Tempted by the Billionaire Next Door

by Therese Beharrie

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JESS COULD SEE that Dylan was considering what she’d just said. It was obviously something that hadn’t occurred to him before. He wore the exact same expression of surprise as when he’d told her that his mother had known about his father’s gambling problem before he or Anja had been born.

  Since Anja had never mentioned it—and Jess was sure it was something she would have mentioned—Jess knew that Anja didn’t know. That it was part of the reason Dylan had left.

  And somehow, without words, she’d promised Dylan she wouldn’t tell Anja either.

  She told herself it was because she didn’t want to get in the middle of it. Of them. It was the only logical explanation. Any other explanation would be anything but logical.

  It implied that Jess didn’t want to tell Anja because Dylan didn’t want her to. Which, in turn, implied that Jess felt a certain...loyalty to Dylan that trumped the loyalty she felt to Anja. Because if Dylan knew this and Anja didn’t, it meant that he’d found out and hadn’t told her. And, if that was true, Jess knew it would complicate Anja and Dylan’s reunion even more.

  So Jess would choose to believe that she’d agreed to keep the information to herself because she didn’t want to get involved. And she would choose to believe that the guilt she felt was worth it to save Anja—and possibly the baby she carried—from the pain of a broken family.

  ‘It’s hard,’ Dylan said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. ‘To face that the people who raised us weren’t who we hoped they’d be.’

  ‘Especially when they’re gone and we have to face that they’ll never be who we hoped they would be.’

  He gave her a small smile, but they finished their starters in silence. Jess found herself looking at him every few minutes, and wondered if he realised how expressive his face was. Probably not, she thought, or he would have tried to hide the emotions that were clear there.

  Compassion thrummed through her veins, followed closely by coldness when she realised that she shouldn’t be bonding with Dylan. She shouldn’t be learning the nuances of his face, of his voice. She shouldn’t be understanding that he’d left because he’d been in pain.

  Because leaving had caused Anja pain. Anja, her best friend. The only person in her life who actually seemed to deserve Jess’s love. Who’d made Jess feel loved. Dylan was not her friend. No, he was the man who’d broken a piece of her best friend’s heart. He was her best friend’s brother.

  So what if he seemed to understand her? If it seemed they had a lot in common? He was off-limits. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—consider the dangerous emotions that were suddenly whirling around inside her.

  Instead, she said the only thing that she could: Dylan needed to open up to someone else.

  ‘You need to talk to someone about your father’s death.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You heard me. You need to talk through your feelings about your father’s death, about him leaving. About—’ she hesitated ‘—about your mother.’ Left it at that.

  ‘You mean...like a therapist?’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea, but it’s not what I meant.’ She let the words linger. ‘I meant a...friend.’

  Seconds passed before he said, ‘I don’t have that many friends.’

  ‘You have Anja,’ she told him. ‘And your mother. No,’ she said over his protest. ‘I don’t know the details of what happened with your mother, but if it can be salvaged, salvage it.’

  ‘I...don’t think that’s going to happen.’

  ‘Dylan—’

  But the arrival of their main courses interrupted what she was going to say, and the turmoil on Dylan’s face prompted her not to continue when the waiter left. Instead, Jess dug into her meal with a gusto she’d only experienced as a pregnant woman.

  ‘Do you want some of mine?’ Dylan asked, the turmoil now replaced with faint humour. It made him look softer, more handsome.

  No, Jess!

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ She took a forkful of spaghetti, but paused before she brought it over to her mouth. ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked with an innocent expression that immediately had her narrowing her eyes.

  ‘Are you laughing at my eating habits?’

  ‘No.’ But he laughed aloud now, and her eyes narrowed even further. ‘I told you I was ordering this so you could taste it.’

  ‘But then you looked at me like you thought I needed to taste it.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘You better not be lying to me.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’m not. Now, do you want to taste the pasta, or are you going to spend the rest of the night arguing with me?’

  ‘I want to taste the pasta,’ she grumbled, but winked at him.

  The rest of the evening wasn’t as tense as the first part, though the ghost of it hovered over them for the rest of the night. But, since neither of them brought it up, the conversation was light, happy, as though they hadn’t spoken about their pasts that night.

  It was late when they finished and as they walked out of the restaurant Jess paused to turn back. ‘This was a really lovely evening at a really lovely place.’

  ‘I’m glad you liked it,’ he replied, standing next to her. ‘Jess...’

  Something about his voice had her turning towards him, and she sucked in her breath when she saw his expression.

  ‘I know that this is probably the last thing that we should do after everything that’s happened—after everything we’ve said—today,’ he whispered, closing the distance between them and lifting a hand to her cheek. ‘But I’m going to anyway.’

  She opened her mouth to reply, but his lips were on hers before she could. It tasted sweet, a mixture of dessert and coffee. But beneath it Jess could also taste the man. That pure masculine taste that she’d only really experienced once before.

  With him.

  This time, though, the kiss wasn’t as desperately heady as the one they’d shared in the forest. This kiss was soft and deliberate, a gentle sigh that had her heart racing. She felt the heat of his hand on her face as his other hand settled gently on her waist, a slow burn that went from the point of contact straight to her blood, warming her body as leisurely as a bath would.

