My Lonely Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 4)

by Serenity Woods

  I’m relieved to feel Peanut’s kick, but of course that doesn’t mean everything is right with Abby’s pregnancy. I’m betting she’s not been going for her regular checks. And there’s no way Tom would have been bothered to take her to hospital. I can’t imagine him going to prenatal classes with her, either. I have a feeling Abby has been so busy trying to keep her life in one piece with both hands that she’s not had a chance to even think about the birth or what will happen when the baby’s born.

  There are a hundred things I could do to help, but I’m not sure if Abby will want me to do any of them. And after what’s happened to her, the last thing she needs is for me to waltz into her life and start telling her what to do. All I can do right now is be there for her.

  So I lie there, just holding her, trying to lend her my energy and strength, while she sleeps and occasionally twitches, and Peanut twirls around in her womb. I rest a light hand against her bump, feeling the baby moving. I saw my own child after it was born. A perfect girl, ten fingers and toes. At that moment, my heart cracked, and Lisa’s death caused those cracks to spread, and then it shattered completely.

  Peanut knocks against my hand, and my lips curve up in spite of myself. It’s as if he or she is trying to communicate with me. It won’t be long, and it will be in Abby’s arms. Will Tom want anything to do with it? It sounds as if he’s going to turn his back on it. He should pay maintenance, but I can’t see that happening when he owes five grand.

  I wonder if Abby’s responsible for any of the debt. I can only imagine her desperation this morning, when she found out what had happened. How awful to be in that predicament, where you have no choice but to stay.

  I lie there, half dozing myself, enjoying the warmth and Abby in my arms. My phone buzzes a couple of times against my other hip, but I ignore it. Willow wanders in at one point and nuzzles my hand, then goes out again. Spike is asleep in the sunshine, no doubt. I hope Abby can draw some strength from the peace here.

  She finally rouses around ten o’clock. Opening her eyes, she glances around, confused, then sees where she is, and her memory kicks in.

  She pushes up and looks at me. “Oh God,” she says. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A while. It’s nearly ten.”

  She looks horrified. “Noah, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “But you’re busy, you must have things to do, and I—”

  “Abby. It’s okay.”

  She closes her mouth. My arm is still around her, and I rub her back. To my surprise, she leans back against me, resting her cheek on my shoulder.

  “We’re going to sort everything out,” I promise. “But the first priority is you and the baby. I have a doctor who comes to my house if I need him. If I call him and he comes here, would you agree to see him?”

  She lifts her gaze to mine. For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse, but then she gives a small nod.

  “Okay.” It’s a good first step, and I feel relieved. “I’m going to give him a ring. When you feel up to it, come out and we’ll try and get some food in you again, all right?”

  She nods again. I rise, somewhat reluctantly, and head for the door.

  “Noah,” she calls out. I stop and turn. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  I smile and walk down to my office.

  Pulling the door almost to, I quickly check my messages and emails, then dial the number for Brock King. Brock is my uncle, Hal and Jules’s father, and for the last ten years, he’s been my doctor, visiting me at the house on the rare occasion I’ve been unwell.

  He answers within a few rings. “Brock King.”

  “Hey, it’s Noah.”

  “Hey, Noah. I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. Where are you at the moment?”

  “At Matt’s. Why, you need something?” My father lives in Russell, just across the bay. Brock lives in Auckland, but he has a beach house up in the bay, and he often visits my father up here.

  “A favor,” I reply. I tell him about Abby, explaining that she’s a friend, she’s in trouble, and she’s eight months pregnant. “The baby’s moving, but she’s not been eating well, and she’s been distressed. She was very cold when I found her, and I think she’s in shock. I’m worried about their health.”

  I wait for him to ask for more details—how did I meet her, and what’s our relationship? But all he says is, “I’ll leave now. I can pick up a portable ultrasound from the surgery in Paihia. I’ll have to come over on the car ferry, so I’ll be about forty minutes, I guess.”

  My throat tightens with emotion. “Thank you. I ran her a hot bath, and she slept for a while. Is there anything else I can do for her in the meantime?”

  “Something to eat and drink, but don’t force her. Just reassure her. Keep her warm and calm.”

  “Okay.”

  “Noah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re a good lad.”

  I give a short laugh. At forty-two, it’s rare for anyone to call me lad nowadays. “Yeah,” I say. “Proper knight in shining armor, me. Thanks.”

  “No worries. I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up.

  I pocket the phone, go into the kitchen, and open the cupboards. What can I make her? Something warm and comforting… I take out a can of my favorite chicken soup. Worth a try.

  I place it in a container and heat it in the microwave. By the time she comes out, it’s ready, and I pour it into a mug.

  “Hey.” I smile at her. She’s brushed her damp hair and retied it, and she looks calmer, less anxious than she was when she first arrived. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, thank you. Something smells nice.”

  I push the mug over to her. “Chicken soup, if you fancy it.”

  She smiles, picks it up, and sniffs it. “Mm.” She takes a sip, nods, walks down the slope into the living room, and sits on the sofa.

  I take a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge and follow her. She accepts one from me and has a long drink, then continues to sip her soup. I cover her legs with the fleece blanket. She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me with her big brown eyes.

