Tempted by the Billionaire Next Door

by Therese Beharrie

  ‘Dylan—’

  ‘No, Jess,’ he interrupted. ‘We don’t have to...talk about it.’

  ‘I’d love to not talk about it,’ she said with a bark of laughter. ‘But how can we not? This—what just happened? It’s not a good idea.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ Dylan answered, his expression serious.

  ‘No, I’m sure you do,’ she replied quietly, and felt fatigue seep back into her bones. ‘So maybe you’re right, and it’s better that we don’t talk about it.’ Why did that make her so sad? ‘I’m going to have a shower and then I’ll call a hotel or something for the next few nights.’

  ‘You can stay here.’

  ‘No, I don’t—’

  ‘It won’t happen again, Jess,’ Dylan promised. ‘And you being here is better. You’ll be near if they need you next door. And you’ll be able to call Anja if she needs to approve anything.’

  They were good points, she knew, but still, agreeing felt like it would be the wrong decision. She didn’t know how much of that was because her insides were still a mess from their kiss.

  So she said, ‘I’ll think about it,’ and walked to the room he’d shown her to that morning. She stripped off the wet clothing and showered quickly, and then dried the water from her hair before plaiting it and pinning the plaits around her head in a crown.

  She pulled on thick woollen tights that she’d had the foresight to pack, and an oversized jersey that was just as thick, just as woollen. It made her look like an unshapen mess, but somehow that made her feel better. There was no way she would be tempted into seducing Dylan wearing that. No way he’d be tempted into seducing her either.

  And because trying to find other accommodation seemed to require more energy than she had—along with going back out into the rain, getting the keys to her car, driving in the horrendous weather—her choice seemed to be made. She would stay there that night.

  She should go out and tell him, she thought, but instead she climbed under the bedcovers, telling herself she would only rest for a moment. That she only needed comfort for a moment.

  She’d made a mistake. Kissing Dylan had been a mistake. Because now that she knew what it felt like, she wanted more of it. And that wasn’t an option.

  She couldn’t risk her friendship with Anja for more. It didn’t matter that Dylan had been kind to her. That he’d listened to her. That it felt as if he understood her.

  The attraction between them couldn’t matter, nor the emotional connection. More than just being for Anja’s sake, it was for hers, too. She didn’t think that when Dylan found out whose baby she was carrying he’d understand why she’d kept it from him. Jess already knew that he’d be hurt because Anja hadn’t told him about it, and she suspected she would be the target of the anger that hurt would turn into since he seemed so desperate to keep things civil with Anja.

  It was easier to put some distance between them now, Jess told herself. Prevention was better than cure, and she needed to prevent the inevitable hurt that would come from entertaining anything other than a cordial relationship with Dylan.

  Decided, she pulled the blankets closer around her and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  He was restless. Primed for a fight. Had been from the moment Jess had reminded him that their kiss was a bad idea.

  The fact that she was right didn’t have anything to do with it. No, he was upset because somehow she’d kept her mind when their kiss had made him lose his. When the kiss that she’d initiated had crossed the clear—albeit unspoken—boundaries between them, but she’d been the one to remind them of those boundaries after it had happened.

  And yes, fine, maybe he’d wanted it to happen. Maybe he’d closed the distance between them in the forest because he’d wanted one of them to initiate a kiss. But he was only human. How was he supposed to resist the beauty, the vulnerability of her, wrapped up in that little bubble of anger? When that bubble had screamed of the passion he’d got to experience only minutes after he’d thought about it?

  It all made him feel so edgy that he knew nothing good would come from facing Jess in that state. So, after he took care of Daisy, he peeled off his wet clothes and replaced them with gym clothes, and made his way to his home gym to expel some of the energy.

  If it hadn’t been raining, he’d go back to his task of chopping wood. It was laborious work, something that kept his mind and body busy. Something that distracted him from the fact that he should have gone to speak with his sister.

  Unfortunately, now he could only seem to keep his body busy. No matter how hard he pushed himself during his cardio, his strength training, his thoughts kept looping back over the last few hours. Over his words, hers. Over her reactions, his.

  He finished his workout, showered and went back downstairs. All the while, he was trying to figure out what he should say to her. The only thing that he came up with was an apology, but what would he be apologising for? For kissing her back? For enjoying it? For facing the fact that they’d made their lives infinitely more complicated by acknowledging their attraction to one another?

  None of it made sense, but he knew he couldn’t avoid her for ever, so he told himself to man up and went to find her. He wandered around the house, but she wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, and for one sick moment he worried that she’d left without telling him that she was going. As a last resort, he checked the guestroom and relief flooded through him when he saw the shape of her under the covers.

  His eyes swept over her. Her face was flushed from the heat of sleep, her hair in some kind of plait pinned at the top of her head. A woollen-covered arm rested on her belly on top of the covers, rounding off a picture Dylan knew he wouldn’t be able to push out of his head with ease.

  He shut the door just as quickly as he’d opened it, careful not to make a sound and wake her, and put as much distance between him and the room as he could. Daisy looked up at him from her station in the corner of the kitchen when he walked in and whined when he leaned over the counter, his heart beating so fast he couldn’t catch his breath.

