The Tycoon's Instant Family

by Caroline Anderson

  She yanked on her jeans, zipped them and tugged her jumper down. She couldn’t be bothered with shoes, although it was so long since she’d painted her toenails they’d forgotten what it was like to look pretty. And anyway, he’d seen her feet already. Seen a damn sight more than her feet, and walked away.

  ‘Idiot!’

  ‘Georgie? I’ve put the kettle on.’

  ‘Coming,’ she said, and, closing her eyes to steady herself, she sucked in her breath, opened the door and went out.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’

  No way. She wouldn’t sleep tonight as it was, and she certainly didn’t need any more caffeine! ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything herbal?’

  ‘Camomile? My mother likes it so I keep some here for her. I can probably find it.’

  ‘Please.’

  He poured water into mugs, stirred and brought them over to where she was hovering by the dining table. He’d cleared it, and now he set the mugs down and stared at them.

  For a while he didn’t speak, but then he let his breath out on a sigh and said, very softly, ‘I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t plan this, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t think—’

  ‘Of course you did. You’re not stupid. It must have looked like the corniest seduction in the world.’

  ‘Hardly. Anyway, I can’t really blame you when I was parading around in front of you in my underwear, for heaven’s sake, but I certainly didn’t think you’d planned it. I can’t imagine you’d be interested enough to plan it—’

  ‘What?’ He raised his head and stared down at her with a bemused expression on his face. ‘You didn’t think I’d be interested? Are you crazy?’

  She shrugged, embarrassed now. It had been bad enough outside in the dark, but now, with the light on—she looked away. ‘Why would you?’

  He cupped her chin in his fingers and turned her back to face him, his eyes tender. ‘Because you’re funny and complicated and beautiful and intriguing—’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ he said emphatically, and then repeated it softly for good measure. ‘Really.’

  She couldn’t stop the smile. It started somewhere near her toes and spread all over her body, lighting up every sad and lonely part of her that Martin had left shrivelled and afraid, and she laughed and reached up, lifting her head to meet his halfway as she feathered a kiss of thanks onto those gorgeous, mobile, clever lips of his.

  ‘You’re pretty hot yourself.’

  And he laughed and hugged her, then let her go and pushed her into a chair and pulled out her plans.

  ‘Come on. Back to work. I’ve got an early start tomorrow and I want you to have enough information to be going on with for a while. I’ll come up again at the weekend and maybe we can spend a bit longer together just having fun.’

  And why not? She’d been hibernating for months, hiding from life, and for the first time in ages she was having fun. Safe, uncomplicated fun.

  Safe? Uncomplicated?

  Was she mad?

  The train journey back to Suffolk later that morning gave her more than enough time for reflection, and with Nick’s delectable body out of reach there was nothing to distract her from the cold, hard facts.

  One: he was incredibly, unbelievably rich and powerful. And he held their future, hers and her father’s, in his hands. She must be nuts to mess with him. If she’d tried she couldn’t have found anyone more dangerous and complicated to get involved with.

  Two: he could have anyone he wanted. He probably did, on a regular basis. So he thought she was funny and complicated and beautiful and—what was the other one? Intriguing. Huh. At the moment. But it wouldn’t last. Why should it? He’d soon get bored, cease to be intrigued, and then her heart would be in shreds all over again.

  Oh, God. Even the thought made her shudder.

  Thank goodness he’d stopped in time, because as sure as eggs she wouldn’t have done. What on earth had she been thinking about? She’d never done anything like that. Never slept with a man she didn’t know incredibly well, and she’d been right on the verge of doing such a thing for the first time in her life. If it hadn’t been for his gentle but firm rejection, she might even have begged him.

  Stupid, stupid girl. And so sudden! It had been months before she’d succumbed to Martin, not mere hours.

  Not that she’d known Martin well, for all that. Hardly. She’d thought she did, but it turned out she hadn’t known him at all, and look where that relationship had got her.