  I walk across to the conservatory, pick up the dogs’ water bowl, and take it to the kitchen tap to refill it. I return it to its spot and toss them both a biscuit, which they crunch happily, lying in the sun. Then I come back to the armchair and sit.

  She puts down her mug and draws up her knees as much as her bump will allow. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I was a little hysterical, I know.” She holds up a hand. “I know you’re going to say it doesn’t matter. But I’d worked myself up into a state, and I know that’s not good for the baby.”

  I don’t say anything, sensing she’s trying to gather her thoughts.

  “To be honest,” she says, looking a little puzzled, “I can barely remember what I said when I got here. I think I blurted out all kinds of things. I feel a little embarrassed about that. It’s not really any of your business, and I am sorry to impose on you.”

  I don’t reply, just continue to study her, and in the end her lips curve up. “Stop looking at me like that,” she scolds.

  “Like what?”

  “With mild exasperation. You don’t owe me anything, Noah.”

  “I know. But I’m a decent human being. If I’d met any woman on the side of the road pregnant and in distress, I’d have helped, and you’re my friend. Anyway, I do owe you. You got me out of the house and walking around the Ark. That doesn’t happen every day of the year, I can assure you.”

  She picks up her mug again and sips her soup, keeping her gaze on me. I lean back, letting her muse, eventually matching her smile.

  “Are you an angel?” she asks eventually.

  I laugh. “My mother would say definitely not.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she says softly.

  I scratch at a mark on my jeans. “I know your experience of men hasn’t been great, but all the g
uys I know are decent men who love their partners, if they have them, and who treat women with respect. I’m nothing special.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she says.

  She’s wrong. But I like that she feels that way, and I don’t argue with her again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Abigail

  I sip my soup, keeping my gaze on Noah, who sits back in his chair, also surveying me with a small smile on his lips.

  I know that what I told him earlier about Tom and my past shocked him. I’d have said he’s quite naïve and has been too isolated up here in his ivory tower, but then I remember that his father committed suicide, as well as both his wife and baby dying, so he’s certainly not lived a blessed life.

  “Why did your father take his own life?” I ask him. It’s a private, sensitive subject, and he has every right to tell me he doesn’t want to talk about it, but because of what’s happened this morning, I think maybe he feels able to discuss it with me.

  “He suffered from severe depression,” he says. “He was struggling with it anyway, and then the Christchurch earthquake happened. He and Mom were right in the center of the city when it hit. They lost their house, and I think the trauma of it all tipped him over the edge.”

  “How… did he…”

  “We were staying with my grandparents—her parents. He cut his wrists in the bath.”

  I touch my fingers to my lips. “Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry.”

  “Mom found him,” he says. “I was eight. I can remember the day quite clearly. It had a profound effect on me. I was quite a rebel in my youth.” He smiles.

  “I can’t imagine that. You seem like the epitome of control and good behavior.”

  He gives a short laugh. “I was very far from that. I was heading toward a very bad ending. But then Mom moved up to the Bay of Islands and met Matt, and he really turned things around for me. Not just because he had money, although that helped, obviously, but because he was willing to listen, and he seemed to understand me. He’d gone through something similar as a youth—his sister died from an asthma attack when she was young, and he had a few tricky years before he pulled things around.”

  He has another swig of water from the bottle in his hands. I watch him swallow, see his throat muscles constrict, watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anyway,” he says, “we need to talk about you, not me.”

  “Do we have to?” I sigh as he tips his head to the side. “I’m being flippant. I know I have to sort myself out. I just don’t know where to start.”

  “Let’s begin here: do you want to go back to Tom? You’re carrying his child. Do you think he might change his ways when the baby’s born? Do you want to try and work things out with him?”

  “No.”

  He gives a short laugh. “You want to think about it?”

  I turn the mug in my hands. “He’s expecting me to run back to him because that’s what I’ve always done. But if I do, I’ll be saying it’s okay to treat me—to treat women—abysmally. And I don’t want to go back to him. I don’t love him anymore.”

  I pause, knowing I can’t say that the reason I feel this way is because Noah has shown me what it’s like to be with a man who treats a girl right. We’re not even dating, and he makes me feel like a princess. How would it feel to belong to this man, to be the one person in his life he turns to? To be loved by him? I can’t even imagine such a scenario, because it’s so outside my realm of experience.

  “But the thing is,” I continue quietly, “at this moment, I have no option. I have nowhere else to go.”

  Noah doesn’t look worried. He looks amused. “Of course you do.”

  “Do you mean a women’s shelter? I suppose I could consider that, but I’m not sure how they’d feel about having a woman so close to giving birth, and—”

  “No, Abby.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and studies me patiently. “You said, ‘All my life, I’ve tried to regain the power that men want to take from me.’ The last thing I want to do is waltz into your life and tell you what to do. But I do want to help you work it out. And if you don’t want to go back to Tom—if you really don’t love him anymore—then we definitely have to find another option.”

  I bite my lip. I can’t see how. With no money and no home, what the hell am I going to do?

