My Lonely Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 4) Page 11

  I think about taking Noah up on his offer to put me up in a hotel or a motel. But I can’t think of anything more depressing than returning there after giving birth. I have to think of my mental health. I’ve always thought of myself as a strong person, confident and resilient, but right now I’m fragile and emotional, packed full of baby hormones, and I have to put Peanut first.

  I could go to the local Women’s Refuge and exist on their charity. There would be other women who might be able to help me look after the baby. But ultimately, is that going to be any less depressing than staying in a motel?

  So… why shouldn’t I accept Noah’s offer to stay at his house?

  I lie awake that night, in the strange bed with the crisp duvet, thinking about Noah sleeping a few rooms down, going over it in my mind. He’s possibly the kindest person I’ve ever met. And I really don’t want to take advantage of him.

  But then I start thinking that maybe I’m being unfair to him. He’s not eighteen, making foolish declarations without thinking them through. He’s a grown man—ten years older than me, rattling around in a huge house, stuck in a behavioral pattern he’s having trouble breaking out of. He’s human, so he’s right—his offer isn’t going to be all altruistic. Maybe he’s seeing this as a chance to do something different. Yes, it’s a sacrifice—he’s giving up his peace and quiet, and to some extent I know he’s going to feel responsible for me and the baby. But I believe him when he says if I wanted to leave, he wouldn’t try to stop me.

  Why do we always think the worst of people? It’s possible there are generous souls out there who only want to help, isn’t it? I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s always looking for the bad in people. I want to trust Noah. And I want to believe there’s nothing wrong with me staying at his house until I’m back on my feet. What am I worried about? That he’ll take sexual advantage of me? Do I really think the gorgeous Noah King would be interested in me, currently the size of an elephant, decorated with stretch marks, and soon to be covered in baby vomit? Jesus. I should be so lucky.

  I pout at the ceiling. I shouldn’t think like that. But holy heck, it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had really good sex, the kind that’s not painful and where you get an orgasm at the end. Or at the beginning, I’m not fussed. It’s been so long since a man’s given me one, I wouldn’t care at what point in the process it appeared.

  I console myself that he hasn’t had sex for ten years. Maybe he’s forgotten how to do it. Or perhaps he wasn’t any good at it in the first place. Then I think about the way he held me, his gentle hands, and I sigh. I’m fooling myself. There’s no way the guy isn’t a god in the bedroom.

  For a brief moment, I consider the fact that this is some kind of twisted attempt from him to recreate the perfect life he had before his wife and baby died. But that’s unfair to him. It was ten years ago, for Christ’s sake. He has his issues, obviously, but I don’t think he’s disturbed enough for this to be anything but him wanting to help me.

  But that really is nothing to do with me. That’s not what this is about. The question is, what is the real problem with me staying here?

  He asked me if it would be any different if he were a woman, and of course it would. If it had been Izzy or Summer who’d offered, I’d still have felt awkward and as if I was intruding, but I would have believed in their generous offer, and I wouldn’t be worrying what other people were thinking.

  So I suppose the question is, do I believe that every man is rotten to the core?

  My experience hasn’t been great in the past. But it’s different now. I’ve met Hal and Leon, Albie and Stefan, Fitz and Ryan. They’ve all been kind, and seem decent, hardworking guys, despite the fact that most of them could probably buy this house ten times over. They all love and respect women. I can only conclude that I’ve been terribly unlucky. Or maybe I’m just very lucky now. And I would be foolish to let this opportunity, this amazing chance, slip through my fingers on account of pride.

  But, lying here in the dark, I can admit the truth to myself. I don’t just want to stay because it’s a great opportunity. Or because of Peanut. I want to stay because of Noah.

  I’ll keep it to myself, for now. But I acknowledge and store it close to my heart.

  On Wednesday morning, I give him my decision: for the foreseeable future, I’m going to stay.

  I don’t think he could have hidden his delight if he’d wanted to. His smile is breathtaking, full of genuine pleasure. All he says is, “Cool! Want a cup of tea?” But he continues to smile as he fills the kettle, and I know I’ve pleased him.

