My Christmas Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 7) Read online

  It took her a while—and probably a few drinks—before she broached the subject. I’d asked her to dance, because I’m a gentleman and she was sitting on her own, plus Hal told me to, and it would have been rude to refuse. And there, on the dance floor, she gazed up at me with her beautiful brown eyes and asked me if I would like to go back to her room that night.

  I’ll always remember the look in her eyes when I said no. The spark in them died, as if I’d blown out her pilot light.

  I should have left it there, been gentle and kind, told her that I loved her as my best mate’s little sister and that I respected her, and that I hoped we’d remain friends. But I knew I had to crush any remaining hope. So I was cruel to her, and the way she drew in a breath as if she’d been stabbed will always remain with me.

  I’m a bastard. She truly is better off without me.

  We haven’t spoken since. If I walk into a room and she’s in there, she gets up and walks out, unless it’s a meeting, and then she just stares at her laptop and only speaks if she’s spoken to. Oh well. Hell hath no fury, and all that. I only got what I deserved. And wasn’t this what I wanted?

  “Good evening,” the flight attendant says with a smile. He checks my ticket and gestures into the front cabin. “On your right, sir.”

  “Thanks.” I follow his directions to my seat.

  There are single seats by the windows, but as I arrive at my cubicle, I realize that Noah has booked the whole center block consisting of pairs of seats for his party of twenty-four. This includes the Three Wise Men and their partners, all their children and their partners, Summer’s two kids, and me. I’m the only one going on this vacation who isn’t partnered with or related to a King, and in fact I went to see Noah and told him I didn’t expect an invite, and was happy to stay at the Ark this Christmas and hold the fort. He replied there was absolutely no question of me not being a part of the wedding and refused to discuss it further. He didn’t seem to consider the fact that I would rather not have gone.

  So we’re in pairs, and therefore I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to find I’m sitting next to the last single King—Juliet.

  I stand by my seat and look across at her. She’s putting her bag in the overhead locker, stretching up to reach, her tee rising above the waistband of her trousers to reveal an inch of her flat, tanned belly. I clench my jaw. This I don’t need.

  Then she turns and sees who she’s sitting next to. We stare at each other for a moment.

  “Yeah,” she says, “that figures.”

  I hesitate, feeling awkward and cursing Noah, even though I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. He would never have sat us together if he’d known what had happened at Leon’s wedding.

  “Do you want me to ask someone to switch?” I ask her gently.

  “Whatever,” she says. She sits in her seat. Between mine and hers is a removable barrier that can be pulled up for privacy. She tugs it up, shutting me out, then concentrates on sorting out her seat belt.

  I glance around the cabin, but I don’t feel I can ask anyone to switch. Nobody else is on their own, and I’m sure they all want to be seated next to their partners for the journey.

  I take a deep breath. It’s only thirty-four hours; I’m sure we can both be grown-up enough to get through it. The seats are far enough apart that we don’t have to worry about being squished together, and with the barrier we don’t even have to talk if she doesn’t want to.

  So I remove my iPad from my flight bag, slot it in the compartment to the side of the cubicle, put the bag in the locker, and take my seat.

  Hal and Izzy are in front of us, and Albie and Remy are behind us, exploring their living quarters for the next seventeen hours, all talking at once. I can hear Nix laughing several rows down, and Clio giggling as Ryan leans across and whispers something in her ear. Everyone’s excited about the journey. Everyone, it seems, except me and Jules. Now she’s bolted in, she sits looking at her hands, pale and tense.

  I frown, but I know she won’t welcome me talking to her, so I buckle myself in, then smile at another flight attendant as she offers me a glass of champagne. In a cubbyhole with shelves beside my seat is my own personal minibar with half a dozen complimentary drinks and a selection of snacks, plus a sleep mask and a set of proper headphones. There’s also a touch-screen TV offering a huge array of movies and TV series, music, and other entertainment programs. And the seat converts to a flat bed, so we’re not going to have to worry about getting any shut eye.

