Carrying Her Millionaire's Baby

by Sophie Pembroke

  But she’d get through it, all the same. Then get back to London and her normal life as soon as possible.

  Starting with finding somewhere to live. Oh, hell, she’d probably have to move back in with her parents, in the house and the village where she grew up, at least until she found her own place. And that was after she’d braved returning to David’s flat to rescue her stuff. Well, it wouldn’t be fun, but it would be necessary—and all steps towards a better future.

  She could focus on her job, her future—what she wanted in life—and forget all about men.

  After they made it through tonight.

  With a firm nod to herself, Zoey set off to search the other rooms of the villa in the hope of finding some towels, blankets, food, and maybe alcohol.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  * * *

  Ash ducked into the interior of the small yacht, the door slamming behind him in the wind. Water dripped from his hair, his clothes, his skin, all pooling around his very wet feet. It was just as well he hadn’t taken the time to dry off while they were at the villa—it would have been a wasted effort. Right now, every inch of him was more water than man, and it was hard to imagine ever being dry again.

  First priority: towels. And something waterproof to carry them in back up to the villa. Then maybe clothes.

  He found a stash of beach towels in a cupboard under the bed and towelled off his hair as he hunted around for something to hold them while he dashed back to the villa. In the end, the best he could come up with was a bin bag from under the bathroom sink. At least, given the yacht’s current owner, it was a high quality one, and Ash trusted it not to break.

  There was no sign of anything to wear beyond a couple of towelling robes that wouldn’t fit in his bin bag, so he made a mental note to come back for them once the rain had passed. As he placed them back in the cupboard, an image of Zoey wearing one, barefoot and fresh from the shower, popped into his head and he quickly shook it away. ‘Not the time for that sort of thought,’ he muttered to himself. Zoey was his best friend. What would she say if she knew he was thinking of her that way—especially the day before she was supposed to get married?

  Back on his quest, Ash raided cupboards and lock boxes for food—not much...all packaged and long-life—a torch and matches, a thick blanket, a two pack of toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste, some tiny hotel-sized toiletries, and finally, in the last cupboard he checked, a bottle of single malt Scotch whisky.

  Perfect.

  It was only as he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder that he realised fully how ill prepared they’d been for running away. Zoey had left her handbag, her passport, everything at the hotel—including her high-heeled shoes. Did she even have her phone with her? He wasn’t sure. Even if she did, reception had been so bad on the islands, he couldn’t imagine there was any at all in a storm like this.

  He hadn’t stopped to grab his passport either, or anything that might have been actually useful, like an extra phone charger. All they had was the contents of his pockets, since he was pretty sure Zoey’s dress didn’t even have those, which amounted to his wallet, his phone—probably nearly out of battery, but hopefully still working after the rain—and his hotel room key.

  That was it.

  Had Zoey even thought about it before she’d tried to squeeze through that cupboard window? Had she considered what she was asking when she said, ‘Get me out of here, Ash’? Probably not.

  Grace had always said that for someone who acted on gut instinct so much, it was a shame that Zoey’s intestines were such lousy decision makers.

  Ash wondered now if that was right, though. Because Zoey didn’t seem to be acting on the say-so of her gut, but her heart. And the heart, he knew, was a far more complicated organ. At least, when it came to relationships.

  He liked to think he knew Zoey pretty well. She was the only person who truly knew how much he’d lost the day Grace died. Even if they’d never openly spoken about it.

  Before, he’d always known that if there was ever a cause to choose sides, Zoey would be on Grace’s, whatever the story. But now, now she was his best friend. The person he relied on, the one person he knew would always take his side.

  Which was why he’d known, from the moment he’d found her trying to climb out of that window, that tonight wouldn’t end the way he’d planned. Not that he’d honestly believed, deep down, that any pre-wedding night involving Zoey was likely to end the traditional way. Him buying David one last whisky in the bar, giving Zoey a hug and a pep talk and getting an early night, ready for the wedding first thing in the morning, had never really been on the cards. More likely sitting up drinking too late with Zoey, reassuring her that she could do this. He’d been prepared for some last-minute jitters.

  He just hadn’t expected those jitters to lead to them spending the night in a dilapidated villa on a deserted island in the middle of a storm.

  When was the last time they’d spent the night together, just the two of them? Had they ever?

  Probably in those first days after Grace’s accident, although he didn’t remember it well if they had. Before that it had always been the three of them. And since then, well, Zoey had a very uncomfortable sofa bed in her lounge he’d slept on a few times before he sold the house he’d shared with Grace and bought a new flat, without the memories. But somehow that felt very different from tonight. Maybe that was what had prompted his brain to imagine Zoey in a bathrobe and nothing underneath...

  Tonight, they’d be huddled together avoiding the storm, sharing blankets and body heat, probably. With another woman, anything could happen.

  But this was Zoey. Not only was she his wife’s best friend, but she’d literally just left a longstanding serious relationship. He shouldn’t even be imagining anything like that.

