The Billionaire's Bedside Manner (9 page)

“There's a fireplace in here too.”

He'd disappeared into a connected room, reemerging now minus their bags. Crossing over, he stopped long enough to brush his lips over hers before continuing on and finding matches on the mantel.

“Let's get you warmed up.”

Feeling warmer already, she unraveled the scarf from around her neck while taking in the faded tapestries on the walls as well as the flagstone floor, hard and solid beneath her feet. Feeling as if she'd stepped into another
dimension—another time—she fell back into the settee and heeled off her shoes.

“How long have you owned this place?”

“I stayed here the first year,” he said, hunkering down before the fireplace. “I came back and bought it soon after.”

She hesitated unbuttoning her outer shirt. “Eight years ago?”

He'd struck a match. His perplexed expression danced in the flickering shadow and light as he swung his gaze her way.

“Why so surprised?”

“Why haven't you pulled it down and built something more your style?”

When his brows pinched more than before he turned and set the flame to the tinder, Bailey's stomach muscles clenched. She wasn't certain why, but clearly she'd insulted him. He was all about working hard to surround himself with fine things. Possessions that in some way made up for being cast off with nothing as a child. She'd have thought that here, next door to the heart of those memories, his need for material reassurance would be greatest. It was obvious from Madame's testimony and the well-equipped state of the orphanage that Mateo wanted those children to benefit from pleasant surroundings.

Still, whatever she'd said, she didn't want it to overshadow the previous mood.

“I'm sorry,” she said, curling her chilled feet up beneath her legs.

“No need to be,” he replied, throwing the spent match on the pyre. “You're right.”

Finding a poker, he prodded until the flames were established and the heat had grown.

“I had planned to build something larger,” he said, strolling back toward her. “But after I spent a few nights under this
roof, I found I didn't want to change a thing. In some ways I feel more at home here than I do in Sydney.”

Not so odd, Bailey thought as he settled down beside her. Roots and their memories run deep.

His gaze lowered to her hands. Holding up her wrist, he smiled. “Do you know you play with this bracelet whenever you're uncertain?”

Studying the gold links and charms—a teddy bear, a heart, a rainbow—she shrugged. “I didn't know, but I guess it makes sense.”

He rotated her wrist so that the flames caught on the gold and sent uneven beams bouncing all over the room. Bailey moved closer. The heat of his hand on her skin was enough to send some of her own sparks flying.

“I've never seen you with it off your arm,” he said.

“My mother put it together for me. A charm for each birthday.”

Lowering her wrist, he searched her eyes.

“Until you were fourteen?” he said.
Until the year your mother died.

“I knew about the bracelet all those years before. It was supposed to be my sweet-sixteen gift. But then Dad refused to give it to me, so…”

“You took it anyway?”

“
No.
This bracelet belonged to me but I would never have taken it without my father's consent. When my sixteenth birthday came and went, I begged for him to give it to me. It was a connection…a link to my mother that I'd waited for all that time. He said he wasn't certain I could look after it, but he didn't have the right to keep it from me.”

“He gave it to you in the end.”

“He never really spoke to me again after that.”

“Sounds as if you both miss her very much. You'd have a lot of memories you could share.”

She huffed. “You tell him that.”

“Why don't you?”

“He wouldn't listen.”

“You've tried?”

“Too many times.”

He sat back, absorbed in the crackling fire. After a time, he said, “I'd give anything to speak with my biological father.”

“What would you say?”

He thought for a long moment and then his eyes narrowed.

“I'd ask him
why.
But I'll never have the opportunity.” He found her gaze again. “What would you say to your father if you could?”

She pondered the question as she never had before.

“I guess I'd ask why too.”

“One day you'll have your answer.”

When she shivered he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close to the comfort of his natural warmth. His breath stirred her hair.

“Is that better?”

Looking up into his eyes, she spoke from her heart. “Everything's always better when you hold me.”

When his brow furrowed, Bailey shrank into herself. Despite the atmosphere, she'd said too much. Not that her words were a lie. She'd never meant anything more in her life. She felt safe, protected, in his arms. But the way that admission had come out…

Too heavy. She'd bet that kind of “I can't live without you” talk had got a number of his previous love interests gently bumped away. But it wasn't too late to reshape her confession, to season it with the tone they were both more than comfortable with.

