My Wounded Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 5)

by Serenity Woods

  I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. Am I using him, or is he using me? I suppose it’s both. And we’re both getting what we want out of it.

  I don’t want to think of it like that. It sounds cold and clinical, and I don’t want it to be like that. This is fun, and at the end he’ll get his money, he’ll have satisfied his curiosity where I’m concerned, and I’ll hopefully be pregnant. Everyone will be happy.

  He sticks his head out of the door, his face half-covered in shaving foam. “Shower’s hot.”

  My eyebrows rise. “What?”

  “Seems a shame to waste the water. Come on.” He disappears again.

  He wants me to shower with him?

  I think of that rock-hard body, his bulging biceps, all shiny from the water, and pull a pillow over my face. He’s trying to kill me. I’m literally going to die from lust.

  “Poppy!” he yells.

  “All right. Keep your panties on.” I get up, still grumbling, and go into the bathroom. Then I stop and stare at him. He’s standing in front of the mirror, naked, halfway through shaving. It’s such a masculine picture, I’m tempted to take a photo and turn it into a poster for my wall.

  He glances at me as I enter and meets my eyes, the razor pausing on his cheek. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I swallow and glance at the toilet. “I need to pee.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I’m not peeing with you in the room.”

  He laughs and draws the razor up his throat. “After what we’ve just done?”

  “Marc!”

  He sighs and rinses the razor. “Hold on a sec.” He finishes the last few strokes, splashes his face with cold water, and dries it on a towel as he goes out, giving me a wry look on the way.

  I pee as quickly as I can, flush, then call him back in. He tosses the towel aside, takes my hand, and leads me into the shower cubicle. Ooh, it’s tiny. We have to squidge up together so he can close the door.

  The hot water pours over us, and the cubicle is filled with steam. Marc dips his head beneath the spray, soaking his hair. The water runs down his neck and over his chest. His muscles look like polished wood that’s been out in the rain. He’s soooo sexy.

  He runs a hand through his hair, drawing it back off his face.

  “It needs cutting,” I tell him.

  “I know. Can’t be arsed.” He turns so I’m under the shower. “Tip your head back.”

  I do as he says, letting the water soak my hair. He tips some shampoo onto his hand, then sinks it into my hair and gently massages it, his fingers grazing my scalp. Mmm, that feels good.

  “I love your hair,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands down the strands. “It’s such a beautiful color.”

  “I hated it when I was younger,” I say. “Nobody else in my family is ginger, and I always stood out like a sore thumb.”

  “Where does it come from, then? A grandparent?”

  “Yes, Mom’s mom, apparently, although she’s gray now.”

  “You don’t have any gray in yours,” he says, rinsing the suds out.

  “I do. A few strands. I’m getting old.”

  “Hardly,” he scoffs. “Conditioner?”

  “Please.”

  “Turn around.”

  I turn so my back is to him, and he pours some on his hands and smooths it through my hair. While he does it, he bends and places a kiss on my shoulder. Then another on my neck. I sigh.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t do anything untoward.”

  “It wasn’t a complaint.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He reaches for the shower gel, pours some onto the puff, then places it on my shoulder. Slowly, he soaps me, washing down my back and over my hips. “Hands on the tiles,” he instructs.

  I lift my hands and lean on the tiles in front of me. He washes around my waist and up to my breasts, using slow circles, although he avoids my nipples. It doesn’t matter though; it’s still sensual, still sexy. It’s the way he’s looking at me, I think, his gaze following his hands, studying and admiring. He makes me glow.

  “Turn back,” he says eventually. I face him, and he proceeds to wash down me, sliding the puff between my legs with a sexy smile, then continuing down my thighs and calves before he straightens and hands me the puff. “Your turn.”

