The Billionaire's Claim_Redemption
Page 6
“What?” He glances at the clock on the wall. A frown puts two lines between his eyebrows. “Are you not feeling well? Want to take the medicine Dr. Raydor gave you?”
He prescribed some painkillers and muscle relaxants, just in case. I don’t need them, but Dominic was insistent on getting them anyway.
“You said you were tired,” I point out.
“Not enough to go to bed right now.”
Hmm. Maybe he can’t fall asleep this early. Lying in bed with your eyes wide open can be frustrating. What can we do until bedtime? Dominic’s sitting so stiffly that I feel tense myself. Maybe he’s thinking about the night to come. Unless I’m mistaken, Dominic wants me as much as I want him, but Dr. Raydor made it sound like my accident turned me into a fragile doll.
I want to convince Dominic I’m neither fragile nor a doll. I’m flesh and blood, and I want it filthy and hot between us.
Patience.
“Wanna watch something?” I ask, finally discovering a huge media library full of Blu-ray discs.
“Sure.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything’s fine.”
“Even a romantic comedy?” I tease, spotting a couple of pink cases. Most men hate chick flicks. I’m sure Dominic’s no exception.
“Like I said, anything’s fine.”
“Want popcorn?”
He shakes his head. “Too full.”
I bring a bottle of vodka and two glasses, though, because forgoing solid snacks doesn’t mean we should also forgo the liquid variety. Dominic knocks one back fast as he waits for my selection.
I hide a smile. He’s probably dreading slogging through two hours of chick flick. Since I really want him to relax and have a good time, I choose Bad Boys, starring Will Smith. His movies are always fun and very guy-centric. There’s no way it won’t entertain Dominic.
I load the disc and settle in the empty spot right next to Dominic, which is precisely where I belong. I loop an arm around his, which feels like granite.
“Relax,” I tease. “It’s a Will Smith movie.”
And I’m definitely right about Bad Boys. It’s got some snappy lines and good action scenes with guns and cars. I rest my head on Dominic’s shoulder and inhale his scent—malt, spices and soap. His body radiates heat, and I can’t help but relax against him, loving the physical connection. He’s been so considerate and tender since the moment I opened my eyes at the hospital, and I adore every minute we’ve been together. Guilt rears its head, hissing at me like a snake, but I ignore it. Sometimes stuff happens. Amnesia is giving us this time. It’s not all bad.
But the closer I cuddle with him, the stiffer he becomes until it feels like I’m hanging on to a marble statue. I can also sense Dominic’s not really into the movie. His gaze is focused somewhere beyond the screen, and his laughter is at least a beat behind mine.
When the credits roll, he pulls away gently, then jumps to his feet. “That was fun,” he says, his smile a bit too wide.
“It was.” I tilt my head. “Which was your favorite scene?”
“Where they shoot at each other.”
That answer just confirms all my suspicions. “You didn’t really watch it, did you?”
“Of course I did. I watched it ten times when it was first released. It’s one of my favorites.”
Maybe he was a bit bored because he’s seen it so many times. I might’ve been bored too. But I don’t ask him the question I really want to ask: Why are you so stiff around me all of a sudden? I’m afraid of what he might say.
What do you think he’s going to say? a familiar voice deep inside my mind asks.
I don’t know. And that’s the problem. The unknown scares me more than anything because I can’t brace myself for it.
What if it’s nothing?
What if it’s something?
It’s almost eleven, and a small yawn slips out before I can catch myself.
“You’re tired,” he says. “You should go to bed.”
“You coming?” Then I add, “I’ll sleep better with you by my side.”
Something dark and uncomfortable crosses his deep blue eyes. “Okay. Let me turn off the lights and I’ll be right upstairs.”
Nodding, I go to the en suite and brush my teeth, wash off my makeup and put on moisturizer. I change into a nightgown, then slide under the covers. But I don’t hear Dominic coming upstairs.
What’s taking him so long?
The place is large, sure, but it shouldn’t take him this long to shut off lights. Did something happen? An intruder, maybe?
Just as a cold sliver of terror slides into me, I shake myself mentally. We are on a remote island. The place has a security system—I saw Dominic tinker with the control panel earlier. There’s no way somebody could sneak onto the island without us noticing.
I give myself a couple of more minutes, then get up and pad barefoot into the hallway. If Dominic needs help, I should be there for him.
The hall is pitch black. I see a thin ribbon of light coming out from under the study door. Slowly I push it open and stick my head in.
Dominic’s at the desk, doing something on his computer. He looks really serious and hot—like a powerful executive, even in a tropical beach shirt and cargo pants.
“Knock knock,” I say.
He turns, his gaze flicking over my body. Something dark and hot flashes in his eyes, but he raises them to my freshly scrubbed face…and suddenly I feel exposed and vulnerable. Now I wish I hadn’t wiped off my makeup.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asks.
My toes flex against the cool wood floor. “Told you I’d sleep better with you by my side.”
A dark eyebrow twitches, then he looks away, his gaze flicking to the monitor. “I see.” He turns his focus back to me. “I really need to get this done, though, so why don’t you go to bed, and I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished.”
