The Billionaires

19. Juno

CHAPTER 19

JUNO

Holy saguaro.

Lucius was about to kiss me.

And I think I might have let him.

Fortunately, he stopped, and the idea must really repulse him now—at least that’s how I interpret his letting me go and staring under everyone’s feet so intently.

“I’ll be back,” he says and starts making his way toward the stage.

Huh?

He grabs a microphone and shouts, “Everyone, freeze! Do not move an inch. My ferret has escaped onto the dance floor, and if anyone steps on him, I will personally step on you with all of my lawyers.”

By saguaro’s spines. Everyone indeed freezes, the music stops, and many things happen at once.

“Did he say feral rat ?” my ex’s new wife shouts and jumps onto the nearest chair.

I’m pretty sure he said “ferret,” given that he owns ferrets and all. Regardless, at the word “rat,” some woman shrieks like a banshee on crack, and a middle-aged man hops onto a chair, which promptly topples over. More shrieks ensue, and dozens of women flip up their skirts, like floosies in a western saloon. Others climb onto their chairs, and a few particularly adroit socialites end up on tables. Everyone else remains frozen—either in shock or due to Lucius’s threat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a furry shadow as it dives under a nearby empty table.

“There!” I shout for Lucius, then run for the—hopefully—ferret.

When I get to the table, there’s no creature in sight, but I do see a piece of egg with ferret-sized bite marks in it.

So this is what happened to my caviar and egg appetizer. The ferret must’ve nabbed it.

Lucius hurries over. “Blackbeard!”

“He’s not here,” I yell back. He named his ferret Blackbeard? That’s like asking the poor creature to cause trouble. Though maybe he named the ferret after he got to know him.

I frantically look around. Everyone who’s not on a chair or a table is still frozen in place, looking under their feet in horror.

Then I see him. “Blackbeard is on the stage!”

Lucius must hear me because he sprints over there, just as I do the same.

Meanwhile, Blackbeard grabs the cable attached to the microphone with his teeth and gives it a tug.

The mic begins to tip over.

Oh, no.

What if it crushes the?—

Whew.

The metal rod misses the ferret by an inch and hits the ground with a deafening screech that makes everyone slap their palms over their ears.

Unlike the humans, Blackbeard looks more intrigued than scared. He scurries over to the microphone, and judging by the ensuing crunching sounds, tries to eat it.

I run up the staircase leading to the stage, and Lucius does the same on the other side.

This is it.

We have the critter cornered.

We leap for him.

Our bodies collide. Lucius’s hand lands on my boob, but the ferret escapes, clucking excitedly.

“Sorry,” Lucius says, stumbling back. “That was an accident, I swear.”

“No worries,” I lie. My nipple is distinctly peaked where he touched me, and my breathing is more than a little unsteady—and not just from the ferret chase. “Let’s get him.”

We track Blackbeard to the other end of the room, where he stops and looks up at the space shuttle.

His thoughts aren’t hard to read:

Argh! If I could get in there, I could be the first-ever space pirate. Aliens and Predators would shiver their timbers—whatever that means—and walk the space plank.

I move slowly, worried I’ll be noticed. As I pass by a nearby table, I grab a deviled egg.

Behind the ferret, Lucius is also creeping closer, but without any bait.

When I’m ten feet away, the ferret looks right at me with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Hey, little furball.” I drop the egg between us. “Come get this juicy booty.”

Pirates like booty, right?

Wait, why are people looking at my butt?

Whatever. The good news is that the bait idea works. Blackbeard scurries to the egg, glancing at me cautiously from time to time. What the poor ferret doesn’t realize is that I’m a distraction.

Just as he swallows the egg, Lucius grabs him from behind.

“Time to take this one home,” Lucius says, holding his little friend gently but firmly.

I follow the two of them to the limo.

Once we’re inside, Lucius asks, “Do you mind if I take him home first?”

“Of course not,” I say. “Can I hold him?”

Lucius gives Blackbeard a scratch that kind of makes me jealous. “Do you mind waiting until we get into the greenhouse? It’s ferret proof… or so I thought.”

My lips stretch into a smile. “How do you think he got out?”

Lucius lifts his shoulders. “I played with them before I left. So maybe he got into my jacket pocket?”

I touch the gorgeous necklace. “Did you have the Tiffany’s bag with you?”

He gives Blackbeard a respectful glance. “You’re right. He must’ve snuck inside that bag, then hid somewhere in this car.”

I chuckle. “That’s one nice thing about my cactus. He stays put.”

Lucius pets his ferret’s fur with a slight eyeroll. “Not as nice to the touch, though, your cactus.”

“But he can produce life-giving oxygen, so it’s a tradeoff.”

Lucius doesn’t look convinced, but thankfully, he changes the topic. “Do you want to keep playing the-get-to-know-you game?”

