Kissing Keith: A Billionaire Younger Man Romance (Rose City Romance Book 1) Read online

  Kissing

  Keith

  A Younger Man Romance

  Lucy Robin

  Copyright ©2020 by Lucy Robin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author/publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 1

  Elena

  I apply another layer of foundation to cover my sunspots, which seem to have become out of control lately. My face is more angular, too, and there isn’t anything I can do about it. I’ve tried facial yoga, pinched my cheeks after a shower, and applied aloe, eat apples, etc., but my cheeks are not getting chubbier.

  Oh well, admit it. I’m not getting younger. I won’t be able to get back all the years. I won’t be able to find the girl I lost twenty years ago, not even the young woman twelve years ago. Back then, I was a successful real estate agent at the height of my career. I was beautiful and confident, a top producer of Brook’s Real Estate. And then, I went downhill all because of a stupid drink, a cocky guy, and a pair of ill-fitting contact lenses.

  The familiar, negative feeling threatens to drag me down again like it has been doing for the past decade. I take a deep breath and pull myself together. No, it’s not the time to whine about the past and my failure. I’ve dwelt on my miseries for too long already. Moping will not help. It’s not too late, and I can still start over.

  I put on a light grey, blazer and skirt set over a blue satin shirt, my usual business attire. I’ve gained some weight in the past year because of Nonna’s delicious but unhealthy cooking and have to update my wardrobe soon. The skirt is tight around the butt, and even the shirt is threatening to give boob gaps. I look fat, and I look middle-aged. What can I expect? I’ve just turned forty last week.

  Before my mood sinks again, I remind myself of my self-affirmative ritual. I look into the mirror and force a smile.

  “I’m forty, and I’m beautiful,” I say to myself, counting ten times, and my confidence returns. I put my mop of curly hair up into an elegant French twist and put on my ray-band glasses with a rounded ruby-frame, which give me a more sophisticated look.

  Before leaving the bathroom, I punch my fist in the air and chant, “I can do it!”

  “How do I look, Nonna?” I ask Mia, my grandma when I enter the living room. She’s also my daily fashion consultant.

  I’ve been staying in Nonna’s house since I moved back to SoCal over a year ago. It was meant to be temporary, but I haven’t had time to find my own place yet—a bit ironic considering that I’m a real estate agent. The truth is, I love living with Nonna. She makes fantastic lasagna and tiramisu, and I’m never bored with her around.

  “You look gorgeous, muffin,” she says after an appreciative glance. “But I would wear something sexier if I want to hook a guy.”

  I blink and recall her saying something about a blind date arranged by her friend Stella. “I’m so sorry, Nonna. I thought you were kidding.”

  Nonna presses her lips together. “That’s because you aren’t taking me seriously.”

  “Please, Nonna. Don’t be mad!” I hug her and kiss her cheek.

  Her expression softens. “All right. I guess I’ll have to set up another one for you. I’m sure Stella wouldn’t mind.”

  “Okay, thanks, Nonna, but there is no hurry.”

  “Who says no hurry?” She raises her voice. “Elena! I’m eighty-five years old. I want to make sure we Contes get a cunt before I go to heaven.”

  I chuckle embarrassedly, although I’m used to my grandma’s occasional vulgar language. “Nonna! Quit talking dirty. Leo’s wife is pregnant again, so your dream will come true soon. And there’s Alex…”

  She waves me off. “There will be only sons from your cousins, just as the fortuneteller predicted. Their wives are too weak. Only strong women give births to girls.”

  I roll my eyes at the silly prediction, wanting to tell her that she shouldn’t take the tarot-card reader seriously and that scientists have proved the other way around, but I know she’ll only counter me with her own proofs using our own family facts. Nonna, who is headstrong, has two daughters. My mom, who inherited Nonna’s personality, has a daughter, while each of her sisters with meeker nature has two sons.

  “Okay, go ahead and set up another date for me,” I say, not wanting to disappoint her. For the same reason, I don’t remind her I’m forty years old, and getting pregnant might be difficult at my age, even if I’m lucky enough to find a guy that’s marriage material. I’ve been meeting guys on and offline for a year after my divorce, but I haven’t found anyone that’s worth dating. Nowadays, guys would rather be a fuck-buddy than being a husband.

  “What time will you be home?” she asks. “I’m going to the nail salon now and then bridge at the senior center.”

  “I thought today was mahjong day,” I say.

  “Arianna moved to the nursing home last weekend, remember?” she says with a sigh. “I’m afraid that’s the end of our mahjong club.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, recalling the fact. Arianna is the oldest of the mahjong enthusiasts I’ve gotten to know in the past year. I found the nursing home for her. How could I forget? “I hope you’ll find a replacement soon.”

  “I doubt it. Most of the people I know prefer playing bridge.”