  As the last passengers take their seats, the flight attendants move through the cabin, making sure everyone is comfortable and preparing us for the flight. One of them bends to talk to Jules and says, somewhat apologetically, “Would you mind lowering the panel for takeoff, please, ma’am.”

  Not looking at me, Jules pushes down the dividing panel between us. Now, I could easily reach across and touch her. I don’t, though. Every cell in her body is screaming at me to fuck off. Her hands sit in her lap, clenched into fists, and her body is rigid.

  In front of us, Hal lifts up, turns, and looks over his seat at us. He glances at me, obviously realizes for the first time that I’m sitting next to Jules, and purses his lips. Then he looks at his sister, and his expression turns gentle. “You okay?” he asks.

  She nods tightly.

  “Deep breaths,” he says. He glances at me. “She doesn’t like flying.”

  I look across at her, shocked. She turns her gaze away, out of the window. I look back at Hal. He raises his eyebrows, then sits back in his seat.

  I know he was disappointed because I turned her down. I suppose I should have explained my reasoning to him, but I can’t, because it’s not my story to tell, and so all I can do is live with my guilt and sadness, and hope that time will heal us all.

  The flight attendants run through their safety briefing, and then they’re buckling themselves in as the plane heads to the runway and prepares for takeoff. Beside me, Jules is breathing fast, and I can feel her tension radiating from her in waves. Jesus, it’s going to be a long thirty-four hours if she remains this stressed for the entire flight.

  “Can I get you anything?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “I’ll be better once we take off.”

  The sound of the plane’s engines changes, and then it starts heading down the runway.

  Jules is breathing so fast I’m worried she’ll pass out. I can’t help myself—I reach across the short distance between us and rest a hand on hers.

  To my alarm, she snatches her hand away and glares at me. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps.

  I hold up my hands, shocked at her vitriolic reaction. “All right. I’m sorry. I just want to help.”

  She doesn’t reply; she just closes her eyes, and her lips move as if she’s talking to herself. I can’t hear what she’s saying, though, so I don’t know if she’s just reassuring herself, or saying a prayer, or maybe she’s cursing me.

  The plane accelerates, then lifts, and we’re in the air.

  Jules blows out a long, slow breath, and slowly opens her eyes.

  “Better?” I say.

  She gives a short nod.

  “Have you always hated flying?” I ask her.

  Another nod.

  I study her face, her large brown eyes. I’m lucky enough to have dated some beautiful women. Some of my previous girlfriends have been stunners, mostly blondes, and tall with stick-thin figures and refined features. Jules isn’t like that at all, and I’m sure Hal and my other mates would say she’s not really my sort of girl, if I have a sort. She’s about five-seven, and she’s a classic Kiwi girl, her skin tanned and her muscles toned. She has long brown hair that she pulls into a ponytail while she’s in the grooming center, but when she’s not working she wears it down. She has a rather snub nose, a wide mouth, and dimples. I’ve known her forever, and watched her grow up and turn from a somewhat tomboyish girl into an attractive woman. But she’s not the type that would normally light my candle. She�
��s outspoken and feisty, and very sporty—she enjoys swimming and surfing, and she plays for the Northland netball team. She doesn’t have fake nails and she doesn’t wear heavy makeup like most of the girls I’ve dated. She doesn’t wear expensive jewelry, and the only designer labels I’ve seen her in are her Adidas and Puma sports gear. She’s the epitome of the girl next door, and she’s my best mate’s little sis, so she shouldn’t be on my radar at all.

  But she is.

  I’ve daydreamed about making love to her ever since she was old enough to have breasts that filled her bikini. And over the past couple of years, that twinge of attraction has morphed into full-blown obsession.