  What was that? he asked himself eventually. What was that burst of emotion in his chest at seeing her? What was the fierce protectiveness that had surged inside him?

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t welcome. And yet it wasn’t unfamiliar. It took him some minutes, but the image of Jess sleeping had him realising why he’d reacted so uncharacteristically to her surrogacy news.

  He felt protective of her. And he was worried that this pregnancy would somehow hurt her. That he wouldn’t be able to keep her from getting hurt.

  In some part of his brain he knew that it wasn’t his job to protect her. Knew that his need to do so could only mean trouble. But he couldn’t figure out why he still wanted to, despite knowing better.

  He sucked in a breath. It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JESS FOUND DYLAN in front of the fire in his living room.

  Rain thrashed against the glass doors, lightning flashed every few moments. Daisy was curled up next to Dylan on the couch, whining ever so softly every time thunder sounded. Jess didn’t blame her. It seemed that they were experiencing one of the famous Cape Town storms, and if Jess had been Daisy she’d be curled up next to Dylan, too.

  Except she wasn’t Daisy, and she’d given herself a stern warning against thoughts like that. Reinforcing her resolve, she walked towards them slowly. Daisy popped her head up when she saw Jess, but Dylan kept staring into the fire. As though there was something he could see there that no one else could. As though it held all the answers to life’s mysteries.

  ‘Hey,’ she said softly after a few more seconds. Daisy immediately jumped off the couch and rubbed herself against Jess and, obliging the dog, Jess gave her the attention she wanted. But her eyes were still on Dylan. Stayed on him, too, when his gaze met hers and she saw the pai
n there.

  There was a long, long pause before it cleared and then he said, ‘Hey.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘You fell asleep.’

  ‘Yeah, I did. Sorry. It’s been more of an exciting day than I’m used to. Knocked me out.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ He paused. ‘Did you figure out what you’re going to do?’

  ‘I was hoping that your offer was still on the table.’

  ‘Of course,’ he told her, though his tone made her uncertain.

  ‘Thanks.’ She waited for him to say something more and, when he didn’t, she added, ‘I can be out tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You just don’t seem like you want me here.’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ He leaned forward now and drained the glass she hadn’t noticed on the table in front of him. ‘It’s just been...an exciting day,’ he repeated her words.

  ‘That’s true.’ She fell silent and, rather than contemplate his strange mood, decided to channel her energy into something useful. ‘Would you like me to make us something to eat?’

  His brows rose. ‘I thought you said you couldn’t cook?’

  ‘I said I only started to learn a few years ago. That’s a lot of meals, Dylan, so I think I can make us a...pot of curry,’ she said, improvising.

  ‘You’re going to make us...curry?’

  ‘Why not?’ She’d made it a couple of times before. She was pretty sure she could do it again. ‘It’s the perfect meal for this kind of weather.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not arguing about that. I’m just wondering whether—No, you know what? I would love some curry.’ He patted Daisy, who’d curled up next to him again when it became clear she wasn’t going to get any more attention from Jess, and stood. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.’

  Jess would have found it hard to describe the next hour. But she was sure that no one would mistake it for any kind of cooking show. Especially not with Dylan watching her every move with amusement from where he sat at the counter.

  ‘You don’t have to watch me, you know,’ she said irritably when she couldn’t figure out how many cardamom pods to use.

  ‘You might need my help figuring out where everything is,’ came his reply. She rolled her eyes and counted out five and then threw them into the pot, where her efforts were looking more like a stew than a curry.

  She hoped by the time the chicken started cooking that it would be in better shape, but she was sadly disappointed. She sighed noisily, causing Daisy to look up in concern from her corner, and Dylan to leave his post at the counter to peer into the pot.

  ‘This is your...curry?’

  ‘It tastes better than it looks,’ she said defensively, spooning up some of the sauce and offering it to him. His expression was neutral as he tasted it, and then his eyes met hers and suddenly she wasn’t thinking about the sauce any more.

  She’d seen scenes like this in movies before. Had wondered how feeding someone could ever really be erotic. But clearly it could be, she realised, her eyes still caught in his. Because now she wasn’t thinking about Dylan tasting the sauce, but her lips.

  Her skin.

  Would his expression still be so neutral then? Or would he offer her something to taste in return? Like his lips? Like his skin? It would be so much better than the food she’d made that evening, and she knew that the slight kick in the sauce would have nothing on what would happen between them...

  She swallowed, and her hand faltered. She cleared her throat. ‘Well?’

  A beat of silence passed before he answered. ‘It’s not bad.’

  ‘Not...bad?’

  ‘But it isn’t curry either.’

  She looked down at the pot, and then up at him again. ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I’d say tomato stew.’

  ‘But...but there’s curry spice in it. It has a kick.’

  ‘Well, the kick doesn’t make it curry.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘How many times have you made this?’

  Heat immediately seared her cheeks. ‘A couple.’

  ‘Okay.’ But she could see that he didn’t believe her. ‘Let’s turn this into curry then, shall we?’