  You’d really think she’d have learned her lesson, but oh, no. In again, head first, without thought—

  ‘You need locking up.’

  The man sitting opposite her gave her a startled look and went back to his paper, and she coloured furiously and dug a notebook out of her bag.

  She spent the rest of the journey writing down over and over again all the reasons why it would have been such a lousy idea to have slept with him, and bitterly regretting that he hadn’t given her the chance.

  And when she arrived home there was a delivery van outside, and a cheerful woman climbed out.

  ‘Are you Ms Cauldwell?’

  She nodded.

  The woman disappeared into the back of the van, and emerged with a large box. ‘For you.’

  She took the box, signed for it and went inside, puzzled.

  ‘Flowers’, it said on the box. ‘This Way Up’.

  Oh, lord. She opened the box with trembling fingers to reveal a cloud of gypsophila and eucalyptus leaves. That was all. Nothing else, no roses or chrysanths or anything like that. Just gypsophila and leaves. She removed the arrangement in its beautiful, simple crystal vase and stared at it.

  It had to be from Nick. Who else? There was a little card tucked into the arrangement, and she slipped it out of the envelope and read it.

  ‘You take my breath away.’

  Of course. The other name for gypsophila was baby’s breath. Her eyes filled with tears, and she started to laugh.

  ‘Oh, Nick,’ she said. ‘Just when I’d talked some sense into myself.’

  She sent him a text.

  Thanks. They’re gorgeous.

  His reply was almost immediate.

  Glad you like them. What are you doing later?

  Got through work quicker and have more ideas.

  Visiting her father, having another look at the plans, trying to get something more formal to go to the planners with…

  Nothing.

  Your place or mine?

  She looked around her. Her father’s house was lovely, in a quiet, leafy road in the old part of Yoxburgh, but in comparison to his apartment it was dated and shabby and needed a serious injection of time and money. Since her mother had died he’d lost interest, and the house reflected that.

  But maybe Nick needed to see where she came from, needed reminding of how far out of her league he was, before she got in too deep.

  Don’t be stupid, she told herself fiercely. Nick didn’t need any reminders, she did, but at least the house was clean now and she didn’t want to leave the dog with the neighbour again, because it wasn’t fair on either of them.

  Mine. Ring me when you reach Ipswich.

  And in the meantime, she had things to do—not least a visit to the supermarket as soon as she’d collected Archie from the neighbour. She’d eaten everything remotely edible in the house while she’d been working on the plans, and now there wasn’t even a teabag left.

  And there were no sheets on the spare bed.

  She rummaged in the airing cupboard, came up with nothing respectable and went shopping. Two hours later, with the fridge groaning, the new bedding in place after the quickest of quick washes and a blast in the drier, and with Archie banned from the bedrooms, she went to the hospital to visit her father, to be greeted with the news that he was about to be transferred to Papworth and was having his operation in the morning.

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ she told him, wishing now that Nick wasn’t coming tonight a
nd she could give her father her full attention.

  ‘Is that your phone?’

  ‘Oh, rats, I forgot to turn it off. I’ll be back in a minute.’ She scrambled for the phone and hurried out of the ward, answering the call with trembling fingers. ‘Nick—hi,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I was going to ring you—’

  ‘You said to call from Ipswich.’

  Her heart skittered. ‘You’re here already?’

  ‘Here? Where are you, then?’

  ‘I’m at the hospital with my father. He’s about to be transferred to Papworth—they’re doing his operation tomorrow.’

  ‘Were you expecting that?’

  ‘No—not just yet. I mean, I hadn’t really thought—’

  ‘I’d like to meet him—can I do that?’

  Her heart bumped against her ribs again. ‘He’s not really up to talking much about the development—’

  ‘Georgie, credit me with a little sense,’ he said softly. ‘I was hoping to reassure him—take some of the worries away, if I can.’

