Taming the Tycoon (13 page)

He didn’t like to need anyone as much as he seemed to need her.

“I want to see you tonight,” he said, tight-lipped. He hated how it came out, all Cro-Magnon man, but God help him, her cheeks were flushed and her nipples were still erect and with the sun shining in through the glass behind her, he could practically see straight through her sexy white dress.

Addie nodded. “Sure.”

Her easy acquiescence made him feel even lousier. “It’ll be late,” he warned. “I have some catching up to do and an overseas conference call that will probably go for a couple of hours.”

She moved then, and he tensed, knowing if she came anywhere near him right now, he’d clear that table and be damned who was watching. She moved to her bag instead and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Come anytime,” she said, producing a key after delving around for a bit. She held it out to him. “
Mi casa es su casa
.”

Nathaniel took another shot of his beer before taking the key from her fingers, being careful not to touch her at all.

…

Addie waited up until ten o’clock, then went to bed, telling herself she wasn’t disappointed he hadn’t shown. She thought he’d had a good time at lunch even if he did rush off the second his foot stepped out of the capsule, quickly hailing a cab, but again, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing with him. She was just winging it. She sure as hell hadn’t planned to give a bunch of schoolchildren an early sex education lesson. But as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, cocooned in her boat, she realized that she was giving him moments—memories—to connect him with his city. So that when her job was done, he’d look at the places they’d been differently. Not just as another anonymous landmark in this big tourist playground but a trigger for a memory.

And if that meant a sexy memory, a moment where they forgot the world around them and went a little crazy or drinking a beer to help loosen him up a bit, then so be it.

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when an arm snaked around her waist and Nathaniel’s warm, spicy male aroma wrapped around her. He pulled her into his big, hard, naked body.

“Hmm,” she murmured squirming against his heat and hardness. “I didn’t think you were going to show.”

His lips were near her ear and his, “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away,” caused everything to tighten inside her. The flat of his palm running from her belly to her breasts even more so.

She half turned to the urgent demand of his hands and the seeking of his mouth.

“What’s the time?” she murmured against his mouth.

“Time to come,” he said, and then she couldn’t talk any more as his lips plundered her mouth and then moved lower as his hands trailed downward, stroking her belly and her thighs. Heat and moisture pooled at her center as a delicious pressure built and built until she was clinging to him and begging him for release.

…

Nathaniel admired the view of Addie in a T-shirt and her underwear the next morning as she stood at the kitchen bench, beating some organic eggs. He felt overdressed by comparison in his trousers and shirt from last night, his jacket slung over his arm.

He sauntered over to her, smoothing his hands around her waist and kissing her neck. She turned in his arms, stood on tippy toe, and placed her lips on his, all in one movement. She moaned her appreciation against his mouth as she pulled away.

“Hmm,” she said, one set of fingers playing with his open collar, the other rubbing along his stubbly jawline. “I like this whole casual look you’ve got going on. I especially like it when you don’t shave.”

Nathaniel gave her a quick, hard kiss, only pulling back when he felt his body stirring. He had to get to work.

He also needed a shave.

“Please tell me coffee isn’t one of the things you gave up.”

“I’m afraid so,” Addie said, turning back to her job. “But I still keep some instant for visitors. Jug is boiled, coffee in the pantry, milk in the fridge.” She pulled open the cupboard near her head and handed him a mug. “You want an omelet?”

“Only if you have bacon,” he said with a grin as he located the coffee jar.

Addie groaned. “Please don’t talk about bacon. It’s been three years but I still miss it. A tofu omelet just isn’t the same.”

Nathaniel pulled a face. “Not by a long shot.”

“Hey,” Addie protested as she chopped up some chives. “You liked it in the curry yesterday.”

“Sure,” he said as he opened the fridge. “But I still prefer bacon.”

He reached for the milk and shut the door. His gaze fell on the items she had clipped with magnetic flowers to the outside. A couple of receipts, a Thames tide table, some magnetic poetry words, and a photo.

He pulled it off to look more closely. A very pale, very skinny, bald woman stared back at him with dark smudges under her big gray eyes. She had a tube in her nose, her lips were dry and cracked, her shirt had slipped off her bony shoulder, and he could see she had some kind of drip line running in under the skin just below her coat-hanger collarbone.

She wasn’t smiling. She was just looking at the camera as if even breathing took a monumental effort.

His gut felt like someone had shoved a red, hot poker right into the middle of it. “This is you?”

Addie looked up from her chopping. She went very still as she nodded. “It was the day after I came out of intensive care.”

Nathaniel felt ill just looking at it. The woman in the picture was Addie. Not the vibrant, infuriating pain in the butt who stood before him right now, but a ravaged ghost.

He didn’t know what to say. “Jesus, Addie. You look—it’s—why do you keep it?” It was a graphic photo that was almost too painful to look at, and yet she had it in a place of pride on her fridge. His hand shook as he stared at it. What if she got sick again like this? Hadn’t she said she wasn’t in the clear just yet? “Doesn’t it bring back awful memories?”

Addie shrugged. “I keep it so I remember every day how lucky I am. How fragile life is. And every time my parents ring to harangue me about getting a proper job and a proper place to live, or some headhunter drops by or rings offering me the world on a platter, I look at it and know what’s really important.”

Nathaniel looked back down at the photo. He wanted to drop it on the floor and turn on his heel and get the hell out of there. Addie had been through something he could never understand and her insights into life were unsettling. He’d chosen his path and he didn’t want or need it questioned.

By her.
Or
himself.

His gaze snagged on the vibrant red rose lying on her lap. It was a splash of color that only seemed to emphasize Addie’s deathly pallor. “Is the rose from the garden?”

