The Billionaire Beast(29)

How he’d managed to say the very thing she needed to hear, she had no idea. But he did. And she knew it for truth, because he was the only person who didn’t see her as anything else but herself. Yes, she was his assistant, but the way he looked at her, the way he studied her, made her feel as if he saw past the cool, calm facade she put on for everyone else. Saw the woman she was behind that. A flawed woman, it was true, as needy as her mother in some ways, and yet that didn’t seem to bother Nero. He even seemed to like it.

That made her feel good. Made the absence of Charles, the silence in her life after the accident, less acute. And it made her feel connected to someone in a way she never had.

But she wanted it to go both ways. If he saw her, she wanted to see him. See below the surface of his power, his energy, his charisma. His arrogance and his apparent selfishness. Because that wasn’t all he was. A truly selfish man wouldn’t want to understand. He wouldn’t ask her about her life and say things to her that made her heart feel tight. He certainly wouldn’t have gotten her dinner and lit candles for her.

He seemed broken, and yet there were hints that he wasn’t quite as broken as he appeared. And she wanted to know why. She wanted to know what had happened to him, what had led him to this point. To living in four rooms of a huge house, surrounded by paintings and photographs of landscapes. To not stepping outside his home for ten years.

Nero looked away from her as James abruptly appeared in the doorway, bringing with him the same meal, only this time it was hot. Reflexively, she tried to put some distance between her and Nero, but the arm around her didn’t move, holding her securely against him. She had no choice but to relax against his big, hard body as James fussed around with the meal.

She didn’t look at Nero, but then she didn’t have to. She could feel the tension in him. The topic of conversation was very obviously not to his liking.

Maybe she should let it go. It had been a long time since she’d eaten dinner with someone, a long time since she’d been held in someone’s arms outside a bedroom, and that felt good, too. She and Nero hadn’t had any opportunity for plain old conversation, and she liked the thought of sitting here with him, talking as they ate dinner together.

James topped up the wine glasses, made last-minute adjustments to the plates, and then left the room.

A deep silence fell.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Phoebe murmured, wanting to keep hold of the moment, not shatter it. “It’s none of my business.”

Nero removed his arm from around her waist and sat forward on the couch, pulling the plates toward them and dealing with the napkins. He remained silent.

So he didn’t want to continue the conversation. Well, she couldn’t force him. Sure, she’d told him all about her issues, but that had been her choice. She hadn’t had to do that.

“I already told you I don’t like people,” he said unexpectedly. “And I prefer not to have to go out if I don’t need to.” He glanced over his shoulder at her suddenly, giving her a challenging stare. “It’s no big deal.”

He hadn’t denied it. Which meant . . . the rumors were true. Not that it was any big shock to her. She’d seen the sweat on his brow, heard the rapid sound of his breathing in the hallway, felt how cold his fingers had been in hers. She’d guessed already.

He hadn’t been outside for ten years, and, worse than that, he now lived in four small rooms in his giant house.

But he’s here, now, in your sitting room. He came for you.

Warmth moved through her, deep and slow, though she tried not to let him see it as she held his ferocious black stare. He didn’t want her to see his weakness, that much was clear. He was a wounded animal, trying to protect himself.

“Okay,” she said easily. “It’s no big deal.”

His gaze narrowed, as if she’d disagreed with him. “It’s not.” There was a note of warning in his rough voice, a note of anger. As if she was touching on something exquisitely painful.

Phoebe swallowed, a subtle pain spreading out inside her. It wasn’t right that this intense, vital man hadn’t stepped outside once in ten years. Had difficulty even leaving his office. Why? What had happened to him? He didn’t look like he’d be afraid of anything or anyone and yet . . . Was it agoraphobia? Or was it something else? What had triggered it? Had he ever had anyone treat him for it?

Nero turned away again, back to the food on the coffee table, giving her his broad, muscular back. And Phoebe’s chest grew so tight she almost couldn’t breathe.

