Behind the Billionaire's Guarded Heart

by Leah Ashton

  A sharp but low-pitched word drew April’s attention. The happy couple were arguing about something in harsh staccato whispers that continued as they walked back to their table.

  Now, that looked complicated.

  Relationships were complicated.

  So why complicate things by revealing the truth?

  She ordered their breakfast and walked back to Hugh, table number in her hand.

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  Yes. She definitely knew what she wanted.

  Hugh.

  Without complications.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTER LUNCH HUGH played tour guide as he and April spent the afternoon walking through London. They chatted as they ambled the mile from Clerkenwell to St Paul’s Cathedral, then headed across the Millennium Bridge and along the Thames. Beside the river they stopped occasionally to lean against the stone and iron barrier and watch the boats float by, for April to take photos of the sparkling silver skyscraper skyline beyond Canary Wharf, or for April to ask questions about the height of The Shard or how often Tower Bridge opened to allow ships through.

  This wasn’t his usual Saturday.

  He’d gone for his early-morning group cycle ride as normal, and had been reading the newspaper at his dining table when April had called.

  Usually he’d spend the rest of his Saturday maybe lifting weights in his spare room, or binge-watching something that looked interesting. Later, he’d work. He always did at the weekend.

  So, nothing critical.

  But still... After he’d agreed to meet April so readily he’d felt uneasy. Maybe because it hadn’t even occurred to him to say no.

  He’d told April he liked spending time with women, which of course he did. But at dinner. At night. On a date.

  Not casually. Not wearing jeans and trainers and without an actual plan.

  So he’d decided he’d just have breakfast with April, then go home. That would be okay—no different from the night before.

  Instead here he was. Willingly being her tour guide after she’d asked him so sweetly—with a big smile and those gorgeous eyes. And he was in no hurry to get home.

  In fact he was having fun.

  And having fun with April was so easy. He only felt uneasy when he reminded himself that he should be. Which was crazy, right? April had said he was weird, and he knew he was. But he wasn’t a masochist.

  He was having fun, and he and April were on exactly the same page. He needed to get over it—and himself—and just go with the flow.

  He reached out, grabbing her fingers as she walked beside him. He tugged at her hand, pulling her to the side of the footpath and then pulling her towards him.

  Hugh kissed her thoroughly, his hands at her back and her waist and hers tangled in his hair.

  ‘Wow,’ she said when they came up for air.

  He murmured against her ear. ‘I realised I hadn’t kissed you today,’ he said.

  That he’d waited so long seemed impossible.

  He felt her smile as he kissed her jaw. ‘Where did you learn to kiss like that?’ she asked on a sigh.

  ‘Rachael Potter in the Upper Sixth asked if she could practise on me,’ Hugh said, grinning against the skin of her cheek. ‘She was a year older than me—an older woman. At the time it was the most thrilling moment of my life. Although I wasn’t to tell a soul, of course.’

  April stepped back, still meeting his gaze. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because—as we determined last night—I’m weird. As an adult, I’m fortunate that people just consider me a little idiosyncratic. In high school I was just plain strange.’

  ‘But why would people think that?’

  Hugh shrugged and started walking again, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

  ‘It’s like I told you—I didn’t want anyone to know about the house. As a young kid it was just easier to not have any friends. It wasn’t until uni—you know, when playdates aren’t really expected—that I had friends again.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ April said. ‘I’m sure most kids wouldn’t have cared.’

  Hugh raised his eyebrows. ‘I was already the nerdy computer kid. I wasn’t about to sign up as the kid with the crazy mother. And I definitely wasn’t going to let my mum be thought of like that.’

  They kept on walking. Around them it was dusk, and the trees that lined the Thames were beginning to twinkle with hundreds of blue lights that grew brighter as the sun retreated.

  ‘Not that it made any difference,’ Hugh said, minutes later. ‘Kids still whispered about my mum. And about me. Maybe some kids would’ve been fine with it, but I didn’t let anyone close enough to find out. I was moody—and resentful that I had to look after my mum.’

  ‘Look after her?’ April asked.

  They were still walking, and Hugh kept his gaze on the concrete footpath.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Eventually it was more than just stuff that Mum was collecting. There were piles of rubbish. Piles of dirty laundry. I had to create a safe passage for her to get to bed each night. I had to make sure her bed was clear of crap and her sheets were clean. I did all the shopping...the cooking. I remembered to do my homework. I packed my own lunches.’

  ‘She wasn’t well,’ April said.

  ‘No,’ Hugh said with a humourless laugh. ‘And I was too young to really understand that. I’d researched hoarding at the library, and I’d tried to help—but even though I kind of got that it must be some sort of anxiety disorder, I wasn’t really sympathetic. All I saw was that she managed to go to work each day. She managed to socialise, to continue her quest to find the perfect man, and yet we lived in this absolute horror story of a house that I had to keep liveable even as she brought more and more crap inside it.’

  April remained silent, letting him speak.

  He stopped again. They stood beneath a cast-iron lamppost with dolphins twined around its base—one of many that lit the South Bank.