  And it was a wonderful idea, of course. ‘Well—if you don’t mind, that would be very kind.’

  ‘I can be,’ he said wryly. ‘When I’m not plotting the seduction of innocent virgins.’

  Her cheeks coloured and she laughed softly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. What ward is he on? I’ll come and find you.’

  She gave him directions and met him in the corridor ten minutes later, wondering how to greet him, but he didn’t give her time to think, just pulled her into his arms and hugged her, getting to the heart of it without hesitation.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Because your father’s about to have open-heart surgery?’

  She felt the apprehension return and bit her lip. ‘I’m OK now.’

  His grip tightened for a moment, and she felt his lips brush her hair before he released her and turned towards the ward door. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘Yes. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to him. I think he’s quite anxious to meet you.’

  ‘How is he about the operation?’

  ‘Scared.’

  He pulled her to a halt, kissed her softly and straightened her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear with gentle fingers. ‘He’ll be all right. Deep breath,’ he said, and she took his advice, calmed herself and flashed him a smile.

  ‘Thanks. Come on.’

  She led him to her father’s bedside.

  ‘Dad, this is Nick Barron. Nick, my father, George.’

  Nick held out his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  Her father looked at his new visitor searchingly, and then took his hand in a grip that Georgie knew wouldn’t be nearly as firm as he would have liked.

  ‘Good to meet you, too. Put a face to a name. Georgie’s been telling me about you, but I’m glad of a chance to get to meet you—make sure the business is as safe as she says it is.’

  ‘It’s safe, I promise you,’ he said sincerely, and Georgie felt her eyes fill as he quietly and confidently put her father at his ease. ‘I’ve heard some very good things about your work, and I’m looking forward to working with you on the development when you’re feeling fitter. In the meantime, Georgie seems to have things very much under control. She’s a very capable young woman.’

  ‘She’s a good girl.’ George Cauldwell studied Nick frankly, then nodded. ‘She said you were all right. Said we could trust you.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘She said you didn’t like the plans.’

  ‘I don’t—but I like her ideas. I like them a lot. She’s got real vision. It’ll be much better.’

  ‘You’ll have to convince the planners,’ he said doubtfully, but Nick just chuckled and threw Georgie a smile that could have melted her socks.

  ‘Oh, I think Georgie can do that. Frankly they don’t stand a chance. They’ll be sitting ducks—they won’t know what’s hit them.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’ George chuckled and patted his daughter’s hand. ‘I see you’ve got her worked out.’

  ‘Oh, I never underestimate a woman. I’ve been well trained by my PA,’ he said with a wry smile, and her father laughed and relaxed back against the pillows, looking better than he’d looked in months.

  Nick reached into his pocket. ‘I brought you this—I don’t know if you’re into it, but I thought it might help to pass the time.’ He pulled a little book out and handed it to George.

  ‘Sudoku! I’d never heard of it, but I’ve been sitting here bored to death and I’ve taken to doing the puzzle in the paper. And this is a whole book? That should stop my mind addling completely. Thank you. That’s very good of you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He stood up. ‘Right, I’m going to get out of your hair and leave you with your daughter.’

  She felt a stab of disappointment. ‘Oh—where are you going?’

  ‘Nowhere. I thought I might find a coffee while you pack your father’s things, and then if you want to go with him to Cambridge I thought I could drive you.’

  She felt tears prick her eyes. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I know—and if you don’t want me to, I won’t, but if it helps…?’ His shoulders lifted in a little shrug, and she bit her lip and nodded.

  ‘Thank you. That would be really helpful. But you don’t have to leave us.’

  His smile was gentle. ‘Yes, I do. You go and sort him out and I’ll come back in half an hour. Ring me if you need me sooner.’

  And he was gone, striding down the ward while she stared helplessly after him, fighting back the tears.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ George said gruffly. ‘Thoughtful. Decent.’

