My Roommate, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 3) Page 5

  He doesn’t say anything else, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he starts the coffee machine heating up. He disappears out of the kitchen briefly, returns with a large sports bag that he places by the door, then returns to pouring some cereal into a bowl and finishing off his coffee.

  “Got enough Special K there?” I ask him. The bowl is practically overflowing.

  “Yes, thanks.” He appears to have missed my sarcastic tone.

  I look at the sports bag. “Are you off out this morning?”

  “Yep. I’m leaving at nine.”

  I wait for him to divulge what he’s up to. He doesn’t. He smiles at me, then takes his coffee and cereal and walks out of the room, presumably to the deck overlooking the garden, where he often eats, even on these cool mornings.

  I study the sports bag. It’s June now and winter Down Under, so he’s not playing cricket or tennis, and anyway there’s no sign of a racket or cricket pads. It’s probably rugby—all the men here seem to play New Zealand’s national sport. Or maybe soccer. Or is he going diving or something—is there a wetsuit in there?

  I chew my bottom lip, intrigued. I hear a chair scrape on the deck—he’s eating his cereal, and he’ll be ten minutes or so. Plenty of time to have a look.

  Rising quietly, I go over to the bag, bend, and unzip it. Then I stare at the contents. The item on the top is made from gray and white faux fur. I lift it out carefully—it’s a top, with long sleeves and a zipper down the back. There’s also a pair of trousers made from the same fur, and underneath them, a huge pair of feet. I take out the item tucked into the corner—it’s a dog’s head, with a big smiley face and eyes with tiny holes in the middle so the person wearing it can see where they’re going.

  I’m completely flummoxed. My first—bizarre—thought is that it’s some kind of kinky sex costume. But surely nobody would want to have sex dressed like this? How could this possibly be a turn-on? No, he must be going to a party of some kind.

  A pair of bare feet appear in the doorway. Caught in the act, I look up at Albie as he leans against the door jamb, studying me with raised eyebrows.

  “Oops,” I say.

  His lips curve up.

  I place the items back in the bag, zip it up, and get to my feet. “I feel very embarrassed,” I tell him. “I am a terribly nosy person. It is one of my failings.”

  “So I see.”

  I have the sudden feeling he’s trying hard not to let his gaze drop from my face. I glance down. When I bent to open the bag, my dressing gown parted, revealing my nightie. It’s knee-length and satin, so there’s no revealing lace bodice or anything, but even so, it’s a little chilly in the kitchen, and my nipples are sticking out through the light-blue satin like buttons.

  I tug the sides of my dressing gown together. “Albie!”

  “What?” He’s the picture of innocence.

  I glare at him. “Are you going to tell me what the costume is for?”

  “Nope.” He grins. “I’ll show you, though, if you come with me today.”

  “Where?”

  “If you want to know, be ready for nine.” He pushes off the door, picks up the spoon he’d obviously forgotten, and leaves the room.

  What a cheek! Expecting me to drop everything and follow him. I’m not going with him if he’s not going to tell me where he’s off to. Infernal man.

  I flounce off to my bedroom to have a shower.

  *

  At nine, I walk into the kitchen to find him showered and dressed in jeans and a black sweater over a white T-shirt, filling the room with his wonderful spicy scent, as he pockets his phone and picks up his car keys.

  He looks at my jacket and the purse over my shoulder. “Are you going out?”

  “Do not be smug, Al-bee. It is not an attractive quality.”

  But his eyebrows rise, and he looks genuinely surprised. “You’re coming with me?”

  I feel the first twinge of doubt. “Oh. Were you joking?”

  “No…” A gorgeous smile spreads slowly over his face. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “You intrigued me,” I tell him, somewhat sulkily.

  “All right,” he says softly. “Come on, then.”

  “You were going in your car?” He normally takes his motorbike everywhere.

  “Yeah, the bag’s quite big and heavy.” He shoulders it and gestures to the door.

  I follow him out. “Do you need to take a birthday present or something?”

