How to Undo the Proud Billionaire

by Joss Wood

  Brin pushed her curls back, pleasure at his compliment in her light, bright eyes. “You really like the flowers, don’t you?”

  “I told you I did, didn’t I?” Radd snapped, confused by her lack of confidence. Why couldn’t she see how good she was and why did she seem to need assurance? This woman was a constant contradiction; he couldn’t figure her out.

  And if she stayed, he’d have a couple more days to do that.

  And more opportunities to get her into bed.

  Because really, that’s what he wanted. He wanted to explore her long, slim body with its subtle curves, feel the weight of her breasts in his hand, pull her nipple into his mouth. Explore all those soft, secret, wonderful, feminine places he adored...

  While they were both stuck in Kagiso they could indulge in a no commitment, no promises affair... Short on drama, but long on pleasure.

  But Radd knew he couldn’t push her, that if he did, she’d find a way to haul her very pretty ass back to Cape Town.

  “Tell me about your guests?”

  It was a strange question and not one he’d expected. But, because it was a little step in the right direction, he quickly answered her. “Naledi Radebe, obviously, and her parents, Vincent and June Radebe.” He racked his brain, trying to remember who else would be attending the pre-wedding week. He mentioned a couple of names, and Brin didn’t react.

  “You didn’t mention the groom,” Brin pointed out.

  “Apparently he’s on a film set and the movie only wraps up on Wednesday night. He and the best man will fly in on Thursday night. It’s a sore point and the bride is not happy.”

  Brin’s shoulders dropped an inch. “And do you expect me to spend a lot of time with them?”

  God, no. “Hell, I don’t expect to spend a lot of time with them,” he replied. “I might have to join them one night for dinner, maybe for a drink occasionally, but this is a family holiday. They don’t want me there all the time. And I, most definitely, do not want to spend a lot of time with them.”

  “Not your type of people?” Brin asked.

  Few were. He far preferred to be on his own, or with Digby. “It’s a business relationship, and I like to keep clear boundaries.”

  Those boundaries were important, in business and in his personal life. Can you try and remember that, Tempest-Vane, and stop talking to her about your family? Radd looked at his watch. “So, are you staying or going, Brinley?”

  Brin twisted her lips, obviously deep in thought. “I’ll stay, if I can keep a low profile. And I don’t want you telling the bride, or any of the wedding party, that I did the flowers. Tell them that you hired a designer from Cape Town and that she’s already left.”

  “Why on earth would I do that?” Radd demanded. The bouquets were stunning, why wouldn’t she want to take the credit for them? “Look, the Radebes might not be my cup of tea, but they are influential and if they know that you did the flowers, they might use you again.”

  Brin shook her head. “Don’t tell them, Radd. Please?”

  If this was her attitude toward potential business, then she would never make it. But that, Radd reminded himself, wasn’t his problem. Brin would be out of his life soon, a lovely memory. If he ever thought about her at all.

  He only wanted her in his life for the next few days. And, judging by his past encounters with the fairer sex, five days of her constant company was about three days too many. He got claustrophobic and irritated when he was in someone’s company for too long; Brin wouldn’t be any different. And, let’s be honest here—because he always was—if they didn’t end up sleeping together, it was going to be a goddamn long week.

  Because, people.

  As much as he wished things could be different, that he had a normal approach to relationships, the truth was that he was the product of two of the most dysfunctional people in the world. His parents not only had a wide-open marriage, but they’d had no loyalty to each other or to the rest of their family. Their pleasures and gratification—sexual, financial and emotional—always came first.

  But weirdly, despite the numerous affairs on both sides, his parents had been insanely jealous. He recalled vicious fights, the throwing of crystal and china, of shoes and handbags, his mother screaming and his father’s mocking responses. He recalled rooms being trashed and walls punched and, in the morning, when it all was over, he remembered lines of coke on tables.

  He had no idea what a good marriage looked like; his parents were his only reference.

