SNOWED IN WITH THE BILLIONAIRE (11 page)

‘Is that what you do?’

‘A bit. I don’t really do anything any more. I just collate stuff for them and check for research trials and see if I can validate them. Some are a bit sketchy. It’s an interesting field, genetic engineering, and it’s going to be increasingly useful in medicine and agriculture in the future.’

‘Tell me.’

So she talked about her work, about what her professor was doing at the moment, what they’d done, and what she’d been studying for her PhD before she’d had to abandon it.

‘Would you like to finish it?’ he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

‘Of course! But I can’t. I’ve got Josh now. I have other priorities.’

‘But later?’

She shrugged. ‘Later might be too late. Things move on, and what I was researching won’t be relevant any longer. Things move so fast in genetics, so that what wasn’t possible yesterday will be commonplace tomorrow. Take the use of DNA tests, for example. It’s got all sorts of forensic and familial implications that simply couldn’t have been imagined not that long ago, and now it’s just accepted.’

His heart thumped.

‘Familial implications? Things like tracing members of your family?’ he suggested, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

‘Yes. Yes, absolutely. It can be used to prove that people are or aren’t related, it can tell you where in the world you’ve come from, where your distant ancestors came from—using mitochondrial DNA, which our bodies are absolutely rammed with, most Europeans can be traced back down the female line to one of a handful of women if you go back enough thousands of years. It’s incredible.’

But not infallible. Not if you didn’t know enough to start with. And not clever enough to give a match to someone who’d never been tested or had their DNA stored on a relevant database. He knew all about that and its frustrations.

Tell her.

‘So, tell me about this bodega,’ she said, settling back with a slab of fruitcake and a chunk of cheese, and he let the tension ease out of him at the change of subject.

‘The bodega?’

‘Mmm. I’ve decided it’s a rather nice wine. I might have some more when I’ve finished eating. I’m not sure it’d go with cake and cheese.’

‘I’m not sure cake and cheese go together in the first place.’

‘You are joking?’ She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. ‘You’re not joking. Try it.’

She held out the piece of cake with the cheese perched on top, the marks made by her even teeth clear at the edge of the bite, and he leant in and bit off the part her mouth had touched.

He felt something kick in his gut, but then the flavour burst through and he sat back and tried to concentrate on the cake and cheese combo and not the fact that he felt as if he’d indirectly kissed her.

‘Wow. That is actually rather nice.’

She rolled her eyes again. ‘You are so sceptical. It’s like ham and pineapple, and lamb and redcurrant jelly.’

‘Chalk and cheese.’

‘Now you’re just being silly. I thought you liked it?’

‘I do.’ He cut himself a chunk of both and put them together, mostly so he didn’t have to watch her bite off the bit his own teeth had touched.

Hell. How could it be so ridiculously erotic?

‘So—the bodega?’

‘Um. Yeah.’ He groped for his brain and got it into gear again, more or less, and told her all about it—about how he’d been driving along a quiet country road and he’d broken down and a man had stopped to help him.

‘He turned out to be the owner of the bodega. He took me back there and contacted the local garage, and while we waited we got talking, and to cut a long story short I ended up bailing them out.’

‘That was a good day’s business for them.’

He chuckled. ‘It wasn’t a bad one for me. I stumbled on it by accident, I now own thirty per cent, and they’re doing well. They’ve had three good vintages on the trot, I get a regular supply of wine I can trust, and we’re all happy.’

‘And if it’s a bad year?’

‘Then we’ve got the financial resilience to weather it.’

Or he had, she thought. They’d been lucky to find him.

‘Where is it?’ she asked. ‘Does Rioja have to come from a very specific region?’

‘Yes. It’s in northern Spain. They grow a variety of grapes—it’s a region rather than a grape variety, and they use mostly Tempranillo which gives it that lovely softness.’

He opened another bottle, a different vintage, and as he told her about it, about how they made it, the barrels they used, the effect of the climate, he stopped thinking about her mouth and what it would be like to kiss her again, and began to relax and just enjoy her company.

