Billionaire Bachelor (Bedding the Billionaire #4)

Chapter 1

ROSALIE

If Valentine’s Day were a man, I’d punch that bastard in the nuts faster than I’d swipe left on the guy whose job is listed as Health and Wellness Coach.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and suddenly I’m drowning in enough protein powder to outlast Armageddon.

You’d think I’d learn after the first fiasco, but apparently, my optimism knows no bounds—much like my talent for dating douchebags.

Case in point. Julian, my boyfriend of two years, got down on one knee last Valentine’s and promised me forever.

Too bad forever only lasted until he got caught banging the neighbor.

So instead of walking down the aisle today in a pretty white dress—gah, I want to puke just thinking about how cliché that is—I’m escaping to my family’s cabin in Tahoe.

Thank god I had the foresight to plan this trip so I could get the hell out of LA and its sea of red and pink everywhere I turned.

The reminders of my failed engagement were suffocating, and I couldn’t take it for another second.

Julian despises the cold, so spending what would’ve been our wedding day in a winter wonderland is sweet, sweet irony.

I’m actually looking forward to having three whole days of solitude, copious amounts of wine, and not a stupid cupid in sight.

As I drive south from the airport, the scenery gradually shifts from the urban sprawl of Reno to towering pines, and as the miles tick by, I can almost feel the weight lifting off my shoulders.

On the tail end of my journey, an incoming call rings through the vehicle’s Bluetooth connection.

I came here to get away from civilization, but I happily accept it when I see one of my favorite people’s names on the display.

Hitting the green phone button, I say, “Miss me already, huh?”

“Bitch, I’m too busy and sleep deprived to miss you,” Sylvie replies. “You’re lucky I’m even taking the time to grace you with this conversation.”

“Well, I’m honored you decided to be so magnanimous. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I glance at the clock. “It’s been less than twelve hours since we last spoke.”

Sylvie is technically my cousin, but we’re the same age and grew up together, so we’re more like sisters. We haven’t gone more than a few days without talking to each other our entire lives.

Don’t let the sarcasm fool you—it’s our love language.

“I know reception can be spotty at the cabin, so I wanted to check in one last time before you get there. I’m also driving back from my postpartum checkup—where I got the all-clear to screw Hudson’s brains out. Go me! And I had to tell you what happened this morning.”

“What?”

“Well…you know how I told you that whenever Olivia cries my boobs leak?”

One of my favorite things about Sylvie is she rarely censors herself. What you see is what you get, and oversharing is her jam. Since she recently pushed a human out of her vagina, she’s had all sorts of gross, yet incredibly amusing, stories.

“I believe the exact words you used were, ‘My giant milk jugs turn into Niagara freaking Falls,’” I deadpan.

“Yeah, that.” She laughs. “Anyway…since my vag has been out of commission, Hud’s been spending a lot of extra time playing with my boobs.

He’s kind of obsessed with them, really, since they’re enormous right now.

Not that I mind because I’ve learned nipple orgasms are not a myth, but that’s neither here nor there. ”

“Lucky bitch,” I tease.

“Maybe you’ll get to experience it for yourself one day if you ever date someone who isn’t a selfish prick.”

“Harsh,” I complain.

“But not untrue,” she insists.

She’s not wrong. I haven’t had the best luck with men.

“Was there a point to this story?”

“I’m getting to that,” Sylvie huffs. “Pay attention, Rosalie.

So, this morning, we were fooling around, and we were pressed for time because, you know, kids.

Well, Hud was really going to town sucking on my nipples, shooting for the aforementioned nipplegasm.

Anyway, right before I was about to get off—seriously, I was so freaking close—Olivia started wailing.

Since the monitor is right by our bed, my body thought it was baby breakfast time.

“Without warning, the dam broke, flooding Hudson’s mouth so fast, it flew down the wrong tube. He was coughing and gagging, and drooling, and his face was so red, I was legit concerned he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.”

I press my lips together, trying my best to contain my laughter.

“Rosa, are you listening to me?! I deep throated my husband with breastmilk!”

Aaaaand just like that, I lose it, laughing so hard I snort. Leave it to Sylvie to make me laugh on a day like this. Between a newborn and her young stepdaughter, she should be exhausted, but Syl always finds time to make me feel like less of a disaster.

“Wow. That’s quite the visual.”