  So much about relationships rattled him. He was terrified he’d not only lose control and his temper, but also his dignity, so he avoided anyone who made his heart accelerate, his breath catch. If he liked a woman a little too much, he dropped her quickly, walking away without a second glance.

  Because what if he took a chance on love and it backfired? What if his partner ran to the press after a fight? What if she had an affair and the press found out? What if she...

  Radd shuddered. God, no! He’d lived through that scrutiny as a child and teenager and he would not, ever, go through that again. The only way to guarantee that was not to get involved with anyone, ever.

  But none of his mental ramblings had anything to do with Brin’s flowers. And it was her choice whether to take the credit or not.

  “Fine,” Radd told her.

  “And I can keep a low profile when your other guests arrive?” Brin asked, and something in her expression made him pause. Why was she so determined not to interact, to keep her distance? Naledi was a social butterfly and her face was instantly recognizable, but Brin had no interest in making her acquaintance. It was unusual, and Radd didn’t trust unusual.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Brin shrugged and rubbed her fingertips over her brow, her hand effectively hiding her eyes from him. “It’s been a long and confusing day and it’s not even seven yet. I’m really tired.”

  “Yet I still don’t know whether you are staying or going.”

  Brin scrubbed her face with her hands before slumping in her seat. “I’m not going to lie, I don’t have the money to pay deposits to hire a plane or a car. So you...” she drilled a finger into his chest “...need to pay me.”

  “And I will when I get the chance,” Radd replied.

  Brin hauled in a huge breath. “Provided I don’t have to join or interact with the wedding party, and if I can stay in the background, then I’ll stay.”

  Radd worked hard to keep his expression inscrutable, to stop himself from doing an air pump. “Good.” No, it was damned excellent.

  Brin gestured to the bush beyond their car. “Do you think we can go back? I’m really tired and would love a nap.” She sent him a mischievous grin that tightened his pants and ignited flames in his stomach. “And, seeing that I’m now your guest, I’d like that crab, lobster and truffle omelet.”

  Radd grinned and accelerated away. When she forgot to be insecure, Ms. Riddell could be quite bossy. He rather liked it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LATER THAT EVENING, Brin walked from the dining area of the main lodge onto its expansive deck and plopped down on one of the wide two-person loungers, kicking off her shoes to swing her bare feet up onto the cushion. Leaning back, she tipped her head up, sighing at the swish of stars making up the Milky Way.

  “I can’t get enough of this sky.”

  “It’s pretty impressive,” Radd agreed. Brin pulled her eyes away from the sky to watch him gracefully walk across the deck, holding a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Stopping next to her lounger, he dashed wine into the glasses while kicking off his flip-flops. He’d pulled on a light, hooded sweatshirt to counter the slight chill in the air but still wore the cargo shorts he’d changed into after their game drive earlier that morning.

  “Shift over,” Radd told her and dropped down into the space she created. His shoulder pressed
into hers, his thigh lay alongside hers, and Brin felt like he’d plugged her into an electric substation. He was so big, so solid, so very masculine...

  Untamed and a little intimidating, like the land he so loved.

  Radd handed her a glass of red wine and Brin placed it on the floor next to her, in easy reach. He placed his arm behind his head, sighed and look upwards, and Brin could almost feel the tension leaving his body.

  Radd relaxing had happened in increments all day, a sigh here, a roll of the shoulders there. Kagiso was good for him, Brin decided. No, Kagiso was great for him.

  “It’s not often I’m here on my own, and I forget how much I love it when it’s empty,” Radd said, his soft words echoing her thoughts.

  “Except that you are not alone, I’m here,” Brin pointed out.

  “But you’re surprisingly restful company, Brinley Riddell.” Radd turned his head to look at her and his small smile made her stomach flip over. And over again. “You don’t feel the need to fill silences with chatter, you’re happy to be quiet. That’s pretty unusual. Why is that?”

