The Billionaire's Club: Secret Billionaire’s Club Book Six

by Tracey Pedersen

  “Hmm. Not very intimate, though.”

  You got that right.

  “We’re not exactly at that stage, are we Becky?”

  “We could be, Merek.” Her tone morphs into that of a seductive kitten. “You know I’m willing.”

  “You’ve made that clear, but I have to be honest. I don’t think it will work between us. I have a long recovery ahead, so even if I wanted to spend more time with you, I won’t be much fun.”

  “That’s true. It’s a shame. I had high hopes for us.”

  I bet.

  Becky moves to the foot of my bed and examines my cast. She snaps a photo of it and grins at me, pleased she’s out of reach and can take advantage. She puts her pink phone on the end of my bed and rummages through the slouch bag on her shoulder. I’m ready to tell her off for the photograph, when she produces my phone. I stare at it, any nasty words I might have said dying on my lips. I’m so used to being dominant in everyday life that I don’t really know how to cajole her into handing over my device. If I could walk, I’d demand it back, holding out my hand until she returned it. Flat on my back, I’m left with diplomacy and it’s a foreign experience that I’ll have to consider later.

  Mindy chooses that moment to return, carrying a tall glass of ice water. Becky doesn’t acknowledge her, reaching out her hand for the glass without looking in her direction. She grips it, raises it to her lips, and holds my phone in front of her, turning it to the left and smiling with her eyes as she—

  “Hey!” Becky’s tone is indignant, her hand now empty, cold water spilling on her shirt. She glares at Mindy, who hands my phone to me with a smirk. “What are you doing? What kind of person are you?” She dabs at her shirt, scowling at Mindy as the water marks darken the pink fabric.

  “I’d suggest a password for that in future.” My carer nods to me, then moves forward to take the water from Becky. There’s a short tug of war, and I see Becky consider hurling the water in Mindy’s direction. After a glance at me, she gives up, her grip slipping from the glass, a scowl settling on her features. “Can I see you out, Becky?” Mindy is taking no prisoners today and she lifts her hand to indicate the door.

  “Merek,” Becky whines. “What’s happening? I drove all this way to see you.”

  “I appreciate you coming to return my phone, I really do. Thank you so much. I’m really tired, though and it’s time for my medication.”

  “Ugh.”

  Becky knows when she’s defeated and without so much as a goodbye, she turns and sweeps across the room. Mindy laughs out loud when the front door bangs shut. She peers out the window and laughs again. “She’s taking a selfie on your front steps. Oh, and another one with the lawn in the background.”

  “She is the selfie queen. She got one of my cast, but hopefully that’s it.” Mindy shrugs and turns back to me and I can’t hide my admiration. “You, though. You were something else.”

  “Why?” She sits on the end of the bed, and I warn my eyes away from her legs.

  “You got the phone in three seconds. Then kicked her out. I thought I was going to be the mean one, here.”

  Mindy laughs. “I didn’t see any reason to stretch it out. You told me you weren’t interested in being friends, so I accomplished my mission and now we’re back to our scheduled programming.”

  “You’re very blunt.”

  “Thank you. I think I proved this morning that I don’t smooth over the truth. You wanted it done. I took care of it. Now I can relax and all I have to do is keep you alive and write.”

  “I’m thinking of leaving my bed out here.”

  She frowns. “Really. Why?”

  “The television is out here. Music. I can see a lot more outside and the guest bathroom is a lot closer than the one in my room.”

  “Speaking of which, you must surely need to use the bathroom by now?”

  Mindy raises an eyebrow as she stands and crosses her arms. I stare at the ceiling, unwilling to meet her gaze. The last thing I want is for her to help me with this task. Forcing medication on me, feeding me, checking my blood pressure—all of those things are fine. Toileting is intimate, though, and I don’t want an attractive woman witnessing it. Actually, scratch that. I don’t want this specific attractive woman seeing it. My usual defences are a little wobbly where she’s concerned.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. Unless you managed to take yourself without me noticing, then you must need to go. And if you don’t need to, we need to examine your fluid intake today. And even then, I’m going to make you try.”

