‘It’s our intern programme,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘We have a partnership with Eckerman Walsh for kids who want to move into finance. They take five Chance high school seniors a year on internships and help fund college for some. But they’re going through a significant restructure and they’ve asked to put a pause on it for two years, while they right the ship.’ She looks up at me, apology on her features. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to bore you with that.’
‘You’re not,’ I demur, instantly.
‘I’ll work it out. It’s just that this year’s kids were due to start in September and now they have nowhere to go. It’ll be crushing.’
I don’t even think about it. ‘They can come to me.’
‘What?’ She’s startled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My office here. I run three hedge funds within my umbrella of companies. Let them come to Rothsmore Group for their internships. We’ll take up the same terms as Eckerman Walsh, including college tuition. In fact, I could offer the same for each of the cities my fund has a presence. London, Rome, Sydney...’
‘Nic...’ She shakes her head from side to side so her blonde hair fluffs against her beautiful face. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...’ Her voice trails into the ether.
‘Because?’
‘Because, I feel like you’re only offering because we’re sleeping together.’
‘I’m offering because I’ve just spent an hour of my life seeing that I’ve been a useless, selfish git, that there are incredible kids out there who deserve a better chance in life and you’re giving it to them. I’m offering because I want to help in some small way that I can.’
Her mouth drops open. I look around quickly and steal a kiss, a kiss that makes me ache for her, a kiss that makes me feel things I can’t compute.
‘You said you never turn down donations to the charity,’ I remind her.
‘I know. But you’re...you. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you...’
‘Oh, you’re welcome to take advantage of me any time,’ I tease, wiggling my eyebrows dramatically.
But she shakes her head, lifts a hand to my chest. ‘It’s so generous.’
‘I can afford it.’ I smile. ‘And I insist. I want to do this.’
And I really, really do.
* * *
‘So, your grandmother sounds pretty wise.’ Imogen blinks up at me from the book she’s reading. She likes to read. And I like watching her read. About five dates ago, she found her way to my library upstairs and has been working her way through the classics, just for fun.
‘She was.’ Imogen’s smile is full of affection.
‘Did she really used to say that? About the dolphin?’
‘Yeah! Why? You thought I made it up?’
‘I just haven’t heard it before.’
‘Oh, she had all these really neat sayings. Like, “It don’t matter how scratched up you are, you get back on the bike.”’
I laugh. ‘I could have used that advice.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, I came off my bike a long time ago and never rode again.’
She looks surprised. ‘That doesn’t sound like you. Quitting?’
‘I wasn’t afraid to ride again,’ I clarify. ‘I just didn’t particularly like the feeling of crashing off it.’
‘I can’t say I blame you. Still, Meemaw would have insisted you keep riding.’
I smile. ‘What else would she say?’
‘Hmm... “If you’re careful, you only have to light a fire once.” Lots of them didn’t make much sense, but she’d say them and Pa would look at me and roll his eyes. I miss them.’
‘They’re both gone?’
‘Yeah.’ She blinks away the memories.
‘You were close?’
‘Yeah.’ Her eyes shift, as if she’s running over memories. ‘I started spending a fair bit of time with them, once I was a teenager. I used to go down there most summers. It was nice to get away from my parents, from Hollywood.’ She lifts her shoulders. ‘It was Meemaw who gave me the idea for Chance. She used to say to me, “There’s a lot of bridges need building in this world—someone’s always gotta place the first stone.”’
I smile. ‘Meemaw sounds pretty smart.’
Imogen nods. ‘The smartest. And you? Do you have grandparents?’
‘No. My parents were in their forties when they had me. My father’s parents were both gone, and my mother’s only lived until I was maybe four or five. I never really knew them.’
‘Was it a second marriage?’
I frown, not following.
‘It seems kind of late in life to start a family?’
‘Right. Actually, on the contrary, they were married quite young.’ I reach over and brush some of her hair back, as if I can’t help myself. ‘They had fertility problems. A lot of miscarriages. A stillbirth. Then years of not being able to conceive. I think that’s got a lot to do with why they’re so damned keen for me to settle down and start a family of my own.’ I wiggle my brows to downplay my frustrations. I do understand why my parents feel the way they do but that doesn’t mean they don’t drive me crazy.
‘God, they must have doted on you,’ she murmurs, watching me from narrowed eyes.
It’s such an amusing observation that I laugh. ‘Not at all. I mean, yes, my mother often describes my birth as some kind of miracle, but they’re both by-products of their environment. They were glad to have me, grateful to have been able to produce an heir at last, but doting wasn’t really in their vocabulary. I went to boarding school when I was seven years old. I only saw my mother and father on holidays, and, even then, they were frequently abroad.’ I frown, because I don’t often think back on that time. ‘I liked school, though.’
Imogen’s eyes crease with the sympathy that comes so quickly to her. She puts the book down and crosses the room, her eyes huge in her delicate face.
‘You were too young to be sent away.’
I stare down at her, something moving in my gut. ‘Was I?’
