The Billionaire’s Baby

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  Her gaze flew to his, her breath catching at the tenderness she glimpsed there, and, while it would be smarter to fob him off, she was too caught up in the moment to lie.

  ‘Remember that old cedar tree?’

  His eyes crinkled, his smile warm. ‘The one with the old tyre? Sure. You used to love playing princess, ordering me around like some lowly serf to push you for ages.’

  She chuckled at the memory, catapulted back to a time where they had nothing better to do than tease each other, laugh with each other, at total ease, secure in their love.

  What she wouldn’t give for a step back in time.

  ‘There were times you used to order me around, like when we used to walk miles through the National Park on the outskirts of town.’

  ‘Yeah.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Though you made me haul a ten-tonne picnic on my back every time.’

  ‘That’s because you were always starving.’

  The minute the words popped out of her mouth, his eyes darkened to smoky grey, and she knew in an instant he was thinking of other appetites beside food.

  ‘Speaking of being starving, here, have some popcorn.’

  She shoved the bowl towards him, not surprised her hand trembled.

  He had that effect on her, always had, and she clamped her lips together to refrain from saying anything else she might regret.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He tossed a few kernels up in the air, tilted his head back, and caught them as they dropped into his mouth, like he’d always done, and, once again, she was transported back in time, to the weekly movie sessions at the town hall where they’d sat in the back stalls, holding hands so tightly her fingers had tingled, her head resting on his shoulder, snuggling into his warmth.

  Those had been good times, amazing times, and for those magical three months he’d held her spellbound, caught up in a whirlwind of passion and laughter and friendship the likes of which she’d never known.

  But he’d left, leaving a gaping hole in her life, a soul-deep emptiness which haunted her to this day, and, while she’d accepted his rationale for leaving, it didn’t mean she had a desire to go back there again.

  A good, sound decision. If only her body would agree, and sitting this close to him was doing serious damage to her equilibrium.

  Faking a yawn, she stretched. ‘Actually, I think I’m pretty beat. I might give the movie a miss.’

  He was on to her.

  She could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, the uncharacteristic downturn of his beautiful mouth.

  ‘Cam, you can’t go on avoiding me for ever. We live in the same apartment, and I rarely see you.’

  Reaching out, he covered her hand with his where it rested on the sofa, and she struggled not to snatch it away.

  His touch on top of her wavering hormones was not a good combination, oh, no sirree.

  ‘What happened to hanging out as friends? Surely we can do that?’

  ‘Of course,’ she murmured, clamping down on the strongest urge to turn her hand palm up and intertwine her fingers with his. ‘I’ve just been super-busy, that’s all.’

  He could have pushed the issue, made her confront the truth, but he was too much of a nice guy, and she knew it.

  Giving a gentle tug on her hand, leaving her no option but to lean towards him, he said, ‘So you’re not running scared?’

  ‘Of what?’

  Releasing her hand to slide his palm up her arm in a slow, sensuous caress, he bridged the short distance between them to whisper in her ear, ‘Us.’

  One tiny syllable with so many connotations.

  Us, as in the giddy, impulsive, head-over-heels-in-love youngsters they’d been? Or us, as in the older, wiser, more mature people they’d become?

  It was the latter that scared her the most, for she’d loved Blane, a twenty-one-year-old struggling tradesman with a thirst for adventure, so what hope did she have of not falling for the sexier, more together version?

  She didn’t move, savouring the sensation of his breath fanning against her cheek before he pulled away and released her arm, every cell in her body on high alert, crying out for more.

  ‘Let me guess. You’re going to say there is no us.’

  His voice was tinged with amusement rather than rancour, and she found her mouth twitching despite the urge to deny, deny, deny just as he’d anticipated.

  Shrugging, she toyed with a stray popcorn kernel that lay in her lap. ‘We’re friends, so that’s an “us” of sorts.’

  ‘Friends. Right.’

  He didn’t believe her. He knew she was a fraud. That with every passing day it was getting harder and harder not to fall under his spell all over again.

  Pushing to his feet, he rubbed his hands together as if concocting some grand Machiavellian scheme.

  ‘Then you won’t object to catching up as friends this weekend. After all, it’s your first weekend off in months, and I’ve been very patient and—’

  ‘Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.’ Grateful he’d put some much-needed distance between their bodies, she tilted her head to look up at him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  Thrusting his hands in his pockets, resulting in an eye-catching display of soft cotton pulled taut across his broad shoulders, he winked.

  ‘Leave it to me. Whatever I come up with, rest assured, it’ll be mighty friendly.’

  Unable to stop a rueful smile spreading across her face, she watched him stride out of the room, wondering what on earth she’d got herself into now.

  Blane stared at Cam as she dismounted the jet ski, the expanding tightness in his chest scaring the hell out of him.

  He couldn’t be having a heart attack. He’d had his annual physical last month, and the doctor had pronounced him fit and healthy for the average twenty-seven-year-old that had spent the bulk of his life doing manual labour before trading his tools for a desk.

  If his ticker was fine, the tension in the vicinity of his heart could only mean one thing. His love for his wife was expanding and growing with each passing day.