  “Like the three-year-old I already told you I wasn’t. I don’t need help. I can do it.”

  “Wow. You even sound like a little kid. They never want to go without being forced, either.”

  “Do you have kids?” That’s an interesting idea I hadn’t thought to question.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t. But I have plenty of friends who do. This is the conversation they have with their toddlers, so congratulations. You have the resolve of a three-year-old.”

  “Oh, you’re funny.” She tips her head in acknowledgement. “Can’t I at least try it on my own before I have to give in?” My tone has a little too much pleading in it for my liking, but I’m determined not to weaken without a fight. After the perfume wafting incident and the skirt that has caught my attention all afternoon, I’m worried I’ll embarrass myself if she gets too close. I might be injured, with broken bones making me catch my breath every few words, but I’m still a man. A man with a beautiful woman now living in his house for the foreseeable future.

  The last thing I want is for my body to betray how my brain sees her. I need a day or two to get my emotions under control. It’s obviously the medication. Why else am I reacting to a stranger?

  “How about a compromise?” She wheels the chair to the side of the bed. “I’ll get you as far as the bathroom, and you can try the last bit on your own. It’s going to hurt if you fall off the toilet, though. Remember that.”

  I sigh. “I’ll take that deal.”

  It’s the best I can expect, under the circumstances.

  Chapter Eight - Merek/Mindy

  MEREK

  In my dream the crane hovers over me as I run, the concrete slab swinging this way and that. I know it’s a dream because in real life the chain would move side to side in a leisurely arc, but instead it’s following me, darting left and right as quickly as I can change direction. I hear the sound of metal sliding against metal and I throw my hand up, intent on protecting my face.

  The next moment I’m wide awake and sprawled on the cold tiled floor. My ears ring and my elbow throbs. We won’t even discuss the vibrations shooting up the plaster cast on my leg. I’m flat on my back, staring up at the bed and cursing my insistence that the side barrier be left down.

  I haven’t fallen out of bed in my sleep since I was seven years old.

  The bedroom door to my left flies open, the handle banging against the wall, and then Mindy is there, kneeling beside me, panic clear on her face in the early morning light.

  “Are you alright?” Her voice doesn’t reflect her face, though. It’s calm and even, much to my surprise, while her hands run over the cast, checking for damage. “I heard a bang. I thought you were being burgled.”

  “I’m fine. Just a bad dream. I must have been thrashing around in bed.”

  “The bed that will have you fenced in every night from now on.” Her tone is stern, and she blinks over and over, reminding me of her earlier announcement that she was capable of providing care for me. “I should never have left that railing down.”

  “I’m fine. Just help me up.”

  “What do you weigh?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d rather not sustain a back injury if you don’t mind.”

  “If I’m too heavy are you just going to leave me here?” It’s my turn to blink like crazy. The idea of the next few hours lying on the cold floor is not remotely tempting.

&nb
sp; “Of course not. But I might need help. Do you know how many nurses hurt their back by lifting patients?”

  “You’re not a nurse.” I grin, unable to stop the laugh that escapes.

  “Right.” She stands up and glares down at me in the half light. “Which means I’m not covered by any type of insurance if I’m admitted to hospital after helping you.”

  “Fine. Don’t help me. I can get up on my own.” I plant my hands and turn as though I’m going to roll on my side. “I bet that cast can take a bit of weight if I give it a go,” I wheeze.

  “Don’t you dare!” She rushes forward, pulling on my hands until I’m in a sitting position. I try not to laugh again, not wanting her to call my bluff. As if I have any idea how to get up by myself. Last night’s toilet fiasco was enough to remind me I’m one hundred percent at the mercy of Mindy Cox. “You’re going to have to use your good leg. Bend at the knee when I lift you and try to get a grip to push up. Hang on.” She crawls forward and peels the sock off my good foot. The faint scent of her perfume wafts over me as she moves and it’s then I get a look at her outfit.

