Exclusive Love (British Billionaires Series) (8 page)

The doorbell chimed. Hurrying to receive the pizza, Katy was relieved to be out from under the spotlight. Oscar had a way of penetrating her well worn armor. The vulnerability was unsettling. Relaxing and exposing too much too soon, he’d be privy to the sometimes sleazy nature of her profession which could be a deal-breaker.

‘I’ve set up in the lounge, to watch your movie.’

Katy skipped in. To Oscar she was fairy-like in motion, which contrasted with her height. On the floor, the pizza, garlic bread and chicken wings were spread out picnic style. Oscar poured white wine into two large glasses.

‘How’d you manage to obtain the wine? Did I miss a cellar in the basement?’

‘No basement, Katy. Money may not be able to buy you love, but it can give the incentive to others to buy an awful lot of other things on my behalf when the means is available.’

Scarfing down the pizzas, Katy stuffed herself till her jeans were too tight. Her much loved skinny Stella McCartney jeans were one of the few acceptable designer labels she personally owned. Well worn, had they the ability to speak and they could tell many stories Katy would never want made public. Taking them had allowed her to reallocate her wardrobe budget from the newspaper. In a shockingly ordinary turn of events, it transpired Oscar wasn’t whisking her to the Country Club or a Charity Dinner, rather he was content to stay in eating fast food and ribbing Katy as her eyes welled up towards the conclusion of the movie.

‘Bed time me thinks,’ said Oscar.

‘I’m not sure I can physically get myself vertical.’

Katy held out her hands for Oscar to drag her upright. Bending at the knees, to balance her weight evenly to let him haul her up from the floor, her midriff crunched. Inhaling at the exertion, the button of her jeans flew off across the room. Too fast for the human eye, Oscar heard a noise as the metal hit the wooden floors.

‘What was that?’

‘What was what?’ asked Katy innocently, feeling her zipper undo to free her bloated stomach.

‘Thought you may have dropped something.’

‘Don’t think so. Could be anything in this creaky place.’

She yanked her top as low as it could go to cover the flesh starting to expose itself.

‘Where’s my room then?’

‘You’ve got the master bedroom upstairs with the en-suite,’ replied Oscar.

‘Fab, I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said, taking the steps two by two as the waistband of her jeans began dropping.

Chapter Ten

Last night’s finale had been an unmitigated disaster. Oscar wasn’t sure why he’d insisted on staying up reading for an additional two hours after the movie ended. Giver her flighty departure, Katy hadn’t given him any reason to think she may pop by for a proper goodnight kiss. Hopeful all the same, experience had taught him how easy it was to misread a woman’s signals when you were determined the object of desire would become a bed companion.

His growing affection for Katy extended beyond his carnal urges. Examining feelings and emotions was uncommon to him. Analyzing financial reports, numbers and figures was far easier than emotionally dissecting women. The right array of accounting reports had put him in a position where he’d be able to rescue the fledgling American branch of the family communications company.

Accounts had to balance, mathematics had to be absolute. Last night only offered a pervading sense of absolute confusion. Pretending to watch the movie, he’d gazed fondly at Katy as she devoured her pizza letting the tomato sauce fall to her shirt, wiping the grease from her mouth with the back of her hand. When the film ended, she’d taken to the stairs with the grace and energy of a springbok.

The new state of uneasiness put a damper on Oscar’s plans for the day. Wrestling the matter in his mind, he wondered exactly where he’d made the mistake which pushed Katy down the road to rejecting him. A stroll and fresh air would clear his head or in the very least get the blood pumping through his veins to lift his mood.

The distance from the staff cabin to the nearest 7 Eleven was at least three miles. Oscar found himself jogging to collect the papers and essential breakfast items. Jogging back with a plastic bag containing milk, bread, butter, jam, peanut butter, cereal and newspapers proved problematic. The bag hit his shins. He switched the fraying handles between hands to even the weight. Furious for not having driven, he sulkily trekked to the cabin. His mood had worsened, until he saw Katy sitting on the steps. She flung her arms round his neck as if he’d been gone a year.

‘I didn’t know where you were. I searched the house for you.’

‘You didn’t ask which room was mine’ he reminded her.

‘I know. Sometimes I do stupid things. I don’t think the consequences through. I hate looking foolish. I behave brashly to deter anyone from seeing the goofy, ungracious side to me.’

Holding out a clenched fist out to Oscar, he put his palm underneath for her to release the goods from her hand. A button dropped. He studied it, holding it up to the light.

‘Should this have any significant meaning for me?’ he asked tentatively.

Had he overlooked anything major in their few encounters but lengthy discussions?

‘No. It popped off my jeans when you were helping me up. I didn’t want you making a snide comment about my weight or choice of food. I know I stuffed myself. I know gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. I don’t need anyone else telling me. As soon as my belly knew it could breathe it let loose. My zipper was undoing itself. I couldn’t bear explaining what happened. I picked it up this morning when I couldn’t find you. I had all sorts of crazy thoughts running in my head like you were punishing me for my rudeness or had abandoned me because I was mad. I picked up the button and thought, have you really risked someone so important to you over a button?’

His arms slipped round her shoulders, the embrace bringing her head to his sweaty chest. Rather than experience the ‘ick’ factor snuggled to his sodden shirt, Katy exhaled feeling she could be herself.

‘How can someone of your means, who’s climbed high on the career ladder at a young age be plagued with such self doubt?’