  As the rest of the day goes by, I begin to think that this could work. During the day, Noah is busy; he’s on the phone, on conference calls, working in his office, or accepting visitors for meetings. People come and go on a regular basis, and it soon becomes clear he’s told everyone what’s happening, because when I bump into Hal or Leon or Fitz coming out of the conference room or Noah’s office, they’re warm and friendly, and nobody asks me what I’m doing here.

  When there are visitors, I stay in my room, read in the library, or go out for a short walk, down to the beach. Then, when they go, Noah comes and asks me if I want to join him for a meal. We eat breakfast and lunch in the conservatory, while we read. We have dinner in the living room watching the TV.

  After that is my favorite time of the day. It’s warm and cozy with the log fire on, and the two dogs curled up in their beds. We watch Attenborough’s Dynasties series, and Noah fetches me blankets and tries to feed me snacks through the evening—popcorn, Maltesers, and tiny bits of cheese and crackers.

  It’s not a long-term solution. I know that. But for now, I feel safe and content for the first time in a long time.

  On Friday, he announces that Summer and the other women at the Ark have asked if they can come around after work. Summer apparently has some old baby stuff in her attic that she wants to bring over to see if I can use, and the other girls are keen to talk pregnancy and babies. He asks me if I’m comfortable meeting with them. I’m a little nervous, sure they’re going to grill me about what I’m doing here, but I say yes because they’re his friends, they all seem nice, and I’m desperate for some female company.

  “I have something to ask you,” he says as the hour draws near.

  “Oh?” We’re having dinner in the living room, eating chili I spent the afternoon making, poured over tortilla chips with sour cream and homemade guacamole.

  “Mm.” He crunches a chip. “My God, Abby, this chili is amazing.”

  I grin at him. “It’s not bad.”

  “It’s something else. Hot but not too hot. Yeah. Really good. Anyway… While the girls are here, I thought I might go out.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Out?”

  “Mm. I thought I might pick up some stuff for you from the house.”

  I study him for a long moment. He scoops up some chili with a tortilla chip and eats it, giving me an innocent look.

  “You want to talk to Tom,” I say eventually.

  He licks his fingers. “If he’s there, I might have a word. But honestly, I thought you might be sick of wearing my sweaters and that you might like your own maternity clothes.”

  I don’t have a lot of them, but I don’t tell him that. I also like wearing his sweaters, but I don’t tell him that, either. “I don’t know,” I say doubtfully, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. And anyway, are you sure you’re ready for that kind of outing? Picking me up was one thing—you were driven by a purpose, and that took your mind off it.”

  “Knocking Tom’s teeth down his throat is a purpose.” He holds up his hand as my jaw drops and laughs. “I’m joking. Can you really see me doing anything like that?”

  “No…”

  “I’ll take Leon. He’s pretty tough.”

  “Noah!”

  He chuckles. “Relax. Don’t you want the bits and pieces you bought for Peanut?”

  I put down my dish, my appetite vanishing. “I don’t have much
, Noah. I’m embarrassed to let you see what little I have.”

  His expression goes carefully blank. He pokes at the chili with a chip for a moment. Then he scoops up some more and crunches it. “Well anyway, unless you expressly forbid it, that’s what I’d like to do.”

  “I would like a few of my cookbooks,” I admit grudgingly. “And some of my shoes.” And the last thing I want to do is face Tom again.

  “Then it’s settled. It’ll give you girls some space, anyway. The last thing you’ll want is me and the guys hanging around making your life a misery.”

  His violet-blue eyes study me. He’s sitting back in the armchair while he eats, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. His jeans are tight over his thighs. He’s wearing an All Blacks rugby shirt, one of the performance fit ones, that clings tightly to his body. Yowza. He has muscles in places I’d forgotten men had muscles.