  ‘So, yeah...’ Hugh said. ‘Rachael Potter didn’t want anyone to know she was kissing the weird, friendless geek with the crazy mother.’

  April reached out and held his hand. ‘What happened to her?’ she asked. ‘To your mum?’

  He’d known this question was coming.

  He swallowed, angry that his throat was tight and that his heart ached and felt heavy.

  ‘Cancer,’ he said. ‘I always thought her hoarding would kill her, but I was wrong. It was unexpected—quick and brutal—and she told me in the hospital that she wanted to come home to die. I thought that was bizarre—that she would want to be in the house that represented all she’d lost when Len had died, illustrated with box after box. But she did, so I organised to have her room cleared, to make it safe for a hospital bed to be delivered.’

  He swallowed, staring at their joined hands.

  ‘But it was already too late. Before the first box was moved she died.’

  Suddenly April’s arms were around him.

  She was hugging him, her arms looped around his neck, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. She hugged him as he stood there, stiff and wooden, his hands firm by his sides.

  She hugged him for long minutes until—eventually—he hugged her back. Tight and hard, with her body pressed tight against him.

  He wasn’t a hugger—he’d told her that. Even if he was, he’d had no one to hug when his mother had died. At the time it hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he might need or want someone to hug, to grieve with.

  As always, it had just been him.

  Eventually they broke apart. He turned from April, wiping at the tears that had threatened, but thankfully hadn’t been shed.

  When he caught April’s gaze again, her own gaze travelled across his face in the lamplight, but sh
e said nothing.

  He didn’t want to be standing here any longer.

  ‘Want a drink?’ he asked.

  April blinked, but nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  * * *

  They headed up a series of narrow cobblestoned lanes, Hugh still holding April’s hand. His strides were long, and April had to hurry to keep pace with him.

  He hadn’t said a word, and April wasn’t really sure what to say.

  Then he stopped in front of a small bar. Beyond black-framed windows April could see exposed brick walls and vintage velvet couches.

  ‘Want to try here?’ Hugh asked.

  She was confused. ‘You don’t like bars.’

  He grinned. ‘I don’t like people. It’s still early—hardly anyone’s here.’

  She followed Hugh inside. The bar’s warmth was a welcome relief. It wasn’t entirely empty, but only two other customers were there: two women in deep conversation, cocktails in hand.

  At the bar, April ordered red wine and Hugh bourbon. April chose one of the smaller couches, towards the rear of the rectangular space, and ran her fingers aimlessly over the faded gold fabric as Hugh sat down. With Hugh seated the couch seemed significantly smaller—their knees bumped, in fact, his dark blue denim against her faded grey.

  Not that April minded.

  ‘So,’ Hugh said, ‘tell me about your first kiss.’

  His tone was light, and the pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes beneath the lamppost had disappeared.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I was six. Rory Crothers. Kiss-chasey.’ She sighed expansively. ‘It was amazing!’

  Hugh’s lips quirked. ‘Doesn’t count,’ he said.

  She widened her eyes. ‘You mean Rachael Potter didn’t just give you a kiss on the cheek?’

  ‘No,’ he said. Straight-faced.

  ‘Ah...’ April said. ‘So we’re talking tongue kissing, then?’

  Hugh gave a burst of laughter. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Definitely tongue kissing.’

  The look in his eyes was smouldering—and April knew it had nothing to do with young Miss Potter.

  Something suddenly occurred to her, and she leant forward, resting her hand on Hugh’s thigh. ‘Am I flirting with a guy in a pub?’ she asked.

  He grinned, obviously remembering their conversation from the night before. ‘Just like you always wanted.’

  She smiled. ‘This is just as fun as I’d imagined.’

  Hugh’s eyes flicked downwards to her hand on his thigh. ‘Yep,’ he said.

  Someone had turned up the music, and the beat reverberated around them. As they’d been talking a handful of customers had walked in, were now standing in a group only a few metres away from them.

  She nodded in their direction. ‘Still okay?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Well,’ April said, returning to his original question, ‘this is going to sound really sad, but if we’re only counting tongue kissing, then Evan was it. I was sixteen, and he kissed me on my front doorstep when I was his date for his high school ball.’

  ‘So I’m only the second guy you’ve kissed?’

  She nodded.

  He took a long drink of his bourbon. ‘I know you said you met in high school, but I hadn’t really considered what that actually meant.’

  April tilted her head quizzically. ‘It means I met him in high school.’

  ‘You were with him half your life. You grew from teenager to adult with him. That’s a really big deal.’

  ‘None of this is news to me,’ she said dryly, then sipped her wine.

  ‘And he left you?’

  April blinked. ‘What is this? Remind-April-Of-Crap-Stuff-That’s-Happened Day?’

  She sounded hurt and defensive, which she didn’t like.

  Hugh was silent, and she knew she didn’t have to answer his question if she didn’t want to. He’d be okay about it. But for some reason she started talking.

  ‘He left me,’ she began, ‘and I’ve been telling people I didn’t see it coming, but that’s a lie.’

