My Wounded Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 5)

by Serenity Woods

  “You really are serious about this,” she says eventually.

  “I am.”

  “Because you want to have sex with me.”

  “No. Well, yes, obviously—I mean not only because I want to have sex with you. I’m saying give me one month to try to get you pregnant the traditional way. We’ll have sex as often as I can manage it, and I’ll do my best to carry out the other suggestions to increase the likelihood of it happening. And hopefully, at the end of the month, you’ll be pregnant, and you’ll have fallen so madly in love with all those orgasms I’m going to give you that we’ll end up getting married, grow old and gray, and play Scrabble in the retirement village together with our teeth in a glass.” I smile.

  She doesn’t. “You want to try to seduce me into a relationship,” she says.

  I don’t see any sense in lying. “Yes.”

  “It won’t work,” she advises softly.

  “We’ll see.”

  “I won’t fall for you,” she states. “I won’t let myself.”

  I get the first twinge of warning that I could be putting myself in the path of a potential disaster. But it’s too late now. “What have you got to lose? Hopefully you’ll get pregnant if nothing else.”

  “And if I do? Are you going to want to see the baby? Tell everyone it’s yours?”

  “I’d like to. But I swear to you, if you get pregnant, and after a month with me you tell me then that you don’t want me involved, I’ll back away, and I won’t cause trouble for you. Cross my heart.”

  She pokes at her fish with her fork.

  “Come on,” I tease. “Do you really want to get pregnant by a doctor sticking a syringe inside you? I’m no scientist, but it must make a difference if a baby is conceived with affection. And I have a lot of affection for you. We’re good friends, aren’t we?”

  She studies my face, her green eyes thoughtful. “Yes,” she says eventually. “We are.”

  “Well, then. What’s stopping you?”

  “I don’t want to break your heart.”

  That makes my eyebrows rise. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

  She finishes off her fish and sits back. I can see something else is bothering her.

  “Out with it,” I tell her.

  “As you said, we’re good friends and… I like you. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “In what way?”

  “In bed.”

  “Why on earth would you disappoint me in…” My voice trails off. She’s talking about Daniel. The bastard criticized her about sex. Holy fucking shit, I’m going to smash the son of a bitch’s face in.

  “Right,” I tell her, “that’s it. We’re definitely having sex. And lots of it, until I can convince you how amazing you are.”

  That makes her laugh. The waiter comes over and takes our plates, then asks us if we want a dessert.

  “They do a mean chocolate sundae here,” I advise Poppy. She nods, so I ask for two sundaes, and the waiter goes off again.

  She looks out across the beach, lost in thought, so I take the opportunity to study her. The late evening sun gives her pale skin an amber glow and turns her hair to a flaming red. I can imagine how it would look spread out across a white pillow. My heart aches for her. I’m no Casanova, but even with my rudimentary skills in the bedroom, I like to think I can give a woman a good time. I want to take Poppy to bed and watch her face light up as she realizes how wrong Daniel was. I want to prove to her she’s a goddess, and the only thing she has to do to turn me on is to be there.

  I know she’s withdrawn socially since her breakup. Nix told me she rarely goes out with the other girls, and at work she tends to keep to herself over at the petting farm. Her breakup severely traumatized her. I want to mend that wound. Even if we don’t work out, if I can make her feel better about herself, and about having a relationship, it’ll be worth it.

  She’s obviously thinking about what I’ve said, because she stays lost in thought until the waiter returns with our sundaes.

  I dip my spoon in the chocolate ice cream and have a spoonful. Poppy does the same, scooping up some whipped cream and tiny marshmallows with it, and sighing as she places it in her mouth. “Mmm. That’s lovely.” She turns her spoon over and sucks the ice cream off it, watching me curiously.

  “You’re thinking about all those orgasms, aren’t you?” I ask her, delving the spoon into the chocolate sauce.