  Brin lifted her wineglass and took a sip. “Probably because I have a sister who dominates every conversation and a mother who encourages her.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Stepdad,” Brin corrected him. “He’s sweet but quiet. He’s been in my life since I was a three, but we’ve never really bonded, I guess.”

  Brin felt his eyes on her face but didn’t look at him, choosing instead to track a satellite moving across the sky. “Why not?”

  “Because my mom fell pregnant with my sister and, from that moment on, it became all about her,” Brin admitted. “I was never in any doubt about who their favorite child was.”

  Radd didn’t respond and Brin appreciated his silence, there was nothing worse than trite sympathy. Not that she believed Radd could, or would, be trite but...still.

  “If it makes you feel any better, my parents didn’t have favorites. They disliked us all equally.”

  Brin rolled onto her side, resting her head in her hand. The amazing sky couldn’t compete with this fascinating man. “Why do you think they had kids if they were so uninterested in being parents?”

  A cynical smile touched Radd’s mouth. “That might be because my great-grandfather, my father’s grandfather, set up a trust fund in the fifties, when the Tempest-Vanes were seriously rolling in cash—”

  “As opposed to how poor you are now,” Brin interjected, her tongue literally in her cheek.

  Radd’s chuckle at her quip warmed her. “Brat. But I’m talking about family money, not what Dig and I made since my parents lost everything.” Radd lifted his wineglass, took a sip and placed it back on the floor. “Anyway, my father was the only T-V descendant—Great-Grandfather’s other son died in his teens and his daughter didn’t marry or have kids—so it was up to my father to restock the family tree. Great-Grandfather told my father that he’d give him two million for every male child they produced.”

  Brin wasn’t sure how to respond to that blatant, old-fashioned misogyny and finally settled on: “Nice of you lot to cooperate and be male.”

  Radd’s chuckle danced over her skin. “The first and only thing we did right,” he said, and his lack of emotion saddened Brin.

  She risked putting her hand on his chest, somewhere in the region of his heart. “Scale of one to ten...how bad was it?”

  Radd’s chest lifted and fell in a jerky movement, and then his hand clasped hers, pushing her flat palm against his chest. “Honestly, about a five. I mean, we weren’t beaten or neglected, we had everything we needed. We went to an expensive boarding school and we were happy there. We spent a lot of time here at Kagiso. As long as we were together, we were okay. And Jack was five years older, so he stood between the parents and us.”

  Brin shifted down and placed her head against Radd’s shoulder, happy to hold his hand in the moonlight. “And then he died. How?”

  “Brain aneurysm,” Radd replied. “It was a shock.”

  Now that was the understatement of the year, because Brin could see the devastation in his eyes. “I’m sure it was. And around the same time, you divorced your parents.”

  “Divorce... That’s a good way to put it,” Radd mused. His hand tightened and Brin winced, but didn’t pull away. Whatever he was thinking about was painful, and she knew the wound was still raw.

  “Did you sell their art and car collections?”

  Radd shook his head. “Everything they owned, including their property and cash, and two massive life insurance policies, was put into a trust. Neither of us is a trustee or a beneficiary.”

  Brin frowned. “Who is?”

  “That’s the question. We don’t know, we can’t find out and frankly, we don’t much care.”

  She thought he did, a little. But something in his voice had her cocking her head, questioning. “Why do I think you know more about that than you are saying?”

  Brin smiled at his shock. “How the hell do you know that?” he demanded.

  She shrugged. “Just a guess. Can you tell me?”

  Radd hesitated. “I have no proof, but I suspect the person he wanted us to meet and the beneficiary of that trust is the same person.”

  “Could be,” Brin agreed. “But it would be hell to prove.”

  “Yep.”

  “Look, I know your parents were...unconventional, but can you tell me what caused you to divorce them? Can you trust me with that information or is it too personal?”

  “Jesus, Brin, that’s a hell of a question.”

