She met his amused eyes and flicked her brows. His expression matched her wickedness in a heartbeat.
She shouldn’t do this. She should definitely end it now. She’d meant to after that first night. But when a guy this gorgeous tempted? When she knew how amazing it was? When it would only be for another day or two…
And it wasn’t just for her. He’d had such a lot to deal with—the responsibility of two siblings, the finances, the company. Then there was the loss he’d suffered. Twice over—first his mother, then his father and stepmother. She knew exactly how much that hurt and how reluctant he probably was to be vulnerable to that kind of pain again. Empathy flooded her. So did the desire to see him laugh. She couldn’t help but want to give him some fun.
Just once more would be win-win for them both, wouldn’t it? She mentally stuffed away the worried whisper in her soul and lifted the bottle of maple syrup from the bench. “I know what you really want me to do with this.” She shimmied up to him.
“You think you do, huh?” He reached out and ran a finger down her arm, encircling her wrist.
She nodded. “Quite certain of it.”
He kept a firm hold on her wrist and took the bottle from her with his other hand. “But do you know what I want to do with the maple syrup?”
He led her home—to the shower, stripping himself then her and flicking the taps so it was steaming in no time.
Biting her lip, Libby stood before him as he drizzled the runny syrup over her breasts. But any desire to laugh disappeared the second he stroked his fingers through the slick stickiness. Have mercy, who’d have thought the sensation could be so enhanced? Her knees weakened, her lungs struggled to draw in enough oxygen in the sultry atmosphere.
“This is a terrible waste of high-priced maple syrup,” she muttered.
“It’s not a waste.”
She quivered as he caressed and then kissed. “I might discover it has skin rejuvenating properties.”
“You could expand your business,” he licked—so sublimely. “Luxury skincare with maple syrup as the secret ingredient.”
“Either that or a maple-flavored lubricant,” she panted.
“From cereal to sex-aids,” he chuckled, reaching for the shower nozzle. “One woman’s leap in business.”
He spun her away from him and then drew her down, kneeling behind her at the same time and encouraging her to use him as her “chair”. She slid onto him—wet and ready to ride. He groaned delightedly against the back of her neck as she bowed her head, closing her eyes in ecstasy. He held the nozzle, raining water on her shoulders and breasts as they moved—slick and fast and so carnal. Then he changed the direction of the waterfall, pointing the jet of water between her legs and thrusting even harder into her. The pressure of the warm water enhanced every sensation. His other hand cupped and slid over her maple-sticky breasts. Oh, he could be very inventive.
All Libby could do was cry out, quiver and come.
Nine
“You’ve never been rowing?”
He made it sound like she was as deprived as a child who’d never had an ice cream on a summer’s day.
“No.”
It was a glorious Sunday morning—absolute ice-cream weather—and she’d found his suggestion they stroll along the Thames river walk irresistible. Just today. One more day.
London was tourist dense ordinarily, but this morning it was like one giant fairground. Hordes of people were out and about and bunting was strung everywhere. Brightly colored tourist kiosks had popped up, adding to the effervescent, energetic atmosphere. The city was alive and humming.
“Come on. I’ll take you to the club, we can go double sculls.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. It’ll be fun.”
Libby didn’t think rowing looked all that much fun—it looked like damn hard work. You had to have mega-muscles and more stamina than anyone. “You used to compete?” she asked as she walked alongside him.
“Back in the day.” He nodded.
“Why didn’t you keep going?”
A wry smile tweaked his lips. “There were other things I needed to do.”
“You had to look after the other two.” Libby’s heart pulled.
“I did, but don’t go thinking there was any great self-sacrifice or anything.” He sent her a laughing look. “The fact is I wasn’t as passionate about it as Tom is. I never had the same kind of drive to succeed in it as he did.”
But he had the same drive to succeed in another area—in getting the financial security for his family. He’d gone from young man to father and breadwinner to his younger siblings overnight. Libby had no doubt that he was every bit as driven as Tom. He might not have the medals but what he’d achieved was every bit as much of an Olympian effort.
“So you don’t wish it was you?” she asked quietly.
“Sure, part of me has that Olympic fantasy—most people do, right?” he admitted. “No matter how improbable it might be. It’s like the lottery fantasy. We all dream of winning. But I know the sacrifices Tom’s made. I made sacrifices too, but I have the reward already. I see Tom now healthy and happy. I see Anne off at university and studying her passion. Tom’s given up so much for his sport but he may not get the reward. I hope for his sake he does. He deserves it.” He stopped outside a building. “Come on.”
The second they walked into the clubrooms at least five fit-looking rowers bounded over.
“Jack!”
Libby watched as they laughed and caught up and discussed who they thought were Tom’s rivals in the upcoming competition.
“I’m going to take Libby on the water,” Jack said eventually, taking her hand. “It’s her first time.”