  “Not to worry,” I say, knowing she’s telling me she won’t be making dinner because she prefers having dinner at the senior center whenever she’s there. “I’ll get something to-go.”

  Chapter 2

  Elena

  The three-million-dollar house on Cypress Drive is an English Tutor with five bedrooms on a quarter acre of land. There is a large swimming pool in the back, and the lawn looks like a golf course.

  The owners of the house have already moved to a retirement home in Florida, and they give me the freedom to redecorate their house. I made some moderate changes, adding colorful carpets and cushions to the sober Tudor furniture. I also light some citrus scent candles, just to mask the smell of the old house and to enhance the mood of the potential buyers. And then I sit by the mahogany table in the luxurious living room, staring at the beautiful scenery outside, and waiting for viewers.

  The first few guests
are residents in the area. Not surprisingly, most of them are elderly people who knew the owners of the house well. After that, potential buyers came in, in pairs, or in groups. By experience, I’m able to distinguish the serious ones from the rest, and soon I’m speaking to a couple whose main concern is not getting the loans, but transferring money from overseas within a short amount of time. After making sure they leave their email and phone number, I let the couple know I’m experienced with international transactions and that I’ll be looking forward to working with them.

  Two hours later, the crowd thins out, and I’m about to slump back into my chair when two boys run into the house at the same time, laughing.

  “I got in first!” one shouts.

  “You didn’t. I did!” the other argues.

  I smile when I realize who they are—my friend Audrey’s twins.

  “Kevin and Peter. Where’s your mom?”

  “Hi Auntie Elena,” they answer me at the same time. “Mom’s checking out the roses in the yard.”

  “I’m here.” A tall, slender brunette with brown eyes says as she pauses in the doorway. “Am I supposed to take off my shoes or wear any shoe covers?”

  “Nah, come on in, Audrey,” I say to her. “It’s a hardwood floor and the weather’s nice. I have someone to clean the house every day.”

  “Nice,” she says, wiping her shoes on the doormat a few times before entering. She hugs me and studies me carefully. “You look good. Your eye-glasses are so hot. And your face is glowing! ”

  “Thanks!” I smile. “You look good yourself.” The former Rose Queen wears a t-shirt and yoga pants, but her simple clothes only stress her natural beauty. As far as I know, Audrey never applies any makeup. She has no need to—she’s gotten her flawless, porcelain skin and her cherry lips from her Asian mom. The rest of her facial features are all Italian: her straight nose, her deep-set eyes, and her low, arched eyebrows.

  “Kevin and Peter, stop running in the house.”

  The twins ignore their mom and keep circling around the coffee table, making me nervous because of the antique vase on top.

  “Why don’t we go to the yard?” I suggest.

  “Great idea,” Audrey says while looking around quickly at the spacious living room, uttering praises. “What a fabulous house. No wonder the price.”

  “Your house is worth as much,” I comment as we walk toward the backyard.

  “That’s what the asshole says,” Audrey nods. Asshole is how she refers to her husband Daren lately, who’s leaving her for a younger woman. The two have been separated for months already. “I guess I should look forward to divorce because I’ll get the house.”

  “Oh, Audie,” I say, patting her arm. “I’m sorry. I hope it won’t come to that. It’s probably just an affair like the others. He’ll come to his senses and come back to you.”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice trembles as if she’s swallowing back her tears. “He seems to be serious about the bitch.”

  We sit at the patio table, speaking while watching the twins chasing each other. Audrey cries a little, as she complains about Daren, who she’s married for almost twenty years. The two met when Audrey worked as a nurse at Daren’s medical clinic when he was still an inexperienced plastic surgeon trying to establish himself. Over the years, Daren has had many affairs with his clients, but their marriage survives, due to Audrey’s incredible tolerance to her husband’s disloyalty.

  “He’d be a fool if he left you,” I said to Audrey. Although I think she deserves a better man, I know she’s trying to keep her marriage in one piece for the sake of the twins. They are more important to her than her own life. Audrey went through mighty trouble getting pregnant and had a few miscarriages early in her marriage.

  Audrey is dabbing her eyes with a tissue when she looks up and stares at something behind me. Her breath hitches, and her teary eyes widen. “What a hunk!” she whispers.

  I turn to look over my shoulder and see a tall man stride into the yard. I forget to breathe for a moment at the beautiful sight. The man is tall with broad shoulders. He’s wearing a royal blue polo shirt over silver-grey pants, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. His short, raven hair gelled but messy, and his scruff accentuates his squared jawline. I melt instantly—I have a weakness for stubble—especially a five o’clock shadow.

  The man smiles at Audrey first, and when his eyes seem to catch me, he does a double-take. I’m not sure whether his eyes are focused on me, and I don’t have the chance to find out, because I hear a splash and Audrey shrieks as she dashes toward the pool. I don’t have to look to know what has happened. One of the twins has jumped into the pool.

