Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles)

by Synthia St. Claire

  “Well. Yes. I’m not completely stuck in the past. If this was a one-night-stand for you, that’s, well, that’s okay. Sort of. If you just want to go. I can’t put any pressure on you. I should be cool with that. You know.”

  She laughed as relief hit her. “Richard! You do talk some crap. I don’t want this to have been a one-off. I don’t want to go.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Right now? Breakfast.”

  “Ha!”

  He picked her up and lifted her off him, kissing her shoulders as he slid out from under her. She stayed, wrapped in the bedding, as he picked his boxers and slid into them before crossing the vast room to pull the curtains back. They ground along the sagging curtain track with a painful noise, and the room was lit by the early summer sunshine.

  “Wow.” Helena looked around in wonder. There was a mismatch of furniture of varying ages, and wallpaper with strange faded areas. One wall played host to a gallery of crooked hunting prints, and there was an actual wash stand with a cracked bowl and jug on it. It was clean, but disorganised. “It’s almost shabby chic.”

  “Almost? Is it not shabby enough?”

  “Um. Not quite chic enough.”

  He stood at the large window, the light silhouetting his semi-naked form. She couldn’t make out his expression very well. “I need help, Helena.”

  “Er… Generally? Mentally?” She wondered what deep, dark secret he was about to reveal, and steeled herself to be non-judgemental and accepting.

  “With being a decent person. With sorting out this blasted manor house. With getting my life back.”

  “No one can do those things for you,” she said, sadly. “You’ve got to start that on your own. I’m not your saviour, Richard.”

  “No, of course not. But you’re my inspiration, my motivation, like it or not. I know you can’t change me but will you walk by my side as I try to change? Also, have you any tips for stopping a curtain track squeaking?”

  “No, but I know how to use a search engine.”

  “Ouch. Touché. We’d better get on with this broadband thing, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Helena felt relaxed as she wrapped up in his dressing robe and padded off to a large, cold bathroom. She wasn’t sure when things had changed but they had, over the course of the conversation. She indulged herself in using up his toiletries in the shower. She’d smell like him all day, and so carry the memory of this night with her while she was at work.

  She dressed in the previous day’s clothes, which felt unpleasant and slightly slutty, before joining him for breakfast in the kitchen. “At least the walk of shame isn’t too far,” she said.

  He grinned. “Everyone is going to be peeking, you know. I bet everyone in Arkthwaite already knows.”

  “Oh please, don’t.”

  He scrambled up some eggs and got the toast going. “Sorry, but you know it’s true. As I said to you before, way back, people are going to talk so you may as well give them something to talk about, hey?”

  “Hmm.”

  They ate quickly. She had to get home, change her clothes and catch the bus for work. Richard was intending to head down to the field with the earth moving machine again, and she was sorry to be missing it.

  “Where do we go from here?” Helena asked as she helped to wash the plates. “And don’t give me a smart aleck answer about work and stuff. You know what I’m asking.”

  “I don’t know. And isn’t that half the fun? I want to get to know you. I want to move forward. I want to redecorate and I haven’t the first clue where to start. Most of all, though…” he said, moving toward her, and taking the wet dish from her soapy hand, and laying it to one side. “Most of all, I want to tell you how beautiful you are, every single day.”

  She tried not to flinch but she couldn’t help lowering her eyes. He put his fingers under her chin and raised her head. “Look at me, Helena.”

  She met his gaze, feeling a dragging unwillingness in her stomach that she fought to overcome. “Yes.”

  “And I mean that.”

  “Thank you.”

  He broke into a broad smile that made his face into creases and joy, and crushed her against him in a spontaneous, animal-like hug. “Right. Let’s get you home, and I need to get to the field. We’ve got a project to run, remember? What are your plans for tonight, by the way?”

  “To be honest… catching up on sleep after last night.”

  “Fair point. Come here. Let me cook for you.”

  “That’s lovely but…”

  “Am I crowding you? Do you need space?”

  “No, not at all. Okay, I’ll come.”

  He planted a shower of kisses on her lips. “Fantastic.”

  * * *

  Emotions and adrenaline and all the associated chemicals of love and lack of sleep rushed through Helena’s veins as she got changed into her work clothes and dashed out to catch the bus. Parts of her body were groaning with tiredness, but she was being held together by the sheer delight of new love. It was like being a teenager again, feeling that everyone was looking at her and that they somehow knew what she’d been up to.

  Colin, the driver, greeted her cheerily and she had to nod and say hello to all the regulars as she pushed her way to a safe space at the back of the bus where she could curl up and daydream the journey away. Her eyes were gritty and her head slightly foggy, but she replayed snapshots of the previous night in her mind, and it made her smile.

  She wanted the bus ride to last longer. In fact, she felt she could have ridden the bus all day, dozing and dreaming and remembering and fantasising. She knew it was going to be a long and difficult day at work and she braced herself for the inevitable forthcoming gossip and teasing.

  “So tell us about this midnight showdown!” were Clive’s first words and the warehousemen crowded onto the shop floor as soon as she walked in.