Three of the guys moved immediately—hauling out a boat from the shed and carrying it down to the water for them. She watched the awestruck, so-eager-to-help teens with wry amusement, understanding how they felt. No doubt Jack could have been a champion rower too, but what impressed her more was the obvious respect and loyalty he inspired in the club members. Everybody liked Jack Barnes—including her. She stumbled as she walked down—as it hit her heart. She more than liked him.
“You’re going to have to do all the work you realize.” She managed to tease as she stood on the jetty, feeling colder by the second. “As always.”
“You do your thing.” He curved an arm around her and guided her to the boat. “And you know it. But yes, you’re pretty much just a passenger today.”
“You’re not going to wear one of those high-tech, skin-clinging outfits?” she asked, trying to stick to light-hearted tease.
“I will if you will.” He mocked up a leery look with an eyebrow lift and a lascivious grin.
She resisted the urge to reach up on tiptoe and nip his lips with her teeth—he’d always trump her in the playful stakes. She took off her shoes as directed and then studied the boat. It seemed crazy narrow to her while the river was wide and flowed fast.
“You can trust me.” His amusement was even more obvious now as he held the boat steady for her to step into.
“I know.” And she did. He was a good guy. That suspicious, arrogant attitude he’d had that first day was merely a mask, symptomatic of his protective nature. She knew he’d do anything for anyone—quite the knight. Trouble was, she ached inside for more, and that could never be. She didn’t want to hurt or be hurt and she couldn’t trust that her body wouldn’t let her down. She sat in the small, hard seat and watched as he sorted out her oar. She twisted round and saw he had two for himself.
“Won’t this make us go round in circles?”
“Yours is more for decoration,” he laughed. “Just enjoy the ride.”
Well that wasn’t going to be hard.
He rowed strongly, the boat swiftly glided through the water and in no time they were away from the club. She was glad he was behind her and couldn’t see how much she was acting the princess—her one oar was totally for show as it rested across her legs and out of the water. He
took her up river. She didn’t know which bank to look at, with the monumental buildings on each side either steeped in history or architectural greatness. Eventually he stopped rowing and let the boat begin to float back with the current.
“I have something for you,” he said.
The something was tossed over her shoulder and into her lap. She picked it up and looked at it. “You’re trusting me with a key for the bakery?” she asked, her blood frozen despite the strength of the morning sun.
“It’s not for the bakery.” His reply was low. “And you already know the alarm code.”
Her heart—and brain—stuttered. He’d given her a key to his home? “Jack—”
“And there’s someone I want you to meet,” he said with more volume, apparently ignoring her audible panic.
She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were at deep fat fryer temperature but the rest of her had iced over. Why had he given her a key to his house? That was far too serious for either of them. And while there was a corner of her heart trying to dance for joy, the rest of it seized in fear. This wasn’t part of the plan. At all.
“Her name’s Jemma.” He continued speaking. “She’s an enabler—you know, introduces people to people. People who might want to invest in start-ups or accountants who can help develop business plans and stuff. I’ve dealt with her in the past and she was interested in what you’re doing.”
Start-ups? As in like her cereal business? “Why do you want to set this up?” she croaked.
“I think you could make a real success of your muesli. You have an amazing product.”
“I thought oats were for horses?” She joked weakly while fighting back the inner panic. “And don’t you think it’s too expensive to be anything more than for a tiny niche market? That there’s no real way of making it viable?”
“I think it could work. Meet with Jemma—she’s very good at what she does.”
No. “That’s really nice of you Jack, but…”
“It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. And she couldn’t act pleased or laugh this off. She couldn’t take any of what he was offering. This was the last thing she’d wanted—not his help, his concern, his care.
“I’m only arranging a meeting. It’s not like I’m offering to invest millions in your company,” he finally broke the long silence. “Or is that what you want?”
“No.”
The charged word hung between them—final.
Of course that wasn’t what she wanted and her fury rose—as if she were some gold-digger? He was the one who’d come after her. He was he one who’d kissed her first.
“You know I can’t help myself.” His tone changed, like he was now joking. “I help out Tom and Anne all the time. Even when they don’t want me to. It’s the curse of the elder brother.”
All Libby could hear now were the panicked thoughts spinning in her head. She didn’t want his protectiveness—didn’t want to think about what it might mean. She didn’t want to know what he felt for her—she never wanted to know if it was more. Because she couldn’t do more.
And now she couldn’t escape this conversation unless she dived in the water. She smothered a hysterical laugh, if she did that she’d end up with Thames belly. Somehow she had to extricate herself from something that had grown painfully beautiful and terrifyingly fragile, too quickly.
The trouble wasn’t only him. She felt too much. If she took his assistance now, she’d always associate her company with him. She’d always be in his debt and he’d always be in her mind. She’d never get over him.
Truth? She feared he’d be there always already. She’d never be able to look at maple syrup again without thinking of him. But she couldn’t let this happen—if she said yes, it would always have an association with him and it would be too painful to hold on to if it reminded her of him. It was her passion, her baby—her only one because she’d never have real babies. She couldn’t risk it. She had to say no to him—for good.
“Libby.”
