The Billionaire's Bedside Manner

by Robyn Grady

  “A…loan,” he said, unconcerned that his tone was graveled. Mocking.

  Her cheeks pinked up. “Don’t say it like that.”

  “You say it’s a loan,” he shrugged, “it’s a loan.”

  “I intend to pay back every cent.”

  “Really?” Intrigued, he crossed his arms. “And how do you intend to do that with no job, no plans?” From her reaction to his question about her father, there wouldn’t be help coming from that source, either.

  Her eyes hardened. “We can’t all have charmed lives, Doctor.”

  “Don’t presume to know anything about me,” he said, his voice deep.

  “I only know that I had no choice.”

  “We all have choices.” At least when we’re adults.

  Her cheeks flushed more. “Then I chose escape.”

  He coughed out a laugh. This got better and better. “Now my grandmother was keeping you prisoner?”

  “Not your grandmother.”

  His arms unraveled. Her voice held the slightest quiver. Her pupils had dilated until the blue was all but consumed by black. But she’d told him what he’d stupidly wanted to know. She’d accepted Mama’s money. He didn’t need or want excuses.

  “Goodbye, Miss Ross.” He headed inside.

  “And thank you, Doctor,” she called after him. “You’ve killed whatever faith I had left in the male species.” A pulse thudding at his temple, he angled back. Her expression was dry. Sad. Infuriating. “I honestly thought you were a gentleman,” she finished.

  “Only when in the presence of a lady.”

  Self-disgust hit his gut with a jolt.

  “I apologize,” he murmured. “That wasn’t called for.”

  “Do you even want to know what I needed to escape?” She ground out. “Why I needed that money?”

  He exhaled heavily. Fine. After that insult, he owed her one. “Why did you need the money?”

  “Because of a man who wouldn’t listen,” she said pointedly, her gaze hot and moist. “He said we were getting married and, given the situation I was in, I didn’t have a choice.”

  Two

  “You’re engaged?” Mateo shook himself.

  “No.” In a tight voice, she added, “Not really.”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I thought being betrothed was like being pregnant. You either are or you aren’t.”

  “I…was engaged.”

  Slanting his head, he took another look. Her nose was more a button with a sprinkling of freckles but her unusual crystalline eyes were large and, as she stood her ground, her pupils dilated more, making her gaze appear even more pronounced. Or was that scared?

  I didn’t have a choice.

  An image of the degrees decorating his office walls swam up in Mateo’s mind. Time to take a more educated guess as to why Mama might have sent this woman. He set his voice at a different tone, the one he used for patients feeling uncertain.

  “Bailey, are you having a baby?”

  Her eyes flared, bright with indignation. “No.”

  “Are you sure? We can do tests—”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  Backing off, he held up his hands. “Okay. Fine. Given your circumstances, it seemed like a possibility.”

  “It really wasn’t.” Her voice dropped. “We didn’t sleep together. Not even once.”

  She spun to leave, but, hurrying down the steps, she tripped on the toe of her sandal. The next second she was stumbling, keeling forward. Leaping, Mateo caught her before she went down all the way. Gripping her upper arms, he felt her shaking—from shock at almost breaking her neck? Or pique at him? Or was the trembling due to dredging up memories of this engagement business in Italy?

  She was so taken aback, she didn’t object when he helped her sit on a step. Lifting her chin, he set out to check that the dilation in her eyes was even, but with his palm cradling her cheek and his face so close to hers, the pad of his thumb instinctively moved to trace the sweep of her lower lip. Heat, dangerous and swift, flared low in his belly and his head angled a whisper closer.

  But then she blinked. So did he. Spell broken, he cleared his throat and got to his feet while she caught her breath and gathered herself.

  He might be uncertain about some things regarding Bailey Ross, but of one he was sure. The constant yawning, tripping over herself…

  “You need sleep,” he told her.

  “I’ll survive.”

  “No doubt you will.”