  “I still think you’re fibbing,” she says. “I don’t believe any man would bother to bring a woman to a climax every time they have sex.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Many men enjoy foreplay, and anyway, the decent ones want to please their girl and make sure they enjoy it. It’s also another point for the sex versus IVF debate. Studies suggest that taking time to arouse a woman increases sperm count. And there’s evidence that the lubrication a woman produces during foreplay creates an ideal environment for sperm to swim and survive. There’s scientific proof that nature wants you to have good sex.”

  “Even if that was true,” she says, “it doesn’t mean it happens on a regular basis. Most guys aren’t patient at the best of times.”

  “Jesus, Poppy, you’re talking as if it takes three hours.”

  “Well…”

  I reach out my spoon and steal a Malteser from the top of her sundae. She notices, but doesn’t say anything. “Let’s put it this way,” I say. “How long does it take you to achieve an orgasm when you’re on your own?”

  That shocks her. She stares at me, her mouth open, and a touch of color appears in her cheeks. “I… um…”

  She seemed to like me being open, but maybe I was a little frank there. “My point is,” I add a bit more gently, “I’m guessing it’s not three hours. Ten, twenty minutes? Sometimes less, sometimes more? If you communicate what you like and what turns you on, why should it be any different with the man in your life?”

  Even as I say it, one word jumps out at me. Communicate. The very thing she struggles with. Maybe Daniel, and the other guys she’s been with, never asked her what she liked. Or maybe they did and she couldn’t bring herself to tell them, or perhaps she doesn’t even know how to put it into words. I’ve always assumed that all modern women are confident and knowledgeable about their bodies—certainly the ones I’ve been with have been. But of course not everyone is going to be like that. I read a survey a few years ago that stated over eighty percent of men and over sixty percent of women were unable to identify the vagina on a medical illustration of the female reproductive tract. I don’t think Poppy is quite that bad, but it’s clear that not everyone is au fait with every element of sex.

  “So okay,” I tell her, my heart aching for her, “as well as getting you pregnant, this is going to be an adventure. A training session, if you will. We’re good friends, and we can talk, can’t we? You’ll be able to explain to me what you like, and I’ll be able to show you how enjoyable sex can be when it’s done right.”

  She sucks more ice cream off her spoon. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

  “It’s not rocket science, that’s all. Don’t you ever talk to the other girls about sex? Nix and Remy and Izzy?”

  She shakes her head.

  “You should. I’m sure they’d put you straight.”

  She scrapes at the bottom of her glass. “You were right. This is a very good sundae.”

  I give in, knowing she’s not going to believe anything I say until she can verify it for herself. “You’ll think about it, anyway?”

  She nods and pushes her glass away. “I will.” She swigs the last of her beer and wipes her mouth, watching me finishing my sundae. I offer her the last Malteser on my spoon. She studies it somewhat wryly, meets my eyes, then leans forward and takes it off the spoon. I try not to think of other places her lips might close around, and give a silent sigh.

  “Thank you,” she says. I’m not sure if she’s thanking me for the Malteser or our talk.

  “You’re welcome.”


  “I appreciate you trying to help me, even if it is in a different way from what I was planning.”

  “I do want to help, I swear.”

  “Yes. Because your offer is purely altruistic.”

  “Of course it isn’t. I’ll thoroughly enjoy impregnating you.”

  We both laugh and get to our feet, pay the bill, then head back to our cars. We pause by hers, looking down the beach, where the kids who were playing cricket are now jumping about in the waves.

  “Do you want a boy or a girl?” I ask her.

  “Don’t tell me… You’ve discovered a way to choose the sex of your baby by using a particular position.”

  That makes me laugh, and she joins in, nudging me with her elbow.

  “I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” I ask. When she nods, I bend and kiss her cheek. “Have a good evening.”

  I get in my car, watching her get in hers, then follow her down the road until I turn off for my apartment. She gives me a wave, then continues along the road to Opua, where she has a big house on a hill overlooking the bay. I’m not poor by any means, but I don’t have anywhere near the kind of money the Kings have.

