“How did you pay the rent?”
“With the money he gave me.”
“Who?”
“Your boyfriend,” he says impatiently.
My eyebrows rise. “He gave you the money for two weeks’ rent?”
“Yes, and he paid off the debt.”
My jaw drops. “How much of it?”
“All of it. I assumed you knew.”
“He gave you five thousand dollars?”
Tom goes quiet. Then he says, “I hate the fucking bastard with every cell in my body, but… But I’m glad you’re with him. He’s a decent guy, Abby. He gave me the money, and he put me in contact with a doctor who I’ve been talking to about the gambling.”
That must be Brock. I shake my head, in shock.
“He has contacts in Hamilton,” Tom says. “I’m going to join a group properly, and try to control it. I’m going to get a job. I’m not going to let it beat me. I’m… I’m sorry. For what I’ve done to you. You don’t deserve it. You only ever gave to me, and I only ever took. I’m ashamed of that. I hope he makes you happy.”
Tears fill my eyes. “Thank you.”
“Once I get a job, I will send you money for the boy, I swear. And maybe sometimes you can send me a photo or something. Perhaps… in a while… I might be in a position to play a part in his life. But I can’t now. I just can’t. I hope you understand that.”
I swallow hard, wiping my cheeks. “Yes, I understand.”
“I want to be a better man, Abby.”
“You will. You’re a good guy at heart.”
“I’m not, but I like that you think so. I hope the birth goes well. Is he going to be there?”
I can’t stop the tears trickling out. “I don’t know, maybe. We’re not… an item. He’s just looking after me.”
“I’m glad. Good luck. Let me know when the baby’s born.”
“I will. I hope Hamilton works out.”
“Me too. See you.” He hangs up.
I turn onto my side on the bed. The tears continue to come, and I feel sad at the finality of the situation, but I also feel a sense of release and hope. We’re done, and hopefully he’ll go on to recover from his problems and be a better man.
Now, I can move on, and give all my attention, all my heart, to the baby.
When the tears stop, I go out and into Noah’s office. He’s on the phone, but he takes one look at my face and tells the person on the other end of the line that he’ll call them back.
“What?” he asks, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“I called Tom,” I say, and I tell him what Tom’s said about moving away.
Noah studies my face. “Are you okay with that?”
I bite my lip. “He says you gave him the money to pay off the loan.”
“Ah, yeah. I wanted to get him off your back. And although part of me wanted to kill him, I wanted to help him, too. He’s sick, Abby, and he needs help.” He purses his lips. “Are you angry with me?”
I swallow hard. Then I bend down and put my arms around his neck.
“Aw,” he says.
I can’t say anything because I’m on the verge of tears, so I just kiss his cheek.
“I know,” he says, and kisses my temple. “I know.”
*
Over the next week, I’m possibly the happiest I’ve ever been. The days are slow and gentle, and I can feel the tension of the past few months—the past few years—gradually draining away. Noah and I walk the dogs, sit and read, drink tea, make cookies and muffins together, and sometimes cook dinner together, too. Occasionally we go for a walk around the Ark, and I’m pleased to see he seems to find it easier now, and no longer has to pause on the doorstep, building up the courage. When he’s working, I clean and tidy the house, play with the dogs, or sit in the library if it’s raining.
Noah gives me an e-reader—he says it’s an old model and he has five different ones and doesn’t use this one anymore. I don’t argue with him; I’ve wanted one for years and I’m thrilled to finally get one in my sticky paws. He leaves his account on there, complete with his credit card, and tells me to order anything I like. I don’t, at first; there are more than enough free books and classics to read. But after a while, I do treat myself to a couple of books about pregnancy and birth and what to do with a newborn.
I’m so completely out of my depth. I don’t have a sister or good friends who have children to talk to. I don’t know what to expect, or whether the stories everyone tells you are true. All I know is that I’m coming to terms with the fact that I have a baby inside me, and it’s big, and it’s going to have to come out somehow. God help me.
I read the books, which give me some help, but I still have a lot of questions. I could ring the midwife, but although she was nice, it’s hard sometimes to admit your ignorance to someone who’s delivered a thousand babies.
I decide I’m going to be brave and I ring Summer again. She comes around after her morning’s work, and we end up sitting and talking for several hours before she has to go and pick her kids up from school. She gives me lots of tips for the birth, and just makes it seem so normal, taking away some of the fear. She advises me to pack a bag now ready to go to the hospital in case baby comes early, and to make sure I know how I’m going to get there.
I haven’t actually discussed this with Noah yet. I don’t know if he’s going to be in a position to drive me, or how he’ll feel about having to spend hours there, as seems to be common. Maybe he can drop me off and then go home. Or maybe he’ll order a taxi.
Later, after we’ve had dinner, and we’re sitting together on the sofa, watching a rom-com on his big TV with a big bowl of popcorn between us, I pluck up the courage to broach the subject.
“Noah… can I talk to you about next week? About the birth?”
“Of course.” His gaze is still fixed on the screen.
“I’ve been thinking about how to get to the hospital.”
His gaze slides to me. “What do you mean?”