Oscar posited the rhetorical question into her hair, a mixture of sea air and strawberry shampoo. The girl was phenomenal. A complete diamond, somehow lost in the constant rush and dog-eat-dog world of New York and the journalistic profession.

Katy’s ears pricked. The question reminded her why she was plagued by self-doubt. She didn’t have any financial ‘means’ and was barely hanging onto the bottom rung of the career ladder. Here she was with a semi-eccentric, dashing British billionaire, well bred, with numerous Oxbridge degrees in the ‘staff quarters’ of his Hamptons Palace which was three times the size of the house she had lived in since birth with her parents.

Scratching and scrabbling for money to fund her higher education, she plowed through and invested years in her career only to snatch a crummy job on the local rag. Compatible as they were intellectually, and hopefully sexually, their upbringings were extreme opposites. Remaining composed and considered in Oscar’s presence, Katy was the eternal swan swimming gracefully on a lake with her feet paddling madly underneath to propel her.

Throw into the equation the fact she was placing innocent Oscar in front of the firing squad with her expos
é
on snobbish British millionaires seeking solely rich American women and he would have an explanation to his question. These unpalatable facts circled endlessly in her head.

Unsure how long she’d been nestled to his chest, listing her poor choices over the past fortnight, she broke away from Oscar. Paternally, he kissed her forehead.

‘I wasn’t feeling great before, but how about a hearty breakfast and indulging in some fun,’ he paused deliberately leering at Katy, ‘in the sun!’

Due to Oscar’s underwhelming shop, breakfast consisted of peanut butter and jelly on toast and a bowl of Coco Pops for Katy. Oscar had toast and butter. Sitting at opposite ends of the twelve seated dining room table, Oscar raised his head to see Katy’s transparent glass.

‘Breakfast may have been less bland had I thought to buy an orange juice,’ bellowed Oscar down the pine table.

‘Water benefits the mind and the body. After tossing and turning all night over a button, it’ll probably invigorate me for the day ahead.’

Oscar removing the rubbish from the take out splurge, had Katy insisting on washing up. Hands frantically flinging open doors and head assessing each cupboard around the mammoth kitchen, she was stumped. Returning from dumping the garbage, the handful of plates, bowls and glasses remained in the sink. Placing his finger over Katy’s lips, he hushed her apology. Taking her hand, he led her to a shiny metallic compartment that could easily have been part of the set of a futuristic sci-fi television program. Sliding the door down revealed a dish washer.

‘What even the servants are too posh to wash up?’ blurted Katy incredulously.

‘Servants? This isn’t Downton Abbey. They were employees and valuable ones at that. Given the work they did at the main house, back at home they were entitled to put their feet up and have a break from domestic duties.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she said.

She was ignorant of hired help. Even with her parents working at the local school, sadly not as teachers (Katy’s mother worked in the cafeteria and her father was the school librarian), they couldn’t afford a cleaner, ironing person or gardener. Katy was used to everyone pulling their weight to make a household function. However practical or normal, even she could envisage a house the size of the lodge couldn’t be managed without professional assistance.

‘Jump in your swimsuit,’ ordered Oscar, playfully slapping her rump.

That definitely wasn’t a paternal pat, decided Katy.

Everything was mounting. To unload she had to attack one problem at a time. The most important priority was her feelings towards Oscar and his for her. Throwing off her bad mood, she opted for the bold orange bikini. Ruefully, she wished she could include Julia in on her antics. Her friend had been nothing but supportive, efficient and effective setting her wardrobe up for the weekend.

Although unfamiliar with the designer Matthew Williamson, Julia—the fountain of all fashion knowledge—briefed Katy that he was British. She’d snatched the bikini from Julia as soon as the designer’s birthplace was mentioned. In the thrift shop, she was certain a unique designer would increase her credibility in Oscar’s eyes, but she was beginning to see there was far more to Oscar than what his family’s wealth could buy.

His modest suite at the Four Seasons was to save the company money rather than waste it. Declining a higher management office had been done to ensure he was on hand and close to the main department he was auditing and analyzing.

Oscar was interested in ensuring his family business provided the highest grade communication equipment and provided secure, stable jobs for all its employees worldwide. He didn’t deprive himself of life’s luxuries, but he didn’t rely on them to establish his esteem and presence in everyday life. That aside, Katy was still a woman and Oscar was still a man.

From the reflection in the full-length mirror, if any outfit was going to get Oscar’s heart racing it was this one. The halter neck top fastened with draw strings and the bikini bottoms tied at the side. Tugging one bow could reveal all. The rainbow embroidery and sequins running across the top of her bikini bottoms and completed triangle on each cup of the top made for an unusual swimsuit.

The stitching and sequins were eye-catching, drawing an onlookers attention to Katy’s tanned toned stomach and her full rounded breasts. It was going to be ‘the’ outfit of the weekend. Waiting for the right moment for presentation, she wrapped a long orange mesh sarong around her. Giving a hint of the bikini underneath, it shielded prying eyes from what would eventually be revealed.

Stepping down two flights of stairs, Oscar was sitting on the car’s bonnet. He whistled slowly as Katy’s legs came into his vision. The wolfish grin on his face left her in no doubt as to what she had stirred in his libido.

‘Let’s get you baking on the sand to top up that tan of yours.’

The insinuation left nothing to the imagination. He could have asked her to flash him her bikini there and then. Manners dictated he wait. Concentrating solely on Oscar her heart was as bright as the sun.