  He gives me an amused look over his shoulder. “It’s not a party. Stop fishing.”

  I’d thought it might be one of his nephews’ birthdays, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.

  We go outside into the cool June air. It’s incredibly windy, and it whips strands of hair around my face. I’ll be relieved to get into the car and shut the door. I read on the news this morning that it looks as if we’re going to catch the tail end of a cyclone that’s already done lots of damage in Fiji and the other Pacific Islands. That’s a little scary.

  He locks the door behind me, presses the button on his car key, and unlocks his car. While it’s not as flash as Leon’s F-TYPE Jag or Pierre’s Aston Martin DB9, it’s a BMW 8 Series convertible, large and comfortable, and I sink into the passenger seat and nestle back into the soft cushions.

  “Oh, one thing,” he says, “I’m going to need to ask a friend to run a background police check on you. Do I have your permission?”

  Now I’m thoroughly confused. “Um… yes, I suppose so.”

  He gets out his phone and proceeds to send a text. “If you’ve murdered someone and spent ten years in prison, now would be the time to tell me.”

  I ignore that. “You are still not going to tell me what this is about?”

  “Nope.” He slides the phone back into his pocket, then reverses out of the drive. “You sure you don’t have other plans? We won’t be back much before two or three this afternoon.”

  “I am not busy today.”

  “No Jules to spirit you off somewhere exciting?” He smiles as he heads along the beach front toward the main state highway. “The two of you seem inseparable.”

  It’s true—we work together all day and we’re often out in the evenings or at weekends. “She’s a good friend,” I say. “More like a sister than my real sister, maybe because we’re so close in age.”

  “Is she dating anyone?”

  “Not at the moment.” She lived with her boyfriend, Connor, for a few years, but they broke up before I started at the Ark. Not that long ago, she confided in me that he hit her. Only once, a backhander across the face. She walked straight out and never spoke to him again, but I could tell it shook her up. I don’t tell Albie that, though. She said she hadn’t told any of the guys at the Ark, because she knew they’d hunt Connor down and beat the shit out of him.

  I can’t imagine Albie beating the shit out of anyone. “Have you ever got into a fight?” I ask him.

  He gives a short laugh. “Why do you ask that?”

  “I just wondered.”

  He indicates at the roundabout and heads along the main road. “I take after my dad. My uncle once told him if he knocked someone out it would be like being hit by Pooh Bear.”

  “You have not answered my question.”

  “No,” he says, “I haven’t.”

  I study him thoughtfully. “You like having secrets, don’t you?”

  “I think it makes me dark and mysterious.”

  “It makes you very frustrating.” I wish he’d just answer me. After Pierre, I find it difficult to trust people, and knowing he hides things makes me uneasy.

  He glances at me. “When people ask questions like that, they usually have an agenda. Other people seem to be able to guess what that agenda is, but I’m not able to do that. I don’t know whether you’re asking me because you’d be horrified to discover I’d hit someone, or whether you secretly think it’s masculine and sexy if a man floors someone. When I can’t tell, I prefer not to a
nswer.”

  My frustration evaporates. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to try to decipher the social signals most of us take for granted. “I am sorry,” I murmur. “I will try to be more open with you. I do not find it particularly sexy to know that a man has hit someone. I suppose I was interested to know what happens when you lose your temper.”

  “I don’t tend to. As I said, I’m like my dad. Both of us prefer to analyze rather than act. After saying that, Dad did knock out Summer’s father once. Hence Matt’s Pooh Bear comment.”

  “Charlie knocked him out?” It’s hard to imagine the silver-haired, elegant gentleman giving anyone a right hook.

  “And threatened to use Tetrodotoxin to paralyze him and donate his body to scientific research while he was still alive if he continued to be a nuisance to Mom. He would never do that, of course. But Dillon didn’t know that at the time. I would imagine Dad was very convincing.”

  I smile. “So you’ve never hit anyone?”

  “Nope. I leave the alpha stuff to Hal and Leon.”