  The next half an hour was distinctly different from her solo foray into curry-making. Mostly because of the way Dylan took her through the steps. It could have been a cooking show now, she thought. Or, more accurately, a one-on-one appointment with a cooking instructor.

  Dylan was patient, and explained the steps to her before encouraging her to do it herself. She forced herself to ignore the thrill that went through her every time he touched her or drew closer to show her an ingredient or check how she was coming along.

  But still, the time they spent fixing supper was lovely, and settled some of the tension that had still been lingering between them since that afternoon.

  ‘I have to say this is pretty good.’

  They were sitting in the dining room adjacent to the sunroom she’d admired the day before. This room was also enclosed by glass doors, the solid wooden table clear of decoration, with only a beautiful chandelier adorning the space. Simple and tasteful, she thought, and wondered if it was the room that had her thinking that, or whether her perception of the décor had been changed by the man sitting opposite her.

  ‘Yeah, I think we’re a pretty decent team,’ Dylan replied with a smile. But almost as soon as he said it his smile fell away, and Jess heard herself speaking before the tension could return.

  ‘You’re an amazing cook. And unexpectedly patient.’

  He laughed, and relief went through her. ‘Yeah, well, I learnt patience when I taught Anja.’

  She stared at him. ‘Anja’s a terrible cook.’

  ‘Hence the need for patience,’ he said with another laugh. ‘It didn’t take us long to realise cooking wasn’t for her, and so she was relegated to sous chef for as long as we lived together.’

  The silence that followed told her he was lost in the past. And, for the life of her, Jess couldn’t figure out why she wanted to help him find his way back to the present. Or at least find a way to be in the past with him.

  ‘It sounds like you two were quite a team.’

  He looked up. Smiled. ‘We were. I always told her we were a well-oiled machine.’ His hands stilled and Jess kept herself from asking him if he was okay again. ‘Did she tell you about that?’ he asked suddenly, but continued before she had the chance to reply. ‘No, she wouldn’t have. You told me she didn’t tell you the details.’

  ‘Do you...’ she started. Faltered. Cleared her throat. Tried again. ‘Do you want to tell me?’

  His eyes met hers. ‘I probably shouldn’t.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said immediately, insecurity dictating the thudding of her heart.

  ‘But I’d like to,’ he continued gruffly, and she nodded, too afraid she wouldn’t have a voice if she tried to speak. She waited for him to find his words, eating in silence while he did. And when he started to speak she continued, knowing it would be difficult for him to share if she was watching him.

  ‘Anja must have told you that my father was an...absent father, long before he actually left. He went to work every morning, came back home, showered, ate, and then left for the casino. Every day, like clockwork.’

  Jess’s eyes strayed to Dylan’s face, her hands stilling, and she realised he was too engrossed in his story—in the emotion of it—to notice that she was watching him.

  ‘But my mother was fine with that. She...she was able to handle that because she got to see him each day. Because some days he would return at night and sleep at home. She got to see him, and I think that was the most important for her.’ He lifted his fork, ate, but Jess could see the actions were mechanical. ‘And then he stopped coming home at all. I was fourteen, like I said. Anja was twelve. Both of us suspected he
was gone when the routine stopped. When my mother checked out, we knew it was permanent.’

  ‘That’s...terrible, Dylan. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I thought we already agreed we didn’t have to apologise to each other for our crappy families?’ he said with a wry smile. It quickly sobered. ‘I remember thinking how strange it was. That even though my father barely spent time at home, not having him there at all changed...everything. We didn’t used to have to worry about the house, about food, about my mother. And then—’ he set his fork down, wiped his mouth with a napkin ‘—we had to worry about everything.’ He threw the napkin aside. ‘The house staff stopped coming. We had to take care of the things they used to do ourselves.’ Jess saw him clench his jaw. ‘And we had to take care of my mother.’

  Her arms ached to comfort him, but Jess refused the urge. ‘I don’t understand. There was enough money. Why—?’

  ‘Because my father had been handling all that money. He’d been running the house, paying the staff, making sure everything ran smoothly until the moment he stopped coming home. Then, everything stopped.’ Dylan paused. ‘Immediately after he left, I used to think the fact that he looked after us for those first fourteen years—that he hadn’t used all his money on gambling—meant that he must have loved us. But then I’d remember that he left us, knowing that my mother didn’t have access to his money, and all of the wishful thinking would disappear.’ His words were so bitter, the ache in Jess’s arms grew.

  ‘Why did he leave?’ Jess asked quietly, voicing the question she’d wanted to ask Anja for two years.

  ‘I think gambling became more important to him.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Or,’ he interrupted, ‘he lost control. It had been a tenuous control, anyway. Addicts...they can’t indulge their addictions. If they don’t get help...’ He trailed off. Sighed. ‘So really it wasn’t about us.’

  Seconds passed in silence, and again Jess resisted the urge—though it had become more pressing now—to comfort him. She told herself it was only because she understood what it was like to be abandoned. And she knew what it was like for that abandonment to be about the person who was doing the abandoning, and no one else.