Her Billionaire Toyboy (BWWM Romance)

By CJ Howard

Justine Marlowe is 36 years old, never been married and her biological clock is ticking. If she ever wants to have kids she figures her next relationship has to be a serious one.

However, when she meets a young billionaire named Nate who is in his twenties he makes her feel like she is alive once again as they enjoy a whirlwind of Champagne, fine dining and really hot sex. The couple share a connection she simply never thought would be possible with a younger man, let alone a younger white man.

Justine is enjoying the ride but the fact remains that she wants something more serious then a bit of fun. Can she possibly persuade a young billionaire playboy to give up his bachelor lifestyle and make an honest woman out of her? Or is she just another one of his conquests?

Either way, Justine is about to find out that there is more to her billionaire toyboy then initially meets the eye...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWWM Romance
• Release date: Feb 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524205737

Book preview

Chapter1

The book I was reading was engrossing and good, though not so good that my attention wasn't completely diverted when a handsome, tall, athletically built man entered the coffee shop. He was young, appearing to be in his mid-twenties – far too young for me. I was thirty-six, with a birthday coming up. And although I knew I wasn't terrible-looking, with smooth, caramel-colored skin and dark chocolate brown eyes (which I often received compliments about), I also knew my looks weren't what they'd been in my twenties. I knew they weren't the type of looks that would probably attract the attention of the young, dark-haired, broad-shouldered guy ordering coffee at the counter.

I went back to my book after taking one final peek at him. It wasn't long before, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him stealing a few glances at me. I knew this must be ridiculous; he must have been looking at someone else near me. The coffee shop was a fairly small place and if a person's gaze was turned in one direction, it could easily appear as if you were looking at something, or someone you weren't.

Although, after a quick glance around (trying to be discreet) while the young man was paying for his coffee with the teenage clerk, I realized the coffee shop was nearly empty, as it had been when I'd arrived maybe twenty minutes earlier. The only other patron seated at one of a dozen small red tables, besides myself, was an older woman with gray hair who was scanning a newspaper. I wondered why the handsome, dark-haired guy would be glancing at her, but I quickly went back to my book yet again, thinking that it wasn't important and thinking maybe the handsome young man had never been in the coffee shop before and was just checking the place out.

It was sort of an unusual place for Manhattan, this coffee shop. Unlike many other coffee shops in my neighborhood that were upscale, fancy and fussy, this place was straightforward and modest. It could have even been described as a hole-in-the-wall but this was part of why I liked it. It was cozy and usually nearly empty: the perfect place to grab a few minutes of peace and quiet with a book between appointments on a Wednesday afternoon, as I was doing right then.

I'd just flipped the page when the handsome young man began sauntering over to the tables near me with coffee and napkin in hand. I took the briefest of peeks over the top of my book, and no doubt about it, he was looking at me. Not at the older woman a few tables away, not at the general decor of the place but definitely at me. I wondered why but didn't have very long to puzzle it out because he took a seat at the table beside me and gave me a smile. I gave him one back, a little heat rising to my face. He actually wasn't just handsome, as I'd first thought, but devastatingly handsome. His jaw was square, masculine, and his dark eyelashes fringed the deepest blue eyes I'd ever seen. The shade could only be described as midnight.

I turned my entire focus to my book so I wouldn't stare. Or, I tried, anyway. But I couldn’t really comprehend the words on the page I was scanning between the briefest micro-glances I was taking at the handsome young stranger, who was sipping his coffee while scrolling through his phone in between what I thought were a few glances at me. With my face becoming a little warmer still, I began feeling like I was back in high school and not really in a bad way, either. It wasn't often I had a very attractive twenty-something man stealing glances at me, and although I wasn't sure why he was, I kind of liked it.

After a few minutes of quiet reading, coffee sipping, phone scrolling and mutual glancing, the inevitable happened. We happened to glance up at the exact same time and locked eyes.

The handsome young man gestured to my book. Just read that myself, a few months ago. Dense stuff. But they say if you read it backward, word for word, it makes perfect sense. His voice was rich and deep. An even more intense wave of heat washed over my face. I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. His expression was pretty sober. And the book did have some pretty dense and, at times, nearly incomprehensible passages.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to sound like an idiotic squeak. What?

The handsome young man grinned, revealing perfect white teeth. Just kidding, about the reading it backward. Can't imagine that would make some parts of it any less clear than they already are, though.

I couldn't hold back a giggle, his grin making me feel more amused than stupid that I hadn't realized he was joking. I believe it. I had to read the entire first chapter twice.

He smiled. Hi. I'm Nate. Nate Miller.