He didn’t normally spend much time like this, and certainly not with anyone as interesting and restful to be with as Georgie. Not nearly enough, he realised. He was too busy, too harassed, too driven by the workload to take time out. And that was a mistake.

Hence why he’d turned off his mobile phone and ignored it for the last twenty-four hours. It was Christmas. He was allowed a day off, and he intended to take advantage of every minute of it. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

He peeled a satsuma from the bowl and threw it to her, and peeled himself another one, then they cracked some nuts and threw the shells in the fire and watched it die down slowly.

It seemed as if neither of them wanted to move, to call it a night, to do anything to disturb the fragile truce, and so they sat there, staring into the fire and talking about safe subjects.

Uncontroversial ones, with no bones of contention, no trigger points, no sore spots, as if by mutual agreement. They talked about his mother’s heart attack, her father’s retirement plans, his plans for the restoration of the walled garden, and gradually the fire died away to ash and it grew chilly in the room.

‘I ought to go up and make sure Josh is all right,’ she said, although the baby monitor was there on the table and hadn’t done more than blink a couple of times, just enough so they knew it was working.

But he didn’t argue, because they were running out of safe topics and it was better to quit while they were winning and before he did something stupid like kiss her.

He got to his feet, gathered up their glasses and put them on the tray with the plates, made sure the fire guard was secure and carried the tray through to the kitchen.

She was getting herself a glass of water, and he put the tray down beside the sink and turned towards her.

‘Got everything you need?’

No, she thought. She needed him, but he wasn’t good for her, and she certainly hadn’t been good for him. Not in the long term. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, and then hesitated.

His eyes were unreadable, but the air was thick with tension. It would have been so natural, so easy to lean in and kiss him goodnight.

So dangerous.

So tempting...

She paused in the doorway and looked back, and he was watching her, his face shuttered.

‘Thank you for today,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s been really lovely. Really lovely. Josh has had a brilliant time, and so’ve I.’

‘Even the kiss?’

She laughed softly. ‘There was never any doubt about your kisses, Sebastian. None at all.’

‘Wrong place, wrong time?’ he suggested, and she shook her head.

‘Wrong time.’

‘And the place?’

‘You can never go back,’ she said simply, and with a sad smile, she closed the door and left him standing there in what should have been their kitchen, gazing after the woman he still loved but knew he’d lost forever.

‘Damn,’ he said softly.

It was a fine time to discover that he still wanted her, that he still loved her, that he should have done more to stop her leaving. But his head had been in the wrong place then, and hers was now.

You should have told her.

He should. But he hadn’t, and now wasn’t the time.

It was too late. She’d moved on, and so had he.

Hadn’t he?

He poured himself another glass of wine and left the kitchen, retreating into his study and the thing that kept him sane. Work. Always work. The one constant in his life.

He turned his phone on, and it beeped at him furiously as the emails and messages came pouring in. Even on Christmas Day. He was obviously not the only workaholic, he thought drily, and then he opened them.

Greetings. Christmas greetings from family, friends, work colleagues.

And he’d meant to contact all of them, and so far had only rung his immediate family.

He’d do it now. He had nothing better to do, either, and it beat lying in bed next to Georgie’s room and listening to the sounds of her getting ready for bed. Although even in his study he could hear her, because she was immediately overhead.

He listened to the sound of water running, the creak of the boards as she crossed the room to the bed. A different creak as she climbed into it and lay down.

He tried to tune it out, but it was impossible, so he put the radio on quietly. Carols from King’s College, Cambridge, flooded the room and drowned out the sound of her movements.

Pity they couldn’t drown out his thoughts...

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘M
UMMY
! M
UMMY
,
WAKE UP!'

She prised her eyes open. Light was leaking round the edges of
the curtains, and it looked—astonishingly—like sunlight. She propped herself up
on one elbow and scraped her hair back out of her eyes.

‘Hello, Mummy!’

He was beaming at her, and she felt her heart melt. ‘Hello,
darling. Are you all right? Did you sleep well?’

He nodded vigorously. He was standing in the cot, bobbing up
and down with unchannelled energy, and he looked bright-eyed and
bushy-tailed.