  Ooh, I get a turn? First, I wash his hair, smiling as it curls around my fingers, then I pour some more shower gel onto the puff, place it on his chest, and start washing him. All across his pecs, down to his abs, my fingers following, tracing the line of his muscles. By the time I get to his crotch, he has a slight erection. He gives me a shrug that says, What are you gonna do? I chuckle and wash around it, then twirl my finger in the air to ask him to turn. He rotates and leans on the glass. Now I get to do his back. I wash across his broad shoulders, over his shoulder blades, and down his spine. And then I stop.

  I’d completely forgotten about his accident.

  Running down the bottom of his spine like a zip is a long scar. Surgeons have cut into him here, and I remember him saying he has titanium plates screwed into the bone. There are another two scars on his right hip, deep scars, maybe where they took bone grafts, and a variety of other scars, turned a light pink with age.

  “Oh, Marc,” I say, running my fingers lightly over them.

  “Quite the Frankenstein’s monster,” he replies, his head dipped.

  “It’s amazing,” I tell him, breathless with wonder. “To think what they can do.”

  “I guess.” He turns his head, although he doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through it. I wish I could have been there for you.” I can’t bear to think of the pain he must have been in. How difficult it must have been to get walking again.

  I move up close to him, slide my arms around his waist, and rest my cheek on his back.

  He lowers one hand and rests it over mine for a moment, and then he turns and wraps his arms around me. Surprised, I hug him tightly, sensing he needs the comfort, and we stay like that for a long time, the hot water pouring over us, steam curling up into the air. Eventually, he slides a hand under my chin, and lifts it so I’m looking into his eyes. Then he lowers his head and kisses me. It’s a sweet kiss, just a press of his lips to mine, but for some reason my eyes prick with tears.

  “Come here,” he says, his husky voice suggesting he’s not untouched by the moment. He turns me so I’m under the hot water again and rinses the conditioner out of my hair. Then he switches off the hot water, and we go out and dry ourselves off.

  Marc doesn’t speak again, and eventually he goes out and starts getting dressed. I stay in and comb my hair, studying my reflection while I do and thinking about how he held me. Something I said got to him. What did I say? I’m so sorry you had to go through it. I wish I could have been there for you. Maybe it made him think about Mel, and how things went wrong between them. It must have been so hard for him, having her pull away at the time he needed her the most.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever really thought about the “in sickness and in health” part of marriage vows, and it makes me think about my relationship with Daniel while I get ready. If you can call it a relationship. It’s only now I realize what little depth it had. We led separate lives, and even though he left his wife for a while, it didn’t really change anything between us. We were like strangers living in the same house while he stayed with me. There was no intimacy, no real affection. All along, I thought the problem was with me, but for the first time I think maybe it was Daniel who was the cold one. I think he left his wife because he could boast to his friends that he was dating a younger woman, and he thought it would be exciting, but in reality we didn’t connect at all. Even though I’ve only had a few hours with Marc, I feel closer to him than I did with Daniel, who lived with me for six months. How strange. I just didn’t realize at the time.

  I put on some makeup, and by the time I go into the bedroom, Marc is dressed, the bed is made, and he’s sitting
back against the pillow, legs crossed at the ankles, reading on his phone.

  He glances up as I come out and lowers the phone, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches me get dressed. A small smile plays on his lips as I pull on my panties and do up my bra. I don’t say anything either, conscious he enjoys watching me. Instead, I pull on my jeans and sweater, then stand in front of the mirror and start drying my hair with the hairdryer.

  I wonder if he still loves Mel, or if what she did destroyed any affection he had for her. The thought plays on my mind, and when I eventually finish my hair and start trying to wrangle it into a ponytail, I say to him, “Do you miss Mel?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  I shrug, wrapping an elastic around the strands that fight hard to escape. “Just wondered.”

  He gets up then, comes over, turns me to face him, and slides his arms around me.

  “No,” he says, just the one word, very Marc. And then he kisses me again.

  When he eventually pulls back, I say, “I didn’t expect this while we were away.”

  He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Expect what?”