  The night wrapped them in its soft embrace and Brin couldn’t help dropping a kiss on his shoulder, hoping, in a small way, to give him an anchor while horrible memories battered him from every side. Because she did not doubt that, whatever it was that caused that final break, it had to be truly horrible.

  Radd eventually started to speak, and Brin held her breath. “Digby and I were used to being teased about their antics, about their rock-and-roll lifestyle. We learned to either ignore it, roll with it or mock it. It helped that we were popular at school and good sportsmen. But, God, the stories never stopped. It felt like every week something about them hit the headlines...”

  It hadn’t been that bad but, to their kids, it must have seemed like it.

  “We genuinely believed that the press just reported on the stories but, at Jack’s funeral, we realized Gil and Zia had an unholy pact with the tabloids, and they were the source of most of the exposés. They loved the attention.”

  Brin winced.

  “Jack died and photographs of his funeral—Digby and I insisted that it was to be a small, very intimate and very private affair—were leaked to the paparazzi, and we lost it. We were livid. We quickly worked out that our parents were the only people who could’ve given the photos to the press and when we confronted them, they confirmed it.”

  Brin blinked away her tears and wished she could dig his parents up and, well, punch them. She wasn’t a violent person, but she’d happily step into the ring with Radd’s parents. She couldn’t believe they thought it was okay to profit off their oldest son’s death...

  “After that, we didn’t have any contact with them,” Radd concluded on a small shrug.

  Brin buried her face against the ball of his shoulder, her body shaking with anger. Her mother wouldn’t win any prizes in the “best mommy” competition but, compared to Radd’s parents, she was a saint. Her heart ached for the two boys who raised themselves.

  Brin felt Radd pull away from her and, when his hand cupped her cheek, she opened her eyes to find his face inches from hers, his expression concerned. His thumb swiped her cheekbone and his breath caressed her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  Brin shook her head. “No, I’m so damn angry I want to clout something!” Brin retorted.

  “Why are you... Oh. You’re angry for
me?”

  Why did he sound so bemused, like that wasn’t possible? Brin sat up, pushed her hair and slapped her arms over her chest. “No, I’m not angry, I’m livid. What was wrong with them? How dare they do that? Are you freaking kidding me? That is insane and horrible and—”

  Radd shoved a glass of wine into her hand. “Sip.” Brin took a large gulp and sighed when the soft, complex liquid slid down her throat.

  “And, while I appreciate your reaction, it all happened a long time ago,” he added.

  “Still...”

  Brin sucked in a deep breath and, knowing that she needed to lighten the atmosphere, that they were wading into deep, dark emotional waters—a place she couldn’t afford to visit and if she did, couldn’t stay long—she dredged up a teasing smile. “You’re thirty-six. Damn, you’re old.”

  Radd’s eyes narrowed at her, but she caught the flash of relief, in his eyes. They’d gone too deep, too fast, and he wanted to swim back to shore. “Who are you calling old, wretch?”

  “You.”

  “You do know that there is a pool about six feet from us and I can drop you in it?” Radd threatened.

  “You wouldn’t dare...”

  Brin squealed when, in one fluid movement, he stood up and lifted her up against his chest, without, she had to admit, any strain at all. Radd walked her over to the pool and swung her away from his body.

  “Radd, no!” Brin really didn’t want to go for a swim in that still, cold water. She released a wild laugh and tightened her grip around his neck. “My hair takes forever to dry, it’s too cold and I’m sorry I called you old!”

  Radd’s fingers dug into her ribs and she squirmed as he tickled her. “How sorry are you?” he demanded, a huge smile making him look ten years younger.

  “Very.” Brin’s eyes connected with his and his arms tightened, pulling her tighter to his chest. He is so warm, Brin thought, so strong. Brin saw his eyes leave hers to look at her mouth and, when their eyes reconnected, she saw that desire, hot and heavy, had replaced his amusement.