  He’d never believed in the corny love-at-first-sight thing till he’d walked into that old-fashioned rundown coffee shop in Rainbow Creek, taken one look at the spiky-haired rebel with a cheeky smile and flashing cinnamon-coloured eyes serving behind the counter, and he’d been a goner. Drifting through Victoria from town to town had suited him just fine until he’d fallen head over heels for the sassy brunette with a smile that could light up a room.

  Eloping might have been impulsive, reckless and downright stupid considering their age and how long they’d known each other, but he’d never regretted it, not one single day. The only thing he regretted was walking away from her, despite having her best interests at heart.

  But he was through with regrets. This time, he’d give it all he had. Their marriage was worth it. She was worth it.

  Oblivious to the depth of his feelings, she sent him a jaunty wave while standing in the shallows before leaning forward, twisting her hair into a tight spiral, and squeezing the water out, the sun highlighting the honey streaks in the dark molasses, creating a halo effect as she shook it out and ruffled it dry.

  Halo? She was no angel that was for sure, with the constant teasing glances, the flirtatious banter, the subtle touching. Friends, she’d said. Ha! She’d been driving him crazy ever since she’d moved in, stoking his fire till he could barely think straight let alone put the finishing touches on the surprise he had lined up for her.

  He’d anticipated she wouldn’t want a bar of him after he’d done a runner six years ago, and he hoped the surprise would go some way to proving how seriously committed he was to reviving their marriage.

  While she might be singing the ‘let’s take it one day at a time’ tune, she was warm and spontaneous and fun as always, her actions speaking much louder than her words.

  She could call their living arrangements ‘hanging out together’, but from wher
e he stood they were testing the marriage waters and, while his sexy sceptical wife might be dipping her toes, he was ready to dive in the deep end.

  Watching her jog across the sand towards him, he silently thanked whoever had invented wetsuits. The material outlined every gorgeous curve of her body. She’d filled out and then some since he’d first fallen in love with her, and her new figure had him craving his luscious wife more than ever.

  Leaping to his feet, and dusting off his butt as she reached him, he thrust his hands into his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her and never letting go.

  ‘So, how does this rate as a date?’

  ‘Technically, it isn’t a date. You gave me some lame excuse about your penthouse needing to be fumigated, and I pretended to buy into it. Apparently we had to take refuge in your mate’s holiday house for the weekend or suffer dire consequences from inhaling pesticides. So, really, this isn’t a date, it’s a necessity for my delicate constitution, right?’

  He snorted. ‘Delicate? Yeah, as an angle grinder.’

  Chuckling, she squeezed the last droplets from the ends of her hair. ‘But just so you know, I’ve never jet-skied before, and it’s awesome.’

  Her eyes glittered with pleasure as she fiddled with the zip on her wetsuit, sending his excitement meter off the scale. ‘Glad you liked it.’

  Seeing her like this, exuberant and glowing, resurrected the scary tight-chest feeling. Yes, they’d only just met up again. Yes, it was too early to be thinking long-term. But he knew.

  Their marriage was alive and kicking.

  He trusted his gut instincts, the same instincts that had made him a fortune in the building industry, the same instincts that had catapulted him to the top of the construction world and made him a multi-millionaire ten times over, and right now his gut was telling him she wanted to reunite as much as he did.

  Getting reacquainted as friends was the first step, and this amazing woman, standing in the sun like some golden glowing glamazon, would hopefully be right alongside him as they took the rest of the steps towards a long, happy life together.

  ‘You hungry yet?’

  Her stomach growled in response, and she laughed, patting her belly. ‘I guess falling off that thing a hundred times worked up an appetite.’

  ‘I only counted fifty.’

  Dodging the playful slap she aimed his way, he held out his hand. ‘Come on. Let’s head back to the car.’

  She didn’t hesitate, slipping her hand into his, and as he curled his fingers around hers he marvelled at how right it still felt after all this time.

  Oh, yeah, she might be singing the anti-marriage tune, but this maestro had every intention of conducting them straight into a happily-ever-after concerto.

  ‘Is there anywhere to change around here?’

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry. It’s behind the car door or wait till we get to the house.’

  The corners of her mouth curved into a deliciously naughty smile. ‘Or you could hold a towel up for me, but only if you promise not to peek.’

  As all the blood from his brain rushed south, he tugged on her hand till she stood flush against him, murmuring in her ear, ‘No deal. And it’s no use asking me to turn around because I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.’

  ‘It can’t be too hard, right?’

  She wriggled within the circle of his arm around her waist, the wetsuit soaking water through his T-shirt, the damp a welcome relief for his skin burning up from the inside out.

  ‘I think you know exactly how hard it is.’

  He could have shown her if he shifted his pelvis a fraction to the left, but she was driving him beyond the limits any red-blooded male in his right mind could tolerate, so he settled for a quick, blistering kiss, chuckling when she gasped after he released her, and twirled her towards the car, giving her a gentle pat on her very cute butt for good measure.

  ‘I’ll give you two minutes to change. You take any longer, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

  She flung a saucy look over her shoulder. ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

  ‘Change!’ He pointed to the car before his good intentions to romance her in the style she deserved went up in flames along with his libido.