He was a beast, this man. A lion. Terrifying in his strength and power. But he had a thorn deep inside him and it was hurting him, she could see that now. He had retreated to his lair to nurse the wound, but it wasn’t getting better. Whatever was hurting him was stuck inside and he couldn’t get it out, and now his life was growing around that thorn, curled in on itself, becoming stunted.

Tears started in her eyes, which was insane since she hardly ever cried. She’d only shed tears for Charles, and yet now she was crying for Nero, because she could see the similarity between the two of them. Nero, like Charles, was trapped. Not in his own body, but in his house. He was shut away from the world, from sunlight and laughter and love. Shut away from everything that made life worth living. And what made it worse was that he’d chosen this. For reasons she’d couldn’t even begin to guess at, Nero had walked into this house, closed the front door, and had never come out again.

Her heart squeezed tight, and she tried to blink away the tears, because she didn’t want him to see them. But she couldn’t not do something for him, so she reached out and placed her palm in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, and rested it there. His muscles shifted beneath her palm, stiffening.

He didn’t want her to acknowledge his pain, and she knew that if she did, if she broached the topic again or asked him any questions, he’d probably get up and leave the room.

She didn’t want that. She wanted to have this quiet moment with him instead. She wanted to have him hold her, to feel someone’s arms around her. To be reminded of what it was like to feel safe and protected, to be supported instead of being the one who always did the supporting.

Yes, the lion was hurting, she knew that. But if she wanted to be Androcles and extract the thorn, she was going to have to wait until the right moment.

That moment wasn’t now.

She slid her hand up his back and threaded her fingers through the silky black hair that brushed over his collar, instead. “Can you pass me my knife and fork?” she asked. “I’m starving.”





Chapter 11


Over the course of the next few days, Nero didn’t send Phoebe out on any errands for a change, and the only meetings she’d been ordered to attend had been virtual ones, where she’d taken notes and even—to her surprise—had her opinion asked once or twice. Then, after the meetings Nero had come into her sitting room and they’d gone over some DS Corp staffing issues right there and then.

He’d smiled at her a couple of times, giving no sign he found being in this room difficult. Once, when she’d made some dry comment, he’d even laughed. It had thrilled her that she could draw that out of him, the laugh, the smile. He’d even gone so far as to ask some idle questions about what movies she liked and whether she read a lot. He didn’t, as it turned out, because he didn’t like to sit still, but he watched a lot of movies. Science fiction movies were his favorite for the escapism factor.

She’d decided right then and there that she couldn’t leave him to rot in those same four rooms. That she was going to help him if she could. And if he could make it to her sitting room, then he could make it to other parts of the house, too. He might not want to talk about his agoraphobia, and he might only come to her room at nights—she never went to his wherever it was he slept—but it was clear that given enough incentive, he could push himself beyond his limitations.

She just had to give him enough incentive.

The day after that, she accidentally-on-purpose left her phone in her room and went into the downstairs dining room, which looked out into the garden. The room also had massive doors that had been pushed back so the scent of roses had drifted in, along with the drowsy summer heat and the faint sounds of the city beyond.

She had James set the table for lunch and when Nero came and found her—because she knew he would and that he’d be angry about it—she told him to sit down and have some lunch. He was pale and his hands were shaking, so she calmly got up, came over to him, and led him over to the table and sat him down in a chair without a word. Then she sat in his lap and fed him bites of the pasta the chef had cooked for them, ignoring his angry growls until the rigidity eased from his muscles and he relaxed underneath her.

Taking his glass of wine from his fingers, she stole a sip, leaning back against his broad chest and answering his questions about where she’d grown up and where she went to school. What her favorite jobs were as an adult and whether she missed London, if she’d ever consider returning there.

But then the wine went to her head as wine often did, especially when she kept stealing sips out of his second glass, and she got sick of talking about herself.