  She nodded. ‘He is,’ she said, her voice uneven. A lot more decent than she had any right to expect, but she wasn’t getting into that with her father! She dusted off her hands. ‘Right, come on, let’s tackle this locker of yours.’

  ‘Thank you so much for driving me.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Georgie, he’ll be all right. They’ll take good care of him there.’

  ‘I know. I’m just scared.’

  She opened the car door and unravelled herself from the depths of the seat, wondering if she’d ever work out how to do it gracefully. Like everything else, Nick made it look so effortless.

  ‘Nice house.’

  She closed the car door and looked up at her family home fondly. ‘I think so, but I’m biased. I grew up here.’

  ‘I thought you had a sea view?’

  She laughed. ‘We do, from the attic. Anyway, as I said, it’s not much more than a glimpse and you get a crick in your neck to see it.’

  He laughed with her and took a soft leather bag from the boot, then followed her inside. ‘Where shall I put this?’

  ‘Just dump it there. We can take it up later.’

  Their eyes met, and despite all her worries about her father, despite the fact that she was tired and wanted a shower and something to eat, somehow his arms seemed the best place in the world to be at that moment, and he was holding them open to her.

  ‘Come and have a hug,’ he murmured, reaching for her, and she settled against his chest and wondered what on earth she’d done to deserve him.

  His voice was a soft rumble under her ear. ‘I missed you today.’

  ‘I missed you, too,’ she confessed, even though she’d had no intention of telling him any such thing, but after all he’d gone first, and anyway it was only the truth.

  ‘Why don’t you go and run yourself a bath while I cook us something?’ he said, holding her at arm’s length and looking down into her eyes with gentle understanding.

  ‘You don’t know what there is, and Archie’s in the kitchen—he’ll lick you to death.’

  ‘I’m sure I can cope with him, and as for the food, I’ll work it out. At least if you’ve bought it I know you’ll eat it.’

  So she went into the bathroom, contemplated the luxury
of the bath and opted instead for the speed of the shower, so she could get back downstairs to him, because she didn’t want to waste a single minute.

  Scrubbed and shiny and with her hair more tumble- than blow-dried, she doused herself in body lotion, drowned her hands in intensive repair treatment guaranteed to bring her skin back from the brink of disaster, and spritzed herself with the last dregs of her favourite perfume.

  Now what? Clothes? Nightclothes? She thought with affection of her jersey pyjamas, and laughed softly to herself. Hardly sexy, but her wardrobe was deeply lacking in sexy little numbers for seducing multimillionaire playboys, and anyway, as he’d pointed out last night, it wasn’t what he wanted, so she settled for a pair of comfy old jeans and a snuggly sweater, and ran downstairs, to find him chopping vegetables with the phone tucked under his ear.

  ‘Tory, you’re a big girl, just deal with it,’ he was saying, and she wondered what Tory was being expected to deal with. Ordering more pens, or the takeover of another company? It could have been either, she thought, and realised she knew very little about him other than that he seemed genuinely kind.

  However, you didn’t get to be a millionaire without treading on a few underdogs, she told herself, just as he turned and shot her a grin. ‘Sorry, Tory, got to go. I’ve got a hot date with a salmon steak and it won’t wait. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.’

  He switched off his phone, slid it back into his pocket and took a bottle of wine out of the fridge. ‘I’ve just arranged to have the day off tomorrow so I can go to Cambridge with you. Tory was having a bit of a hissy fit, but she’ll get over it. Chablis?’

  ‘That wasn’t in there,’ she said, staring at the wine and remembering that she’d failed to buy any, and then added, ‘You didn’t have to do that—take the day off for me.’

  ‘Yes I did. And no, the wine wasn’t in there. It was in my car.’

  ‘Oh. It won’t be cold enough—’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ve got a refrigerated glovebox.’

  Of course. To chill champagne. Silly her.

  ‘Then thank you, wine would be lovely—and thank you for taking the day off. I hope Tory will forgive me.’