  He wears his masculinity casually, and I wonder whether it’s been so long since he’s reacted to a woman that he’s unaware how sexy he is. It’s funny to think that when he was younger, he was a rebellious troublemaker. I’d like to have met young Noah, full of testosterone and sex hormones, running hot.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, pointing his fork at me.

  “Like what?”

  He shakes his head, amusement lighting his eyes. “Everyone will be here soon. I’m going to get ready.” He takes our dishes to the kitchen.

  I look at Willow, who’s cocked her head at me. I poke my tongue out at her. She pants, as if she’s doing the same to me.

  I suppose I should get ready, too, although I don’t have anything I can change into. He leant me another sweater this morning, but as much as I like wearing his clothes, he’s right, I need some proper maternity stuff because I do look like a circus tent at the moment.

  I’m excited at the thought of what Summer might have found in her attic. Perhaps she’ll have an item or two of maternity clothing? She’s a lot smaller than me, though. It’ll be going from the sublime to the ridiculous. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. I’m going to have to put my pride aside for a while and just accept whatever anyone is willing to give me. It’s all for Peanut.

  I turn and look at Noah, who’s putting the crockery in the dishwasher, and I catch sight of his tight butt as he bends over.

  It’s almost all for Peanut.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Noah

  Everyone arrives within ten minutes of each other, and soon the house is full of people. It turns out that the girls have decided the evening is going to be a baby shower. Summer’s brought heaps of bags with her boys’ old baby clothes, and Zach struggles in with a fancy stroller that has a removable car seat. Leon and Hal help him with the pieces of a cot complete with a washable mattress, and Zach and Albie spend five minutes putting it up in Abby’s room. Summer’s brought heaps of baby blankets, mobiles, toys, and lots of other paraphernalia. The other girls have all brought presents, too. I’ve told them Abby doesn’t have any maternity wear, so they’ve all bought her some items, as well as new things for the baby.

  Abby watches from the sofa as they bring everything in, and then promptly bursts into tears.

  “Totally expected,” Summer says cheerfully as I hover, concerned. She makes a shooing gesture with her hands. “Go on. You lot get going. We’ll sort Abby out.”

  So I leave her with the girls, who carry the muffins she made earlier into the living room, all talking at once, it seems, while Nix sits next to Abby and gives her a hug, and Remy brings her a drink.

  “They’ll be fine,” Hal advises. “They’ve got chocolate muffins. I’m tempted to stay.”

  “There wouldn’t be any left for anyone else,” Albie tells him, pushing him toward the door. “Come on.”

  I take my jacket from the hook, give one final glance at Abby, see her laughing at something Izzy’s said as she wipes her eyes, and I go out of the door. The dogs adore the girls and are happy to stay with them.

  Outside, it’s dark and raining lightly. I have Abby’s house keys in my pocket. I pause on the doorstep and look out across the fields, into the darkness. Ghosts and memories lie in wait, along with the hope and uncertainty of the future.

  “Noah?”

  I bring my gaze back and see the guys standing on the driveway. I’ve told them where I want to go, and that afterward maybe we can go to the local bar for a drink. It will be the first time I’ve done that since the Ark was built five years ago.

  Leon walks toward me. “You all right, bro?” he asks softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m okay.” I remember Abby’s hand sliding into mine that first time we went for a walk, and I take a step out into the rain. “Whose car are we taking?”

  “I thought mine,” Hal says. “I don’t know how much stuff Abby will have, but it’s probably got the biggest boot.”

  “Okay.” We follow him to the Mitsubishi he bought recently. I’m shaking, and I’m sure they’ve spotted it, but nobody says anything. Leon gestures for me to get in the front, and he, Albie, and Zach pile in the back, with lots of elbowing and cursing as they struggle to buckle themselves in.

  “Everyone ready?” Hal glances at me as he presses the button to start the engine. I just nod. My hands are clenched into fists, but I’m going to do my best to appear calm.

  Hal reverses out of the drive and heads the car toward the main road. I give him the address, and he nods and takes the turn to Paihia.