  But, dammit, he was having a hard time thinking of her walking off alone down that drive and Mama phoning to ask if he’d looked after her little friend who’d apparently had such a hard time in Casa Buona. Given her stumble, her jet lag, Mama would expect him to at least give Bailey time to recuperate before he truly sent her on her way. And that was the only reason he persisted. Why he asked now.

  “So…who’s this fiancé?”

  Closing her eyes, she exhaled as if she was too tired to be defensive anymore.

  “I was backpacking around Europe,” she began. “By the time I got to Casa Buona, I’d run out of money. That’s where I met Emilio. I picked up work at the taverna his parents own.”

  Mateo’s muscles locked. “Emilio Conti is your fiancé?”

  “Was.” She quizzed his eyes. “Do you know him?”

  “Casa Buona’s a small town.” Emilio’s kind only made it feel smaller. Mateo nodded. “Go on.”

  Elbows finding her knees, she cupped her cheeks. “Over the weeks, Emilio and I became close. We spent a lot of time with his family. Time by ourselves. When he said he loved me, I was taken off guard. I didn’t know about loving Emilio, but I’d certainly fallen in love with his parents. His sisters. They made me feel like one of the family.” Her hands lowered and she brought up her legs to hug her knees. “One Saturday, in front of everyone, he proposed at the taverna. Seemed like the whole town was there, all smiling, holding their breath, waiting for my answer. I was stunned. Any words stuck like bricks in my throat. When I bowed my head, trying to figure out something tactful to do or say, someone cried out that I’d accepted. A huge cheer went up. Before I knew what had happened, Emilio slid a ring on my finger and…well…that was that.”

  Bailey ended by failing to smother a yawn at the same time the sound of an engine drew their attention. His ride—a yellow cab—was cruising up the drive.

  “Wait here,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to argue, he interrupted firmly. “One minute. Please.” He crossed to the forecourt and spoke to the driver, who kept his motor idling while Mateo walked back and took a seat on the step alongside of her.

  “Where do you plan to go now? Do you have anywhere to stay?”

  “I’d hoped to stay with a friend for a few days but her neighbor said she’s out of town. I’ll get a room.”

  “Do you really want to waste Mama’s money on a motel?”

  “It’s only temporary.”

  He studied the cab, thought of the dwindling group of guys doing their annual bachelor bash in Canada and, as Bailey pushed to her feet, made a decision.

  “Come back inside.”

  Her look said, you’re crazy. “You’re ready to leave. The meter’s running.”

  He eyed the driver. Best fix that.

  He strode to the vehicle, left the cabbie smiling at the notes he passed over and heard the engine rev off behind him as he joined Bailey again.

  Her jaw was hanging. “What did you do?”

  “I’d thought about cancelling the first leg of my trip anyway. Now, inside.” He tilted his head toward his still open front door.

  “Flattering invitation.” Her smile was thin. “But I don’t do fetch or roll over, either.”

  Mateo’s chin tucked in. She thought he was being bossy? Perhaps he was. He was used to people listening and accepting his advice. And there was a method to his madness. “You say the money Mama gave you is a loan. But you admit you have no income. No place to stay.”

  “I’ll find somet
hing. I’m not afraid of work.”

  Another yawn gripped her, so consuming, she shuddered and her eyes watered.

  “First you need a good rest,” he told her. “I’ll show you to a guest room.”

  Another you’re crazy look. “I’m not staying.”

  “I’m not suggesting a lease, Bailey. Merely that you recharge here before you tackle a plan for tomorrow.”

  “No.” But this time she sounded less certain.

  “Mama would want you to.” When she hesitated, he persisted. “A few hours rest. I won’t pound on the door and get on your case.”

  She glared at him. “Promise?”

  “On my life.”

  All the energy seemed to fall from her shoulders. He thought she might disarm him with a hint of that ice-melting smile, but she only nodded and grudgingly allowed him to escort her back inside.

  After ascending that storybook staircase, Mateo Celeca showed her down the length of a wide paneled hallway to the entrance of a lavish room.

