Chapter Two
Madison
" Y ou're going to spend your life in prison, Madison Laurent," I mutter to myself, pacing in restless circles around the small bedroom in Jack Whitlock's pool house. I shouldn't even be here, especially since I'm almost certain he's actually home tonight. But I don't have anywhere else to go, either.
Risking prison for a place to sleep? Seems kinda worth it, honestly. Especially since everyone in town thinks I'm dead.
Until three days ago, I hadn't set foot in Silver Spoon Falls since the day I turned eighteen. I disappeared that day, determined to keep myself alive and out of my father's hands.
My plan worked. I've been gone for almost seven years to the day, and no one has come looking. They just assumed I died somewhere and left it alone. As far as they know, I'm a freaking ghost.
Surprise. Not dead.
I am highly annoyed, though.
This is the last place I want to be right now. But there's no way I'm going to let my father have me declared dead just so he can get his hands on the fortune my mother left me and the company that's rightfully mine. He may have been running in since she died, but it's my company. If coming back to haunt him means ruining his cushy little life, so be it.
I just need to stay out of his hands until my birthday…which means I need to stay hidden until then.
Hiding out in a hot billionaire's pool house probably wasn't my best plan ever, but from what I know of Jack Whitlock—and trust me, I know a lot about the man—he's never home. My father used to say he was married to his job and practically lived at his office. Turns out, my father is evil…but he was also right.
I've been living out here for three days and Jack hasn't been home once. Until tonight.
"Maybe I should suck it up, go knock on his door, and tell him that I'm out here."
"He already knows."
"Christ on a cracker!" I scream, spinning around so fast I crash into the wall. An oar mounted as décor wobbles overhead before whipping sideways. I hit the floor on my hands and knees, narrowly avoiding being cracked against the skull with it.
"This town is seriously trying to kill me," I groan, my hands and knees stinging from the sudden drop.
"Shit!" Jack falls to his knees beside me, reaching out for me. "Are you okay? Let me see your head."
My gaze flies to his.
Startling blue eyes lock with mine.
"I…" I swallow a whimper, staring at him helplessly. I know words. Can't think of any right now, but I definitely know them.
I was just a kid the last time I saw Jack Whitlock, and he was…Lord, he was beautiful even then. He hasn't changed much. Hell, I think he's grown more beautiful.
Messy dark hair sweeps over his forehead, ending just above his brows. His face is a study in perfection—every sharp angle and razor-sharp line stunning. His body is rock solid, definitely not the body of a billionaire married to his job. But Jack has never been a normal man. He's always seemed a little bit larger than life to me.
He certainly looks larger than life looming over me like he is right now. I'm not a small girl by any means, but I feel downright tiny next to him.
And he's looking at me— really looking at me.
The intense urge to bite his bottom lip rages through me.
I whimper despite myself.
"Fuck," he rumbles, confusion sweeping through his expression, followed by something fierce. His hand comes up as if in a trance, tilting my head back. "I know you."
I avert my gaze, my stomach fluttering like crazy.
If Jack Whitlock knows me, it's not because he remembers the awkward, chubby girl with a massive crush I was the last time we were in a room together. I was seventeen. He was in his late twenties. I wasn't on his radar when we weren't even in the same stratosphere.
No, if he knows me, it's because…
"Madison Laurent," he says, satisfaction thrumming in his deep voice. "The missing heiress."
That's how he knows me. It's the only way anyone in this town knows me—as the poor little rich girl who mysteriously disappeared. Except…there is no mystery here, not really.
My father was planning to kill me to get my money and company, so I ran to save my own life. Mystery officially solved.
I pull away from him.
"Baby, let me see your head."
His soft command sends a jolt through my system, shocking me back into the here and now…where my hands and knees sting and I'm staring at the man I crushed on for years. One who doesn't know he's been housing me for the last few days.
In no reality is this good.
"My head is fine. My freaking heart is in danger of exploding though." I shoot him a look rife with annoyance. "You couldn't have announced yourself to spare me the heart attack?"
"I thought you were a fucking ghost."
"Ironic."
"Why?"
"Because everyone else thinks I'm a ghost too."
"Huh. Maybe you are concussed. Let me check you over, baby." His strong hands wrap around my waist, gently hauling me off the floor and onto his lap. He tilts my head this way and that, meticulously looking me over before grunting as if satisfied.
"Told you my head was fine." I keep my hands curled into fists to hide my scraped palms.
"Why are you hiding out in my pool house?"
"I don't have anywhere to go."
His brows furrow. "Your dad lives half a mile from here."
"I can't go there."
"Why not?"
I bite my bottom lip, refusing to talk.
"So you're going to be stubborn, huh?" he asks, amusement filtering through his gorgeous eyes.
"Yes."
"Well, I've got bad news for you. You just met the most stubborn motherfucker you'll ever meet, and I want to know why you can't go home. So you can either tell me what you don't want me to know all by yourself, or I can tie you to that bed right there and you can tell me when the sheriff gets here to arrest you." He pauses. "In the morning."