  Instead, he made himself remember the last time Zoey had called off an engagement at the eleventh hour. And the time before that, actually. Both times, she’d shown up at the house, looking distraught, and Grace had taken care of her. She’d listened, offered advice with no pressure to take it, tried to present different points of view, all without ever being less than one hundred per cent behind whatever Zoey decided to do next.

  All Ash had needed to do was pour the wine and order the pizza.

  He had a feeling that wasn’t going to cut it tonight.

  She was going to need to talk about things. That was how Zoey worked. And the only person she had to talk to was him.

  I hope I can live up to your standards, Grace.

  Except he was fairly sure he couldn’t. In fact, he had a sinking feeling he was going to screw this up magnificently—if he hadn’t already achieved that by taking them to an abandoned villa on a stolen boat in the middle of a storm.

  Ash hefted the bag up to his shoulder again and heard the whisky clank against something satisfactorily. At least he was still providing booze and food—his usual job.

  As for the rest...he’d just have to wing it.

  Zoey was his friend. She’d forgive him if he got it wrong. Right?

  * * *

  By the time Ash returned from the boat, Zoey had almost managed to make the villa habitable. Well, one small part of it, anyway.

  She’d tried the lights first, but either the power was out because of the storm or it wasn’t properly connected yet, because the villa stayed resolutely dark.

  Using the torch on her phone—the only thing she’d grabbed from the table to take with her when she’d run—she’d explored the whole building, but most of it seemed in a worse state than the main room and with even less furniture, so she figured the open-plan central space at the front of the villa was probably the best place for them to set up camp for the night.

  She’d found a large brush and tried to clear the worst of the sawdust and rubbish from the middle of the floor, and even discovered a couple of folding chairs that the crew pr
esumably used for breaks, so set them out too. The biggest and best discovery had been the kettle, mugs and teabags on one of the half-built kitchen counters. Zoey hated to stereotype, but she had a feeling that old Mr Carmichael might have hired his favourite British builders for this job. No wonder they weren’t in a hurry to get it finished if they got to hang out in paradise when they were done working for the day.

  ‘Honey, I’m home,’ Ash said drily as he shoved open the large glass doors again. Zoey turned. His voice was the only dry thing about him. Apparently the rain hadn’t let up any since they’d arrived. Now she listened for it, Zoey could hear the raindrops hammering down against the windows and walls. The sound was so familiar already she’d stopped hearing it.

  ‘What did you find for us?’ She was hoping for food. Maybe vodka.

  Ash threw her a towel. She supposed that was a start.

  ‘Let’s just say you’re going to wish you’d waited until after the rehearsal dinner to run,’ he said, towelling off his own hair then wrapping the towel around the back of his neck to catch the drips. ‘But I did find this.’

  He held up a bottle. Zoey grinned. She wasn’t much of a drinker—beyond a couple of glasses of wine on occasional girls’ nights or dinners out. Whisky definitely wasn’t her favourite, but she supposed it was warming, and really, runaway bride beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  ‘Excellent. I found, well, not much. These chairs, and a couple of old blankets. Oh, and a kettle, so there can be tea in the morning.’

  ‘Great minds...’ Ash pulled a stash of teabags and some single serve UHT milk cartons from his pockets. ‘That’s all the important things covered. What do you want to do now?’

  It turned out there really wasn’t much to do in the middle of a storm on a desert island in a half-renovated villa. Drinking seemed categorically like the best option, especially considering the day she’d had, so they settled into their camping chairs and Ash distributed liberal amounts of whisky into the mugs Zoey had found. Zoey took a sip and pulled a face. Well, at least it seemed like the whisky would last them the night. She couldn’t imagine drinking more than a tablespoon or two.

  ‘So,’ Ash said after a few quiet moments. ‘As I recall from past experience, this is usually the point in the proceedings where you start talking.’

  ‘Past experience?’ Zoey raised her eyebrows. ‘Have I forgotten all the other times we stole a boat together?’

  ‘I was thinking more of all the other times you ran out on an unsuspecting fiancé.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Ash’s gaze was measuring, as if he was watching to see which way she was going to jump. Zoey couldn’t help but remember those other times he’d mentioned—how she’d always turned to Grace in times of crisis. About how Grace wasn’t here to pick her up this time.

  Tears burned behind her eyes. Maybe the whisky hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Grace always said she was a total lightweight.

  ‘I miss her, you know,’ she said around the tightness in her throat. ‘Every single day.’

  Ash, to his credit, wasn’t thrown by her non-sequitur. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Of course you do. She was your wife.’ And he’d loved her so much. That had been obvious to anyone with eyes. ‘Of course you’re still grieving and stuff. But me...she was my best friend, and I don’t have anyone else. But apparently I should be over this by now.’

  Ash’s face turned stony. ‘According to who?’

  ‘David.’ Zoey took another sip of whisky, and then a bigger gulp. It burned her throat, but somehow that felt like a good thing, now. David would tell her that expensive whisky was wasted on her if she didn’t enjoy it. But she didn’t have to worry about what David thought any more.