I sigh. “Sure. What was the next question on that genius list you dug up?”

Holding the ferret with one hand, he pulls out his phone with the other and gives it a brief glance. “Do you prefer party balloons or clowns?”

I wait for the punchline that never comes. Even the ferret is like, “How is that relevant?”

I blow out a breath. “Balloons, I guess. Clowns are scary.”

“They are now, but they weren’t throughout history—which they have a lot of. Even in Ancient Rome, they had stupidus —a type of clown. I bet it was John Wayne Gacy and Pennywise from It that made clowns scary. Maybe the Joker too.”

I consider it. “Nope. I didn’t like clowns as a kid—without exposure to any serial killers or fictional evil clowns. I think it was about their weird outfits and makeup.”

Lucius lifts Blackbeard to his face and rubs his stubbly-looking cheek against the ferret’s fur. “What did you want to ask me?”

I gape at him. Am I hallucinating, or is this the least asshole-y thing I’ve ever seen any man do? I mean, cuteness-wise, this is right up there with a dude cuddling a baby, and Lucius must do this regularly because Blackbeard seems to like it. The ferret closes his eyes in evident pleasure. If he were a cat, I bet he’d purr.

This is not what I would’ve expected from Lucius. At all.

I pull my scrambled brains together. “What’s your favorite movie?”

He scoffs. “How is this question better than the ones on the list you’ve been whining about?”

Ah, the dickish Lucius is back… or he never left. “I bet I could learn a lot about you from the answer.”

“Fine,” he says. “ Gladiator . What does that tell you?”

I grin. “That we have something in common. I love that movie. It also tells me that, like me, you think Russell Crowe is hot. Right?”

Was that a hint of a smile? “No,” Lucius says. “But he did give a great performance, and the film is the best of all the ones I’ve seen depicting Rome.”

Boom. A collection of his other answers flits through my brain, along with those stupid elevator buttons. “You’re really into Ancient Rome, huh?”

“And you’re really into cactuses. So what?”

I stick my tongue out—a gesture the ferret instantly parrots before taking it further by licking Lucius’s cheek. “Just shows you how much I’ve learned about you thanks to this one question.”

Lucius uses his shoulder to wipe ferret saliva from his face. “You win. I’ll be asking future dates about their favorite movie. Happy now?”

No. Not at all. I hate the idea of him on future dates… with other people, that is. “Why Rome?” I ask, eager to mask my irrational reaction.

He presses the ferret to his chest as if the little creature were a baby. “My mom took me there when she was into it. For her, it turned out to be yet another phase. For me, it stuck.”

There seems to be something unspoken here, especially considering that suggestion that his mom had a one-night stand with one of the Metallica members.

“Are you and your mom close?” I ask gently.

His lips grow tight. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?” is all I trust myself to reply with.

His steel-colored eyes turn hard. “She left me to travel the world when I was eight. Being a mother was just another phase for her. My grandmother raised me. But enough about me. Why do you like cacti so much?”

I get the feeling I’d better leave the issue of his mom alone. “Why wouldn’t I like cactuses?”

“Because you’d regret touching one?”

Some unkind words are on the tip of my tongue, but given what he’s just shared about his mother, I swallow them. “You’re wrong. Cactuses are awesome. They’re tough. They thrive where other plants wouldn’t even dare to grow. They have hidden depths to them. You may see a few inches of a cactus above ground, but its roots can be seven feet deep. Despite their spines, when the conditions are right, cactuses have the most beautiful blooms. And they?—”

The limo stops in front of tall, wrought-iron gates.

“Almost home,” Lucius says as the gates slide apart, giving me a glimpse of a sprawling mansion that looks like a modern art museum.

I whistle. “Did you steal the designs for the Getty Center?”

He tightens his hold on the suddenly-more-excited Blackbeard. “Both the Getty Center and the Getty Villa inspired my home.”

Makes sense. J. Paul Getty was a billionaire in the previous century, so why not use him as a role model?

The limo traverses the gorgeous courtyard until it stops next to a large domed building. “In there,” Lucius says as Elijah opens the door. “I think you’ll like the greenhouse.”

We exit, and as soon as we step through the door into said greenhouse, Blackbeard starts barking—and a chorus of barks echoes back.

In a blur of fur, two more ferrets arrive and start goofing around.

“Were you worried about Blackbeard?” Lucius asks them, gently setting the furry creature on the ground.

In reply, one ferret nibbles on Blackbeard’s butt, the other on Lucius’s shoe. Then the ferrets begin chasing each other merrily.

“That’s Caligula and Malfoy.” Lucius points to each ferret in turn. There’s a distinct note of fatherly pride in his voice.

“Great names. You’ve got a pirate, an insane tyrant, and a pure-blooded Slytherin.”

Also… should I mention that Draco Malfoy’s dad was named Lucius?

