bio before embarking on our date. She’s a master stylist and owns her own salon in Pasadena. She enjoys swimming and surfing, and her eventual goal is to move to Hollywood and become a hair stylist to the stars. She loves animals and volunteers at her local zoo on Sundays.

Plus, though it’s not in her bio, she and a friend followed me on tour around Europe some years ago…

All I need to know.

I dress in jeans, flip-flops, and a sandy-brown button-down shirt, throw my hair back in a band, and grab the acoustic guitar I purchased for the trip. No woman can resist a serenade.

I didn’t bring my favorite guitar to the island. I never travel with it because I can’t take the chance of something happening to it. It’s at my home in LA, where it occupies a place of honor. It’s the one I plucked out tunes on all those years ago in Montana. I serenaded many a girl, but my fondest memories of that time are hanging with the guys, playing and singing. Sometimes Jake would join in. He had a great voice. Brett was tone deaf, and River and Alex sounded like the nasal twins. But Jake… He could’ve been something.

I wipe the thought of Jake from my mind. I want to have a good time tonight. I haven’t spent a lot of time with Heather yet, and this is my chance to see if any sparks fly between us. She’s a gorgeous woman with blue-tipped black hair, a hot body, and a sexy-as-hell viper tattoo on her shoulder.

I’ve arranged for a light dinner served on the beach, but before that, I’ll play and sing for her a little. Get her juices flowing.

She meets me on the large deck outside the kitchen of the mansion.

“Hey, there you are.” She stands.

She’s dressed casually too, in a denim mini skirt, flip-flops, and—God love her—a black Sebastian Tate tank top that hugs her curves.

I gaze at my image—or rather, her tits—and smile. “Nice touch.”

“I got this at your concert in Paris. It’s old and faded but I love it. I couldn’t not bring it here when I knew I was going to meet you.”

“I’m glad you did. You look amazing.”

“Thanks. So do you.” She eyes the guitar. “You going to play?”

“I thought it’d be nice.”

“Are you kidding?” She flashes a sexy grin. “I’d love it.”

“We’re having dinner on the beach, but first I thought I’d play for you. I’m working on some new tunes, and I’d love your input.”

“Seriously? I’d be honored.”

With my guitar in my right hand, I hold out my left arm to Heather. She takes it, and we walk through the courtyard toward the beach.

“June said amazing things about you,” Heather says as we walk.

Right. June, her sparkly pussy, and the spanking orgasm. “Are you and June tight?”

“Tight? Not besties or anything. I’ve been hanging with her more than the others, but we’re not in competition for you if that’s what you mean.”

“Nope. Not what I mean.”

Not what I mean at all. If Heather and June are tight, maybe June mentioned what she found out about Misty. Now…how to bring that up…

I’ll think on it.

We reach the small table that the staff set up for us. Our dinner will begin in half an hour. For now, a bottle of chilled Cava waits for us. I set my guitar down on one of the chairs, pop the cork, and pour two flutes, handing one to Heather.

“Thank you.” She smiles and clinks her flute to mine. “To the best damned rock star in the world!”

“Thank you. And to the most beautiful hair stylist I’ve ever met.” I take a sip.

Her cheeks blush adorably as she takes a sip and then sets her flute down. “I can’t wait to hear some of your new stuff.”

“No time like the present.” I pick up my guitar and strum a few chords. “I’m working on a new ballad.”

“I love your slower stuff,” she gushes. “I mean, you rock and all, but your ballads are so dreamy and romantic. My favorite is ‘If I Fell for You Again.’”

“Well then, I think that earns you a private performance.” I pluck out the melody and then switch to chords and begin.

In the glow of the twilight, the breeze is your voice,

Whispers of past moments,

Did we make the wrong choice?

The fierce love between us never truly died,

Those memories still haunt me, no matter how I try to hide.

She closes her eyes, swaying softly in her chair, as I immerse myself in the music and lyrics I wrote so long ago.

When I finish the song, she opens her eyes.

“You enrapture me,” she says.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Tell me. Was there a special someone in your mind when you wrote that song?’

I’ve been asked that question hundreds of times, but the truth is, there wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking in terms of true love. I was thinking about the haunting memories of my time in Montana with my four best friends. I could never write about those times—though I have, in my head.

But I can write about the feelings, how I’m haunted, and in “If I Fell for You Again” I tell the story of two lost lovers, but I share the feelings of my own past. The last line says it all.

If we could rewrite the story, without the goodbye.

“Surely you’ve read the interviews I’ve done over the years,” I say.

“I have, and you always say no.”

“Do you think I was lying?”

She looks toward the ocean. “No. I’d never think that. But the song is so beautiful, so soulful. You had to be feeling something for a special person.”

I was. But it was a friend, not a woman.

“A poet doesn’t always have to have a specific muse,” I say, echoing the words I’ve said to so many journalists over the years. “What’s important is the feeling it evokes in the artist and the listener.”

She sighs. “It evokes all the feels in me.” She turns back to face me. “So what’s the new stuff you’re working on?”

I begin strumming again. “I don’t have the lyrics yet, but let me play you a few bars.”

She closes her eyes again. Interesting. Rather than watching me, she lets the music enter her mind without distraction. When I’m done, she opens her eyes.

“Another beautiful melody.”

“You have a sincere appreciation for music.”

She nods. “I do. I wish I had some talent. I adore music, especially rock, and you, Sebastian Tate, rock better than anyone.”

I lay the guitar on the extra chair at our table when I see our server arriving with our appetizer.

“Good evening, Ms. Hill, Mr. Tate.”

“Good evening, Bart,” I say. “What delicacy do you have for us?”

“Ahi tuna tartare with soy sauce, sesame oil, and a touch of wasabi, with avocado and radish sprouts on the side.” He sets a small plate in front of Heather and then in front of me. “Enjoy. Your dinner will be out in about fifteen minutes. Would either of you like something else to drink?”

“I’d love a good oaky Sonoma Chardonnay,” Heather says.

“And I’ll have a bourbon. Whatever Mr. Maxwell is drinking. Unless it’s the Pappy’s.”

“He’s drinking Angel’s Envy this evening.”

“Perfect.”

Heather takes another drink of the Cava. “I’ve had steak tartare, but never tuna tartare.”

“It’s not a lot different than the sushi we had on the boat,” I say. “If you liked that, you’ll love this.”

She takes a bite. “Mmm. It’s almost…creamy.”

“Try it with the Cava. It’s awesome.” I take a sip of bubbly.

She takes another bite, washing it down with the Cava. “Oh, yeah. Fabulous.”

I flash her a smile. “How are you liking the event so far?”

“Loving it. Thank you for having me. I’m still worried about Rachel, though.”

“We all are, but the doctors have assured us she’s fine.”

“June’s freaked too.” Heather shakes her head. “It’s all so surreal.”

“But you two are holding up okay?” I ask.

“We are. I think it’s good that we kept the dates tonight. It gets our minds off it. But June wasn’t chosen for a date.”

“True. Would you feel better if we went back to check on her?”

Heather twists her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I don’t want to ruin this evening for us.”

I grab my phone from my back pocket.

Heather squeals. “You’re breaking the rules!”

“Honey, I made the rules.” I grin. “I keep it on me because I’m expecting some updates from my agent. I can call the house and check on June.”

She sighs. “No. It’s okay. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’m sure she is.” I shove the phone back in my pocket. I’m actually waiting to hear from Shelley, but nothing yet.

“So, Heather”—I gaze into her eyes—“tell me what you want to happen tonight.”

She grabs my hand. “You know what? I changed my mind. June told me some stuff—some… unusual stuff—and I want to make sure she’s okay.”