  “You don’t consider yourself an alpha male?”

  “Only in the bedroom.”

  That makes my eyes widen.

  “Sorry,” he says, “did I say that out loud?

  I start to laugh, tingling all over at the thought of Albie turning alpha in bed. “You did, you naughty boy.”

  He grins. “The answer is no, I don’t consider myself an alpha male. I have no interest in proving I’m more manly than every other guy in the room. Mind you, if I saw Pierre, I’d happily punch his lights out for what he did to you.”

  “Aw, Albie. I think that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “None of your friends offered to do the same?”

  I shake my head. “Pierre and I were only friends with couples, and the guys probably shook his hand when they found out.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” he says. “The Kings might take a while to settle down, but none of us has ever cheated on a girl.”

  He glances at me, his eyes serious. He means every word.

  I settle back in my seat, watching the forested slopes and green fields flashing by the windows. Everything I find out about this man warms my heart toward him a little bit more.

  Chapter Seven

  Albie

  For the rest of the journey we talk about inconsequential things—music, books, movies. She asks a lot of questions about New Zealand. I tell myself it’s because she wants to discover her roots, but that doesn’t explain some of her questions—what sport do you play, Al-bee? Where did you go to university? What’s your favorite food? She’s interested in me, the same way I’m interested in her.

  Or maybe she’s just being polite. We are stuck in the car together, after all.

  It’s a blustery journey, with rain occasionally smearing the windscreen, and dried leaves skittering across the road. But it’s warm in the car, and the journey passes quickly. I like having Remy next to me. She’s only six inches away, and I could easily reach out and hold her hand, or run my fingers up her tight-jeans-clad thigh. I don’t, of course, but it’s fun to fantasize about it. She looks gorgeous today, in a thin cream sweater through which I catch tantalizing glimpses of some kind of lacy underwear. I’m beginning to suspect she’s doing it on purpose to tease me. The thought makes me smile.

  Just after ten-thirty, I indicate right off the state highway. Remy sits up and stares as I slow down and take the next turnoff.

  “The hospital?” Her eyes widen. “Is one of your friends unwell?”

  “No, that’s not why I’m here.” I park in the large car park and we get out. I retrieve the bag from the back, lock the car, then head up the slope toward the main building, Remy at my side.

  “Albie,” she begs. “Come on, you have to tell me.”

  “Okay,” I relent. “Have you heard of the Ward Seven stories?”

  “The ones your uncle wrote? Of course. Carmel the Cat, Squish the Possum…”

  “That’s right. Matt designed the characters, and Dad had the idea to use them to decorate the medical equipment children use in hospitals. Well, ever since, the three of them have visited children’s wards across Auckland and the Northland. They dress up as one of the characters from the books and give the children gifts.”

  “Oh of course!” she exclaims. “Your costume is Dixon the Dog!”

  I grin. “Yep.”

  Her eyes are full of wonder. “That’s why you’re here? To dress up and visit the children?”

  “Yeah. I started doing it a few years ago, to help out, and I enjoyed it, so I do it most weekends now.”

  “I didn’t know,” she whispers.

  I shrug. “Nobody knows. I haven’t told anyone, and I’ve sworn the Three Wise Men to secrecy.”

  “Why?”

  We approach the automatic doors and enter the main building. “It’s a long story,” I say. “I’ll tell you on the way home.” And then I wave, because standing by the elevator is a shortish, pretty, dark-haired woman with a bright smile. “Hey, Bex.”

  “Hey, Albie!” Bex comes forward for a hug. “Lovely to see you.”

  “And you. Bex, j’introduis Remy De La Vieuville.”

  Remy’s eyes widen. “I think you mean ‘je présente,’ Albie.”

  “Sorry, what did I say?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

  “Oh.” I pull an eek face at Bex, who bites her lip, trying not to smile. “This is Remy, a good friend of mine. She’s come with me today to see what goes on in the wards. Remy, Bex runs the Northland branch of the We Three Kings Foundation, the charity side of the Three Wise Men.”