“Like, I was wondering whether I should get the number of a taxi firm.”
He gives me a strange look. “What are you talking about? I’m taking you, obviously.”
I chew my bottom lip. “What if you have a bad day?” I know some days are worse for him than others. “And labor can take hours, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be stranded there. Maybe it would be better if I took a taxi.”
He studies me with that calm consideration I’m beginning to realize means his brain is working furiously as he weighs up the pros and cons of what he’s about to say. My mother used to tell me to think before I speak, but Noah is the first person I’ve met in real life who actually does that.
“Would you rather go in a taxi?” he asks.
I frown. “Well, no. But I’m worried about you, and—” I stop as he gives a short laugh. “What?”
“You’re worried about me?” He sighs. “Honey, I’m the last thing that should be on your mind. You need to concentrate on yourself now. You need to tell me what you want, and what is best for you.”
“You’re never the last thing on my mind,” I tell him.
His lips slowly curve up. There’s a song playing in the movie, slow and romantic, and to my surprise, he gets to his feet and holds out a hand.
I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He flicks up the end of his fingers.
“Noah, you won’t be able to get within a foot of me. And I’m clumsy, and—”
“Will you do as you’re told and come here?”
I pout at him. Then I put my hand into his and let him pull me to my feet.
He turns me a little to my right so my bump is angled, slides his right arm around me, and holds my right in his left. I fit snugly under his arm, and I rest my cheek on his shoulder as we move slowly to the music.
It’s been eons since I’ve danced with a man. Tom used to dance with me when we were younger, but it’s been a long time since we’ve been anywhere together
where music has been playing. And he would never have done this with me at home.
“I’d like to take you to the hospital,” Noah murmurs. “I’d like to be there when the baby’s born. Not in the room, of course, but in the hospital, so I can come and see you when it’s all over.”
I give a little nod. I’m not going to fight him anymore. “Okay.” I can feel his jaw against my forehead, with its touch of manly stubble. He smells so nice, his lovely aftershave now mingled with the attractive scent of popcorn. I like popcorn. I like Noah. I wish it was six months later, and the baby had been born, and we were free to date like two ordinary human beings.
But we’re not. I doubt there have been many more unusual situations.
“When the baby’s born, I’d like to date you properly,” he says, startling me. “Right now, everything’s up in the air, and after what happened with Tom, I think you need time to clear your mind and decide exactly what you want. And I don’t expect anything. But I would like to get to know you better.”
I look up at him. “You’d take on another man’s child?”
“People adopt all the time. I don’t believe being a natural father automatically makes you a good father.”
I remember then that he grew up with Matt King, who adopted him as his own son. Obviously, he’s going to have a different view on this from a lot of other men.
It’s the first time we’ve opened up like this, really saying what’s in our hearts, and suddenly I feel it doesn’t make sense to have secrets between us anymore. “Do you worry that something will happen to me like it happened to Lisa?” I ask.
“No,” he says, surprising me. “I’m sensible enough to know the majority of pregnancies come to fruition without any problems. And it was a long time ago. Ten years. Christ, where has the time gone? It was another lifetime.” He sighs.
“I’m sorry it happened to you,” I tell him.
“Yeah. Me too. I loved Lisa. Still love her. But she’s a long way back in my memory now. My feelings for her are echoes of how I felt back then, just shadows.”
“So you don’t think your agoraphobia is connected to your grief?”
“Not anymore. I’m sure it was. And then it sort of became its own animal. I think it was Churchill who described his depression as a black dog; well, the agoraphobia is like a snake. It coils inside me and rears up when I try to go out. It sinks its fangs into me and refuses to let go until I go back inside the house. It’s insidious and cruel. But it’s part of me, and I think it always will be. All I can do is try to control it as best I can. And I’ve been better lately. That’s all down to you.” He smiles.
Wow, he’s so gorgeous. I love his gray hair, the creases at the corners of his eyes. And I like that he’s older than me, that he’s confident and self-assured. Everything about this guy makes me feel safe and cared for.
“I’m glad I could be of help,” I say. His gaze slides to my mouth, and my heart misses a beat.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You can kiss me.” Oh God, please kiss me.
He tips his head a little to the side, his lips curving up. We’re barely moving now. The music has stopped as the action continues, but I’m not aware what’s on the screen. The only thing in my mind right now is the man in front of me, and the desire in his eyes.
“You’re sure?” he murmurs. I nod, and so he lowers his lips to mine.
I close my eyes, giving myself over to the kiss. Mmm… I’d forgotten how wonderful it was to do this. He’s so gentle, touching his lips to mine, and I sigh as he kisses across my cheekbone, over my eyebrows and eyelids, down my nose, and back to my lips. When he reaches them, he hesitates, then touches his tongue to them. I don’t need asking twice. I part my lips and let him sweep his tongue into my mouth, as mine joins in the erotic dance.
He releases my hand, and I lift mine to cup his face, brushing my thumbs across his cheeks, and then slide them into his hair. Mmm… this is heavenly… His arms move around me, stroking down my back, then around the sides of my bump. It touches me, brings tears to my eyes, because it’s as if he’s including the baby in the kiss; he’s telling me he doesn’t mind that I’m pregnant. That it’s not an inconvenience or something distasteful I need to get rid of before he finds me attractive. He likes me the way I am. For the first time, I glow inside at the thought of being pregnant, and see myself as beautiful.
