TYCOON_His Money. His Harley. His Control. Read online

  Contents

  Title Information

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Other Maggie Carpenter Titles

  Title Information

  TYCOON

  His Money. His Harley. His Control.

  Maggie Carpenter

  Copyright © 2018 Dark Secrets Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Dark Secrets Press LLC.

  http://www.MaggieCarpenter.com

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  PROLOGUE

  Naughty novelist Mary Austen couldn't sit still. At any moment a stranger would knock on her door and take away her precious little dog. Not hers exactly. She'd found him cowering by a dumpster on a cold, blustery, rainy afternoon. He'd been soaked through and shaking, and though it had taken time to win his trust, Mary had finally managed to scoop him up and carry him home.

  Wrapping him in a towel she'd sat in front of the fire until his trembling had stopped, then cooking up some rice, she'd mixed it with some leftover pieces of chicken. He'd gobbled it up, and that night he'd slept curled against her. She'd fallen head-over-heels in love, but the following morning she knew she had to make an effort to find his owner. The sweet terrier had no collar, nor could she find an identification chip buried between his shoulder blades, so she'd placed an ad in the local paper, put a notice up in the nearby animal shelter, and emailed his photograph to the local animal clinics.

  Two weeks had passed.

  She'd taken him to a local vet and had him checked out. On the way home she'd decided to call him Popcorn because of a patch of curly fur on his back, and she'd bought him a collection of small, furry toys.

  For two weeks they went everywhere together. Then she'd received the call that broke her heart.

  Flopping down on her couch, the adorable mutt jumped up next to her and crawled into her lap. The emotional heat in her throat was almost suffocating, and as she hugged him, inhaling the aroma of the oatmeal shampoo she'd used to make him fluffy and clean, a few rogue tears escaped and slipped down her cheeks.

  "I'm going to miss you so much," she mumbled. "This place will be so empty without you."

  He licked her face, which only served to deliver more tears, but the moment was interrupted by the sound of a noisy motorcycle. Gently moving Popcorn off her lap, she walked across to the window and pulled aside the curtain. The black motorbike had stopped outside her house! As the rider pulled off his helmet, she watched him shake his long mop of dark hair, loop the helmet over the handlebars, then head to her front door. He was big, and the black leather pants and jacket gave him a menacing presence, but he didn't have a gruff face. On the contrary, she was surprised by his good looks. Taking a deep breath she tried to steady herself, and even though she'd been expecting it, the heavy knock on her door made her jump. For the first time since the adorable dog had shared her house, he barked, and in spite of her worry it made her smile.

  "Popcorn you are way too cute. Do you want to protect me?"

  Jumping off the couch, he trotted to her side and stared up at her, but as she bent down to pet him the knock sounded again.

  "Popcorn, if you don't want to go home with him you tell me and I won't give you up, no matter what!" she declared, swallowing back more tears.

  Walking nervously into her small foyer she paused, took a breath, then opened her door, but before she could speak the stranger spotted his lost pet.

  "Pete! Thank God!"

  Racing past her, Popcorn leapt into the biker's arms and began licking his face, but as Mary's heart sank, a cold gust swept around them. She had to invite him in.

  "I've been so worried about you," he said to the dog, kissing him and rubbing his fur, "but look at you, you look great," then turning to Mary he smiled gratefully. "Sorry, you must be Mary. Thank you so much for taking such good care of him. He smells like the shampoo I use. Is it Oatmeal Heaven?"

  "And obviously you're Mason," she replied, her voice tinged with an edge. "Nice to meet you, and yes, it's Oatmeal Heaven. The pet store said it was the best," she said, surprised the long-haired, leather-clad man didn't appear to be a beast after all. "Do you want to come through? I'll get his things."

  "Sure, thanks," he replied, and continuing to carry his dog he followed her into the living room. "You have no idea how upset I've been. I've moved heaven and earth trying to find him."

  "If you don't want to lose your dog he should be microchipped or wearing a collar!"

  "I don't understand," he said, crouching down and placing Popcorn on the floor. "What do you mean he isn't microchipped? Of course he is."

  "He is now! When no-one responded to any of my notices and I decided to keep him. I took care of it a couple of days ago. I'll give you the paperwork and you can change the notifications."

  "There must be some mistake."

  "No mistake. I took him to the vet to make sure he was okay, and he checked. There was no microchip. Obviously if there had been I would have contacted you. Excuse me for a minute, I'll get his stuff."

  Walking into the kitchen, she opened a drawer to retrieve the papers, but picking up the envelope with the name Popcorn written across the front, she had to pause to take a breath. Letting him go was breaking her heart. It took a minute, but managing to swallow back the heavy emotion, she grabbed his collar and leash from the small kitchen table and returned to the living room. Mason was crouched down rubbing his dog's belly, and as she stared at the touching sight, the handsome burly biker reminded her of one of her heroic characters. Profoundly masculine, but with unexpected tenderness.