She didn’t turn to face him, but she heard everything in the way he said her name—the frustration, resignation, the dawning realization. He knew what she was going to do. He knew and she knew.
“It’s not you,” she said. So, so sorry.
“Oh come on.” His laugh was brief and laced with bitterness. “I thought you were more imaginative than that.”
“It’s the truth. It’s me. I can’t do this.” She twisted in her seat and put the key down between them.
“What is this?”
“This was a light fling that’s gone on a little long.” She swallowed. “I don’t want anything that goes on.”
“You were still having fun last night,” he argued. “All that’s happened since is I’ve offered help. Is that my mistake?”
In part—but really it had crystalized the real problem in her mind. She’d been such a fool—carried away on a tide of lust and laughter.
“If this goes on it would become too involved and too messy.” She turned away from him, unable to bear the intent scrutiny of his sharp, blue eyes.
“And you can’t do anything messy? Libby, the maple syrup is messy.”
“Don’t.” She gripped her oar and curled up her legs, hunching over her knees. She didn’t care that she was rocking the boat. She just needed to hold in her heart. “Jack, please.”
Silence.
“Here, I got these. You might as well have them.”
Another something was tossed over her shoulder. She looked down and drew the card from the envelope. Tickets to a circus coming to town next month.
Next month was too long. Another month of making love and laughing and growing closer and falling deeper, deeper, deeper?
Her heart hurt already but it would hurt more in another month. It would be unbearable six months after that. But this wasn’t only about her heart. This was about his. And if he cared for her—even a smidgeon as much as she cared for him—then he was in trouble. She wanted to spare him trouble. She wanted him to be free. To go and have fun. And maybe one day to make a family with someone else. She’d fooled with a guy who—for all his playfulness—was actually sincere and full of heart.
“Knife throwing might be dangerous for us to be around together,” he said sharply.
“Please try to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I can’t do a serious relationship,” she said fiercely. “I told you that at the start. I can’t get close to anyone. I won’t.”
“Why?”
She twisted in her seat and glared at him. “Why do you think?”
He clamped his jaw shut and eyeballed her. She glared right back at him—she wasn’t giving way. She’d been strong for so long, and she refused to weaken. She knew what was right for her. And she absolutely knew what was right for him—and that wasn’t her.
The blades splashed and the boat began to surge through the water. The warmth and beauty of the morning broken.
“You’re a coward,” he spoke through his teeth, his muscles rippling.
“I’m as protective as you are.” She couldn’t let anyone get too close. She had to protect those she loved.
He shook his head, his expression grim as he powerfully pulled the blades. “You’re going to live your life not taking any chances?”
“Not a relationship, never commitment, certainly no family of my own.” She was never having children—never letting them suffer through what she’d suffered through. And she’d never love the way her father had loved—too deeply to survive the loss of it. She had to live more lightly than that.
She looked at him but he was too angry to look back at her. He lowered his gaze and focused on rowing them back to the club. He could have qualified for the Olympics himself with the speed with which he did it.
Libby got out the boat without looking at him. It was the right thing to do—better a little hurt now than devastation later.
“I’m sorry,” she choked as she passed him.
More sorry than she could express.
Nine days. Nine days was all it had taken to flip his life upside down. Jack stalked back to his apartment, stunned with how quickly everything had fallen apart. The leaden feeling in his chest didn’t lighten when he saw the black cab parked outside.
“How long you got?” he patted Tom’s shoulder.
“Only the night.” Tom grinned, clearly happy about it.
“Have you got like thirty pounds of Libby’s muesli in here?” Jack growled as he hefted the case up the stairs.
Waiting at the top, Tom looked uncomfortable.
Jack wasn’t in the mood to be mucked around. “Tom, what’s going on?”
“I exaggerated about how much I needed.”
“You mean you’ve brought most of the muesli I couriered to you back home again? Why say you needed more?”
“Because it was obvious you liked her. I wanted you to have some fun.”
With a grumpy humph Jack barged through his door, chucked the bag to the floor and stomped into the living room. He avoided the machines—instead he slumped into the one sofa at the back of the room.
Tom slowly followed him. Jack glanced at him and away again. He wasn’t in the mood for company and if his little brother wasn’t careful, he might get snappy.
“Do you know what I learned from you, Jack?” Tom gingerly sat on the hard seat of the lateral pull-down machine.
Jack didn’t answer. He really wasn’t in the mood.
“Never to give up.” Tom leaned forward. “You never gave up Jack. You never let me give up. You’ve fought so hard for so long.”
No, Jack hadn’t taught him that. That resilience and determination had been forged within Tom years before. “You learned that yourself, when you got through the cancer.”
“I didn’t get through the cancer on my own.” Tom argued fierce enough to make Jack bristle. “You helped me. Remember you used to sit there and read me stories when I was feeling sick? You took me to training with you. I used to sit on the embankment and watch you rowing on the river and I wanted to be just like you. That’s what got me started rowing. I looked up to you. You were my hero.”
Her Bossy Billionaire (Love in London Book 1) Page 8