  “All this kissing.”

  He chuckles. “You don’t like kissing?”

  “I didn’t say that. I thought we would be more… businesslike.” I honestly thought we’d meet in the evenings, have sex, and that would be the extent of our connection.

  He holds my chin and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “I’m very conscious of our arrangement,” he says softly. “I know what you require from me, and I’m happy to supply it. The kissing’s extra.” He gives me an amused look, bends and picks up his phone, and leaves the room.

  I pout and pick up my purse. The kissing’s extra. I should have written out a contract and gotten him to sign it, forcing him to stick to the terms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fitz

  We eat our breakfast outside, sipping our coffee while seagulls swoop overhead and the sea crashes on the rocks.

  Poppy sits under an umbrella, presumably worried about catching the sun. I’m wearing sunglasses, so I’m able to study her without her knowing. She reads off her phone while she crunches her toast, scooping up loose crumbs off her lip with her finger into her mouth. Her hair is struggling to remain bound by the elastic, and loose strands lift around her face in the early morning breeze.

  I’m tempted to take the band from her hair, strip off all her clothes, and make love to her out here, on the patch of grass around the lighthouse. I can’t believe I’m hot for her again when it’s been less than an hour since we’ve had sex. But I am. I don’t know why I find her so sexy. I think maybe it’s her naivety, the way she’s surprised by everything I do. It’s as if I’ve taken her to Disneyland, and she’s walking around permanently dazed by all the bright lights and colors.

  “Stop staring at me,” she says without looking up.

  “How can you tell? I’m wearing sunglasses.”

  “I can feel your eyes on me like lasers.”

  I chuckle and return my gaze to my phone. “Sorry. You look luscious sitting there, that’s all.”

  “Hardly,” she says, running a hand over her hair. “It’s gone all flyaway this morning. I should have braided it.”

  I pull up a picture on my phone of Jack wearing a wig with ginger braids, and show it to her. “Like this?”

  She bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, poor Jack! Did you do that to him?”

  “It was Halloween. He wanted to join in.”

  “Aw, the poor pup. Are you missing him?”

  “I am, actually. It’s funny not having him under my feet all the time. Mind you, I’ve been a bit busy to notice.”

  She gives me a wry look and returns to her phone. “Not my fault if you can’t keep it in your pants.”

  “You can’t blame it. It’s like a lion that’s escaped from the zoo after years of captivity.”

  She laughs, and I smile. My work here is done.

  “Shall we get going soon?” I ask her, and she nods and finishes off her toast.

  “I’ll drop you off,” she says, “and then I’m heading over to the petting farm on the other side of Hastings. I’ll be back mid-afternoon, probably.”

  “Okay.”

  We take the breakfast things in and wash up, gather our stuff, and go to the car. Soon we’re heading toward the Ark.

  Poppy’s driving today, which gives me free rein to look out of the window and admire the landscape. It’s almost as beautiful as in the Bay of Islands—almost, but not quite. Although I spent a few years here, I much prefer it up in the bay. I suppose memories of that time don’t help.

  “Penny for them,” Poppy says.

  I sigh. “I was thinking about last time I was in Hawke’s Bay.”

  “About Mel?”

  “Yes and no. I remember it as being a dark time, despite the fact that I was engaged to Mel. The more I think about it, the more I’m not surprised she canceled the wedding. I was so angry during that time. Not at her, but resentful that my career had been cut short, and frustrated that I’d lost my physicality. It was important to me at the time—all the sport. I used to run for an hour every morning.”

  “That’s keen.”

  “Yeah. I was pretty fit.”

  “You still are,” Poppy says. “You keep yourself in good shape. Do you still run?”

  I like her throwaway compliment. “Yes, but slower, and not for as long. And I do weights to keep the muscle tone up. It’s not the same though.”