  "I promise you, I did have someone take care of that microchip thing," Mason said, his crystal blue eyes looking up at her earnestly. "Obviously they didn't do it."

  "Maybe you should take care of things like that yourself," she retorted as she handed him Pete's things, then hastily added. "Sorry, that was rude. If you'd seen Popcorn when I picked him up you'd understand."

  "Popcorn?"

  "I wasn't going to call him, hey you, and I thought it suited him."

  Hearing his new name, the little dog rolled back on to his feet and trotted across to her.

  "His name's Pete, but I really like Popcorn," he said warmly. "Popcorn Pete. How about that?"

  "I'm glad you approve. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

  She couldn't handle any more conversation about her adorable terrier, and bending down she brought him into her arms, hugged him tightly, then rose to her feet and handed him over.

  "Please just go. I hate goodbyes and this is very difficult. I've fallen in love with him."

  "I'm not surprised. He's easy to love. Here, this should cover your expenses," he said, holding the dog in one arm as he fished out an envelope and offered it to her. "It's also a very big thank you for going to so much trouble to
find me."

  "I don't want your money. Just take care of him."

  "Hey, I do take care of him, and I insist."

  "No, I don't want it. He's the best dog ever and you're not making this any easier," she managed, fighting more tears as she walked to the front door and opened it. "Would you please just go?"

  "You're taking it," he said firmly, dropping it on the coffee table, then striding forward he added, "You deserve it, and it's not up for debate."

  Hastily closing the door behind him, she hurried to the window, but was horrified to see Popcorn leaping onto the saddle of the bike.

  "No, no! He can't possibly ride that thing with Popcorn sitting up there. No, no, no!"

  Determined to put a stop to such madness, she bolted outside and down the short path. Winter was giving way to spring, but the day was cold, and the chilly wind gusted around her. She hadn't grabbed a jacket and it bit into her skin, but she didn't care. All she cared about was saving Popcorn from what she was sure would be certain death.

  "Hey! Stop! What are you doing?"

  He was facing the bike, blocking her view of the adorable dog, and as he slowly turned around, she came to an abrupt stop. Popcorn Pete was wearing a helmet and goggles, and sitting in a small padded seat.

  "I'm taking my dog home," he said calmly. "What are you doing?"

  "I—uh—isn't that dangerous?"

  "Mary," he said slowly, fixing her with a steady gaze. "I know you got attached and I get it, but I'd never do anything to put him in danger. That seat is custom-made. So is the helmet and goggles. He's probably safer on that bike than I am."

  "How was I supposed to know that?" she said defensively, feeling awkward and embarrassed. "I had no idea you had that helmet and everything. You were blocking my view."

  "It's freezing out here. I suggest you go back inside. You don't have to worry. Pete is extremely well-cared for and very loved."

  "Then how did he end up next to a dumpster on a cold rainy day?"

  She'd snapped at him, and immediately regretting it she dropped her eyes. She wasn't feeling well. Though her face was hot, she was shivering, and her head was hurting.

  "He escaped from his dog walker," Mason said, frowning at her, "and I can assure you she is no longer working for me. I was busy at the time and I thought I'd give it a try, something I'll never do again. I'm leaving now, and I suggest you get out of this freezing wind. You've got my number. If you want to arrange a visit, please call me. I won't mind, but you need to get back inside. You'll catch a cold."

  Feeling as if she'd just been scolded, she watched him pull his helmet over his mass of thick, dark hair. As much as she didn't want to be, she was drawn to him. He was wide-shouldered and powerfully built, yet surprisingly well-spoken, and his eyes! They were sapphire blue and seemed to look right through her. She wanted to ask him to stay for a cup of coffee, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. A moment later he roared away, and hurrying back inside, she slammed the door behind her.

  "I need to get a grip," she muttered as the tears spilled from her eyes. "I'm fine, Popcorn's fine, and that's that."

  But it wasn't easy. The tears continued as she washed out his dishes and when she gathered up his toys.

  "I should have given these to Mason," she murmured woefully, "especially you, Mr. Tiger. Popcorn loved chewing on you."

  Putting them in a cupboard, she ambled listlessly into the living room to flop on the couch, and as she let out a weary sigh, she spotted the envelope. Almost too worn out to care, she picked it up and tore it open. Inside she found a wad of hundred-dollar bills. There were ten. He'd left her one-thousand dollars. She had to check it twice to believe it.

  It was too much, but as she reached for her phone she realized she didn't want to talk to him. He'd only argue with her, and she didn't have the energy. Still feeling strangely unwell, she fetched her laptop and settled down to work

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  In spite of the emotional upheaval she'd had a productive afternoon. Closing her computer, she headed into the kitchen to make herself something to eat, but a knock sent her into the front door. It was a delivery man with an exceptionally large box.

  "Mary Austen?"