  I’m glad that Izzy is married to Hal now. She’ll never want for anything, money or love. But it shows you how money doesn’t buy everything. Poppy has more money than she could ever spend, but it really can’t buy you love.

  Chapter Five

  Poppy

  I rock the baby boy in my arms, tenderness filling me at the sight of his button nose, his long lashes, and his flushed cheeks.

  “He’s so gorgeous,” I tell his mother, Abby. “You’re so lucky.”

  “I know. He takes after Noah.”

  She smiles, and I smile back. It’s such a lovely thing to say. Ethan is Noah’s baby in every way except blood. He even delivered him. I still can’t believe that. I’d have been frightened witless if a friend went into labor, but even though Noah’s wife had died in childbirth, along with the baby, Noah stayed by Abby’s side until the baby was born.

  They’re getting married at Christmas. Noah’s agoraphobia has been so much better that he’s said he’s going to fly everyone somewhere exotic for the wedding.

  “Any idea where the wedding is going to be, yet?” I ask Abby.

  She shakes her head. “We’re still thinking about it. I worry a little that when it’s time to get on the plane, he’s going to freeze, but he seems confident he’ll be okay, and he’s certainly been better lately.”

  “You’ve been good for him,” I tell her. “He’s so happy right now.”

  “Aw.” She stretches out her legs and sips her tea. “Yeah, I have to admit, life could be a lot worse.”

  We’re in the conservatory at Noah’s house, looking out over the Bay of Islands. It’s a bright, blustery spring day, and their two German Shepherds are lying on the deck, enjoying the warm breeze.

  I’ve been coming over a lot since Abby had the baby. I love seeing Ethan, and Abby and I have struck up a friendship, which I’m enjoying. I don’t make friends easily, and I suspect she doesn’t either, so it’s nice for the two of us to have someone to chat to.

  Noah’s working in his office, and Abby has been baking this morning, filling the house with the mouthwatering aroma of sponge cakes. She’s been posting recordings of herself decorating fancy cakes on YouTube, and she already has tons of followers. We’re having a slice of one of the cakes now with our coffee—a jam-and-cream-filled sponge topped with Disney characters made from fondant icing. She definitely has a talent for it.

  “Have you got something on your mind?” Abby asks. “You seem distracted.”

  I don’t answer for a moment, smiling at Ethan, who has opened his eyes and is looking up at me. He grabs my finger and tries to put it in his mouth and suck it. I laugh and kiss his head.

  “Sort of,” I reply finally. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to Abby about this. I can’t think of anyone else to talk to. My mother would always help me if she could, but this isn’t the type of thing you talk to your mom about. Izzy would have been another option, but she’s in Fiji on her honeymoon with Hal. Nix and Remy are both younger than me, and although they’re both very open, I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with them. My sister is the other option, but although Summer and I are close, I kinda don’t want to admit to her that I have a problem in this area.

  “I wondered whether I could ask you a personal question,” I begin.

  “Of course.” Abby accepts Ethan from me as he starts to grizzle, puts him to the breast, then smiles at me. “Fire away.”

  “It’s a little embarrassing.” I study my hands. “It’s about sex.”

  “Oh, okay! Well, I’m hardly the expert.” She laughs. “Although if Noah has anything to do with it, I will be soon.”

  That makes me chuckle. I love the fact that Noah’s finally getting some after so many years of solitude. “That’s good to hear.” I curl up in the chair and warm my hands on my mug of coffee. “The thing is… I’ve been talking to someone… a guy… and he said something I didn’t believe, but he got me wondering… and I feel I need to ask someone else to find out, because it’s not really the kind of thing you can Google and be sure you’re getting the right answer, you know?”

  “Sort of. I do know that I found it very helpful when Summer was so open with me. I’ve never really had the kind of friends you could talk to about sex, but she made it seem very normal to be able to discuss everything.”