‘Yes.’
I don’t say anything; she’s probably right.
‘Promise me something.’
I nod slowly. I know that I would promise her just about anything.
‘When you get married and have your little lords and ladies, don’t send them away.’
I wonder why that thought fills me with a strange sense of acidity.
‘I see it again and again in the kids I work with at Chance—all they really want is parents who are there, who love them.’
I imagine she’s right about that. It seems to me that children have a universal set of needs and yet a lot of parents probably fail to meet them.
‘Promise me,’ she insists.
And I nod, because Imogen is asking something of me and it’s within my power to give it to her. ‘I promise.’
She smiles, and it’s as though the world is catching fire. My lungs snatch air deep inside them. Everything is frozen still inside me. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out.
And in a matter of days I’ll leave her for ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
December 21st, the Christmas Gala,
Billionaires’ Clubrooms, Manhattan
IT’S FINALLY TIME.
I stand in the middle of the ballroom and look around, taking it all in. The formalities are over, the auction concluded—we’ve raised twice what I’d hoped. The millions of dollars from ticket sales added to the auction revenue means I’ll be able to fast-track the shelter I’ve had designed in Phoenix.
A lump forms in my throat, pride in what I’ve done, hope for the future of children making me feel, understandably, a little emotional. But it’s more than that. It’s the knowledge that this is my la
st night with Nicholas. That come what may, at the end of this evening, it will be the end for us.
A month ago, that made sense, but now, it feels a thousand shades of wrong. Everything inside me rails against the idea. I don’t want tonight to be the last time I see him, but what other option is there? He has to go back to England. And if it were just a matter of work, maybe we could try a long-distance thing. I’ve been wanting to expand Chance to Europe—a London base would be a good start. Maybe I could get over my worries about what the membership will think if news breaks that I’m dating someone from within its ranks. Maybe I could make it work. But Nicholas is going home to find some aristocratic heiress and make a suitable match. There were a dozen reasons we gave our dating deal a time limit of one month, and none of those reasons has gone away.
Except I don’t want it to end.
‘Hey.’ His voice behind me is the cherry on top.
I try my hardest to school my face into a mask of professional inquiry, but the second I turn around and see Nicholas Rothsmore in a tuxedo, my pulse shoots into overdrive and I feel as though I’m being driven at high speed around a hairpin bend.
I don’t want this to end.
I want...what? What do I want?
‘Nic...’ I breathe his name into the room, needing nothing more than to crush my body to his and kiss him, hard, kiss him slow, kiss him all over.
‘Quite the shindig.’ His eyes probe mine and I have a feeling he’s fighting a similar urge to mine; that he wants to pull me to him and kiss me.
My eyes drift to his watch. It will be at least an hour before I can leave. Emily, my assistant, will take care of everything after that; she is amazing.
‘You having fun?’ I murmur.
‘I’ll have more fun if you dance with me.’
I shake my head a little. ‘I feel like that could be a giveaway.’
‘I’ve seen you dance with at least five guys tonight.’
My heart turns over in my chest. ‘Jealous, my lord?’ I’m teasing him, a light-hearted joke, but his eyes narrow and he nods.
‘Beyond belief.’
Blood fills my heart too fast; my chest hurts. What do I want from him? How can this night be the last one we spend together? ‘That’s work.’
‘So? I’m work too. I’m your new internship partner, remember?’
Remember? I’ve thought of very little else since our lawyers rushed through the paperwork so this year’s ballot of kids wouldn’t miss their selections.
‘You raise an excellent point.’ And temptation makes me foolish. ‘One dance.’
He holds his hands out, and I step into them, taking a position that would pass, if anyone cared to look carefully, as purely businesslike.
‘I have been watching you,’ he says slowly, the words brushing low against my ear, so no one else can hear. ‘And trying to work out if this dress has a zip hidden somewhere.’
‘Pre-emptive planning?’ I prompt, my eyes running over his face.
‘Yes. I intend to remove it from you just as soon as we get back to my apartment.’
My pulse races faster; my chest still hurts, as if it’s being cracked wide apart. I don’t want this to end.
Ever.
The realisation slices through me like the sharpest blade of a knife.
‘I want to strip the dress from you and carry you to the hot tub, pull you into the water and onto my cock. I want to fuck you there, first.’
I swallow, his imagery insanely erotic, but even that isn’t enough to push my realisation from my mind.
I don’t want Nicholas to go. I don’t want ‘us’ to be over. And there is an ‘us’. Despite our insistence that this is pretend dating, like an education for me and nothing more, I have done perhaps the most stupid thing in my life.
I’ve fallen in love with him.
I fell in love with a man. It was a trap. When we started this, I thought he was the opposite of everything I wanted. He’s rich—he’s going to be a lord, for Christ’s sake—and he’s shallow. He’s meant to be, anyway, but he isn’t. He’s caring and sweet and compassionate and intelligent and fascinating and—Oh, my God.
I stop dancing for a second.