  "That's me."

  "Sign here please."

  "I don't understand. I haven't ordered anything."

  "Maybe someone's surprising you."

  "Apparently," she replied, and scribbling her name, she shuffled the large package inside.

  The paper tape ripped off easily, and lifting the cardboard flaps, she gazed down at an over-sized, white fluffy dog wearing a huge red bow around its neck. As she pulled him from his container, she discovered an envelope tucked inside the scarlet ribbon. Setting him down, she hastily opened it.

  Mary,

  I know this could never replace Popcorn, but I hope it will at least bring you a smile. You're too pretty to look so sad. Feel free to call and arrange a visit whenever you want. I'm sure he'd love to see you. So would his owner. Perhaps we could share a coffee sometime.

  Thank you again for taking such wonderful care of him.

  Mason

  "This is unbelievable," she mumbled, but as she picked up the dog and carried it into the living room, her head began to spin. Without warning she tumbled to the floor. The face of the stuffed animal was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One Month Later

  The billionaire businessman in the dark power suit, crisp white shirt and navy tie, bore no resemblance to the biker in leathers who had knocked on Mary's door. His hair was expertly cut and styled, and he no longer sported a five-o'clock shadow. Mason had been at the tail end of a sabbatical from Abbott Enterprises when Pete had escaped from the dog walker. Two weeks of fruitless searching had yielded nothing. It was only because a friend adopted a dog from an animal shelter that Mason finally found his precious pup. A photograph on the bulletin board had caught his friend's attention. With Pete's oversized ears, stocky body, and the whirlwind of curls, the cute mutt had been instantly recognizable.

  But finding Pete wasn't Mason's only joyous surprise. He'd met Mary.

  The pretty girl with mischievous eyes and full pouty lips had appealed to him the moment she'd answered her door, but it wasn't just her looks he'd found so captivating. She was real. Throughout their short exchange her heart had been on full display, and she'd had no compunction about expressing her opinion. As the weeks passed, Mary had proven to be unforgettable.

  He often suspected the beautiful women who graced his bed, indulged his whims and laughed at his jokes, did so due to his wealth and stature. It was frustrating. He'd been hoping to meet someone who wanted to be with him in spite of the fancy cars and huge house, not because of them. A woman who was drawn to his heart and character.

  Mary was the first woman outside his social circle to whom he'd felt an immediate attraction, but it had been a month since he'd sent her the stuffed animal. He still didn't know how to interpret her silence. Striding down the hall to his office after a bitter battle in the conference room, his temporary assistant George Morris on one side and Pete on the other, Mary's sparkling eyes and kissable lips once again floated into his head.

  "You're so decisive," George declared. "I wish I had your confidence."

  "It comes with experience," Mason replied. "Take enough risks, get your fingers burned enough times, and you learn there's always a tomorrow. Leaps of faith will always reward you. If you fail, you'll learn from the experience."

  "Another pearl of wisdom. You have so many it's hard to remember them all."

  "Then you should probably write them down," Mason suggested as they entered the office suite. "I'm going to need five minutes. Please bring me some coffee and a sandwich. I'm suddenly starving!"

  "That's because you just went five rounds with Kathy Douglas. She's a fucking barracuda."

  "She tries too hard, and she doesn't know when she's lost."

  "Huh, you're right.
"

  "Yep, now please, the sandwich, and hold my calls for five minutes."

  George remained in his workspace as Mason entered his inner sanctum. Walking quickly across to his desk, he sat in his padded leather chair and swiveled around to stare out at the city. Pete saw it as an invitation to jump on his lap.

  "You want some attention? You miss Marjorie, don't you? I know, I miss her too. Don't worry, she'll be back in another couple of weeks."

  Marjorie Anderson, his faithful assistant for many years, had broken three ribs and her wrist falling down a short flight of concrete stairs in the parking garage. It had been George who had found her and raised the alarm. Mason visited her regularly, committed to ensuring she received the best possible care. George was pleasant and efficient, but he wasn't Marjorie.

  "What should I do about Mary?" he muttered as he absently stroked Pete's soft fur. "I can't get that girl out of my head. Should I call her? So much for being decisive. Why did I wait so long? Tell me, Pete. Speak human and tell me if it's worth a shot."

  As Pete barked his response, Mason shook his head.

  "You're exactly right. I let too much time go by and now it feels awkward. What the hell? What was it I just said to George? Leaps of faith will always reward you. Let's see what happens."

  Pulling his cellphone from his pocket he searched out her number, then taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he placed the call.

  "Hello?"

  "Mary?"

  "This isn't Mary."

  "Sorry, is she there?"

  "She is. Let me see if she's up to taking a call. Can I tell her who this is?"

  "Uh, sure. She found my terrier and—"

  "Is this Mason? The guy who sent her the big stuffed dog?"

  "Yes, that's me."

  "That was such a great thing to do."