“It’s okay. I’ll wait.”
I mindlessly pull out a leather-bound volume and recline on the long couch. It’s all I can do to hide my dismay when I realize I’ve selected a book on fixed-income market analysis written by a former Morgan Stanley banker.
Why couldn’t I have brought one of the romance novels Dominic got for me at the hospital?
Since I told him I’d wait, I start reading, feeling stubborn about it now. The book’s mind-numbing, the author going on and on about some technical ways to price fixed-income offerings. He has a lot of formulae—seven on three pages. I swear they’re at least calculus or worse from the way they make my head spin.
I steal a quick glance at Dominic. He’s totally focused on what’s on the screen. Mmm. Super sexy. Has he read this book? I look at the bottom corners of the cover where it went smooth and shiny from multiple handlings. Oh yes, he definitely has. Maybe that explains his occasional brooding. I’d brood, too, if I had to read this stuff to do my job.
I reread the same page three times before I give up and let my mind wander. The studio looks perfect. Maybe I should draw something tomorrow, although I’m not sure exactly what. I should also talk to Dominic about his weird mood. If he has an issue with me, he should let me know so we can fix it. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s something we can deal with together. I’m sure of it.
Then what? the voice from earlier whispers. Is it going to be a happy ending forever?
My answer again is I don’t know. But I’m not looking for a Hollywood ending. I just…I just want some happiness and normalcy. Is that too much to ask for?
Chapter Fourteen
Dominic
The book finally slips from Elizabeth’s hand and falls on the floor with a soft thud. I was surprised when she chose that out of all the business tomes on the wall. I read it every time I have insomnia. By the time I reach the second chapter, I’m usually fast asleep.
I close Outlook and stare at her. She’s so naturally vivacious and sexy that it’s painful to be around her. During the movie, she kept squirming
against me. Whether she meant to or not, I felt every soft curve against me and had to adjust myself at least six times during the film. Thank God I had the wit to follow her reactions to the movie. Otherwise I would’ve sat there like a distracted robot the entire time. A real fun companion.
My dick’s still hard. I can’t help it. I see her, I want her, and I haven’t had sex in weeks.
Haha, sure, buddy. You haven’t had sex for months before, and you were okay just jerking off a few times.
True enough, but back then, Elizabeth wasn’t around. I didn’t smell her sweet vanilla and lavender scent, and the available women didn’t do much for me. Even when I fucked them, I felt vaguely gross afterward. Not good dirty, but bad dirty, like rolling in pig shit and then wondering what the fuck I was thinking.
Her neck bends in a sharp angle as her head droops on the arm of the couch. Steeling myself, I go over and pick her up like a slumbering fairytale princess, except this is no fairytale. The dragon between us is not something I can kill with a simple swing of a sword.
She turns toward me, her face resting on my chest. She feels so slight and delicate, and I’m suddenly overcome with need, longing and fear. I want to bury myself inside her sweet body and forget every ugly thing that ever happened between us. In fact, I want her in every way there is, but I’m afraid that ultimately…I’ll lose her.
I can be kind to her. I can give her the studio and let her see the precious portrait all she wants. But it won’t be enough to make up for the last ten years.
You didn’t know, my selfish side says, trying to justify what I’ve done so I don’t have to feel bad about it, so I can keep my head held high and act like I’m above criticism. It can’t possibly be your fault.
But it is my fault for being so unforgiving before. My fault for not considering the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she was an unwitting pawn in a bad situation and a victim just as much as me.
I still don’t understand why the notion that all that money and power couldn’t have given her everything never crossed my mind, not even once. Money and new connections haven’t given me everything I desire. They gave me a sense of accomplishment—that I built something and I’m able to provide my employees with a good living with what I’ve created. But it doesn’t make me burst with joy. It certainly hasn’t filled the void in my life.
I place her on the bed, then tuck her in. Her golden hair spills around on the pillows, and she reaches out, trying to hold on to me.
Very carefully I place a kiss on her forehead so I don’t wake her up, then pull away. Antoine’s right. My conscience is right. I can’t share the same bed with her, not under false pretenses. This is over the second she regains her memory, and I’m not adding to her hatred of me by giving into my lust.
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth
The sound of waves and the briny scent of the ocean tickle my senses. I burrow deeper into the soft sheets, not wanting to come out from the warm cocoon. It’s been so long since I slept well. I’m afraid if I get up, I may never get another good sleep like this.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty. It’s nine in the morning.”
Dominic’s voice is deep and husky, and I smile into the sheet, loving the soft way he speaks to me.
“I brought you coffee.”
Then I finally smell it. I open my eyes to see him waving a mug in front of my face.
He gives me a crooked grin. “I knew the coffee would do the trick.”
I blink up at him. He is absolutely gorgeous in a simple white T-shirt that stretches over his lean, muscled torso. The pale brown shorts look great, molding to his pelvis and butt.
“Good morning,” I say, sitting up and accepting the coffee. “Did you open the windows?”
“Thought the sound of the waves would help you sleep.”