  April paused, this time taking a long drink of her wine.

  ‘We were having problems for years—even before we got married. It’s probably why we took more than ten years to get married, actually. But it was nothing serious—just issues with communicating. Different expectations about stuff—when we’d have kids...that type of thing. So we went to counselling and we tried talking about it. I guess for me, after such a long time, ending it just didn’t feel like an option. Evan had been part of my entire adult life, and I couldn’t imagine life without him. So I didn’t. But obviously Evan had no issues with imagining his life without me.’

  April watched her fingers as she drew lines in the velvet of the couch.

  ‘I was really keen to have a baby, and we started trying pretty much as soon as we got married—three years ago. But that was all my idea. Evan just went along with it. Maybe that’s when he started wondering if things could be different—I don’t know.’

  Her hair had fallen forward and she tucked the long strands behind her ears as she looked back up at Hugh. Over his shoulder, she saw that more people had entered the bar, and now more couches were occupied than empty.

  ‘I thought he was the love of my life right until the end. I mean, relationships are supposed to be hard at times, so I didn’t see any red flags when we were having problems. I probably should have. But, yeah, Evan was right. We didn’t have that epic, all-consuming love that you see in movies.’ She looked at her glass, swirling the deep red liquid but not drinking. ‘Although,’ she said, ‘I think now I realise that I always loved him more than he loved me.’

  That last bit had come from nowhere, and April went still as she realised the truth of what she’d said. A truth she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge before.

  ‘Do you still love him?’

  Her gaze flew from her glass to meet Hugh’s. He was looking at her with...concern? With pity?

  She sat up, removing her hand from his leg.

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Would you prefer it that I still do?’

  ‘That wasn’t why I was asking,’ he said.

  April didn’t understand why she’d reacted this way, but anger out of nowhere shot through her veins. ‘If I still loved him you wouldn’t have to worry about the poor, rejected divorcee getting too attached to you, would you? That would keep things neater.’

  ‘April—’ he began.

  But she wasn’t ready to listen. The still raw pain of Evan’s rejection was colliding with Hugh’s pity. Pity from yet another man who didn’t want a relationship with her.

  ‘Why do you care, anyway? What do you know about love, Mr Never-Had-A-Relationship?’

  ‘I care,’ he said.

  But that was just too much.

  She put her glass down on a low table, then stood up and headed for the door.

  After a few steps she realised just how crowded the bar had become. There was no clear path for her to take.

  She turned back to Hugh, who—as she’d known he would—had followed her. He was only a step behind her. As she watched, a heavy-set bloke turned and accidentally banged his beer against Hugh’s arm, spilling the liquid down Hugh’s jacket. The man apologised profusely, and a moment later April was at Hugh’s side as he reassured the other man and waved him away.

  April was standing right in front of Hugh now. They were surrounded—a big group must have entered the bar together—and suddenly the space had gone from busy to absolutely packed. The air was heavy with the smell of aftershave and beer.

  Hugh’s jaw was tense beneath the bar’s muted lighting.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  Hugh’s expression was dismissive. ‘I’ll get it dry-cleaned. It was just an ac
cident.’

  ‘No, not that,’ she said. ‘I mean—you know—all the people?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Why did you walk away?’

  Someone tapped on April’s shoulder and asked to squeeze past, which moved April closer to Hugh.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want you feeling sorry for me,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. I don’t need your pity.’

  ‘I don’t pity you, April,’ he said, low and harsh in her ear. ‘But you’ve been hurt badly. This might not be a good idea.’

  He meant them.

  ‘You want to end it?’

  ‘No.’ He said it roughly. Firmly. His gaze told her he still felt every bit of the sizzling connection between them. ‘But I should.’

  ‘Ah...’ April said, nodding slowly. ‘You’re being noble.’

  ‘Well—’

  She cut him off. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I didn’t sign up for you to be my knight in shining armour, Hugh. I get to make my own decisions. And, if necessary, my own mistakes.’

  ‘You also didn’t sign up for my relationship quirks.’

  ‘You mean all your relationship rules and expectations? I get that you don’t like it that I haven’t followed your rules, but you’ve been crystal-clear. No relationship. I get it, Hugh, and I’m going to be okay. I’m not fragile. You’re not going to break me.’

  Or her heart.

  She wouldn’t allow it.

  Another clumsy patron bumped into April’s back, pushing her into Hugh’s chest. Her forearms landed flush against him, her hands splayed across his shoulders.

  According to Hugh, she had a choice here: one was to push her arms against him and walk away. But that wasn’t an option for April.

  She’d spent months in a fog, questioning so much about her life and all that she’d once taken for granted. Everything was different for her now: her present and her future. Her life would not unfold the way she’d always expected it to.

  But she didn’t question this.

  She knew now why she’d reacted so strongly to Hugh’s concern, and to what she’d perceived as his pity. She never wanted someone to be with her unless she was the person they most wanted to be with. Her marriage hadn’t been perfect, but she’d still not wanted anyone but Evan. And Evan had aspired to something more.