  “The… oh!” Helena had completely forgotten about the antics that had happened prior to going home with Richard. “The broadband digging?”

  “Yeah, and how the high and mighty Lord Dickie turned up with his digger all ready to stove everyone in! And then he didn’t! Is he really going to let you guys get away with it?”

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “With a brew.” One of the warehousemen pointed towards the kitchen.

  “Off you go then,” she said.

  And off he went, collecting mugs as he went, and she perched herself onto the stool at the cash register and began to regale her audience with a not-too-embellished tale of the Great Broadband Trespass, and managed to gloss over the part where she went off back to the manor riding in the giant digger with the big bad Lord of the Manor.

  Only Clive shot her a piercing glance as she finished. He chased the men away to do some work in the yard and attend to the trickle of customers, and leaned in close to her as she stood up to move towards her office. “You don’t fool me, young lady,” he said.

  “What’s that, old man?” she shot back, smiling.

  “You and that Richard. You’re glowing. There was something that has made him stop and think, and I think that something is you. Us men will do anything for a pretty face like yours.”

  “I’m not-” and she stopped, took a deep breath, and said as serenely as she could, “well, thank you, Clive. And yes, there was something. But a lady never tells.” She summoned all her inner Jackie O, and sailed past him with her head high and her face smugly smiling.

  * * *

  It was Saturday morning, the kind of breezy, blowy day where the clouds scudded high in a blue sky and everyone seemed to be smiling. It is possible, Richard conceded, that I am just in the grip of lovey-dovey hormone bollocks, and it is, in fact, a terrible day. But who cares? I am happy and I quite like this feeling, thank you very much.

  He stood in the centre of his kitchen, hands clamped around his morning coffee, and gazed out into the courtyard. He was reflecting on a very hectic week. Most of the trenches had
finally been dug for the broadband and the disbelieving villagers were almost convinced that he really meant it, though Tom seemed to still harbour the suspicion that it was a very elaborate plot for some unnamed nefarious purpose. He had spent a lot of time with Helena, and the more he told her about himself, the better he seemed to feel. He hoped he wasn’t just using her as a counselling service. But so far she hadn’t run off, so that was a good sign.

  Last night they’d taken a break. They’d been spending every moment possible together and while that was wonderful, other things were getting neglected. In Richard’s case, his work with his tenants was lagging behind, and his laundry pile had sprouted all along the upper corridor, threatening a very real risk of spontaneous combustion. Helena had wanted to spend some time with Vicky and no doubt reveal various intimate details of their relationship, or whatever it was that women did when they spoke together. Though he also had the less flattering idea that they actually talked about anything but men.

  They’d spent one evening going through every room in the manor house. He hadn’t visited some of them since his mother had gone to The Larches and it was difficult, particularly in the grandly titled “Morning Room” where Jemima had spent much of her time. Helena could see it all with fresh eyes, and her enthusiasm for bringing the place to life did start to rub off on him. He wasn’t precious about any of it, and would have cheerfully just called in the house-clearance folks, but Helena kept using words like “rustic” and “bohemian” and occasionally “retro” so he let her bound along, and started to appreciate that his house could become a home again.

  He sipped at his coffee and watched as Nerada poked her nose over the stable door and wrinkled her nostrils. He had promised to take Helena for her first riding lesson this afternoon, and he had some business to attend to with some tenants first. Then, he was free for the day.

  No. No, he wasn’t. Shit. Billy.

  He gulped down the rest of his drink and grabbed his phone, walking outside into the fresh air while he waited for his friend to pick up.

  “Hey Richie! Bloody hell, mate, you have never called me before. What’s up, eh?”

  “Nothing’s up. I just wanted to ask you not to come up this afternoon.”

  “Bull. Shit. Bullshit, Richard! I’m on a mission. I’ve packed already.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “Go on, then. Why not?”

  “I’ve got someone else here already. I will have. She’s coming up in about two hours. I forgot to let you know. I’m really sorry.”

  “I don’t believe you. You are going to have to give me her number so I can call her and confirm it directly.”

  “Seriously, Billy. Come up next weekend. But not today. It’s all really new and I don’t want to screw this up.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Billy’s normally deep voice had risen an octave. “You actually have a girlfriend? Have you had to pay her? Is it a dare? She has met you already, right?”

  “I am not joking. Come up at some point. You’ll meet her. Just not today, all right?”

  Billy was silent for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, you are telling me the truth. Well done, mate, well done! I can’t wait to meet her.”

  They exchanged a few more minutes of abuse before Richard insisted he really did have to go, and he left Billy still chortling on the other end of the line as he shoved his phone into his pocket and went upstairs to the study to start attending to business.

  * * *

  Helena’s first riding lesson on Nerada was fun, punctuated by moments of sheer terror for Richard as she insisted on riding without a lead rein. Nerada had not been exercised as much as she ought to have been, lately, and she was bouncy and flighty, spooking at bushes, birds and random shadows. Helena clung on with tenacity, even when Nerada began to spring sideways because she might have seen a carrier bag somewhere within a kilometre.

  “You are doing well!”