  “The suite has an attached bath,” he said as she edged in and looked around. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

  Bailey watched the broad ledge of his shoulders roll away down the hall before she closed the heavy door and, feeling more displaced than she had in her life, gravitated toward the center of the vast room. Her own background was well to do. With a tennis court and five bedrooms, her lawyer father’s house in Newport was considered grand to most. Her parents had driven fashionable cars. They’d gone on noteworthy vacations each year.

  But, glancing around this lake of snowy carpet with so many matching white and gold draperies, Bailey could admit she’d never known this kind of opulence. Then again, who on earth needed this much? She wasn’t one to covet riches. Surely it was more important to know a sense of belonging…of truly being where and with whom you needed to be. Despite Emilio, irrespective of her father, one day she hoped to know and keep that feeling.

  After a long warm shower, she lay down and sleep descended in a swift black cloud.

  When she woke some hours later in the dark, her heart was pounding with an impending sense of doom. In her dream, she’d been back in Casa Buona, draped in a modest wedding gown with Emilio beckoning her to join him at the end of a long dark corridor. She shot a glance around the shadowy unfamiliar surrounds and eased out a relieved breath. She was in Sydney. Broke, starting over. In an obstinate near-stranger’s house.

  She clapped a palm over her brow and groaned.

  Mateo Celeca.

  With refined movie-star looks and dark hypnotic eyes, he did all kinds of unnerving things to her equilibrium. One minute she was believing Mama, thinking her grandson was some kind of prince. The next he was being a jerk, accusing her of theft. Then, to really send her reeling, he’d offered her a bed to shake off some of the jet lag. If she’d had anywhere else to go—if she hadn’t felt so suddenly drained—she would never have stayed. She wasn’t about to forgive or forget his comment about her not being a lady.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed at the same time her stomach growled. She cast her thoughts away from the judgmental doctor to a new priority. Food.

  After slipping on her jeans, she tiptoed down that stunning staircase and set off to find a kitchen. Inching through someone else’s broad shadow-filled halls in the middle of the night hardly felt right but the alternative was finding a takeout close by or dialing in. Mateo had said to make herself at home. Surely that offer extended to a sandwich.

  Soon she’d tracked down a massive room, gleaming with stainless steel and dark granite surfaces. Opening the fridge she found the interior near empty; that made sense given Mateo was meant to be on vacation. But there was a leftover roast, perhaps from his dinner earlier. A slab went between two slices of bread and, after enjoying her first mouthful, Bailey turned and discovered a series of floor-to-ceiling glass panes lining the eastern side of the attached room.

  Outside, ghostly garden lights illuminated a divine courtyard where geometrically manicured hedges sectioned off individual classical statues. Beyond those panes, a scene from two thousand years ago beckoned…a passionate time when Rome dominated and emperors ruled half the world. Chewing, she hooked a glance around. No one about. Nothing to stop her. A little fresh air would be nice.

  She eased back a door and moved out into the cool night, the soles of her bare feet padding over smooth sandstone paths as she wandered between hedges and those exquisite stone figures that seemed so lifelike. She was on her third bite of sandwich when a sound came from behind—a muted click that vibrated through the night and made the fine hairs on her nape stand up and quiver. Heart lodged in her throat, she angled carefully around. One of those figures was gliding toward her. Masculine. Tall. Naked from the waist up.

  From behind a cloud, the full moon edged out and the definition of that outline sharpened…the captivating width of his chest, the subtle ruts of toned abs. Bailey’s gaze inched higher and connected with inquiring onyx eyes as a low familiar voice rumbled out.

  “You’re up.”

  Bailey let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Not a statue come to life, but Mateo Celeca standing before her, wearing nothing but a pair of long white drawstring pants. She’d been so absorbed she’d forgotten where she was, as well as the events that had brought her here. Now, in a hot rush, it all came back. Particularly how annoyingly attractive her host was, tonight, with the moonbeams playing over that hard human physique, dramatically so.