  I’ve imagined grabbing her hand at one of the parties we’ve been to when our families have gotten together, dragging her off into the bushes or the bathroom or somewhere else private, and kissing her senseless. There’s just something about her—that twinkle in her eyes, or that sexy little smile she gives to reveal her dimples—that tells me she’d be amazing in bed. I want to find out if I’m right. God, what I haven’t thought about doing to her, with her. I want to discover what she tastes like; what sounds she makes when she comes. I long for it so much that sometimes it’s like a hunger.

  I open my mouth and inhale to say something. I can’t bear this coldness between us, or the fact that she so clearly hates me now. Even though I can’t tell her everything, I want to put it right.

  But the words freeze on my lips as she yanks up the barrier between us, shutting me out.

  And that’s that. I doubt we’ll exchange another word for the rest of the journey.

  Chapter Three

  Jules

  I spend the next couple of hours with my headphones on, watching a movie and ignoring the man sitting beside me.

  Now we’ve taken off, I feel a little more relaxed. Unease still simmers deep inside me, but it’s easy to forget we’re so many thousand feet above the Earth when we’re cozy in the cabin, sipping champagne and watching movies.

  Soon it’ll be time to sleep, and that will pass a few hours. It won’t be long, I reassure myself, before we’re touching down in Dubai, and not much longer after that before we reach our destination. And once we’re in Finland, I can keep as much distance from Stefan as I want.

  But first it’s time for dinner, and I sit at my little table and eat smoked salmon, roasted chicken with fragrant rice and minced lamb, and chocolate truffle cake, while sipping cocktails and watching a rom-com that lifts my mood and passes the time.

  The barrier between Stefan and me remains up. I don’t talk to him, and he doesn’t talk to me. At one point, I drop my napkin, and before I can retrieve it, he reaches down and picks it up, and then his hand appears around the barrier, passing it to me. I take it and say thank you, and that’s the extent of our conversation.

  I squash the feeling of sadness that threatens to engulf me. He’s only a couple of years older than me, and when we were younger he used to flirt with me occasionally, the way you do with someone you know well, making jokes that are near the knuckle, without overstepping the mark. I liked him and trusted him, and we were good friends. I would have done anything for him, and I know he would have done anything for me. So it feels weird now to have this distance between us like an icy wall.

  But it’s not my fault. I’m not to blame. This is his doing, and my resentment runs so deep that I know our relationship will never return to the way it was.

  I finish my meal, and we’ve been sitting for several hours now, so I visit the Ladies’, then stand and stretch my legs for a while by the bar at the back of the cabin. It’s a real bar—horseshoe-shaped and serving almost every drink I can think of. I choose a classic martini, and sit at the bar and sip it, trying not to think about the clouds passing below me, the endless distance between the thin shell of the plane and the ocean beneath me.

  People pass me occasionally; Abby walks up and down with baby Ethan for a while, who’s behaving extremely well, and sometimes people visit the bathroom and stop for a chat. I’m midway through my second cocktail when I see Stefan rise and come toward me.

  I drop my gaze to the glass as he passes, trying not to look at him as he goes into the bathroom. Jeez, why did he have to be so handsome? He’s quite a bit taller than I am, and like Hal he played a lot of rugby when he was young, so he’s broad-shouldered and well-muscled, and he has a Maori tattoo around his right arm because his grandfather was Maori.

  I know his dad well. Nikau Rogers works for my grandfather, and even though he’s in his sixties now, he’s gorgeous too, his dark hair almost entirely white.

  I found out not that long ago that he used to be an escort when he was young. I have to admit I was a little shocked. I wonder how old Stefan was when he found out. What does he think about his dad doing a job like that? Apparently he gave it up when he met Stefan’s mom, Elise, so I suppose that’s the main thing.

  Stefan could easily charge money for sex. You can always tell when a guy’s going to be good in bed; something about the look in their eye, and their sense of humor. Stefan’s not as outwardly funny as Hal or Albie, but he has a very dry wit, and I bet he’s amazing in bed.