Nah. I’m sure he knows.

Lucius chuckles. “I’ve toyed with the idea of getting one more. If I do, I’ll call that one Fluffy.”

I grin. “And it will turn out to be the evilest one.”

Lucius’s eyes linger on my face. “Want to check out the rest of the greenhouse?”

I do, and he leads me though the giant space. Every corner has a litter box—presumably for the ferrets. Personally, I’m more intrigued by the veritable cornucopia of plant species, like kalanchoe, peperomia, snake and spider plants, moth orchid—the list goes on and on.

When we return to the entrance, Lucius says, “If you liked this, there’s something you have to see in the gardens outside.”

He has gardens too? I fight the urge to jump up and down. “Yes, please.”

He lets me go first, then closes the door carefully, making sure the ferrets stay behind.

I follow him through rows of yarrows, bearberries, and checkerblooms until we reach our destination.

It’s a cactus garden.

I gasp in awe.

Majestic golden barrel cactus. Magnificent prickly pear. Beautiful dollar cactus. And on and on.

“Look at you, handsome creatures,” I croon as I approach each one, forgetting for a second where I am.

Lucius falls into step next to me. “So you don’t just play Metallica to cacti? You converse with them as well?”

“Cactuses,” I say. “And yes, I do. Do you have a problem with that?”

He regards me seriously. “I think it’s cute.”

My stomach feels fluttery, like a cactus flower being pollinated by a hummingbird.

I dampen my dry lips. “Is this another inspiration from the Getty Center?”

He cocks his head. “How so?”

I blink at him. “You’ve never seen the cactus garden there? That’s the most beautiful spot in all of LA.” I turn to his cactuses. “Or the second most.”

He examines his cactuses as if for the first time. “I think I’ll hire the garden designer I used for my home to help with Novus Rome.”

I reluctantly drag my gaze away from the majestic beings that are his cactuses. “Novus Rome?”

His eyes widen. “I haven’t told you about Novus Rome?”

“Nope.”

“Come, let me give you a tour, and I’ll explain.”

So he does, and as far as I can understand, Novus Rome will be a futuristic smart city built and run exactly to Lucius’s meticulous specifications. He doesn’t explain why he wants this, but I figure it’s because it’s the ultimate power trip. I’ve always suspected that once you’re rich enough, you start wanting to play God.

During the explanation, I also get to see Lucius’s so-called home—a ridiculous display of wealth made out of concrete and glass. Each room is labeled with a Latin inscription, which Lucius translates as the Sun Room, the Atrium, and so on. Unsurprisingly, there are many Gallery Rooms dedicated to all things Rome. They remind me of wings in a natural history museum. Slightly more interesting is the Metallica Room, where Lucius displays paraphernalia that belonged to the band, most of it signed. Whenever I ask, it turns out the item in question was bought at some auction for a truly obscene price.

He stops talking when we reach a tall set of doors, with a word etched into one that my brain perceives as “Cumbilubecube.” Lucius reads it as Cubiculum , which doesn’t make that much more sense, but whatever.

“Where will you build Novus Rome?” I ask. “On a deserted island?”

He stops and faces me. “On a peninsula. You might have heard of the place. It’s called Florida.”

I snort. “Oranges and sunshine?”

“That’s the one. I’m buying an epic plot of land not far from Gainesville.”

“Jinx! I just applied to the University of Florida, which is in Gainesville.”

He smiles faintly. “Double jinx then—I’m flying over there tomorrow.”

“You are?” I find it hard to keep the jealousy out of my voice.

His eyes glimmer. “Why don’t you join me?”

I blink at him. “Join you on a work trip?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a plane ticket, for starters.”

He waves that away. “We’d be flying on my jet.”

Of course he has a private jet. It comes standard with this mansion.

“I don’t want to intrude.” It’s hard to sound like I mean it because I absolutely, totally would love to fly on a private jet to check out the UF campus.

“You wouldn’t be intruding,” he says. “It would give us a chance to get to know each other better. I rarely do anything productive when I fly, so it would work out perfectly.”

“So… I’m to be your in-flight entertainment.” Crap. Did that sound dirty?

He looks at me with a strange expression. “Is that a yes?”

“Sure.” I clear my suddenly dry throat. “Let’s continue the tour?” I nod at the Cubiculum.

“I’m not sure if it’s proper for us to go in there,” he says with a frown. “That’s my bedroom.”

“By golly.” I clutch the diamond necklace theatrically. “And without a chaperone? Unthinkable.”

He grumbles something under his breath, then gestures at a room we haven’t visited yet. “How about we go to the Study?”

“Sure. What’s after that—the Wine Cellar? Or the Lounge? The Vault, maybe?”

“If you wish,” he says, his expression deadpan. “I’m not a huge wine connoisseur, so my cellar is pretty small.”