  It’s Kevin, the older one. He’s laughing as he splashes water, and he’s taunting his brother, “Come get me, Peter! Come on!”

  Audrey is hysteric. “Oh, God. What’re you doing? You don’t even know how to swim. Please, Elena, get him out of the pool!” She walks along the perimeter of the pool, reaching out to grab the child, but he splashes away.

  Although not seeing the child’s in any danger, I shrug off my blazer and kick off my shoes. I’ll have to ruin my shirt and my skirt. This is dreadful, but I don’t have any choice.

  Just before I jump, a hand presses on my shoulder. “I got this,” a man’s deep voice says.

  The next thing I see is another splash as a man’s bronze body in black briefs jumps into the water. I have no idea how he got undressed so quickly. It takes him just a second to reach the child. He takes the child’s arms and lifts him out of the water, handing him to his mom before climbing out of the water with one swift motion.

  Audrey chides on the still laughing child and thanks the young man. I run into the house quickly and find a towel. Audrey dries Kevin quickly and drags both of her sons out of the yard. “I’m sorry, Elena. I’ll see you later.”

  After the family leaves, I find myself alone with the bronze body glistering in the July sun. Water beads are still dripping down his hair and onto his shoulders and chest. My eyes linger on his enticing six-pack and v-cut abs, stifling the urge to trace my fingers over those taut muscles.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, shivering a little as I meet his beautiful, blue eyes. I’ve seen them before, but I can’t recall when and where. Perhaps he’s a model, and I’ve seen his picture somewhere. “Would you like go to the pool house to change?”

  I avoid glancing at his wet briefs to check him out, even though I’m dying to.

  “Thanks, I think I’ll do that,” he grins. Oh, my. It’s a perfect white smile. And I’m melting again. Why does it feel so familiar? I might’ve seen him on some romance book cover.

  “I could probably find you another towel in the house if you would give me just a second.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m almost dry,” he says as he takes his shirt and jeans and walks toward the pool house.

  He emerges in just a minute, fully clothed, and his briefs are squeezed into a ball in his fist. The knowledge that he isn’t wearing any underwear sends blood to my lady bits, and I have to force myself to look away from his crotch.

  “By the way, I’m Keith.” He holds out a hand for me to shake.

  “I’m Elena. Nice to meet you,” I say. The moment our hands touch, I feel electricity zipping through me, and I’m pretty sure I’m wet between my thighs. Jeez, what’s gotten into me? This hasn’t happened for years. I mean, I still get aroused, but it’s only when I read a steamy scene from a romance book. I just haven’t been turned on by any real man for a long time. The pull I feel for the man is so strong and natural as if he’s an ex-lover. I try to recall where I’ve seen him. No, he isn’t anyone I know from high school or college.

  “You know, you’re quite wet yourself,” he says with a mischievous smile.

  How the hell does he know? Am I dripping? I’m so embarrassed I look down at my thighs immediately, but I don’t see any evidence of my arousal.

  He chuckles. “Your shirt.”

  I look at my front. He’s abso
lutely right. The satin blouse is so wet that it becomes transparent, showing not only my curves but also my black lacy bra. “Oh, God!” I cry and quickly put on my blazer, even though it’s roasting outside. I force a laugh. “I’d better go back into the house and let the AC dry it.”

  We barely make it to the backdoor of the house when a slender, red-headed woman in a floral summer dress comes out. “Here you are, Keith! I thought you’d left.”

  The woman doesn’t give me as much as a glance, but my heart drops when I see her. She’s so beautiful and elegant, and the two of them look so right together. I barely know them, but I’m jealous.

  “I’m about to,” Keith says.

  “What happened to your hair? Why is it so wet?”

  “Oh, there’s been a little accident.” He goes on to explain.

  “Wow, so you played hero, huh?” The woman smiles at him coquettishly.

  Keith chuckles. “Yep. All the skills I learned as a lifeguard back in high school were put to use.”

  Lifeguard? That explains why his movements were so swift.

  The woman swats his arm affectionately, and then she turns to me, assuming a professional smile. “Hi, Elena, longtime no see.”

  I freeze as I study her more closely. “Tiffany?” I say as memories flashback—the redhead with big, brown eyes that used to be an intern in my office, back in the time when I worked for Brook’s Real Estate. She looks a lot more mature now, and even her brown eyes seem to have become darker.

  “Glad you still recognize me,” she says. “But honestly, I can’t believe it’s really the Elena Conte I knew. You’re, uh, curvier than I remember. You used to be thin.”

  “Well, thanks for not saying I’m fat.” I chuckle.

  “Wait, do you know each other?” Keith chimes in.

  Suddenly I feel ominous. Tiffany’s presence brings me some unpleasant memories. The name Keith is ringing a bell.

  “Elena used to work for your dad’s company,” she says casually. “Haven’t you met her? She was at the awards party at your house, shortly before she quit.”