  The two women shake hands. “Pleased to meet you,” Remy says in her beautiful accent.

  “Likewise. I hope you enjoy your day,” Bex tells her. “The police check’s all clear,” she adds to me.

  “And she looks like such a dodgy character,” I say, earning myself a glare from Remy.

  Bex smiles. “Good. Shall we start?”

  We head up to the children’s ward in the elevator, and Bex takes us to the office at the end. “I’ll just check the porter has brought the boxes up,” she says, going out and closing the door.

  “What did I say out there?” I ask her as I unzip the bag and take out the costume.

  “The verb introduire means to insert or to enter.”

  “Ah. I apologize. That was wishful thinking.”

  That makes her laugh. “Mon Dieu. You are inc… um…”

  “Incredible?”

  “No.”

  “Incompetent?”

  “That is more like it. But I was going to say incorrigible, Albie.”

  I grin. “Oh well, here goes.” I toe off my shoes, then unbutton my jeans.

  I stop as Remy’s eyebrows nearly shoot off the top of her head. “Sorry,” I tell her. “I get too hot if I keep them on.”

  “Do you want me to… go out?” she asks, her voice faint.

  “I’m not stripping naked,” I tell her wryly, sliding down the zipper and taking off the jeans. In my boxers, I bend over and pick up the bottom half of the Dixon costume, then start pulling it on.

  “Oh la la,” she says softly.

  “What?” I tug the costume up to my waist and zip it up. “That might be the most French thing you’ve ever said, by the way.”

  “Nothing.” She swallows hard and picks up the top half of the suit.

  “Hang on a sec.” I take a handful of my sweater at the back of my neck and yank it over my head. My T-shirt rises with it, and as I toss the sweater aside, I’m conscious I must look disheveled and distinctly unglamorous.

  But Remy’s lips have parted, and her gaze slips from my bare waist to my arms as I lift them to try to flatten my hair. “You are such a bad boy,” she whispers.

  “What? Why?”

  “You are doing it on purpose.”

  I laugh and take the other half of the costume from her. “Doing what?”

  “Albi
e! You know what! You are making me flustered!”

  Sure enough, her cheeks have turned pink, and she looks all hot and bothered.

  “Why, Remy…” I move closer to her, tuck a hand beneath her chin, and lift it so I can look into her eyes. “I didn’t realize I had that kind of an effect on you.”

  “I am not going to kiss you again,” she says, her voice breathless.

  “We’ll see,” I tell her.

  “Albie! I have made up my mind! You must not pressure me.”

  “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do,” I tell her, amused. Her beautiful brown eyes are huge and filled with emotion. They tell me she wants me to kiss her, but her words say otherwise, and I’m not skilled enough at this to know which option to follow.

  I know which one I want to take. I want to kiss her. I’ve thought of little else since the night of the ball. Her soft mouth, the way her lips parted below mine, her husky moans that made my erection spring to life. I want it more than anything.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers.

  I watch her moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue and stifle a groan. “Like what?”

  “Like you want to…”

  My gaze slips to her mouth, and I stroke her jaw with my thumb. “To what, Remy?”

  Her lips part. “To…”

  The door opens, making us both jump. I lower my hand and return to pulling on the costume top as Bex comes in.

  “All ready,” she says, then comes to a halt. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

  “Yes,” I say, at the same time that Remy says, “No.”

  Bex laughs. “Sorry. Come out when you’re ready.” She goes back out again.

  “She likes you,” Remy says. “I can tell.”

  I pull the top of the costume down over my T-shirt. “Nah. We had a thing a while back. She’s with someone else now.”

  “You dated her?”

  “Kinda.”

  “You mean you slept with her?”

  “Ah…” Suddenly I feel as if I’m standing on a tiny raft in the middle of the ocean, about to fall in at any time. I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know how to keep my balance in a situation like this. I’d forgotten I was talking to Remy and not just a friend from the Ark.