Yeah, right. Probably bigger than my whole apartment.

As we enter the Study, I realize it might be the most modest room in the whole place. I see a couch, a bookshelf, a pretty rug, and a pillar topped with a beautiful cameo-glass-embroidered vase—likely from Ancient Rome. It appears to be the only crazy-expensive thing in the room… unless all the books are first editions signed by the authors. Or the legs of the couch are made of diamonds. Or the rug is made of gold thread, then painted over.

I look around as I pointedly furrow my eyebrows. “Where is the room with the pool?”

He frowns. “You saw the pool.”

“No, the one filled with gold that you swim in. You know, like Scrooge McDuck?”

He steps toward me, eyes gleaming with either laughter or mischief. “Did you know that Caligula—the historical figure, not my ferret—used to do something like that? He’d put gold on the ground and wade through it, or walk over it with bare feet.” He glances at my feet as he says this, and if the idea is to channel that historical figure famous for an insatiable libido, he does it eerily well.

My breath quickening, I take a step back—and trip over the edge of the rug.

Crap!

I flail my arms, trying to grab onto something to break my fall. My hand smacks into the vase, sending it flying—but doing nothing to stop my butt from its inevitable collision with the floor.

Except it’s not so inevitable.

Right before my coccyx kisses the hard marble, powerful hands catch me, and I find myself looking into Lucius’s concerned face—even as a loud crash reaches my ears.

Oh, shit. The vase.

Judging by the sound, it’s in pieces.

“I’ve got you,” Lucius murmurs, relief evident in his voice.

“But not the vase,” I gasp, looping my arms around his strong neck. Speaking in his embrace is surprisingly difficult, especially since he’s still holding me in a semi-horizontal position, as if dipping me in tango.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says without a second of hesitation. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to set me upright and release me.

I moisten my lips. “But… was it expensive?”

His metallic eyes never leave mine, the gleam in them hypnotizing. “Priceless.”

Gulp. I’m not sure if it’s the fall or the guilt, but I feel kind of floaty. Am I on the verge of fainting?

“Are you okay?” he asks, no doubt because my body has slackened in his arms.

I stare at him as I try to think of an answer. On the one hand, his muscular arm cradling my back feels amazing. On the other, I feel terrible about the ancient artifact that I ruined—even if he doesn’t seem to care about that. Since I can’t trust myself not to babble, I reply with an abridged version—a breathy “I’m fine.”

He finally moves to stand me upright, and I become hyperaware of the trajectory of our lips. Specifically, the minor corrections I need to make to put them on a collision course. They’re only a few inches apart. Now three inches, two, one… liftoff.

By the space saguaro, NASA would be proud of me.

Like a shuttle docking with a space station, our lips lock. Heat rushes through me, like a solar flare, and our tongues dance, like a planet and its moon. If mouths could see, mine would be blissfully admiring stars, nebulas, and distant galaxies. Endorphins explode in my brain like supernovas, and I feel a dampness between my legs, like… err …something wet in space.

I arch against him, and something hard presses into my stomach.

His erection.

Oh, shit. What are we doing?

I let go of his neck, staggering back—and it’s a miracle I don’t end up on my ass after all. Or break another priceless something.

Panting, I touch my lips, staring at him. “I… I’m sorry.”

The edges of his cheekbones are painted with dark color, and his breathing seems equally uneven. Then, even as I watch, a hard mask drops in place over his features. “I kissed you ,” he says harshly. “Shouldn’t I be sorry?”

He did? I thought I kissed him. Whatever. Whoever started it, we sure went at it with an enthusiasm that breaks every rule we’ve agreed upon.

“I think I should go.” I look around stupidly—as though an exit from the mansion will magically materialize in this room.

“Understood.” He rings a bell hanging on the wall.

I blink as Elijah appears almost instantly. Apparently, opening limo doors is only one of his mythical butlery skills.

“Take Juno home,” Lucius says imperiously.

With a curt nod, Elijah gestures for me to proceed to the door.

I follow him, my steps zombie-like, and only when I reach the limo do I realize that I never said goodbye to Lucius.

He didn’t say it to me either, though in his defense (if it could be called a defense), he’s a rude bastard.

As the car starts moving, the enormity of what’s just happened slams into me, like a bull into an inexperienced matador.

Lucius and I kissed.

And I liked it.

More than liked it.

But he didn’t. Or did he? There was an erection…

But then why kick me out?

Did he kick me out?

Either way, what was I thinking? I clearly wasn’t. That’s what happens when you let ovaries take over for the brain. Is our deal off now? Have I messed up our arrangement?

The questions swarm my neurons all the way home and as I go through my evening routine, I come up with exactly zero answers.

It’s not until I’m falling asleep that one more question rises to the surface.

Am I still going to Florida tomorrow?