Pressing closer, she skimmed her lips across his sandpaper jaw, then hummed over the full soft sweep of his mouth. “On
second thought, I think I need to have you hold me a little closer.”

She felt his smile, heard the rumble of approval vibrate through his chest.

“But there's something stopping that,” he murmured as his palm cupped her nape and she nuzzled down to find a hot pulse throbbing in his neck.

“What's that?”

“Clothes.”

Delicious heat flushed through her. They'd made love so many times these past weeks, she'd lost count. But something about his voice, his touch, tonight went beyond anything that had come before. Every cell in her body quivered and let her know…whatever they shared would never get any better than this.

But this time she wanted to be the one to lead…to tease and control and drive the other insane with want.

She lifted her face to his and let his lips touch hers before she slid away from his hold and stood in the firelight before him.

“You build a good fire,” she said.

He sat straighter. “You're warm now?”

“Beyond warm.”

She caught the hem of her lighter shirt and drew it up over her head. The heat of the flames kissed her bare back while Mateo's intent gaze scorched her front. Her heartbeat thudding, she reached around and released her bra and let the cups fall from her breasts to the soft-pile rug at her feet. When he tipped forward, her flesh tingled and nipples hardened beneath his gaze.

She could see in his eyes that he wanted to drag her to him…wanted to kiss and taste her as much as she wanted to devour him too. But she didn't go to him. Instead she recalled
how he'd entered the hotel suite bathroom the night before, without a stitch on, ready to stroke and tease.

She first released the clasp above the zip of her dress pants then eased the fabric past her hips, down her thighs. As the pants came down, she leaned over, nearer to where he sat and waited. Close enough for him to reach out and touch. When she straightened, only one item of clothing separated her from her birthday suit.

His breathing was elevated now, his chest beneath that black shirt rising and falling in the firelight. She recognized the fiery intent in his gaze. How long would he go before hauling her in?

She edged a step closer and a muscle in his jaw began to jump. When she reached for his hand and set his hot palm low on her belly, he came forward and traced his warm mouth over her ribs. Trembling inside, she drew his hand down over the triangle of silk at the apex of her thighs then slowly, purposefully, back up again. His kisses ran higher, brushing the burning tip of one breast as his touch trailed and fingers twined around the elastic of her panties sitting high on her hips.

Groaning, he nipped her nipple at the same time he dragged the scrap of silk down.

Time melted away when his head lowered and his mouth grazed what a second before her panties had concealed…tenderly and then deeply as he cupped her behind and urged her ever closer. She didn't resist when he lifted her left leg and curled her calf over his broad shoulder. She only knotted her fingers in his hair as he continued to explore, his tongue flicking and twirling at the same time the heat at her core kindled, sparked and caught light.

A heartbeat from flashpoint, she recalled she hadn't wanted to surrender to these burning sensations this soon. Now it was too late. This felt—
he
felt—too good to stop.

As she was sucked into that void, all her muscles locked, the fire raged and, dropping back her head, she gave herself over to the tide and murmured his name.

She was barely aware of being lowered down upon that soft pile rug or Mateo's hard frame lowering on top of her. As the waves began to ease and, sighing, she opened her eyes, she found the wherewithal to smile. He hadn't taken the time to take off even his shirt before he thrust in and entered her, filling her in every sense while whispering French and Italian endearments in her ear.

Her legs twined around the back of his thighs as her palms grazed up the hot, hard plate of his chest. He began to move, long measured strokes that built on that fire again. Each thrust seemed to nudge precisely the right spot as his lips sipped lightly from her brow, her cheek. When he drove in suddenly hard and fast, she gripped his head and pulled his mouth to hers. His tongue probed as his body tensed and burned above her. Then she felt the warm touch of his palm sculpting over her breast, the pad of his thumb circling the nipple before he rolled the bead and she gasped as a bright-tipped thrill ripped through her.