‘Want Bastian,’ he said. ‘Play in snow.’

The cot rocked wildly, and she sat up and grabbed the edge to
steady it. ‘Let’s get up first, shall we? Nappy, drink, clothes on? Then we’ll
see.’

He nodded and held up his arms, and she lifted him out. He was
warm and he smelled of sleepy baby, and she breathed him in and snuggled him
close for a moment, but he wasn’t having any of it. There was snow outside with
his name on it, and he wanted out.

Now.

She changed his nappy, hesitated for a moment and pulled on his
clothes, then dressed herself quickly, just in case Sebastian was around. That
almost-kiss last night was still tormenting her as it had been all night so she
wasn’t going to tempt fate, but Josh was starving and in a hurry.

Teeth and a quick wash could wait till after breakfast, she
decided, and opened the bedroom door to the wonderful smell of bacon cooking.
And toast, the aromas wafting up the stairs and making her mouth water.

He turned as she went in, frying pan in hand, and smiled at
them. ‘You’re up bright and early.’

‘Well, someone is,’ she said drily, as Josh ran over to
Sebastian and put his arms round his legs, tilting his head back and looking up
pleadingly.

‘Want snow,’ he said, and Sebastian gave a slightly stunned
laugh.

‘Whoa, little fella, it’s a bit early for that. How about some
nice breakfast first?’ He looked across at Georgie. ‘Does he like bacon
sandwiches?’

She laughed. ‘Probably. He’s never had one, but he likes bacon
and he eats sandwiches. And I certainly do.’

His smile was a little twisted, his voice soft. ‘I know.’

Of course he did. They’d had bacon sandwiches for breakfast
every Sunday morning when they’d been together, either at home or in a café. And
he hadn’t forgotten, apparently, any more than she had.

Those dangerous emotions swirled in the air for a moment,
carried, like the memories, on the smell of frying bacon, and she pulled herself
together with an effort.

‘Can I do anything?’ she asked briskly. ‘Make tea? Coffee?’

‘Tea. I’ve had coffee. I’ve been up a couple of hours.’

‘Really?’

She glanced at the old school-style clock on the wall and did a
mild double-take.

‘It’s after eight! When did that happen?’

‘While you were sleeping?’ he said, his eyes gently mocking. ‘I
was about to come up and open the bedroom door when I heard Josh chatting. I
knew you wouldn’t be long if I let the smell of bacon in.’

‘Like one of Pavlov’s dogs?’

‘If the cap fits...’

‘You are so rude.’ She stared at the worktop blankly. ‘What was
I doing?’

‘Making tea?’ he offered, his mouth twitching, and she threw
the tea towel at him and put the kettle on while he moved the bacon to the
slower burner and sliced some bread.

In the time it took her to make the tea and give Josh a drink
of milk, he’d flipped the bacon out onto kitchen paper to drain, cracked some
eggs into a pan and scrambled them while the toast cooked, sliced some tomatoes,
split the toast and made a stack of club sandwiches.

‘He might be happier with bread,’ she said, but Josh reached
out, his little hand opening and closing frantically. ‘Me have Bastian
sandwich,’ he said.

He was getting a serious and rather worrying case of hero
worship, she realised with a sigh, but she shrugged and cut him off a chunk. She
didn’t think he’d eat it, but he did, and demanded more.

‘I’m not sure I’m going to give him any more, this is soooo
good,’ she mumbled through a mouthful, and Sebastian just laughed and handed
Josh the rest of his own.

Just like a father would.

She blinked, sucked in a quiet breath and gave herself a mental
shake. He was
not
Josh’s father, and he wasn’t going
to be his stepfather, or surrogate father, or even a best uncle! He was nobody
to Josh except an old friend of hers who’d rescued them one Christmas, and that
was the way it had to stay if she didn’t want to risk him getting hurt. Hero
worship notwithstanding.

Frankly, he’d lost enough already. And so had she.

