The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery by Mia Caldwell Page A

get so close to my neck?

 
    I dodged both the question and the
way it made my belly fall and float at the same time. "How about you, any
nosey mothers I need to worry about?"

 
    He drew his arm away. "I do my
best to give Dahlia as little information as possible," he said, his voice
tight.

 
    For a moment, the only noise was the
sound of the car shushing through the streets. We were headed West on the
Schuylkill Expressway, the traffic inexplicably light. But the air inside of
the car was heavy with unsaid meanings.

 
    I decided to be bold.   "Dahlia again. You really don't
call her Mom, do you?"

 
    His mouth worked, gray eyes flashing
in anger. Now, I understood sons being protective of their mothers. But Kit and
Mrs. Young were much different from this reaction. They had humor, while Liam
had only blank duty.

 
    "Sorry," I muttered, wondering
what exactly I should be sorry about.

 
    "Dahlia can be...tough," he
said, his voice strained. It made me shiver a little, in spite of the warmth of
the car. "She keeps things pretty well bottled up." He spread his
hands. "Unfortunately that includes stuff like warmth and human
emotion."

 
    I didn't know if I should laugh. But
he did. His laugh was grimly sarcastic, even bitter. I watched him, a strange
feeling of protectiveness growing in my belly as he went on. "I won't lie,
she can be downright cruel. But I've learned I'm not going to change her, so I
decided to just accept it. Bashing my head against a brick wall is more
effective than trying to change Dahlia Graves." He looked back up from his
hands. "I'm done wishing I had a different kind of mother."

 
    I nodded slowly. "I know the
feeling. I really do."

 
    He shifted in his seat. "Your
mom?"

 
    I felt the air shift, like he was
happy to have the focus off of him. Now it was my turn to pick at my scars. "My
mom is all about appearances," I began. "From day one, I learned
nothing from her but 'what will the neighbors think?' You could be going
through hell and back again, but you never ever let on that something was
bothering you. I think..." something suddenly slid into place, "I
think that's why it took me so long to leave my ex."

 
    "And why you are always trying
to find some deeper meaning in everything?"

 
    I looked up at him in sharp surprise
and he shot me an amused smile. "Yeah, I'm smarter than I look, I guess. I
notice things. Especially things about pretty ladies I'm interested in seeing a
lot more of."

 
    I softened, but my inability to lie
came right to the surface. "Why did you ask me out?" I blurted.

 
    "Are you going to try to find
deep, hidden meaning in that too?"

 
    "Maybe," I smiled archly.
"Maybe it's my gift to the world."

 
    "Okay, great oracle of truth,
tell me yourself." He leaned forward, his gray eyes keen. "Why can't
I get enough of you?"

 
    I blinked. That was a question I
couldn't possibly answer, but he was looking at me so expectantly I had to try.
"Because you think I'm....different."

 
    He nodded. "Beautifully
so."

 
    "You don't come across many
poor, Black, divorced florists in your day to day life."

 
    He cast his eyes down. "Well,
that's true."

 
    I was warming to the subject.
"You're tired of everything always being the same. Maybe I'm a diversion,
a little bit of rebellion against Mom." I bristled at the thought.
"Have you told her about me?" I demanded.

 
    He looked wounded. "Yes, Shay. I
have."

 
    I fixed him with a glare.
"Everything?" I pressed meaningfully. "Did you mention I'm
Black?" I didn't add. I didn't think I should have to.

 
    He pulled me into his arms.
"What's to tell? 'Hey Dahlia, I've met a woman who takes even less shit
than I do but somehow stays completely un-cynical. I've met a woman who sees
beauty and meaning in everything she does and sees and I hope she can teach me
to see that in my own life.'"

 
    His lips were only inches from mine.
It would feel so good, so natural to close that gap. To