“I know, right? I mean, a little leakage is totally normal when having sexy times with a nursing woman, but I never thought I could drown the poor man with my tits. I usually have some kind of warning before they go into full let-down mode, and even then, it’s never been that powerful before.”

“Speaking of your husband…how did he handle his near-death-by-boob experience?”

“That’s the best part!” she shouts. “As soon as he stopped gasping for air, he wiped up the saliva hanging from his chin, then it was as if it never happened! He was totally Mr. Cool-as-a-Cucumber-I-Totally-Didn’t-Almost-Die-Choking-On-Breastmilk.

He felt bad that I was robbed of an orgasm though, so he promised to make it up to me tonight. ”

“Man, he’s a keeper, that’s for sure.”

Sylvie’s sigh is audible over the phone line. “That he is.”

A grin stretches across my face, as I think about how happy my cousin has been since reconnecting with her soulmate.

They give me hope I might find that one day, too.

Our conversation has taken the edge off my moodiness, which I suspect may have been her intent.

Sylvie knows how much I’ve been dreading this day and exactly why I’ve chosen to become a recluse for the weekend.

“Anyway,” Sylvie says, “I’ll let you go. Remember, if you need to vent or anything, call me anytime, day or night. I mean it, Rosa.”

“Thanks, Syl. I love you. And tell Hudson he’s a trooper.”

“Will do. Love you, cuz. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Which leaves very few things off the table,” I tease, disconnecting the call after saying our goodbyes.

The last bend before I reach my destination reveals the vast expanse of Lake Tahoe, its mirror surface reflecting the morning sky, framed by white-capped pines and distant mountains.

The snow is falling steadily, leaving a fresh coat on the ground, making it even more breathtaking.

The snow crunches beneath my tires as I turn down the private road that leads to our cabin.

As I catch my first glimpse of the familiar log dwelling, I spot a bright blue BMW SUV parked on the slab off to the side of the front deck.

What the hell?

My parents and brother are the only other people who have access to this place, and I know for a fact all three of them are back in LA.

I didn’t tell my family I was coming here because I didn’t want their pity.

Not that I thought I had to—this cabin has been in my family for three generations, and they’re fiercely protective of it.

Renting it out is completely off the table.

We have a local management company that checks on the cabin once a month to make sure everything’s in order, but they usually handle that at the beginning of the month.

Still, someone is definitely inside. The thick smoke puffing out of the stone chimney leaves no doubt. My pulse kicks up as I pull in right beside the Beemer and shift my rental into park.

Who could be here? It’s gotta be the management company, right?

I grab my phone to call my brother, Ryan, to see if he knows anything, but the screen taunts me with SOS Only.

“Dammit,” I mutter, pulling the keys from the ignition.

I summon all the courage I can muster and step into the crisp air.

I decide to knock rather than use my keycode—I don’t want to startle whoever’s inside.

Plus, my odds of fleeing if there’s an axe murderer in there are much better if I stay outside.

I climb the front steps, hand raised to knock, when the door swings open, scaring the crap out of me.

“Stay back!” I shout. “I know karate!”

“Rosie?” The man’s voice is deep, rumbling, like maybe he just woke up.

It takes a moment for my brain to process, but when I notice who’s standing in the doorway, framed by the warm glow of the cabin, my heart drops to my feet.

The mystery guest is none other than Logan Edwards—my brother’s best friend and the star of every teenage fantasy I’ve ever had.

Okay, and maybe a few of my grownup fantasies, too.

It’s not like it’s my fault, though. The man is ridiculously attractive, all the damn time.

Even now, standing before me with his messy dark blond hair and annoyingly sharp hazel eyes, wearing simple jeans and a fisherman’s sweater that shouldn’t look good on anyone—but somehow, he makes it work.

And then you have the bare feet—strong and masculine, with clean lines and well-groomed nails—just casually gripping the hardwood floor, completely unaware they could make a fortune on OnlyFans.

My god, since when are feet so cliteriffic?

The man doesn’t even have an oddly long toe, for shit’s sake.

Only Logan Edwards could make feet sexy, I swear.

Of course, he had to be the one who witnessed my moment of supreme idiocy.

I know karate. Where did that even come from?

“Logan?” My voice waffles between shock and…something else I’d rather not name because acknowledging it feels way too dangerous, given the circumstances. “What are you doing here?”