‘Right, I’m going out to clear the drive. The snow’s beginning
to soften slightly. It didn’t freeze last night, and with the sun on it the
drive might thaw if I can get most of the snow off it. I wouldn’t be surprised
if they don’t clear the lane tomorrow.’

‘Not today?’ she asked, sort of hopefully, although a part of
her definitely didn’t want it cleared yet.

‘Not on Boxing Day,’ he said. ‘It’s unlikely. They’ll be
clearing the main roads still, making sure the urban areas are safe for the
majority of the population. This lane is incredibly small potatoes in
comparison. It’s probably not even on their to-do list so it might be a local
farmer.’

She nodded slowly. That made sense, and if the farmer had
stock, he might be too busy with them to worry about the lane for days.

And she wasn’t at all sure how that made her feel.

Yes, she was!

She had to get out of here before—well, before it got any
worse. Before Josh’s idolisation of Sebastian got out of proportion. And before
one or other of them cracked big-time and gave into the magnetic tug of
attraction that time didn’t seem to have done anything to weaken. And that meant
being able to get the car out.

‘If you’ve got another shovel, can I give you a hand?’

‘I haven’t, but you can come out and cheerlead if you like. I’m
sure Josh’ll have fun out there playing in the snow, won’t you, Josh? There
aren’t any roses or anything lurking under the snow to hurt him, not near the
drive, so he can’t come to any harm.’

‘Me snow!’ he begged, bouncing up and down beside her, his eyes
pleading, and she gave up the unequal struggle. They didn’t have to stay out
there for long.

‘Teeth first, and then we’ll go outside. OK?’

‘OK!’

He ran off, heading towards the stairs, with Georgie in hot
pursuit, and as they left the kitchen Sebastian found himself smiling.

Why?

Because he was happy?

Because they were coming outside to help him clear the drive,
and he’d get to play with Josh again?

Not to mention Georgie...

Stop it!

They could make a snowman, he thought, dragging his mind back
to the child, and he tracked down a carrot for his nose and two Brussels sprouts
for eyes, then wrapped up warm and went outside to get started.

The snow wasn’t quite as deep as it had been, but there was
still quite enough of it and the first thing he did was cut a path through to
the gates and clear around the bottom of them so they had room to swing
open.

Assuming the mechanism wasn’t frozen solid. It had better not
be, he’d paid enough for them to be restored and the electric openers to be
fitted.

He wouldn’t test them. Not yet, not until the sun had time to
get on them and warm them up a little, but he could clear the rest of the snow
from in front of them.

He’d hardly started when Georgie and Josh arrived. He’d heard
them coming, Josh’s excited chatter reaching him long before Georgie’s mellow
tones.

‘How are you doing?’

‘OK. It’s slow.’

‘Is it OK if we build a snowman?’ she asked.

He straightened up and turned to look at them. Josh was busy
making a snowball, crouched down with his little bottom stuck out and perched on
the snow, and Georgie, bundled up in her coat and gloves, looked so like she had
all those years ago when they’d played in the orchard right here that his heart
tugged.

He pulled out the carrot and sprouts. ‘Great minds think
alike,’ he said with a smile, and handed them to her.

‘What’s that?’ Josh asked, peering at them, the snowball
forgotten.

‘His nose and eyes,’ he said, and got a sceptical look, but
Georgie just laughed, the sound rippling through him like a shock wave.

‘You’ll see, Josh. Now, where shall we build him?’

‘Over there?’ Sebastian suggested, pointing at a piece of
ground he knew was firm and flat, so they went over to it, and she started
rolling up a ball to make the body while he carried on shovelling the drive.

‘Gosh, it’s heavy!’

He turned to watch her. She was shoving it with both hands, and
after a moment her feet slipped and she face-planted into the snow.

He had to laugh.

He couldn’t help it, and nor could Josh, the laughter bubbling
up inside them irresistibly, but then he relented and went over and held out a
hand, hauling her to her feet.

Her eyes were laughing, even though she was pretending to be
cross with them, and she brushed herself off and straightened, just inches from
him. There was a trickle of melting snow on her cheek, and he wiped it gently
away with his thumb.