  The relief that flowed over her at the realisation was probably a sign that she really should have figured out the not-marrying-him thing sooner.

  ‘In that case, I’m more pleased than ever that I helped you escape marrying him.’ Ash scraped his chair across the floor to get closer to her, resting a hand on the plastic arm of her seat. Without thinking, she covered it with her own. ‘You said it yourself, Grace was your best friend. You’re allowed to mourn and grieve for her as long as you need to.’

  It had already been nearly two years. Every morning, Zoey wondered if today would be the day she passed a full twenty-four hours without thinking about her friend, and all she’d lost. Without feeling the hole Grace had left in her life.

  It never was.

  ‘But you’re wrong about one thing.’ Ash turned his hand palm up under hers and gripped her fingers. ‘You said you don’t have anyone else. That’s not true.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Zoey raised her eyebrows as she looked at him, waiting for a joke about the barista she had a crush on at the coffee shop they went to together sometimes.

  ‘No. You’ve got me.’

  The sincerity in his gaze almost broke her. She knew, of course, that she’d sort of adopted him after Grace died—he’d needed someone, anyone, and she was the only other person who felt the loss of Grace so keenly.

  But she’d never quite realised until now how much support and love Ash had given her in return. She’d imagined herself as more of an obligation to him—someone Grace would want him to check in on from time to time, to make sure she was okay—once the initial period of chaos and grief was over.

  Looking into his eyes now, though, she knew it was more than that. She was more than that. More than just an old university friend he’d known for too many years and through too many wild nights out.

  They were all each other had any more. Grace might have brought them together, but it was the loss of her that would keep them linked for ever.

  She should have seen it sooner. Like when her heating had broken and she’d texted both David and Ash to moan, but David was in a meeting so just sent a sad face emoji text, and it was Ash who showed up with chocolate, blankets and the number of a recommended plumber.

  Or her birthday, David had been out of town on business so sent flowers. Ash had been on the other side of the world, at some fancy resort in Australia, but he’d sent a basket with popcorn, wine and a Victoria sponge cake, complete with candles and a party hat, then video called her at six in the morning his time, just as she was getting home from work, so they could watch Netflix together and he could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ before she blew out her candles. He’d even worn a matching party hat to make her laugh.

  Ash was the best friend she had in the world. And now, looking into his bright blue eyes, Zoey wondered how she’d never realised quite how good a friend he was. Maybe because she’d always been comparing him to Grace, or thinking of him as an extension of her old friend.

  But he wasn’t. He was Ash. She smiled, and he returned it with a bright grin of his own that made her throat go tight and her blood feel too warm. And suddenly Zoey realised that there was no one else in the world she’d rather be stranded with tonight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ASH LET GO of Zoey’s hand and sat back in his rickety folding chair. That whisky must be stronger than he was used to, or at least faster acting, because he’d only had a couple of sips—not enough to affect him. Or maybe it was the after-effects of stress and excitement from the escape and the boat ride. Yeah, that was probably it. A delayed response to a near-death, or at least near-maiming, experience.

  Nothing else would explain the strange feeling that just ran through his body as Zoey smiled at him. The one that seemed to fizz in his blood and brush across his skin with a feather touch.

  A feeling he hadn’t experienced in two long years.

  The problem now wasn’t imagining Zoey in a bathrobe. It was the sudden flash of an image of her out of one that he couldn’t shake.

  Zoey. Best friend. Not someone to be imagining naked. Certainly not thinking about stripping that wet dress away from her skin...

  He looke
d away, staring down at the whisky in his mug instead of at his best friend’s face.

  Zoey was a very lovely woman—he’d never denied that. But he’d never let himself think about her this way before—and he really couldn’t afford to start now. She needed him as a friend tonight. That was all.

  Maybe more alcohol would help.

  Fortunately, it seemed Zoey was on the same wavelength, as she leant over to grab the bottle and top up both their mugs with considerably more liquor than he’d given them the first time.

  What had they been talking about before? Something important. Something they should get back to...

  Right. Zoey running out on her wedding. That definitely had precedence over any strange feelings he was experiencing.

  ‘So, anyway. Talking. Do you want to? Talk about it, I mean?’ Not his most elegant phrasing ever, but it seemed to get the intention across at least.

  Zoey shrugged. ‘What is there to say?’

  What had Grace always done to draw Zoey out? Or did she just naturally talk to her in a way she didn’t feel comfortable doing with Ash?

  ‘Well, how are you feeling about everything? I mean, now we’re on a completely different island from your fiancé, with no hope of getting back until after you’re due to get married unless this weather breaks.’ Even then, it might be a push. He wasn’t sure how seaworthy that yacht would be after the storm had finished punishing it. The jetty he’d moored it at was rather more exposed than he’d like.

  ‘Honestly?’ Zoey said, still staring into her mug. ‘Mostly I’m just feeling relieved.’

  Ash’s shoulders relaxed just a little at that. At least she wasn’t regretting her decision. Because that would have been a problem he’d have no idea how to fix under the circumstances.