Addie nodded. “Penny picked me one every day so I could stay connected with the world outside.”

Nathaniel felt as if she’d slugged him. His decision to bulldoze the garden had been quick and easy—uncomplicated—a few months ago. It was vital to his plans for the development and crucial for his end goal. Now with this picture in his hand it seemed very complicated indeed.

He looked at her. “There are other gardens in London, Addie.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

“Not like this, Nate. It’s unique. Special. And not just to me. To generations of patients who needed that splash of color in their lives. Never underestimate the power of nature.”

Her voice was low with conviction and he felt completely out of his depth. Luckily, his phone saved him and it was a relief to answer it, to stop looking at the photo, to stop thinking about her being like this again.

It was Margaret. “I think you need to turn your television on, sir.”

“What? Why?” He put his hand over the receiver and said to Addie. “Do you have a television?”

Addie pointed behind him and he whirled around, striding toward it. “What channel?” he asked.

“Four.”

Nathaniel picked the remote up off the top and flicked a few buttons until the Channel Four news took up the screen. A huge, bearded, gray-haired guy in biker leathers was standing in the St. Agnes’s rose garden surrounded by a gaggle of press. He was talking about the vision of the Virgin Mother that had appeared to him in the garden last night.

Nathaniel blinked at the television before turning to face Addie, whose mouth had broken into a goofy grin.

“Margaret,” he said, his gaze firmly trained on Addie.

“Yes, sir, I know. I’ve already called your lawyer.”

“Thank you,” he said, then hung up. “Did you know about this?” he demanded.

He could see Addie was trying to rein in her enjoyment. “I had no idea Dave was so—”

“Good at acting?” Nathaniel suggested.

“Religious.”

Nathaniel could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. This stunt was going to put the whole project back by precious weeks. Was it too much to ask for things to go according to plan? He wasn’t clubbing baby seals, for crying out loud. It was one lousy garden in a city renowned for its green spaces.

The photo in his hand mocked him and he placed it back under its magnet on the fridge.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

He shoved his hands on his hips. “Will I wake up tomorrow to find some rare butterfly or bug has been discovered in the garden? Maybe a lost species of Welsh tree frog that can only eat the petals of two-hundred-year-old roses?”

Addie’s grin broke free again. “Ooh, good idea.”

Nathaniel failed to see the humor in the situation. “I have to go,” he said, the muscles in his neck and jaw tightening like piano wire. “I have a mess to sort out.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, just turned and left, shrugging into his jacket he went.

…

The next few days Nathaniel bombarded her with more flowers. She protested they were unnecessary but they still arrived every day. She could only assume this was his usual
modus operandi
with women he dated—not that they were dating—and like everything else in his life, he didn’t deviate from the script.

If he had any clue about her at all, he’d realize that big splashy floral arrangements meant very little to her. Sure, they were beautiful and smelled divine, but she doubted he was personally organizing them and that’s what mattered most to women.

Well, to her, anyway.

A single hand-picked rose was more her style.

Like the one in the photo on her fridge. The photo that had shaken Nathaniel. She’d watched him as he’d looked at it and she could see it had affected him. His blue gaze had clouded, his fingers had trembled.

It was a pretty grim image, she knew that, but for someone who seemed hell-bent on forging a particular path, his reaction had surprised her. Maybe she should have pushed him a bit more on the rose garden then and there—he’d given her the perfect opportunity, but she didn’t want to risk driving him away altogether.

She was just beginning her campaign.

The photo spoke for itself and if it discomfited Nathaniel, then hopefully the image would slowly erode his determination and bring him around to her way of thinking.

She hoped she was already making some headway. She’d spent three lunch hours dragging him onto the open-topped red double-decker bus tours at a different location each time, and although he always tried to fob her off, he seemed to relax a little more each time. They didn’t get off at any of the stops—it wasn’t about that. The weather was still glorious, the commentary was lively, and the wind was in their hair.

And the sex? Well, that was nothing short of mind blowing, and if part of her was uncomfortable with how easily she’d let him into her bed and how accommodating she was being, she ignored it. If being with him every night helped her make inroads, she was going to take it. He was starting to unwind around her and that had to be conducive to opening a meaningful dialogue.

And quite simply, she couldn’t get enough of him.

…

Nathaniel prowled around his office at five o’clock on Friday afternoon. He’d just finished meeting with his lawyers and representatives from London’s religious community, who wanted to talk to him about the importance of Dave’s vision. He’d agreed graciously to give them a couple of weeks to investigate the claims, knowing full well they were totally bogus.

But that wasn’t what was causing his restlessness.

Addie hadn’t been in today, and his concentration was shot. Her visits were highly inconvenient to his work schedule, necessitating longer hours, but in a few short days he’d grown used to them. Almost as much as he’d grown used to going to her boat every night.

She was always naked and never complained what hour of the night he slipped in beside her and woke her up. She just turned and opened her arms to him.

Even thinking about it now as he looked out his window was getting him hard.

He was starting to worry something had happened to her. If it had been any other woman, he wouldn’t have worried because he’d have known she was at work. But as Addie seemed to rarely ever go to the shop, he doubted that.

The image in the photo flitted through his brain and his gut contracted into a tight knot. He was fast becoming hooked on Addie’s hot, eager loving, and the thought that this vibrant sexy woman had been through such a ravaging illness put an itch up his spine.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing with her. She wasn’t his type, and frankly he just didn’t
get
her.

He didn’t understand her attitude toward money or her
laissez-faire
business drive or her attachment to something as frivolous as a garden. All he knew was he wanted her.