  I take long, slow breaths, and try to concentrate on Abby. She’s the reason I’m doing this. She and Peanut. Her baby boy. They need help. I can’t let her down now.

  “How’s Summer doing?” Leon asks as we drive through the dark night.

  “Really good,” Zach replies. “I couldn’t keep her away from the Ark, but she’s only doing an hour or two a day at the moment. I think it takes her mind off it, you know?”

  We all nod solemnly. Summer’s recent chest infection proved nearly fatal, and it was a sharp reminder to us all about the seriousness of her condition.

  “She’s been looking forward to tonight,” he adds. “She loves talking babies. She would have had a third, I think, but in the end we decided two was enough.”

  “Remy wants four,” Albie says. “God help me.”

  We all chuckle. I’m thrilled he’s found himself such a lovely girl. Remy had eyes for nobody else from the moment she saw him.

  “Have you fixed a date yet?” Leon asks.

  “February. We both thought a hot summer wedding would be nice.”

  I smile. Hal and Izzy are getting married in September, and Leon and Nix in early December. It will be a year for weddings, and no doubt next year will be the year for babies.

  “Thanks for this,” I say to the guys. “I appreciate you coming with me.”

  “Of course,” Leon says. “We bring the muscle.”

  “And the brains,” Albie adds.

  “I’m not sure what I bring,” Zach says, “moral support, I guess.”

  I grin. “It’s much appreciated.”

  “How do you want to play it?” Hal asks. “You want us all to go in, mob-handed, frighten the crap out of him?”

  “Not initially. I’ll test the waters first. I’m guessing he’s not going to play nice, though. If he’s there at all.” I hope he is. I want to meet the man who’s treated Abigail so appallingly. I’m terrified of being outside, but I’m not scared of the man himself.

  Hal slows to check the signs, turns onto a road, and then follows it to the end, where it meets Abby’s street. We read the numbers on the letter boxes until we find Abby’s, and Hal stops the car.

  I look up at the tiny cottage. There’s a light in the front window. Tom’s home.

  “Give me five minutes,” I say to them. “Then bring your crowbars and knuckle-dusters.”

  Hal snorts. “Are you sure about this?” Leon asks.

  “No. But I need to do it.” I open the door and get out. It’s really cold tonight.
It never snows up in the sub-tropical Northland, but the rain is hard on my face, almost like sleet.

  My heart bangs on my ribs, and for a moment it’s hard to breathe. My feet feel frozen to the floor. I’m conscious of the guys in the car, watching me, probably exchanging glances. I can’t stay here. Am I going to do this or not?

  I turn up my collar, shove my hands in the pocket of my jeans, walk up to the front door, and ring the bell before I can change my mind.

  I wait for about thirty seconds. When nobody answers, my pulse pounding, I ring again. Still no answer.

  Taking a deep breath, I slot the key in, open the door, and go in.

  All the lights are on. I push the door to, walk along the corridor, and turn into the living room.

  Tom is on the sofa, asleep. There are half a dozen empty cans of cheap beer on the coffee table. The place stinks of B.O., booze, and cigarettes. He’s unshaven, his clothes rumpled.

  I glance around the room, looking for anything Abby might want me to pick up. I can’t see much of her presence here. A pair of slippers. A couple of older baby magazines put tidily on a shelf in the corner. I should have brought up one of the boxes Hal has in the car.

  I pick up the slippers and magazines, the bag of half-finished knitting by the side of the sofa, the small pot of hand cream, the notebook with flowers on the cover and the glittery pen. Anything that looks vaguely feminine. There’s an empty bag on the table, and I put everything in it.

  “Hey!”

  I turn to see Tom blinking furiously, getting to his feet. “What the fuck!” he yells.

  I move to put the sofa between us. “I’m Abby’s friend. She gave me her key. I’m here to collect her stuff.”

  He scrubs at his eyes. “Abby? Where is she?”

  “She’s going to be staying with me until the baby comes. I’m here to pick up some of her bits and pieces to make her comfortable.”