  “No, I get that. But then you wouldn’t have been able to maintain that level of fitness into your thirties, I wouldn’t have thought. As we age, we become more prone to injuries, less bouncy. It takes more work to keep up that level of fitness.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you resent getting older?” she asks. “Are you going to buy a red sports car and have affairs with women half your age when you get into your forties?”

  That makes me laugh. “I don’t think so. I guess I just thought I’d be somewhere different by now.”

  She glances over at me. “Married and with kids?”

  “Maybe. And perhaps a captain or a major in the Army, eventually. I’d have liked that.”

  “I can call you sir, if it would help.”

  I glance over at her. She raises her eyebrows.

  “Don’t tempt me,” I tell her.

  She smiles. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came out of the Army. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise. And then we wouldn’t be having all this fun.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” For a fleeting moment, I think about the fact that, if all goes according to plan, she’ll be pregnant, and then the fun will be over. But what’s the point in worrying about tomorrow and not enjoying today? Carpe Diem, Fitz.

  She takes the turnoff for the Ark and stops outside the main building. “Okay,” she says, “I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure.” I hesitate and meet her green eyes. I want to lean forward and kiss her. But she’s not my wife, and she’s not my girlfriend. I don’t know what she is. The thought makes me uncomfortable. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I give her a brief smile, then get out of the car and watch her drive away.

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, put her out of my mind, and go into the main building.

  *

  I’m relatively successful at not thinking about her for a good part of the day. Ashton keeps me busy, and there’s lots to do. In the morning, we walk around the site, talking about the plans for the rest of the buildings, and I tell him about some of the issues we had with drainage runoff and laying pipes, and how we overcame those problems. We go over the plans together, spreading them out in his brand-new conference room, on the floor because he doesn’t have any furniture yet. And we talk about sourcing materials and building contractors, amenities, and the cost of actually getting the place up and running. Ashton’s around my age and we get on well, so the morning pass
es quickly.

  By one o’clock, we’re both ready for a break. We order a beer and a sandwich at a bar five minutes down the road and sit outside, in the shade. We’re not far from the river, and as the waitress delivers our food, a Labrador comes bounding past us, soaked through where he’s obviously been for a swim.

  “That’s Sandy,” Ashton explains. “He belongs to Terry, the bartender. He’s always in the river.”

  I chuckle. “My Jack Russell hates water. When it’s bath time, he makes a right fuss.”

  Ashton grins and has a long swallow of his beer, then takes a bite of his sandwich. “Terry’s wife jokes that Sandy’s half dog, half dolphin. I’ve seen the dog leap into the water from the bank. Mel gives him scores as if he’s in the Olympics.”

  My heart judders to a stop. I have a mouthful of sandwich, and for a moment I’m worried I’m going to choke. I take a sip of beer and force myself to chew a few more times before I swallow. “Mel?” I ask as casually as I can.

  “Yeah,” Ashton replies. “Do you know her?”

  “I don’t know, possibly.” We used to live in Napier, but Hastings isn’t far away, so it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that she moved here. There must be lots of Mels in Hawke’s Bay, though. “What’s her name short for?” I cross my fingers that he’ll say Melanie.

  “Carmella, I think,” Ashton says. “Unusual, isn’t it? Like in The Sopranos, although I don’t think she’s Italian.”

  “How long have they been married?” My hand is shaking, and I cover it by having a swig of beer.

  “Not sure, four, five years? They’ve got a couple of kids, and the oldest is about four, I think. How do you know her?”

  “Oh, we were friends a long time ago.” I want to leave, but I can’t without it looking weird. I force myself to eat my sandwich. I didn’t see her in the bar when we went in to order, so she’s probably out. “Anyway,” I say to change the subject, “I wonder how Poppy’s getting on at the petting farm?”

  “Yeah, I’m looking forward to having a chat to her this afternoon,” Ashton replies. “She obviously knows her stuff. She’s pretty gorgeous, too. I was thinking about asking her out for a drink tonight.”