  I gulp, staring at her bare thigh. Flimsy pink lace slides across her skin allowing me a glimpse of the curve of her bottom. Her tiny top shimmies up her back, the smooth curve of her spine teasing me. She’s back beside me in a few seconds, but not before my brain has telegraphed she’s not wearing a bra. I’m lost for words, but she’s oblivious, squatting beside me, her arm tucking around my back before she holds her breath and lifts.

  We struggle together and I grit my teeth, the pain in my ribs eclipsing anything I might feel in my leg. She lifts far enough for me to push with my foot, just like she instructed, and a moment later she’s helping me sit on the bed. Just when I think that’s the end of it, she lifts my heavy cast onto the mattress, then leans over me to pull up the guard on the opposite side of the bed.

  Her soft breast, covered in pink satin, grazes my arm. “What the hell are you wearing?” I grind out. “Don’t you own a robe?”

  Mindy recoils, wide-eyed, her skin no doubt turning as pink as her barely-there nightwear, not that I can tell in this light. She folds her arms over her chest and moves to the end of the bed. “I didn’t bring a robe. You’re lucky I even have this. I’m meant to be in a hotel if you recall. Besides, I told you. I thought you were being burgled and might be in danger.”

  “And you thought that was a crime-fighting outfit?” My tone is flippant, but she glares at me. I want her to drop her arms so I can get a good look at her draped in that sexy material, but I’ve ruined all chance of that by being a smart ass.

  “Next time you can stay there until morning,” she growls. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again, or that’s what your future holds.”

  “Nurse Cox, you have a terrible bedside manner. Perhaps you’d like some help with that?” I wish it was lighter so she could see my face clearly. Right now, I expect there’s a glint in my eye that can’t be mistaken, and I’d give anything to see her face when she notices it.

  It’s not to be, though. She glares at me one last time, then turns toward her door. Heavy footfalls telegraph her annoyance but all I can register is the movement of her hips as she leaves me to ponder what just happened.

  I worried earlier that I have no idea how to get my way if I can’t intimidate a person. It’s now I discover I’m also clueless how to woo someone when I’m flat on my back. Without the usual tools of dinner dates, shopping, and other fun outings, I’m lost. I’m not good with words. I’m even worse with intimacy. And somehow I find myself in the most intimate of living arrangements with a woman who shows zero interest in me.

  MINDY

  Relief washes over me when I reach the safety of my room. I bang the door shut, more to make sure it’s closed, than because I’m annoyed. I lean against it and close my eyes, working to calm my breathing.

  Hot damn.

  Merek Rummer, shirtless, his skin sliding against mine, is not an easy experience to ignore. At least I’ll have no shortage of material for the romantic hero in my book. Right now I have paragraphs of good stuff swirling through my imagination. I don’t know whether to touch myself or set up my laptop for an early morning writing session.

  That man is hot, hot, hot.

  He’s also completely out of bounds and out of my league. Let’s not even mention that I’m technically his carer. For me it doesn’t matter that he’s paying Kate and not me. The professional relationship is clear—I need to keep away from him. A trip to the store for proper pyjamas is probably in order, too. Or at least a t-shirt for bed. I’m sure this won’t be the only time he needs me in the night. Next time I’ll be prepared. I cannot be semi-naked around him again. Not if I want to hide the effect he has on me.

  He makes a lot of jokes which remind me he sees me as an employee. His snarling just now over my clothing choices drove that home. I need to remember to be totally professional. I can’t risk him sending me away before Kate gets back. I promised her I’d make this work, and besides, writing in this quiet environment is going to be great. It’s only the second day and I’m inspired as fuck.