  I used to fantasize about sleeping with him. I’d picture what it would be like to kiss him, how he would hold me, the way he would take off my clothes, kiss down my body, slide inside me. Would he be considerate, teasing me to the edge with soft, gentle hands? Or would he be the type who liked it hard and fast, who’d thrust me to the finish line and leave me hot and sweaty and exhausted?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him come out of the bathroom. I keep my gaze on my glass, stirring the olive in the cocktail, waiting for him to go back to his seat.

  Except he doesn’t. He leans on the bar, a foot away from me, and orders a double of the Jura Superstition single malt whisky, over ice.

  I pick up my glass, finish off the martini, and go to leave.

  “Jules,” he says, placing a hand on my arm. “Don’t go.”

  I stare at his hand, and eventually he removes it. I lift my gaze to his. His blue eyes are gentle.

  “Will you sit and have a drink with me?” he asks.

  My whole body feels as if it’s made from rock. I’m rigid with resentment and fury. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. I want to hurt him as much as he hurt me.

  “There’s nothing to say,” I tell him.

  “Please,” he says. “Have a drink with me.”

  I hesitate. I want to go back to my seat. I want to punish him and refuse to let him have this conversation. But his eyes are still gentle, hopeful.

  I turn back to the bartender and order another martini. Stefan and I don’t speak while he makes it. When he’s done, I pick it up, and the two of us walk over to a couple of seats with a table between them by the window.

  We’re flying into the sun, and although the sky is dark, a strip of orange stains the horizon. The sea beneath us is invisible, thank God. I pull down the shutter so I don’t have to think about it.

  “I didn’t know you didn’t like flying.” He sips his whisky. “Have you always been like that?”

  “When I was a kid, we went on vacation to Rarotonga,” I tell him. “It was a bumpy flight, lots of air pockets, and it terrified me. I know all the stats, that it’s safer to fly than drive a car, blah blah, but when I’m in the air, I can’t stop thinking about all the space beneath me, and how far I’d have to fall.”

  As if in illustration, the plane judders briefly. I grip the edge of the table as my pulse speeds up, but the seat belt light remains off.

  “Nice dinner, wasn’t it?” Stefan says.

  I nod and swallow. “I liked the chicken.”

  “And the chocolate cake, I noticed.” He smiles.

  I shrug. “I only ate it because I didn’t want to disappoint the flight attendant.”

  He chuckles, swirling the whisky over the ice in his glass. My gaze falls on his strong hands with their long fingers. I used to fantasize about those hands sliding u
p my body. God, how many years have I spent lusting after this man? I lift my gaze to his. He looks amused, as if he can read my thoughts. I try not to blush.

  His smile fades, and he lets out a sigh. “I want to say I regret what happened at Leon’s wedding.”

  I clear my throat. My heart bangs on my ribs. Has he changed his mind? Does that mean he’s interested in me? “What, specifically?”

  “I regret the way I turned you down,” he says. My heart sinks. Not because he turned me down, but for the way he did it. He hasn’t changed his mind.

  Of course he hasn’t, Jules. Why would he? I know I’m not his type. He likes leggy girls with big boobs, legs up to their armpits, and makeup that has to be removed with a trowel. I’ve always known that.

  I shrug. “You only said what you were feeling. You had every right to make your views clear.”

  “Come on,” he says, “this is me you’re talking to. I know I was harsh. I did it on purpose because I wanted to make it clear that nothing can happen between us, not then, not now, not ever, but I didn’t have to be so heartless.”

  “I’m a big girl,” I tell him. “I can cope.”

  “Really? So I shouldn’t take the fact that you can’t bear to be around me as an indication of how much I hurt you?”

  I bristle at that. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want to be Hal’s little sis that you feel you have to let down lightly. If you don’t find me attractive and you don’t want to date me, that’s fine. I’m a grown woman. I’ll deal with it.”