  “My bum hurts,” Helena complained. “But this is fun.” She was thrown forward and gripped the pommel as Nerada decided to stop randomly and eat some grass. “Mostly fun.”

  “I think we ought to call it a day for now.” He helped her down, catching her as she swung to the ground and discovered that her legs didn’t work any more. “Steady!”

  “My thighs are all trembly. Not in a good way,” she added with a dark look sideways at him.

  “I’m sure I can see to that. Later,” he promised, feeling again the fluttering in his stomach that had been an almost constant companion to him in the past week, especially when he was near to Helena.

  “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the afternoon?”

  He looked at her. She was paying more attention to Nerada than him, holding the leather reins loosely as the horse nuzzled at the grass. It was going to make a mess of the bit and bridle. She slapped Nerada’s neck firmly, with the confidence of a born horsewoman. She looked so happy and serene, and he didn’t want to ruin it with what he had to say.

  She must have caught his hesitancy because she dragged her gaze from Nerada, and asked, “What’s up?”

  “I need to go and visit my mum at the home. I try to go every week and I haven’t seen her for two weeks now.”

  Her expression didn’t falter. “Go and see her! Do you want me to come? I would love to meet her.”

  “It’s difficult, with her dementia. She doesn’t really recognise me anymore.”

  “Oh, Richard. I can’t imagine. I don’t know what to say. I’ll still come with you if you like, though.”

  “That’s all you need to say.” He took Nerada’s reins from Helena’s hands and began to walk back to the stables. “Come on. I’ll show you what we do now, and then we’ll head off to The Larches. She usually thinks I’m my dad so I hope she doesn’t think I’m having an affair when she sees you.”

  “Oh. Look, I’ll do whatever causes least distress and I’ll pretend I’m a nurse if I have to.”

  “Thanks.” Richard realised he was all right about it all. He had thought he was going to be nervous or upset, but now he’d mentioned it to Helena, and she’d reacted so calmly, he was relaxed. It felt right.

  * * *

  The saloon bar of The White Hart was transformed. Henderson’s son Henry had knocked a new door through to the outside, so that people didn’t need to walk through the pub to get to the newly refurbished room. In exchange, Spenser had given Henry a month of free Sunday meals. The LETS programme was growing, bit by bit, as people got their heads around it. It was something that neighbours had been doing anyway; the introduction of vouchers had baffled a lot of folks until they started to see it as “fake money” and then it got easier to barter and pass things on. Cathy had already had her kitchen revamped in exchange for a lot of haircuts.

  And now the previous den of drinking was a broadband hub, and everyone who was anyone within about ten miles of Arkthwaite wanted to be in at the Great Switching On.

  There were five computers along benches that ran down two walls of the room. A third wall was bookshelves, and the final area was given over to posters and community notices. It had only recently dawned on Helena that Arkthwaite had no village hall, and notices were generally stuck up in the Post Office where Tom charged 25p a week for them.

  The books had been Cathy’s idea. She’d gone to see Vicky one night, purple with shame and fear, and they’d spoken long about reading, dyslexia, adult literacy and self-confidence. Helena didn’t know exactly what had transpired, but now there were full shelves of books, where people could bring in books they’d finished with, and take another instead. It was like a very small version of the international book-crossing project where random strangers would leave books to be found in public places, with notes attached encouraging people to take them and read them and leave them somewhere else.

  The mayor of Ingholme, so noticeably absent from the summer fete, had made the effort this time and was replete with layers of gold bling chains. Helena was convinced that mayors ha
d to be fat to support all their ceremonial regalia. Skinny ones would buckle under the weight.

  Where the mayor went, so the local newspapers followed - both the local one, and the regional rag were represented by a reporter each, and the regional paper had even sent a separate photographer which was a sure sign that this was a Big Story. There was also a harassed-looking young features article writer who was clutching a dog-eared notebook and attempting to take characterful shots on her camera-phone, for a possible write-up in a glossy county magazine. She was vague as to the details of the commission.

  Ray and Spenser were run ragged even with the extra help they’d drafted in behind the bar. They’d laid on a large meat and potato pie, as was compulsory at any public event in the North-West, with the obligatory peas in a large steel pan being kept at one degree above botulism.

  And where there were dignitaries, and photo opportunities, so of course there was Helena’s mother, fresh from her latest doomed love affair and wearing a designed dress with elegant lace trim and shoes that made Helena wince.

  “I am so proud of you, darling!” Elizabeth Wright pecked an air kiss to each side of Helena’s face. Then she reared back, stared directly at her daughter, and declared again, “So proud!” before enfolding her in a huge and unexpected embrace. It wasn’t etiquette. It wasn’t the done thing at all. Helena felt her eyes well up with tears but the flow was curtailed as Mrs Wright then said “But you could have made an effort with your hair. Helena, what were you thinking?”

  “Thanks, mum.” Helena shook her head and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “But I haven’t-”

  “Quite.”

  “Well, anyway. What a delightful place! It’s super.” Mrs Wright scanned the room, her head held stiff and upright so that she looked like a startled wading bird. “The mayor! How wonderful. So will there be speeches? What if you have to speak? I have lip gloss, darling, just a smear for you.”