  ‘I’ll be over that sand dune.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Two minutes, that’s it.’

  With a fake pout, she puffed out an exaggerated sigh before reaching for the zip and slowly, agonisingly, drawing it downwards inch by excruciating inch.

  He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from her fingertips, the nails short, practical and unadorned, wrapped around that tiny piece of black metal, sliding downwards in a deliberate, unhurried tease.

  She reached the tantalising dip between her breasts, the hint of cleavage making him grit his teeth to stop himself from groaning.

  ‘Remember that time we went skinny-dipping after the Labour Day picnic?’

  Remember? How could he forget? Instant memories swamped him: sharing hot nachos down by the creek, licking the spicy salsa off each other’s fingers, flickering moonlight playing over her exquisite features, him daring her to join him in the frigid water, buck naked…

  ‘Cam…’ He took a step towards her, barely managing to stop when she waggled a finger at him and pointed over his shoulder.

  ‘I think there’s a sand dune over there with your name written all over it.’

  With a frustrated growl, he turned away from her teasing grin and marched over the hot sand, putting as much distance between the gorgeous temptress and himself as possible.

  He might be a romantic but he wasn’t a saint, and if that zip had gone any further, he couldn’t have been held accountable for his actions.

  Cam might like to tease him, to push things along but he had all the time in the world.

  Like for ever.

  Camryn wondered if she’d made a mistake.

  When Blane drove through the tiny coastal town of Barwon Heads on their way back for lunch with its single main street dotted with a bakery, pub, grocer and a few cafés for the holidaymakers who probably frequented the quiet town in the summer, she’d had the distinct feeling he was trying to recapture their past.

  The streets had been almost deserted, the foreshore home to a few seagulls too lazy to raise a squawk, and as the car had stopped at the lone roundabout to let a helmetless kid on a bike through, it had taken every ounce of her willpower not to interrogate him on the spot.

  Barwon Heads was reminiscent of Rainbow Creek, from the few old guys loitering around the rusty anchor in the town’s sole park, making desultory small talk over cigarettes, to the curious glances cast their way when Blane stopped for petrol.

  And considering they’d first met in Rainbow Creek, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was trying to take a trip down memory lane.

  Not a bad thing in itself when she’d enjoyed every moment she’d spent in her errant husband’s company so far, and this weekend would prove no exception. The kicker lay in the fact her intentions to tread softly had flown out the window since the first time they’d kissed in his penthouse, and she hadn’t been able to recover her equilibrium since.

  It was getting harder and harder to hold him off, to pretend she was just getting reacquainted with a friend and not falling deeper with every passing day.

  ‘Chardonnay or Shiraz?’

  Smiling, she turned away from the wooden balcony and the panoramic view of the tiny town that lay out before them. ‘Chardonnay would be lovely.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  He tipped a finger to his head in a salute before padding back into the kitchen, his bare feet making a soft padding sound against the old wooden boards.

  Sighing, she leaned against the balcony, propped on her elbows, wondering if there was such a thing as happily ever after.

  Was she crazy thinking about giving their marriage a second chance after what she’d been through first time around? Considering what she’d have to tell him if she was mad
enough to give in to him?

  What she did know was the heady attraction zinging between them since the first moment they’d met hadn’t waned. If anything it had intensified, the underlying heat needing little to burst into a raging conflagration of yearning and passion.

  Not that he was pushing her, oh, no, far from it. Blane was categorically the nicest guy she’d ever met. Not to mention handsome in a rough-around-the-edges way she adored, funny, smart, thoughtful…throw in courteous, respectful, add some newly acquired chef skills to the list, and she knew she was in serious trouble.

  Saying she had no interest in resurrecting their marriage was a crock, and she knew it.

  To make matters worse, she’d agreed to spend the night. Not a big deal in itself, considering they’d been living together for the last month but, somehow, being housemates where they were both so busy with their respective businesses they rarely saw each other was completely different to this.

  A weekend away, he’d said after she’d laughed off his fumigating excuse, time out from her busy schedule to kick back with no strings attached, and she’d foolishly agreed.

  It had all seemed so simple saying yes over an espresso at the end of a long, tiring day when her body ached, her mind fogged and her soul exhausted, his offer just the thing for a workaholic who hadn’t had a day off in over a year.

  However, now they were here at his mate’s holiday house after an incredibly fun afternoon at the beach, reality hit.

  They’d be in each other’s company twenty-four/seven, without the excuse of work or meetings or late-night trading to hide behind. Not that she’d been avoiding him exactly; business at the Niche had been off the scale. She’d had regular meetings with the new project manager at her apartment to ensure everything ran smoothly and on time, and some of her staff had come down with a flu bug, and she’d had to do some serious juggling.

  However, it had been late at night, when she’d all but fallen into bed, that she’d been all too aware of him sleeping across the hall from her, so close…so tantalisingly close…

  Now here she was, sharing meals with him, sharing memories, those precious snapshots imprinted on her brain to be flicked through at will, and the self-imposed barriers she’d erected between them would come crashing down. Then what?