I take a sip of the coffee. Strong, with cream and sugar, it’s just perfect. “It did, and now you showed up with this.” I lift the mug. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I arrange the pillows behind me into a more comfortable position, then notice only one side of the bed has been slept in. “You never came to bed.”
“I, ah, fell asleep at my desk.” He winces slightly. “Sort of embarrassing, since I’m supposed to set a good example for my workers.”
“Well, nobody saw…unless you were on a teleconference.”
“Thankfully, no.”
I nod and take a long sip of the coffee to hide my face from him. I know he’s lying. I’ve seen him at his desk. He isn’t the type to just…doze off without finishing a task. He would’ve never made it to the top if he didn’t have the kind of focus and determination that wouldn’t allow him to rest until he accomplished everything he set out to.
What’s the real reason you didn’t come to bed?
My gaze lands on my barren left ring finger, and the hitch in my chest grows larger.
“Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast,” he says.
I force cheeriness into my voice. “What are you feeding me?”
He flicks the tip of my nose. “Your favorite—toasted bagels and whipped cream cheese. We also have lox if you want some extra protein.” He grows serious. “You should eat some. You need the extra calories.”
Suddenly a thick lump grows in my throat, and I can’t talk. So I nod and follow him down to the island in the kitchen, where he begins to set out the breakfast.
I look at the sunny ocean and the blinding white sand as Dominic throws halved bagels into a toaster and pulls out a tub of whipped cream cheese and lox from the fridge. This place is so idyllic and lovely that my heart should be bursting with serenity and quiet happiness. It has privacy, the studio and Dominic. Surely, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of bringing me here if he didn’t care for me.
But…
The loud pop of the toaster jerks my mind back. I smile as he places the hot bagels on a plate and slides it my way. “You aren’t having any?” I ask.
“I already had some bacon and eggs earlier. I couldn’t wait until you got up.”
I give him a small smile and nibble on my food. But no matter how much I try, I can’t taste anything.
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
Elizabeth smiles, but a hint of shadow in her gaze betrays her. Now that I know how well she can hide her true feelings—and what to look for—I can tell.
I curse myself inwardly.
I should’ve known better than to lie. I should’ve just owned up and admitted I spent the night in another room to avoid disturbing her or aggravating her injuries. She still has bruises and scabs. It wouldn’t have been too much of a lie because it was one of the reasons—albeit a minor one—I wanted to stay away.
But instead, I fibbed worse than a three-year-old, and now Elizabeth’s behaving like she might’ve done something wrong.
Faking nonchalance, I steal a slice of lox from her plate and say, “When you’re done, we can go to the beach. The water’s warm, the sun’s shining, and we should take advantage of it.”
Finally, a genuine grin pops up on her face. “I’d love that.”
She has another half-cup of coffee and polishes off her bagel and cream cheese, then goes upstairs to change. I change into swim trunks, then wait for Elizabeth, my butt perched at the edge of my bed. I pull out my phone to check email and spot a message from my HR director, Natasha Keene.
Odd. She and I generally only communicate twice a year, when we discuss our HR policies, look for ways to improve them and figure out ways to better train and retain our workers. She usually handles most of it on her own, but prefers a collaborative approach for major overhauls, and biannual meetings turned out to be the most efficient way for both of us. The subject reads Andy Brown. I tap on it, wondering what’s happened with my cousin.
The email is short and to the point. Andy Brown turned in his resignation yesterday. No reason given, and we have no issues with his performance. Thought you should know.
Shrugging, I file the email in another folder. He isn’t my problem, but my aunt’s and uncle’s. Maybe they got him a job working for Uncle Chuck’s campaign—who knows? I did Aunt Dorothy a favor by hiring Andy in the first place.
“Ta da!”
I shove the phone into my trunk pocket and turn to the door of the walk-in closet. Elizabeth steps out, her arms spread wide.
Holy mother of God. I almost swallow my tongue. I expected her to be in the semi-modest bikini she wore in Hawaii. Instead she’s in the skimpiest teal thing I’ve ever seen. The top is barely big enough to cover her nipples, and the bottom is just a couple of strings and a triangle so small a sneeze would—
“Nice, right?” She twirls, and I bite my lower lip. I can’t decide if I’m anticipating or dreading the possibility that yeah, her bottom might definitely slip at any sudden movement and expose everything to the world.
“Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting!” Elizabeth says.
She puts a gauzy white wrap around herself, which doesn’t do anything to hide what’s underneath. It’s revenge for last night. She plans to blue-ball me to death—
Wait a minute. She had that in her suitcase all this time. Did she wear it in St. Cecilia? How many assholes have seen her in it?
Images of her talking and laughing with over-moneyed, over-tanned morons by the pool at Aylster Resort flip through my mind like a PowerPoint presentation from hell, and my jaw tightens until I feel like my molars are about to crack.
“Come on, let’s go,” she says. “I do want to get some sun. I’m a little pale, don’t you think?”
I take in the smooth, creamy skin covering all her luscious curves. Lust thickens in my veins. “You’re perfect,” I say, my voice a lot tenser than I wanted. I’m not mad at her over the images in my head. It’s anger at myself and at the men who ogled her.