  With bubbles, too, she thought foolishly when he deepened the kiss—still tender, still cautious—and it felt as if there were bubbles in her stomach, on her skin. She gave a soft moan and pressed closer, her own hand sliding up from where it had rested on his chest to cup his cheek. His beard prickled, aroused, and it was strange that the feeling was more jarring through the contact of her hand than against her face.

  She was breathing heavily when she pulled back, and she felt a flip in her stomach that had nothing to do with the way Dylan had made her feel. The hand on his face immediately lowered to the movement and, smiling, she looked up at him.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. But it wasn’t the following of his hand to where she’d put hers. It wasn’t the reverent look on his face as he felt the slight pressure of the baby moving inside her.

  It reminded her that he wouldn’t be nearly as touched when he found out whose baby she was carrying. It told her that she was playing both sides. That she was betraying Anja with whatever was happening between her and Dylan. That she had betrayed Dylan by getting involved with him—even though it had been unintentional—when she was connected so deeply to his sister.

  Tension crept into her body and settled in the muscles of her shoulders, her neck. She stepped back, away from him, and then walked to the car, waited for him to unlock it so she could get in. She didn’t give him a chance to open the door for her this time—didn’t give herself a chance to deal with the confusion on his face. She only shook her head when he said her name, and told herself to breathe when the tension inside her spread between them.

  The
ride back home was short, quiet, and Jess was almost relieved when they pulled into the driveway of Dylan’s house.

  Almost.

  Except there was already a car in front of the house when they got there, and Jess inhaled sharply when she recognised it. She let the breath out in a shudder just as Dylan said, ‘Anja’s home.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THERE WAS A sick feeling in Dylan’s stomach.

  To be fair, he couldn’t blame it entirely on returning from dinner with his sister’s best friend to find said sister on his doorstep. No, the feeling had started the moment he’d felt the baby Jess was carrying moving against his hand. When he’d seen her face and worried that the wonder and amazement he saw there—that the wonder and amazement he’d felt—would turn into heartbreak when she gave that baby away.

  The feeling had settled when Jess had walked away from him, breaking the warmth of their kiss and their connection that had grown during their dinner. And when he’d tried to do something about it and he’d got the cold shoulder, the silent treatment on the way home.

  But now he was home, and his sister was back, and there would be no more time to think of it.

  He pulled the car into the garage and then got out slowly. He heard Jess behind him as he walked to the front of his house where his sister was and, by the time he got there, Anja was standing outside, Chet next to her.

  Dylan’s eyes first went to their hands—to the tight hold he could see between them. And then he looked at his sister. Really looked. And really saw, for the first time in years. She’d got skinnier. And her face was tougher, its lines creased into a tight expression that told him she wasn’t going to take it easy on him. But other than that she looked the same, and the emotion that clogged his throat had him wanting to walk right to her and pull her into his arms.

  Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘It’s good to see you, sis.’

  ‘It’s a...surprise to see you, Dylan.’ Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat. ‘How long have you been back?’

  ‘Just over a week.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell us? Me or Mom?’

  ‘I wanted it to be a surprise,’ he said lamely, and belatedly thought that maybe it was lame. That maybe his plan to come home and reconcile with his sister was just plain lame.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly been that.’

  Silence spread between them, and then Anja’s eyes shifted to behind him and her stormy expression cleared. ‘Jess!’

  His sister stalked past him as if he wasn’t even there and enveloped Jess in a hug. Jealousy beat an uncomfortable rhythm in his blood and all he could do was stand there as Chet walked past him, too, thumped him on the back in greeting and went over to hug Jess.

  ‘Your stomach has grown so much!’ Anja said and lowered to her haunches. Jess’s eyes fluttered over to him, and something crossed her face that he couldn’t quite read.

  ‘Yeah. But it’s only been two weeks, An.’

  ‘Much too long for my liking,’ Anja murmured to Jess’s belly and Dylan’s stomach dropped slowly, steadily, his mind still trying to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

  Anja straightened and turned to Dylan. ‘Did Jess tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘You asked me not to,’ Jess interrupted, and her eyes went from Anja’s to Dylan’s. This time he could clearly see the apology on her face.

  ‘So he doesn’t know?’ Anja asked, but the question wasn’t directed at Jess. It was directed at him. Which made absolutely no sense. How was he supposed to know what he didn’t know?

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Maybe we should take this conversation inside?’ Jess interrupted.

  ‘What conversation?’ Dylan demanded, his heart thudding from the tension. ‘Someone just tell me what you’re talking about. Now,’ he snapped, when Jess opened her mouth again.

  ‘Relax,’ Anja told him. ‘This isn’t Jess’s fault. She’s right. I asked her not to tell you.’ She shifted closer to Chet and took his hand. ‘Jess is carrying our baby, Dylan. Chet and I are going to be parents.’