His mouth left hers as he levered up. Amid the flickering shadows she could see his muscles glistening and working as his hips ground against hers. She trailed her fingertips down the ruts of his abdomen. Then, scooping them lower, she fanned his damp belly before she gripped his hips, closed her eyes and moved with him, feeling the inferno growing, wishing this sensation would never end.

When he groaned and stiffened above her—when he thrust another time and never more deeply—she reached, held on to his neck and joined him, leaping off that glorious ledge again.

L
ater they moved into the bedroom. While Bailey slipped under the covers, Mateo built a fire before joining her. Wrapped in each other's arms, they didn't wake until after eight. He couldn't let her leave the bed until they made love again.

An hour later, Mateo met Nichole at the orphanage. They plotted a workable scheme for regular excursions to the city and surrounds, the first planned in the spring to visit the Louvre with a weekend stay over at a boardinghouse. Nichole was beyond excited for the children, many of whom had never set foot much beyond this district. With a deep sense of satisfaction, Mateo signed his name to the draft document. Opening the world could be an invaluable experience for any child, with regard to education as well as a sense of self. He should know.

They ended their meeting on another high note. A child— Nichole wasn't obliged to say who at this time—would leave
the orphanage today for a new home and bright new future. Mateo left the room wondering…

Could this child be Remy? He would only be happy for him if it was.

Mateo had promised Bailey a trip to the neighboring village where she could soak up more of the rustic atmosphere she enjoyed so much. But when he found her in the large undercover area, she and her company looked so enthralled he didn't have the heart to disturb them. Bailey was playing house with a few of the younger girls, one of them Clairdy, a blond angel who Remy was fond of.

As the girls' conversation and laughter filtered through the cool late-morning air, Mateo rested back against that enormous oak-tree trunk and crossed his arms. This was the place he'd wanted to escape as a child. These were the grounds he still recalled in disturbing abstract dreams at least once a year. And yet, whenever he visited, the longer he stayed, the more difficult it was to walk away. Today—this minute, watching Bailey play with the girls—he felt that contradiction more strongly than ever. He couldn't seem to settle the opposing forces playing tug-of-war in his mind. Memories reminded him how much he'd once wanted to leave this place and yet something else whispered for him now to stay.

This, of course, was absurd. He had a practice, friends, a life back home. Here, at times, he felt almost like a ghost.

Bailey saw him and arced an arm through the air. “Mateo, come over! Clairdy and Eleanor are baking cookies. You could help.”

Clairdy and an equally small Eleanor chattered on in French as they rolled and cut play dough then put the tray into their playhouse oven. Mateo smiled. Reminded him of when he'd helped Mama in the kitchen all those years ago.

“What cookies are you baking?” Mateo asked, sauntering over.

“C'est notre recette spéciale,”
Clairdy said.
It is our special recipe.

“Remember not to have the oven too hot or the bottoms will burn,” he pointed out.

Eleanor immediately pretended to alter a temperature dial.

Clairdy patted her friend on the back and exclaimed,
“Bon travail!” Good job!

“These two are inseparable,” Bailey said. “I've never seen two children get along so well.”

Clairdy was tugging Mateo's sleeve. “Would you like to try one, Monsieur?” she said in French.

Mateo leaned down, hands on knees. “Will they need to cool first?”

Clairdy put her hands on her hips and nodded solemnly at the oven before she told Eleanor two minutes longer and then the cookies needed to cool.

Mateo ran a palm down Bailey's back and whispered, “After the cookies, I'll take you into town.”

“Perhaps the girls would like to come.”

His brows lifted.
No doubt.
But, “If we take these two, they'll all want to go.”

Bailey nodded earnestly, as Clairdy had done a moment ago, then said, “We could hire a bus.”

He laughed. “Perhaps we could.”

“How did things go with Nichole this morning?” she asked turning more toward him. Her blue eyes had never looked more vibrant.

“We worked out an excursion schedule for next year. The older children will go first.”

Bailey's chin came down. “But no one will miss out.”

“Everyone will get a trip,” he assured her.

Happy with that, she maneuvered in front of him then wrapped his arms around her middle. Her head dropped back against his shoulder as she sighed and took in the industrious scene playing out before them. Eleanor was stepping into a fairy costume; Clairdy was handing her glittering silver wings.