He lifts his head and studies my face with a smile. “You’re so gorgeous.”
“Are you trying to make me cry?”
He chuckles. “Maybe.” He looks down and strokes a hand from the top of my bump, around the side. We both laugh as Peanut kicks a foot out in response.
“He likes you as much as I do,” I tell him. I feel all warm inside. He said he wants to get to know me better, that he wants to date me properly after the baby’s born. It’s more than I could ever have hoped for. “It’s sad, isn’t it,” I whisper, “that we worry so much about what everyone will think of what we’re doing.”
“Are you worried?”
“Less than I was. The girls were nice and told me everyone’s hopeful we’ll get together. That your brother is pleased we’re getting on so well.”
His eyebrows rise. “Really?”
“Mm. That made me feel better. But we’re so constrained by society, aren’t we, by what we feel is right and wrong. If we went by instinct, we wouldn’t have taken so long to do this, would we?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe not. But things all happen at the time they’re supposed to happen. From now on, though, I think we should forget about everyone else. I think we should do what we want, when it feels right. Does that make sense?”
I nod, wishing I could say what’s in my heart—that I’d like to take him to bed, to undress him, to let him undress me, and to make love to him. I love sex, and it’s been so long since it was good, and even longer since he’s been with anyone. I just know he’ll be great in bed, and I long to be naked with him, to have him inside me, and to give him pleasure. I haven’t been with anyone except Tom since I left England with him. Don’t I deserve some happiness?
But Noah’s right, I suppose; it makes sense to wait until the baby’s born. Peanut’s muddying the waters, making me emotional, and I can see why Noah thinks it’s a good idea to wait until the road ahead is clear.
He kisses me again. “For example, every time you look sad from now on, I’m going to kiss you.”
I laugh, then pull the corners of my mouth down into a sad pout, and he grins and kisses me again.
“I could get used to this,” I say.
“You’d better, because I’m not going anywhere.” He moves back reluctantly. “Now sit down, and I’ll make you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. How does that sound?”
“Like heaven,” I say happily, taking my place back on the sofa. I’m not going anywhere. Those few words make me feel like a million dollars.
Chapter Nineteen
Noah
The next few days are bizarre. Abby and I are like a couple of teenagers. We’re constantly kissing, and finding every excuse to bump into each other and pull the other into an embrace. She brings me a coffee in my office, leans over me to put it on the desk, and takes the opportunity to kiss my neck and then around to my mouth. I go into the kitchen when she’s cooking, and while her hands are covered in flour, I slide my arms around her, stroke her bump, and tell her how beautiful she is while I nuzzle her ear.
My body feels on full alert, humming with sexual energy, which is difficult when I know there’s no way I can dispose of it, save for a bit of personal DIY. But that’s okay. I haven’t felt like this for so long that I’m enjoying the sensation of being turned on. When you’re alone for a long time, you tend to try to dampen down sexual feelings, because it’s frustrating when you don’t have a partner to share them with. So it feels good now to let the tiger out for a while, and watch him prowling about.
On the first day of August, it’s my birthday. Abby’s
official due date is only two days away, so there’s an air of excitement about the house. People come and go all day, bringing cards and gifts, stopping for a while to chat. The day before, Abby banished me from the kitchen, saying she wanted to prepare something for me. She brings out her present when my parents arrive late in the morning. It’s a cake—the first proper birthday cake she’s made since she’s been here. I stare at it in delight. She’s made it in the shape of an All Blacks’ shirt, black with white piping, complete with the Adidas logo, the silver fern, and my name on the front with my age, forty-three, in white icing underneath. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“I love it,” I tell her, giving her a big hug, while my parents watch and exchange glances.
They don’t say anything, but later, when Abby pays one of her many visits to the bathroom, my mother says, “Things seem to be going well between you and Abby.”
“Yeah,” I tell them. “Very well.”
Matt raises his eyebrows. “How well?”
I give him a wry look. “Dude, she’s having a baby any day now.”
“So? I couldn’t keep my hands off your mother when she was all round and womanly.”
“Matt,” she scolds. “You know we’re not alone in the room, right?”
I chuckle. “It’s hard, but I can wait. She’s had a tough time. I don’t want to rush things.”
To my surprise, my mother’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers.
“Aw, Mom.”
Matt pulls her to him and kisses her forehead. “It’s been a long time,” he says softly. “You deserve some happiness, son.”
Abby comes out at that moment, and I clear my throat. “What I do deserve is a piece of cake. Although I’m reluctant to cut it because it looks so amazing.” I pull out my phone and take a photo so I can show anyone who doesn’t get to see it before it’s devoured.
Abby grins, obviously thrilled I like it. “I’ll get a knife.”
We all have a piece, and everyone who visits during the day gets a slice too. Abby’s thrilled to bits by everyone’s compliments. It makes up a little for her persistent backache, she says.
My Lonely Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 4) Page 14