He extended his hand, reaching across the space between our tables. I took it, smiling myself, my heartbeat accelerating.

Nice to meet you, Nate. I'm Justine Marlowe.

Nice to meet you as well, Justine. Beautiful name. Suits you.

A few butterflies in my stomach began flapping their wings in time with my galloping heartbeat.

Thank you.

I dared let myself believe that this devastatingly handsome young man might actually be interested in me, even though I knew that was absolutely crazy.

He saw that my coffee mug was empty and asked if he could get me a refill. I said yes, and thank you, and after asking me how I took my coffee, which was with one sugar and a shot of vanilla syrup, he went up to the counter to get me another. I studied his broad back and shoulders while the teen clerk with braces waited on him. She seemed a bit flustered and giggly just looking at him while he spoke, and I knew his deep blue eyes and other charms probably weren't wasted on her.

When Nate returned with my coffee, I asked if he'd like to join me at my table, and his face lit up as if he'd been hoping I'd ask him that. With a big grin, he grabbed his own coffee and took a seat across from me at the little red table. We chatted some more about the book I was reading, and little by little, my heart rate returned to normal. And in fact, Nate was so pleasant and easy to talk to, as well as being pretty darn easy on the eyes, that I soon began to feel completely relaxed and at ease, as if we'd been friends for a long time and hadn't just met.

It was nice to just sit and talk to an attentive, attractive man. It had been a while since I'd done so, or had even sat and talked with any man, attractive and attentive or otherwise. It had actually been about four months. That was when I'd temporarily sworn off men after a few really bad dates, one right after the other, not long after the finalization of my divorce.

Presently, Nate asked what I did for a living and I told him about my all-natural soy candle company.

We're only online and in one brick-and-mortar store right now but I just hired four new employees to help me out and things are going really well.

Nate said that was wonderful, and after we'd chatted a little more about it, I asked what he did for a living, hoping he was in a career and out of his student years, even though he was definitely not older than mid-twenties. His gaze flickered to the side for just a fraction of a second, but the movement was so brief I wondered if I'd imagined it.

I have a few online business ventures of my own. Entrepreneurial ventures.

I was just opening my mouth to ask him what kind of ventures when the door of the coffee shop whooshed open, bells tinkling, and a tall, heavyset man with long, greasy black hair staggered inside, scowling. Even from several feet away, I could see track marks up and down his arms. Nate seemed to notice what must have been a look of surprise, or maybe even alarm on my face, and turned in his seat to look at the man. The man staggered for a few paces, paused, and his gaze swept the coffee shop, taking in Nate and me, the older woman several tables away, and the teenage girl at the counter. After studying the man for a long moment, Nate turned fully around in his seat, almost seeming ready for some sort of confrontation.

At first, I didn't think there was going to be one. I thought the man was just going to grab a cup of coffee. But then, he pulled out a gun. And I understood perfectly what was happening.

Instantly, his gaze on the gunman, Nate flew up of his chair, throwing one strong, long arm behind him, shielding me. Get down.

I did as I was told, crawling under the little red table. The older woman several tables away dropped her newspaper and did the same. The gunman shuffled forward a few steps, pointing the gun at the counter girl, who stood frozen and wide-eyed, clutching a cardboard box of straws so hard her knuckles were white. I wasn't quite sure what Nate intended to do but I soon found out.

He dashed over and parked himself right in the middle of the ten feet or so of distance between the counter girl and the gunman, facing the gunman. Stop. I know you don't want to do this. You don't want to scare anyone or hurt anyone.

The gunman looked Nate up and down, glaring while swaying on his feet slightly and then began yelling something to the effect that Nate didn't know the first damn thing about what he did or didn't want. And while he yelled, he began to wave the gun, which was pointed directly at Nate. But Nate stood his ground. He didn't even step back an inch. He repeated his caution, telling the gunman to stop.

Right now, I'll let you walk out of here on your own. I won't call the police until you're out the door. You can get a head start.

At the mention of the police, I suddenly realized I should be calling them but my phone was in my bag on top of the table. And I was too afraid to pop up and get it. I glanced over at the older woman several tables away and saw that she was in the same predicament, with her bag on top of the table, too.

The gunman began yelling and swearing at Nate, but then stopped suddenly, turned his focus to the frozen teenage counter girl, and yelled at her to empty out the cash register and put the money in a bag.

He gave the gun a little wave in her direction. Before I shoot ya dead!

Immediately, she unfroze and shook her head, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. There's like, fifteen dollars in the drawer. Most people pay with credit cards.