Bailey snuggled back more. “I like it here.”

“The climate suits you.” He grazed his lips near her temple. “Brings out the pink in your cheeks.”

“What about my lips?”

Mateo's physical responses climbed to red alert. With the children engrossed in their game, he pulled her around a cozy corner, gathered her snug against him and purposefully slanted his head over hers. She immediately melted against him, making him feel invincible…taller and stronger than that five-hundred-year-old oak. When their lips softly parted, he wanted to forget where they were and kiss her again.

“It's only early,” he murmured against her cheek. “Perhaps we should visit home before trekking off for lunch.”

She dropped a lingering kiss on the side of his mouth. “Maybe we could stay here and eat with the kids.”

Frowning, he pulled back. “Am I losing my charm?”

A teasing glint lit her eyes. “Would that bother you?”

“Only as far as you were concerned.”

He cupped those pink cheeks and kissed her slowly, deeply, until all the world was only them and this embrace. She might have thought he was only flattering her but his last remark was sincere. Today, that other world—with its busy office and appointments and investments and antiques—wasn't important. He wanted to think, and feel, only her.

When his lips drew away a second time, her eyes remained closed. Leaning against the stone wall at her back, she hummed over a dreamy smile.

“Perhaps we should stay here forever.”

His stomach slowly twisted. Not because he disagreed but because as outlandish and flippant as her suggestion may be, he was attracted to the idea. As far as he and Bailey were concerned, this trip was supposed to be about nothing more than short-term companionship. Was meant to be about acting on physical attraction. This minute physical attraction was dangerously high…but he was feeling something more. Something new. And he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it.

A woman's voice, emanating from around the corner, brought him back. It was one of the caregivers, the auburn-haired Madame Prideux. Bailey obviously heard too. Her dreamy look evaporated a second before she straightened her blouse and patted away the long bangs from her blushing face.

“Is she looking for you?” Bailey whispered.

“No. Eleanor. She wants her to wash up and come to the office.”

“Is something wrong?”

Mateo remembered Nichole's comment about a child leaving.

“My guess is,” he said, “that this is little Eleanor's lucky day.”

They came out from behind the corner. Eleanor was holding Madame Prideux's hand as they walked together toward the main building. Clairdy sat by herself on a miniature kitchen chair. Mateo felt this little girl's jumbled feelings as if they were his own.

“Don't worry, Clairdy,” Bailey said. “Monsieur says Eleanor isn't in trouble.”

Not understanding, Clairdy gave Bailey a blank look, let out a sigh then spoke in French. Bailey's eyes widened at the words Mama and Papa. Clairdy knew Eleanor wasn't in
trouble. To Clairdy's mind her friend was being rewarded for being the best little girl at the orphanage.

Bailey lowered into the second tiny chair and spoke to Mateo. “Is she saying what I think she's saying?”

He nodded. “Nichole explained this morning that a couple, who've been waiting years, have jumped through the final hoop and obtained consent to adopt.”

“Eleanor?”

“It would appear so.”

They both studied Clairdy watching her friend walk away toward a different tomorrow. And as Mateo's gut buckled and throat grew thick, he was reminded again of all the reasons he loved coming back. And why he hated it too.

 

Bailey gazed down at the little girl who a moment ago had been bubbling with life. Now Clairdy's tiny jaw was slack and her shoulders were stooped. When she held her tummy and spoke to Mateo, Bailey guessed the ailment. The innocent she was, Clairdy would be happy for Eleanor finding a mother and a father—a mama and a papa—but how could she not also miss her friend? Likely envy her.

“Does Eleanor get to say goodbye to her friends?” Bailey asked as they escorted a pale Clairdy back to the dorms.

“I have no doubt.”

“That's something at least. Not that I'm unhappy for Eleanor,” Bailey hastened to add. “It just must be so hard on the ones left behind.” She examined Mateo's intense expression as they walked. “But you know that better than me.”

“There'll be someone for Clairdy too one day.”

She read his thoughts—
for them all, I hope
—and had to stop herself before she blurted out,
I wish it could be me.