Their eyes met and locked, and for a moment time seemed
suspended. Then Josh floundered over to them, and the spell was broken, and he
breathed again.

‘Need a hand with your snowman?’ he asked.

‘I never turn down muscle when it’s offered,’ she said, and he
chuckled.

‘I take it that’s a yes,’ he said and, abandoning the shovel,
he joined in the fun.

* * *

‘There!’

He’d rolled up a smaller ball for the head, heaved it on top of
the body and set it in a little hollow so it didn’t rock off, and she’d pushed
in the carrot and sprouts to make his face and found a stick for a pipe.

They were standing back to admire their handiwork, and Georgie
frowned.

‘He needs a scarf,’ she said, and he shrugged and unravelled
the scarf from round his neck.

She blinked. ‘I can’t use that,’ she said, sounding
scandalised. ‘It’s a really nice one. It feels like cashmere.’

He shrugged again. ‘It’s fine.’

It meant he wouldn’t have one until the snow went, but that
didn’t matter. He could rescue it then, and it could be washed. Even if it got
ruined, which it probably would, he realised he didn’t care.

Didn’t care at all, because Josh was giggling and having a
brilliant time, and that was all that mattered.

But then the brilliant time came to an end. His fingers were
cold, his nose was bright red and he was hungry, and Georgie took him back
inside, leaving Sebastian to his shovelling.

He studied the drive, assessing the task.

Monumental, really. He would be there all day, but it needed
doing, and the hard physical exertion was a distraction from his thoughts.

It worked well, until he had to stop for a while, straightening
up with a groan and shoving his hands in the small of his back and arching it
out straight.

‘Ouch.’ Clearly not as fit as he imagined he was.

He turned to look at the snowman, and found himself
smiling.

His eyes weren’t on the same level, his nose was bent, his head
wasn’t quite in the middle, but the scarf looked good.

He gave a wry huff of laughter. So it should, but it had been
worth it just to see the little boy’s face. And Georgie’s.

He felt a wash of emotion that he didn’t really want to
analyse. It felt curiously like happy families, and it felt good, and that
wasn’t a great idea. Not at all.

Damn.
It’s not going to happen.
Don’t go there.

He went back to the shovelling, working until the burning in
his back muscles forced him to stop. He creaked up straight, studied the drive
again and shrugged.

The gates had opened when he’d tested them, and the area beyond
the gates was cleared, as was the drive for the first thirty or so feet. His car
would get through the uncleared bit if he took it steady. All he needed now was
for the farmer to come and clear the lane, and he was home free.

Or, rather, she would be.

He ignored the stab of something that he didn’t want to think
about, and headed inside into the warm. Not that his body was cold, but his nose
and ears were a bit chilly and his hands were cold where the gloves had got
soaked making the snowman.

With any luck, he thought as he kicked off his boots, Georgie
and Josh would be in the little sitting room and he could go straight into his
study and distract himself in there.

They weren’t. They were in the kitchen, Josh playing on the
floor with a little car, and the air was full of the aroma of freshly brewed
coffee.

She walked over to the boot room door and leant on the frame
with a smile. ‘You’ve saved me a journey,’ she said. ‘I was just about to bring
you a drink.’

‘I’m done. My back aches and I’ve cleared enough.’

She tsked under her breath. ‘I knew you’d do too much. Where
does it hurt? Do you want me to rub it for you?’

He gave her an incredulous look. ‘I don’t think that’s a good
idea.’

‘But you’re hurting.’

He sighed softly and met her eyes, his dark with all manner of
nameless emotions that made her heart lurch in her chest. ‘Let me put it in
words of one syllable,’ he said slowly. ‘I am trying—’

‘That’s two,’ she said, trying to lighten the stifling
atmosphere.

He rolled his eyes. ‘OK,’ he said, his voice ultrasoft so Josh
wouldn’t hear. ‘I. Need. To. Keep. My. Hands. Off. You. And. If. You. Touch. Me.
That. Will. Not. Help!’

And without waiting for her to make some sassy reply, he cupped
her shoulders in his hands, moved her out of his way and forced himself to walk
away from temptation.