Now it was the gunman's turn to freeze. Or, at least, nearly freeze. His eyes seemed to glaze over and he lowered the gun a few degrees. Nate took his chance, after a lightening-fast glance over his shoulder, hissing at the counter girl to get down, which she immediately did, he charged at the gunman, leaping in the air and tackling him before the gunman could even lift the weapon and react.

The gun flew out of his hand, slid across the hardwood floor and came to rest in a corner. He began struggling, swinging and flailing at Nate but Nate continued to subdue him, flipping him onto his stomach and gathering his hands behind his back. Nate had said he was some sort of entrepreneur but he was so commanding and sure in his movements that I began to wonder, in all seriousness, if he worked in law enforcement on the side.

Sitting on the small of the gunman's back while the gunman continued to struggle, he glanced over at the counter. Girl at the counter! Do you have any rope or cords back there?

Right away, she popped up and surveyed the scene, then reached beneath the counter and tossed a roll of duct tape at Nate. He caught it in one hand while holding the struggling gunman's wrists in the other. Probably not even ten seconds later, he'd ripped off a length of tape with his teeth and bound the gunman's wrists with it. The gunman seemed to have lost all fight and lowered his face to the hardwood, muttering curse words.

I sprang up, grabbed my phone out of my purse and called the police while Nate secured another length of tape around the gunman's wrists, calling out asking if everyone was okay. The counter clerk, the older woman and I all said we were.

After he was finished with this task, he jogged over to me and came to a stop a foot away, searching my face. Are you really okay?

I was completely fine, though my hands were shaking so badly they were practically flapping. And suddenly, the genuine concern in his deep blue eyes made tears well in my own.

I nodded. I'm fine.

I was trying to be convincing but when I spoke again, my voice cracked, giving me away.

I'm completely okay. A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I covered my face with my trembling hands. Sorry.

The next thing I knew, Nate's strong arms were around me, and he was holding me tight, rocking me just slightly.

It's okay. It's over now.

Without even thinking, I buried my face in his broad chest and cried, grateful for his comfort. He continued holding me, whispering sweet, soothing things with his mouth near my ear.

He was obviously unusually mature and confident for a man in his mid-twenties. I liked it. I loved it, actually. Almost as much as I loved the clean, woodsy, masculine scent that was emanating from his chest. I covertly inhaled it, becoming nearly dizzy, while my tears slowed. But as heavenly as it was, I reluctantly lifted my face before long.

We should check on the other two.

We did, and the older woman said she was just fine. The teen counter clerk was on the phone, seeming to be talking to a friend or maybe family member, crying. The gunman, who'd fallen silent for a little while was now shouting obscenities at Nate. The police soon came and took him away.

After they'd finished taking statements from everyone, I told Nate I should get going. I've already missed my appointment, so I think I'll just head home and take a bubble bath. I know it's only four in the afternoon but I think my nerves need it.

He said that was more than understandable and asked if he could give me a lift. My car is right outside.

I didn't even hesitate before saying yes. I'd kind of been hoping he'd ask.

His car was a glossy, black, brand-new Challenger, dripping with all the muscle car style they were known for. I thought this was maybe an unusual choice for a city dweller but I liked it. A lot. It was masculine, powerful and youthful, just like Nate. And, I realized, I didn't even know whether he lived in Manhattan or not.

I asked him while he drove uptown to my apartment, and he said that he did. He told me exactly where, and I realized we were practically neighbors, separated by only a couple of blocks. I thought how this might be awfully convenient if he and I started dating. But then I quickly dismissed the thought since I was getting way ahead of myself, as I had a tendency to do. Nate was being nice, and compassionate, and even tender to me, yes, but considering our age difference, I just couldn't fully allow myself to believe that he was seriously interested in me in a romantic way. I figured maybe he'd just been looking for some friendly and maybe even flirty conversation before the attempted robbery at the coffee shop. And now, he was just being a kind human being.

We continued talking, and while he parked in front of my building, I teased him by asking if he was really sure he was an internet entrepreneur and not a police officer in disguise.

Because the way you handled that man...I think you could hang with New York City's finest.

He put the gear into park, chuckling, and then turned in his seat to face me. Well, thank you for that. But, no, not a police officer, I just tend to stay in decent shape because I love challenging myself physically. Always have. I try to do at least one Ironman Triathlon a year, with intense training during the couple of months before. Keeps me from going marshmallow soft.

That was quite an understatement. His well-defined biceps, which peeked out from the sleeves of his navy-blue t-shirt, struck me as the farthest thing away from anything marshmallow-like.

I asked him a few questions about triathlons, and