But she'd known this child a couple of days. Even more obvious, she was in no position to think about children in
that context and hadn't before this moment. But the brave way Clairdy held her head as they strolled up the main path brought a stinging mist to Bailey's eyes. She might have lost her mother but she'd known and loved her for fourteen beautiful years, and, as difficult to understand as he was, her father had never considered putting her up for adoption. Damon Ross cared about his daughter. These past years, he simply hadn't been able to show it.

They were all three entering the nurse's office as Remy showed up, a scuffed football clamped under his arm. When they came out a few minutes later, Remy was still there, waiting to see how Clairdy was. Something older than his years shadowed that little boy's eyes; he knew she needed a friend more than medicine. Remy said a few words to Mateo—something in French, of course. Mateo nodded and Remy took Clairdy's hand and led her upstairs to the girls' dorm to rest.

They both watched until the pair disappeared around the top balustrade. Bailey let out a pent-up breath. She couldn't stop thinking about what her mother would've done in this situation.

“We could stay and read her a story,” she suggested and stepped toward the stairs, but Mateo's hand on her arm held her gently back.

“She might like to be alone with Remy now.”

Bailey wanted to argue, but it was as much herself as Clairdy she wanted to console. This was a small taste of what Mateo must see each time he visited. There was the fabulous welcome and smiling familiar faces, time set aside to make plans for improvements he knew would be appreciated. But those same faces who were overjoyed to see him couldn't help but be sad when he drove away. He must want to take each and every one of these children home with him, and realizing he couldn't…

Bailey hung her head.

A lesser man might simply send a check.

As they moved away from the building toward that big sprawling tree out front, Mateo circled his arm around her waist. “Let's take a drive.”

She hesitated but then nodded. If they went out, talked, her mind, and his, would be taken off a situation over which they had no power. And she had to be happy for Eleanor and pray that Mateo was right. A perfect family was around the corner for Clairdy. Remy too.

Mateo drove over that ancient stone-bridge and into the village with a towering gothic church, two restaurants, one bakery…and right on through.

Bailey shot over a glance. “Where are we going?”

“Thought you might like to see something a little different. A fortress. A ruin now. Word is it's haunted.”

Determined not to be sullen, she set her mittened hands in her lap. “I'm in.”

After a few more minutes traveling along the country road, they reached the foot of a rocky cliff that jutted over the river. Ascending a series of rock slabs that served as steps, Bailey, with Mateo, reached near the summit a little out of breath. But given their incredible surroundings, she soon forgot her tired legs.

“Nine-hundred-years ago this began as a motte—a large mound—and wooden keep,” Mateo told her. “An earlier word for keep is
donjon.
”

It clicked. “As in dungeon?”

He winked, took her hand and led her toward the ruins. “By the fifteenth century, the fortress consisted of three enclosures surrounding an updated keep. Only the château of the second enclosure still stands.”

Bailey soaked up the sense of history effused in the assorted moss-covered arches, sagging stone steps, the
remnants of sculptures hanging to cold gray walls. Above what once must have been an imposing door rested a worn coat of arms. Shading her eyes, she peered up. A giant might have taken a ragged chomp out of the second story wall.

“Who are the ghosts?” she asked. “Why do they haunt?”

“It's said that a lord once kept his daughter locked in this tower. Apparently no man was good enough, but everyone knew the true reason. The lord didn't want to lose his only child.” Holding her elbow, he helped her over rubble through to a cool interior that smelled of mold and earth. “Then, one day, a knight rode through and was invited to stay for the evening meal. The knight heard the maiden singing and crying. He asked if he could speak with her. But the lord wouldn't allow it.”

Bailey had been picking her way up the stairs. Now she swung around to face him. “Don't tell me they both died while the knight was trying to rescue her?”

“The knight succeeded in freeing his lady and they rode away that night to be wed. The father was furious and set out on horseback to bring his only child back. Taking a jump, his horse faltered and the lord broke his leg. Infection set in. He took six weeks to die, but he moaned and howled for his daughter's return until his last breath. He wanted her forgiveness,” he added.