  And immediately Dylan knew why his stomach had dropped earlier. Why he suddenly recognised it as sick anticipation. It didn’t matter that it made no sense—how could he have anticipated the news Anja had just told him? How could he have known that Jess was carrying his sister’s child? His niece or nephew?

  But all he knew for sure was that the feeling was there, and it made him feel foolish.

  Just like trusting Jess did.

  ‘Why?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘When?’

  ‘We should go inside,’ Jess said again. Dylan nodded, but he didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Not even when she said, ‘No, actually, you all should go inside. You need to talk about this and...’ Her voice faded, though Dylan sensed everyone knew what she was referring to. Him. His return. Why he’d left. ‘I don’t need to be there.’

  ‘You can be,’ Anja said softly. ‘You’re as much a part of the family as any of us are.’

  ‘No,’ Dylan heard himself say. ‘She’s not. And she’s right, this should be between all of us.’

  ‘Dylan—’

  ‘No, Anja, he’s right,’ Jess said. ‘I’ll be next door.’

  ‘I thought you said the ceiling wouldn’t be done until tomorrow?’

  ‘They finished the painting today. I’ll open all the windows and be upstairs. The smell shouldn’t be as bad there.’

  And then she was gone, leaving Dylan alone with his sister and brother-in-law.

  * * *

  It was silly to cry. Jess knew it, and yet she still felt the tears slip down her cheeks.

  She could blame it on the hormones. And they probably deserved some of the blame. But most of it came from the look on Dylan’s face after he’d discovered that she was carrying Anja and Chet’s baby.

  And the vicious reminder that she wasn’t a part of their family.

  Her breath shuddered out as she opened the windows of Anja’s house, the fresh, brisk autumn air relieving the smell of paint in the house. It was better upstairs, as she’d thought it would be, and after she opened the windows her eyes fell on the chair that still sat in front of one of them.

  Had it only been a week ago that she’d seen Dylan for the first time? It didn’t seem right that she could feel his disappointment in her—his hurt because of her—so profoundly when she’d only known him for such a short span of time. And yet there she was, wiping tears from her eyes because of it, and trying to figure out what to do next.

  She couldn’t stay in Dylan’s house any more. She suspected that she’d burnt that bridge, well and truly, though it hadn’t been entirely her fault. Perhaps if Anja and Dylan’s relationship hadn’t been so damaged, things wouldn’t seem so bad for him. Except that it was damaged, and Jess was carrying the reminder of the extent of it.

  She knew now that every time Dylan looked at her he’d be reminded. Added to the fact that he’d been acting so strangely about her surrogacy even before he’d known who she was a surrogate for.

  So she couldn’t stay at Dylan’s, and Anja’s was out of the question with the smell of paint still lingering in the air. She could find a hotel—there was no way she’d find anything cheap at such short notice—but that would take from her savings. Savings she’d need after she’d given birth and needed to separate herself from Anja and Dylan.

  It was clear that would be her only option now. Her friend would put up a fight, Jess knew, but Jess needed space. Away from the baby, and away from their uncle. Though she knew that wasn’t the only reason.

  She’d become comfortable with her life, just as she had been before she’d started working with Anja. Was it perfect? No, but she hadn’t expected it to be. And perhaps that was why she’d lingered, avoiding what she’d needed to do, just a
s she had with her parents.

  But she needed her independence. She saw that now so clearly that she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t before. She needed to stop relying on people she thought were family, and she needed to start relying on herself.

  So she would drive to a hotel and spend the night there. And soon she’d move into her own flat. She’d save as much as she could while she still worked for Anja, but she’d start making plans. She would survive this. She’d survived worse.

  Jess sighed and sank into the couch, her body aching from the strain of being pregnant and the tension of the day. The brisk breeze still drifted through the air and she pulled a throw over herself. She switched on the television, and waited for Anja to tell her their discussion was over.

  She would pack up her things and go to a hotel, she thought, even as her eyelids started to close...

  * * *

  Dylan found Jess wrapped in a fleece throw in front of the television. It took him a moment to realise that she was sleeping, and seeing her like that wiped away all the righteous indignation he’d felt from the moment he’d offered to tell her she could come back to his house.

  Instead, he settled on the opposite couch, his body and soul weary from the last couple of hours. He could do with a break from the tension between him and his sister. That was the only way he could describe what had transpired between them. He was exhausted, and the space he wanted so that he could figure out how he felt about everything was unavailable as Anja and Chet were sleeping over.

  He had plenty of spare rooms—the house had been designed that way because he’d hoped one day to have a big family. To have his and his sister’s kids playing around, having sleepovers. He wasn’t sure that would happen any more. Which made sense considering that his sister hadn’t even told him she was expecting a child.

  Could he even call it that? he thought, rubbing a hand over his face. He immediately felt bad about it, and let out a shaky breath. It was all too much for him—Jess, the surrogacy, seeing his sister again.

  Finding out his sister had had a miscarriage and how she’d struggled with it afterwards. Finding out Jess had offered to help them have a child when Anja had been so close to giving up. The unselfish reasons Jess had described to him when she’d told him about the surrogacy were so much more profound now. So was his fear for her when she had to give the child away, though heaven only knew why.