  When a kernel of warmth ignited in the lowest point of her belly, Bailey swallowed and clasped her sandwich at her chest.

  Mateo Celeca might be beyond hot, but, at this point in her life, she didn’t care to even think about the opposite sex, particularly a critical one. Her only concern lay in getting back on her feet and repaying Mama as soon as possible, whether the doctor believed that or not.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said in a surprisingly even voice that belied how churned up she felt.

  “You tripped a silent alarm when you opened that door. The security company called to make sure there’d been no breach. I thought it’d be you, but I came down to check, just in case.”

  Bailey kicked herself. She’d seen him fiddling with a security pad when she’d arrived. Heaven knew what this place and its contents were insured for. Of course he’d have a state-of-the-art system switched on and jump when an alert went off.

  “I was hungry,” she explained then held up dinner. “I made a sandwich.”

  She wasn’t sure, but in the shadows she thought he might have grinned—which was way better than a scowl. If he started on her again now, in the middle of the night, she’d simply grab her bag and find the door. But he seemed far more relaxed than this morning when he’d overreacted about the money Mama had loaned her.

  “You usually enjoy a starry stroll with your midnight snack?” He asked as he sauntered nearer.

  “It looked so nice out.”

  “It is pleasant.”

  He studied the topiaries and pristine hedges, and this time she was certain of the smile curving one corner of his mouth as he stretched his arms, one higher than the other, over his head. She wanted to fan herself. And she’d thought the statues were works of art.

  “Are you a gardener?” She asked, telling herself to look away but not managing it. Bronzed muscles rippled in the moonlight whenever he moved.

  “Not at all. But I appreciate the effort others put in.”

  “This kind of effort must be twenty-four seven.”

  “What about you?” He asked, meandering toward a trickling water feature displaying a god-like figure ready to sling a lightning bolt.

  “No green thumbs here.” Moving to join him, she tipped her head at the fountain. “Is that Zeus?” She remembered a recent movie about the Titans. “The god of war, right?”

  “Zeus is the god of justice. The supreme protector. Perhaps because he could have lost his life at
the very moment he entered the world.”

  “Really? How?” Moving to sit on the cool fountain ledge, she took another bite. She loved to hear about ancient legends.

  “His father, Cronus, believed in a prophecy. He would be overthrown by his son as he had once overthrown his own father. To save her newborn, Rhea, Zeus’s mother, gave him up at birth then tricked her husband into thinking a rock wrapped in swaddling clothes was the child, which Cronus promptly disposed of. He didn’t know that his son, Zeus, was being reared by a nymph in Crete. When he was grown, Zeus joined forces with his other siblings to defeat the Titans, including his father.”

  She couldn’t help but be drawn by Mateo’s story, as well as the emotion simmering beneath his words. Had she imagined the shadow that had crossed his gaze when he spoke of that mother needing to give up her child?

  “What happened to Zeus after the clash?” She asked.

  “He ruled over Olympus as well as the mortals, and fathered many children.”

  “Sounds noble.”

  “The great majority of his offspring were conceived through adulterous affairs, I’m afraid.”

  Oh. “Not so good for the demigod kids.”

  “Not so good for any child.”

  Bailey studied his classic profile as he peered off into the night…the high forehead and proud, hawkish nose. She wanted to ask more. Not only about this adulterous yet protective Roman god but also about the narrator of his tale. Not that Mateo’s life was any of her business. Although…

  For the moment he seemed to have put aside his more paranoid feelings toward her, and this was an informal chat. In the morning she’d be well rested and on her way, so where was the harm in asking more?

  Making a pretense of examining the gardens, she crossed her ankles and swung her feet out and back.

  “Mama mentioned that you left Casa Buona when you were twelve.”

  His hesitation—a single beat—was barely enough to notice.

  “My father was moving to Australia. He explained about the opportunities here. Ernesto was an accountant and wanted to look after my higher education.”