  I move to the desk and open the cover of my laptop. I chose this bedroom for two reasons—one, it’s the closest to Merek’s room, for times just like this when he needs me. Two, it has a nice wide desk that looks out into the yard. The sun is just peeking over the trees, spreading a flame-like glow over the manicured gardens, and it’s a magical sight. This is what I imagined when I saw the hotel brochure promising me unbroken silence every day.

  My book file loads up and my fingers fly over the keyboard. I close my eyes and pull the emotion for the scene from deep inside, where all my best book ideas dwell. As the words flow, I return over and over to how it felt to wrap my arm around Merek’s back. How the sounds of pain he made tugged at my heart. The immediate reaction of my body when he leaned against me once I had him safely on the bed. I wrap all of it together and pour the resulting mixture onto the page, my rough draft emotive enough to make my skin prickle with anticipation.

  This book is going to be one of the best I’ve written.

  After a few minutes the torrent slows and I open my eyes, peering down to re-read my brain dump. It’s hard to deny the smile as I read my words. They’re beautiful and describe exactly what I felt.

  How can a highly charged moment with a man I barely know result in one thousand luscious words I’d never have written otherwise? And how can I reproduce this heady writing experience?

  I can’t go fawning over him in my underwear again. My imagination will have to do.

  Chapter Nine - Merek

  An uneasy truce has settled between us by the time Mindy appears with a breakfast tray.

  “I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I brought a little of everything. I met a woman in the kitchen who assures me she has filled the cupboards with healthy snacks, even though you prefer junk food.”

  “You didn’t have to.” I sigh at the food she’s laid out for me. There’s far too much fruit on that tray. “I thought I might get bacon and eggs.”

  “Were you planning on making your way to the kitchen?” She smirks and places the tray on a small table. “I’d like to see that.”

  “You’re far too interested in watching me suffer to be a real carer.”

  “True.” She shrugs and laughs, then hands me a bowl of fruit salad. “That’s because I’m not—”

  I raise my hand. “I know. I know. You’re a fake. A fraud. An imposter. Did I leave anything out?”

  “I think you covered it from all sides.”

  I take a mouthful of cool melon and watch her face as I chew. “You’re a good friend, though. Not many people would help their friend out the way you did.”

  “Right back at ya. Not many people would let this charade continue.”

  “I have to amuse myself somehow. Being stuck in bed sucks and the housekeeper is only here for short bursts. Plus, I plan to sweet talk you into procuring me a steady stream of unhealthy sna
cks.”

  “Did you run your background check on me?” She waves my hand away when I point from her to the tray. “I already ate.”

  “It’s being done as we speak. Will I discover you have an aversion to junk food?”

  “Hardly. I just wondered if I’m staying or going.” Her back is stiff as she moves around the room tidying and fidgeting.

  “You’re staying. Unless there’s something serious you haven’t disclosed. Having my phone makes my life so much easier, by the way. Thanks again for that.”

  “You’re welcome. Do you want me to disappear while your friends are here today?”

  “Of course not. Well, not unless you want to.” I hand my empty bowl back with a frown as she replaces it with cereal. “Why would you think that?”

  “You have thirteen people coming for lunch. I figure I should make myself scarce. What if they ask questions about me?”

  “Oh, they’ll ask questions.” I laugh at the idea of them saying nothing. “Especially Danny. He’ll want to know all about you and whether we plan to date.”

  “What?” She startles, the coffee in her hand spilling onto the tray. “Damn.” I watch as she puts it down and mops the spill with a tea towel, her eyes firmly downcast.

  “Danny has a game going with all of us. We are supposed to date on a schedule of his making.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “A little. I had the North American Labor Day holiday.”

  “That’s even weirder.”

  “Yeah. He tried to spread them out through the year, so he had to borrow some overseas holidays. The man has entirely too much time on his hands.”

  “When is that holiday anyway?” Before I can answer, she screws up her face. “Please tell me Becky wasn’t your attempt.”