"You are not tying me to that bed, Jack Whitlock." I squirm, trying to get off his lap, but he just hauls me closer, his arms a freaking prison around me. They're…honestly kind of nice, actually. Not that I'll be telling him that anytime soon.
The last thing I need this man to know is just how many years I spent obsessing over him. He'd probably be horrified. And I'd definitely end up in handcuffs.
"You sure? Could be fun." He grins at me, a devilish, unrepentant smirk that has my stomach doing flips. Good Lord. He's way too handsome for his own good.
And I'm sure every woman in town probably still thinks the same thing. They certainly did seven years ago. Everyone wanted a piece of Jack though he never gave them the time of day. I doubt that's changed much.
And that is not the kind of attention I need right now.
"I came back to haunt my father, not move back in with him," I mutter, giving in gracelessly. "I need to stay invisible until my birthday."
"You turn twenty-five on February 3 rd , right?"
I blink wide eyes at him, startled that he knows how old I am, let alone my birthday.
"Your picture is posted on fliers all over town." He notices my expression and shrugs. "Has been for years. Everyone probably knows your details by now."
Somehow, I doubt that. Most people in this town aren't certified geniuses. In fact, I only know of one other genius in this town. Weird how they're both super-hot. Maybe there is something in the water around here like everyone claims.
"Why do you want to haunt Gerald?"
"That's my business."
Jack glances at the room around us. "Funny because I could have sworn this pool house belonged to me."
"I didn't think you'd be home."
He chuckles, shaking his head. "You know damn well that doesn't sound any better, Madison. Breaking and entering is breaking and entering."
"It doesn't sound better because it is better. If you had been home, it'd be a whole different crime. Home invasion is way worse on the bad crimes scale, don't you think?"
He eyes me levelly, clearly not buying my very convincing argument. "You've been squatting in my pool house. How long?"
"Three days."
"You've been squatting here for three days. Your business is officially my fucking business. Start talking."
"Um, no thanks." I squirm again, trying to get free, but he just arches a brow. I scowl at him. "You know this is kidnapping, right?"
"What is?"
"You. This." I motion between us, accidentally smacking him in the chest in the process. "You can't just hold me against my will."
"Uh, this isn't kidnapping. That requires moving you from one point to another. I simply picked you up from the floor to check on you, which doesn't meet the legal definition. And holding you?" He chuckles, the deep sound vibrating through me. "You broke into my pool house. You've been sleeping in my bed. I have a right to hold you."
" Against my will ." The distinction seems important with the way he's looking at me. Or maybe it seems important with the way I feel about the way he's looking at me. I don't know. But he isn't looking at me like a man pissed I broke into his pool house. He's looking at me like one who wants to toss me on that bed and have his way with me.
Judging by the diamond-like hardness of my nipples…well, parts of me are not entirely averse to the idea.
Of course my body picks today of all days to betray me. Quite rude and inconsiderate, honestly.
I absolutely, undoubtedly, am not crushing on Jack Whitlock. Again.
"Yeah, that."
"My father was plotting to have me killed to get his hands on my mom's money after she died," I blurt. "I ran away so he couldn't. And for the record, you aren't the most stubborn man I'll ever meet because I already met you. You can't meet someone for the first time twice. Science hasn't gotten that science-y yet."
"There is so much to unpack there. Science-y ?" His eyes narrow to slits, a growl rumbling in his chest. "Your dad was plotting to kill you?"
Oh, I don't think he likes that very much. That's kind of sweet. Especially since I didn't like it very much either. Still don't, actually. But I've had seven years to come to terms with the fact that my father is a monster of Hyde-like proportions.
"Hold the fuck on. You remember me?"
"Yes. We met at one of your company's parties right after my mom died. Someone said my dress was ugly." I shift my gaze away from his. "You were nice to me."
"Pink dress. Sad little angel," he rumbles. "You had a book hidden in your shawl."
I blink at him. "You remember me?" I'm not entirely sure why I ask. I know he donated to the reward fund after I went missing. I guess I always just assumed it was because he knew my dad, not because he remembered meeting me that night.
"I remember." He swallows, his gaze shifting across my face. "You disappeared less than six weeks later. It bugged the fuck out of me."
"Why? Because you felt sorry for Dear Ole Dad?" I ask, unable to keep the snark out of my tone. From everything I've read about life around here after I went MIA, everyone felt sorry for my father. And he lapped up the attention like a neglected puppy.
Exactly like he puts up missing posters for the attention. If he actually wants to find me, it's only so he can finish the murderous plans my disappearance halted. It's certainly not so we can reconcile. Which is precisely why I need to stay out of sight until my birthday. There's not a chance in hell I'm going to let him kill me.
He wants one final press conference to play grieving father? Fine. Wish granted. But he'll be seeing a ghost.
Jack's gaze flickers across my face again, something fathomless in his eyes. "It seemed like you'd been through enough already, Madison. Didn't much like the thought of something happening to you." He shrugs. "If Gerald is the reason you disappeared, fuck him. He's always been a prick."