  “As I see it, there are two options to begin with,” he says. “The first is that you stay in a hotel or a motel.”

  “I can’t afford that.”

  He gives me an exasperated look. “Jesus, Abby. I’d pay for it, obviously.”

  I stare at him. “What?”

  “Honey, I admire you for wanting to stand on your own two feet. But to be perfectly honest, this isn’t about you. It’s about the baby. You need somewhere safe and secure to have your baby and to look after it. A motel room isn’t exactly ideal, but it’s better than being on the street, or going back to the fucking idiot you’ve walked away from.” He purses his lips. “Sorry, that kinda slipped out.”

  I try not to smile. I feel overwhelmed. He’s offering to pay for me to stay in a motel? “It’s so incredibly kind of you,” I tell him, “but I couldn’t possibly take money off you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I…” I can’t think what to say. He has no idea why that is such a complicated question. “Tom wanted me to ask you for the money to pay off his debt,” I say eventually. “I can’t tell you how horrified I was when he said that. That was when I walked out. The thought of asking you… I wanted to curl up and die with shame.”

  His expression softens. “I understand. But pride is a poor excuse for not doing the best you can for your baby.”

  I’m so confused. My parents had very little money, even though my grandparents—my mother’s parents—were relatively wealthy. I knew my mother refused to ask them for money. It was drummed into me. You make your own way—you don’t beg from other people.

  “It’s just money,” Noah says. “Bits of paper and circles of aluminum and bronze. You don’t think I feel guilty for having more of it than most other people? What have I done to deserve it? It’s one reason I opened the Ark. I wanted to help people, as well as animals. We run a free veterinary service for those on low income. We also give huge amounts to charity.”

  “You don’t have to justify your money to me,” I say, ashamed. “I know all the marvelous things you do. But it’s just so hard to accept charity. Especially…”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Especially what?”

  Especially from you.

  I don’t say it. But I think it.

  Outside, it begins to rain, dashing against the windows. Inside, though, it’s quiet and warm. If I’d still been sitting on that bench, I know I would have started to think that I’d have to go back to the house. There literally would have been no other option. And yet here I am, safe and cared for.

  “Would it have made a difference if I were a woman?” Noah asks.

  The question surprises me so much, I just stare at him. “Um… I don’t know…” But it’s not true. “Yes,” I admit. “Probably.”

  “Are you worried about feeling… what’s the right word… beholden to me? Because I hope you know me well enough to know I’d never take advantage of you.”

  “What a shame.” The words leave my mouth before my brain has a chance to vet them. His eyebrows rise, and I blush furiously. “Shit,” I say. “Fuck. Sorry.” I meet his eyes, and we both start laughing. “I shouldn’t have said that,” I tell him softly. “I mean, I like you, obviously, but…” Dammit. I shouldn’t have said that, either.

  “The feeling is mutual,” he says. “Just so you know. But it’s probably best we sidestep that area for now.”

  My jaw drops. The feeling is mutual? He likes me.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he says, amused. “You must have realized. I assumed that was why you were worried about taking money from me.”

  “No… I… what…” My brain isn’t functioning.

&nbs
p; “I think we’re both out of practice with this,” he says. “I haven’t been with anyone for ten years. I’m a bit rusty when it comes to talking to girls.” He smiles.

  My head’s spinning. Noah likes me in that way. I thought he was just being kind.

  But he’s right, we have to sidestep it for now. That’s not our priority right this minute. God, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

  “There’s another option,” he says. “You could—” He stops and cocks an ear at the same time that the two dogs jump to their feet and start barking. “That’s Brock,” he says, getting to his feet. “We’ll carry on this conversation later.” He walks to the front door.

  I can’t believe I’ve felt so many conflicting emotions in one morning. I have to keep my wits about me. I have to concentrate on my plight and the baby. I can’t go having romantic notions about Noah King.

  For a start, he’s the one man who’s shown me kindness in a long, long time, maybe ever. I absolutely must not mistake my gratitude for romantic feelings. And yet how do I explain the way my heart leaped when he said, “The feeling is mutual… Just so you know.”

  Ultimately, though, it doesn’t change anything. I have to be careful about accepting his help, because… I look out at the rain-covered garden. Why? Why mustn’t I accept his help? He’s right; there’s no way he’d take advantage of me. He’s not going to give me money and then demand I get in his bed. Jesus, of course he isn’t. After what happened to his wife, he’s just desperate to make sure I’m somewhere safe to have and raise the baby.

  Anyway, maybe I could treat the money as a loan. But how would I pay him back? I don’t see how I’m ever going to be able to start up The Mad Batter again, and even if I did, I’d barely cover my costs for a while. Hmm. I’m going to have to think about this.

  And do I want to have a baby in a motel room? My heart sinks at the thought. But what are the options? I go back to Tom?

  “Brought the weather with you, I see,” Noah’s saying, and I turn to see a tall, broad-shouldered guy coming through the doorway, collar turned up against the rain. He has gray hair and is probably in his sixties. With him is a woman, also with gray hair cut into a fashionable long bob. “Thanks for coming,” Noah says as they come in and start removing their coats. “I really appreciate it.”