  “Yes,” I agree, “she’s very down to earth.”

  “So what did this guy say to you?” Abby asks. She doesn’t press me to find out who he is yet.

  I take a deep breath. “He seemed to think it was very normal for a woman to achieve an orgasm every time she went to bed with him. I told him she would have been faking it, because I couldn’t believe any guy would bother to bring a woman to climax every time they had sex. But this guy was adamant he was right and I was wrong. I haven’t had that much experience, just four guys over the years, but none of them have ever been interested in foreplay, and I’ve hardly ever climaxed during sex. And I just wondered what you thought.”

  My face has grown warm. Part of me was worried Abby might laugh, but she frowns thoughtfully.

  “I haven’t had that much experience,” she says. “I was with Tom for fourteen years, and before him there were only two other guys, and we were very young, so there wasn’t a lot of foreplay going on.”

  “And with Tom?”

  She hesitates, concentrating on making sure Ethan’s getting his milk. I’m sure she feels awkward talking about her ex, and I half wish I hadn’t brought the topic up.

  But she looks up, and I can see she’s been thinking about what to say. “I read an article in a women’s magazine once,” she says. “It said twenty percent of women seldom have an orgasm, and five percent never have one. I certainly don’t think your experience is isolated. It also said something like seventy-five percent can’t reach orgasm from intercourse alone, and that was certainly my experience. When Tom and I were younger, and we spent a lot of time in bed, things were better, but as the years went by and sex became more perfunctory, he became less concerned with my pleasure, and in the end it was just about him achieving a climax. If I wanted one, I had to organize it myself.” She gives me an amused look.

  I feel some relief at her words—that I’m not alone. “But now?” I ask. “With Noah? Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but…” I can’t explain how important it is for me to understand.

  Her smile turns mischievous. “Oh, things are a lot better with Noah. He’s very unselfish. Maybe it’s because he’s older, and has been alone for a long time. I don’t know. I mean, men aren’t born knowing how to pleasure a woman. We’re complicated creatures and it takes time. They have to want to do it.”

  “But in your experience, some men do?”

  “Oh yes.” She sighs and shifts Ethan to the other breast. “You sound very like me. I never talked about this, eith
er. And then I met Summer, and Nix, and Remy, who are all very open about their love lives, and it was like a revelation. They obviously all have a fulfilling sex life. You can tell from what they say. I think a lot of it depends on the guy, and your relationship with him. If he loves you, and he’s kind and generous, and you’re able to talk, there’s no reason it won’t be amazing.”

  I chew my bottom lip. Marc doesn’t love me, but he is kind and generous. So it’s possible that he was telling the truth? Every time he has sex with a woman, he’s able to give her an orgasm?

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  “So…” Abby draws out the word. “Are you going to tell me who this mystery man is?”

  “Um…” We both smile, then start laughing. “It’s not a thing,” I say. “We’re not dating or anything.”

  “But you’re obviously thinking about it.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  I sigh. “It’s Marc.”

  She looks confused. “Marc who?”

  “Fitzgerald.”

  “Oh, Fitz!” She laughs. “I didn’t know that was his first name.” Her eyes dance. “I see. I’d heard he was interested in you.”

  “He asked me out the night of the cyclone.”

  “Oh, and?”

  “I said no. I don’t want another relationship.”

  I wait for her to argue with me, but her expression just softens, and she says, “I understand. So… why the questions about orgasms, then?”

  I give in and explain it all to her. That I approached him to be a sperm donor, and he told me he’ll only get me pregnant the old-fashioned way.

  She stares at me, trying hard not to laugh, then gives in and giggles. “What a naughty boy.”

  I roll my eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I’d think about it. I don’t know what to do. I’ve told him I’m not interested in a relationship, but he admitted he’s hoping that after we’ve slept together it’ll change everything.”

  “It might,” she points out.

  “It won’t,” I reply. “I won’t let it. But he thinks it will, and it seems unfair to keep him hanging on, hoping.”