My heart actually flutters.
"You really think he was plotting to have you killed?"
"I know he was. I heard him discussing it."
"What did you hear?"
I stare at him for a long moment and then sigh. "He wanted my death to look like an accident so no one would suspect he was involved. He thought a car accident would be best. His guy was going to run me off the road near the cliffs so my car went over. He figured if the accident didn't take care of me, my car exploding when it hit the bottom probably would. Is that clear enough for you? Because it was for seventeen-year-old me when I was hiding in his office and heard the man who raised me plotting it like he was ordering dinner."
I was too scared to leave the closet for hours. And I spent the next week afraid to get in the car, terrified it'd be the last day of my life. I packed a bag as soon as I turned eighteen, raided the safe, and took off the minute he left for work.
"Jesus," Jack growls, fury burning through his expression. For a minute, he looks downright dangerous. It's…hot.
And there goes my resolution not to crush on him again.
Great. Thanks, universe.
"He always was a shady prick."
"There's a difference between shady and evil. Plotting to murder your own kid to get their money is light years beyond shady."
"You're not wrong. Why come back?"
"My birthday."
"You inherit on your birthday?"
"Unless he has me declared dead," I mutter, nodding. "If he does, my mom's company and her money go to him by default, and the years I spent hiding will be for nothing."
"Hell no," Jack growls, his eyes locked on my face. "He's not getting your money or your company."
I gape at him, shock thrumming through me. He believes me? Just like that? With no evidence or proof?
"You believe me?" I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
"Believe you?" He laughs incredulously, cupping my cheek. "Baby, I'm going to help you."
"Help m–"
"Fucking hell," he groans, gently dragging me closer. His lips crash down on mine in a hard kiss. I gasp as his tongue flicks against my bottom lip, sending heat ripping through me.
He growls like a hungry lion and takes that tiny opening, slipping his tongue in to play with mine. The man kisses me like he's going to die if my taste isn't all over him right now…which has me kissing him back the same way.
Some part of my brain screams that this is a bad idea. But the rest of me doesn't want to hear anything that rational part says. It's too busy short-circuiting. And I'm too busy wrapping my hands up in his shirt to yank him closer.
The scrapes on my palms throb in protest, pulling a whimper from my lips.
"Fuck," Jack growls, ripping his mouth from mine. His eyes are on fire and he's panting as he stares down at me, gently loosening my grip on him. His gaze lands on my palms. "You're hurt."
"They're just scrapes."
The look on his face tells me that just scrapes might as well be mortal wounds as far as he's concerned. So does the way he tucks me up against his chest and then rises to his feet, holding me carefully.
"I can walk, Jack," I whisper.
"Good to know." He strides into the small bathroom before carefully flicking on the lights and then setting me on the counter.
I watch him, wary, as he prowls through cabinets before coming back with a first aid kit in his hands.
"Hands, baby."
I huff and then thrust them out toward him.
"You're cute when you're cranky, you know that?" He smirks as he sets to work cleaning the scrapes, his hands gentle.
"I'm not cranky." I roll my eyes.
"Yeah, you are." His gaze flicks to my face before dropping back to my hands. "Think you'll be this cranky when you're carrying my kid?"
"Carrying your…" I splutter, gaping at him. What kind of mafia romance does he think we're living in here? "Uh, maybe we should get your head checked. There's no freaking way I'm having your kid just because I broke in here!"
"Baby." His body shakes with laughter. "You aren't having my kid because you broke in here. You're going to have my kid because you want my kid."
"You definitely need your head checked. Where is your phone? I'll call an ambulance. Do you have a doctor? Take pills? Maybe we should call your brother. Oh my gosh." I gasp, staring at him with wide eyes. "You haven't been home because you're an inpatient somewhere, aren't you? Did you escape?"
He only laughs harder. And God, that laugh is downright sinful. It's dark and deadly and…sinful. Like sticky chocolate. "There's not a goddamn thing wrong with me, Madison. Well…" He grimaces, subtly adjusting his cock. "Nothing that can't wait anyway. I have shit to do first."
"Like what?"
Why do I ask? Why do I even ask? He's clearly lost his damn mind.
"Protect you and your company. Haunt and destroy your prick of a father," he says, ticking his list off on his fingers. "And then I can get you pregnant."
I stare at him. Just stare. I still know words. I have thoughts. But I can't think of any right now. Not a single one. Mostly because his list honestly doesn't sound that bad.
I mean…sure, he's probably lost his damn mind. But apparently, I'm not averse to carrying his kid even if he is mentally unstable.
Lord help me. I gotta stop reading so many books about rich men who do dirty things. They are clearly not good for my grasp on reality.
Or maybe it's just this rich man who isn't good for my grasp on reality.
Either way…reality is crumbling because Jack Whitlock, the man I've fantasized about since I was seventeen and he told me I looked beautiful, wants me to have his baby. And my mouth is not opening to say no.
Help. Me.