His eyes are skipping over my face. He’s going to work out something’s wrong.
‘What else?’ I start to dance again, lifting my lips into an approximation of a smile.
‘There’s a lid for every pot. You can’t fight it when you find what fits.’
Meemaw used to say it about Pa, when she was frustrated by him, but always with a smile. As if he drove her crazy but she loved him completely.
‘I want to spend some time saying goodbye to your beautiful breasts,’ he groans, his voice a whisper that sends darts down my spine. But the words cause my heart to splinter into a billion pieces, because he’s talking about saying goodbye as though he’s totally fine with this.
My eyes sweep shut, and I know, in that moment, if anyone cared to look they’d see the face of a woman whose heart is being completely shattered.
‘And this arse of yours.’
I have no idea how I hold it together. His words are making my body tremble with anticipation, but in the middle of my chest a cavity is being scraped out. I am hollow.
I am in love with a man who is wrong for me in every way. He’s moving to another country. He’s going to marry someone else and, even then, against his will—he would rather be single and continue to do what he’s been doing these last five years.
What kind of an idiot falls in love with an unavailable playboy?
I look at him—I can’t help it—and see a frown on his face. ‘Are you okay?’
Shit. I don’t even feel as if I can lie properly. ‘I’m fine. Just emotional. This event is the culmination of a lot of work.’
He visibly relaxes. ‘I can see that.’
I love Nicholas Rothsmore. I don’t know when I first started to love him, but somewhere along the way, I fell and I fell hard. It’s like being struck by lightning; how does he not feel it?
Does he feel it?
His hand at my back shifts, just a little, closer towards my arse. I blink up at him and drop his hand, stepping backwards.
He doesn’t feel it. He does this kind of thing all the time, and, even if he didn’t, he learned his lesson from the first and last woman he let himself love.
He’s built a wall around his heart that I don’t think I can chip through.
‘Imogen.’ Orla, one of the club’s Australian members, who I really like, catches me as she passes, oblivious to the explosions that are detonating inside my soul. ‘You’ve outdone yourself.’
I zipper over my heart and take a breath, resuming my usual calm, unflappable exterior. ‘You’re having fun?’
‘Oh, yes.’ It’s slightly breathy. Her eyes shift over me for a second and her cheeks flush. ‘Definitely.’ She puts a manicured hand on my wrist, her eyes shining. ‘I’ve got some ideas for the next Sydney gala. I’ll email you.’
I smile. Life goes on. Things move forward. With or without Nicholas, the club will continue, the membership will grow, the charity will survive. But my heart won’t recover. I have never been in love before, but I don’t think you need to have first-hand experience to know that love has transformative powers.
I love Nicholas, and my life will never be the same after he leaves.
I have to tell him.
Orla slinks off, her beautiful dress caressing her frame. I watch her for a second and then turn back to Nicholas. His grin is pure, devilish playboy.
He doesn’t love me, and all telling him will achieve is a premature end to this.
He won’t take me home tonight; it will be over and I need that not to be the case.
One more night, one more night of fun and sex and pretending this is casual when I know it isn’t. At
least, not for me.
‘I have to circulate,’ I say softly.
‘I expected as much.’ But then, leaning even closer, ‘You’re sure you don’t want to try out an Intimate Room? I can get some handcuffs...’
And despite my breaking heart, heat blooms through my body. ‘Later.’
He laughs. ‘Count on it.’
His use of the phrase I utter so often pulls at me, because it is this phrase that led him to discover I was Miss Anonymous. Would I take it back if I could? Would I make it so this never happened?
No. Not in a million years. Even as I feel my heart breaking, I know I would never wish we hadn’t shared this. Nicholas has changed me, and I think for the better.
I continue to circulate, brushing past the billionaire property developers Ash Evans and Sebastian Dumont just in time to catch them shaking hands, Ash laughing at something Sebastian’s muttered.
This is what the club promises its members. It’s a safe place to do business, to network and to relax. It’s a safe place but not, as it turns out, for me.
* * *
I run my tongue over his tattoo, hating it in that moment, because I don’t want Nicholas to be his own. I want him to be mine. I flick his hair-roughened nipple, enjoying the feeling of his chest lifting, his breath snagging in his lungs as I move lower. His naked body is tanned against the matte black of his sheets. I kiss my way down his body, tasting his flesh, remembering everything I can about this, taking his hard cock into my mouth, absorbing the guttural oath he spills into the room as I move my mouth up and down, my nipples tingling, heat pooling between my legs.
I will never get sick of this. Him, me, naked. I want this to last for ever.
But it is already approaching dawn, and I hate that. Never have I wanted a night to last longer than I do this night.
I taste a hint of his salty pre-cum and then his hands are under my arms, pulling me up his body, his mouth seeking mine, his frame rolling me, so I’m on my back, his arousal hard between my legs. I arch my back and spread my legs wide, wordlessly begging him to take me, to make love to me, needing his body to console mine in the only way he can.
The Deal--A Sexy Billionaire Romance Page 14
