The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride(11)

           



       

'Of course.'

'I mean on its own or are you wearing tights?'

She grimaced. 'On its own.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'I wouldn't have taken you for a suspender-belt girl, but there you go.'

'You would have been right,' she replied, but with a scowl. 'I'm wearing knee-highs.'

She sat up and rolled up her trouser leg to reveal a stocking that ended above her knee.

'Oh. Well, I'm sure they're very practical but-'

'Not essentially seductive? No, they're not. Ouch,' she added as he   rolled the offending stocking down over her ankle, but said immediately,   'Why would you be so sandbagged if you've known about Nicky for a   month?' She stared at him. 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing   and-' She paused. She'd been about to say it was actually common   knowledge anyway, but decided not to.

He didn't reply immediately. His fingers were cool on her skin as he   started to massage again and there was something curiously mesmerizing   about it, Alex found, as the pain began to subside.

There was also something entirely unreal about the situation, it   suddenly occurred to her. Here she was, extremely annoyed with a man she   found diabolically arrogant, but not at all annoyed with his handling   of her. She was sitting back with her ankle in his hands being restored   by the pressure of his long, strong fingers. It didn't take a great  leap  of imagination to imagine those same fingers exploring her body  and  imparting a sense of well-being if not to say sizzling  sensuality-she  went hot and cold at the thought.

'I didn't want to believe it at first,' he said eventually. 'And even   when it proved to be true I-I just couldn't visualize it. I hadn't seen   Cathy for over six years. She moved to Perth, which is a hell of a long   way away. It's almost like a different country, WA, and my  headquarters  are up here.' He grimaced.

He stopped massaging and looked into Alex's eyes. 'I couldn't believe it   was true at first but I couldn't argue with the tests. And I was still   furious with Cathy but I kept thinking-a son … So I was set to fly to   Perth immediately but Cathy asked me not to. She said she needed a bit   more time to get Nicky used to the idea.' He paused and shrugged. 'I've   been living on tenterhooks ever since.'

Alex absorbed this and thought a little more charitably about Nicky's mother.

'And … now?' she queried quietly.

'Now? It was like being punched in the guts. The first words he said to   me last night were, "Are you really my father? I didn't actually  believe  I had one." Now?' he repeated with a nerve flickering in his  jaw. 'I  won't rest until he knows he has a father he can rely on.'

It had all been said quietly, but Alex could see the intensity behind it   and the resolution. She looked away and blinked back a tear.

'So that's why,' Max Goodwin said as he resumed massaging her ankle,   'I'm prepared to go to quite some lengths to make this work out. And   you-' he gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment '-seem to have an   intrinsic way with kids. How come?'

She explained. 'We used to get kids from way out west, boarders from   Dirranbandi, Thargomindah and so on who were terribly homesick at   first-it just seemed to come naturally to me.'

'Would it be so difficult for you to help me out at least with Nicky?' he queried.

'Would you feel it was an awful comedown from your position as interpreter, perhaps?' He smiled faintly.

Alex shook her head. 'No, of course not. It was just the way you did it.'

'I had to think fast and on my feet,' he murmured, 'but I apologize.'

'The only thing is-' Alex looked uneasy '-it's no good letting him come to rely on me.'

'No. But by the time this is over, his grandmother should be out of   hospital, his mother available and he and I will have got to know each   other better.'

Alex reclaimed her foot. 'Thank you. That feels better and I think an   ice pack will fix it. Uh-no, I don't mind helping out with Nicky for a   few days. So long as you understand it-it can't be more than that.'

Max Goodwin stared at her narrowly and thoughtfully. 'You say that with   more conviction than seems necessary. Why, I wonder?' he queried.

Alex drew a discreet breath and made a little gesture. 'It's just that these things can … balloon. That's all.'                       
       
           



       

He stood up and walked over to the window with his hands shoved in his   pockets. 'I guess you're wondering how this could have happened in the   first place.'

'Not really.' She had no intention of going into the obviously tortured   relationship that had existed between Max Goodwin and Nicky's mother,   although … 'Is there no hope of you putting your differences behind   you-for Nicky's sake?'

He turned away from the window and his face was set in harsh lines. 'She   was right. It was either heaven or hell and very little in between.   Anyway-' he lifted his shoulders '-it's quite conceivable I may never   have got to know about him. Would you find that easy to forgive?'

Alex stood up and put some weight on her foot. It didn't seem to be too   bad. 'Uh-I don't think it's a question of that now, it's a question of   what's best for your son. But, look, it has nothing to do with me. So  if  you'll excuse me, I'll go and find him.'

She got to the door before he spoke, and it was a question that caused her maximum discomfort.

'What are you running away from, Alex?'

She turned back very slowly and her surprise, although it was surprise   that he should have guessed her emotions, not surprise at the question,   was not feigned.

'What do you mean?'

He rubbed his jaw and frowned. 'I don't know. I just get the feeling you can't wait to get away.'

'No.' She swallowed. 'I'm not-I'm fine-I mean I'd just like to get changed, maybe have a cup of tea, that's all.'

He studied her remorselessly, from head to toe. The amazingly   transformed lovely cloud of fair, curly hair, the smart but discreet   trouser suit, her shoes in her hand and her expression. That of someone   caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, he decided.

Why? A moral sense of disgust? Not so unexpected, perhaps, from a girl   with a very religious background. And yet, although he'd mistaken her   for eighteen at first sight, she was a very mature twenty-one most of   the time. She'd handled herself exceptionally well as an interpreter; he   had no doubt there was an excellent intellect there. Matters of the   flesh might be-another matter, however, he conceded.

Had she ever responded to a man, given herself in love or lust? Had   those lovely eyes ever widened and her lips parted as she'd reached a   pinnacle of rapture with a man?

Why was he wondering these things, though? Human nature for a   red-blooded male, or a genuine desire to know what made his interpreter   tick?

'All right,' he said abruptly. 'I'm sorry. I'll have the housekeeper   show you to your room. I've got a couple of free hours to spend with   Nicky. I think I'll take him, and the dog-' he grimaced '-to the beach,   so you can relax and put your foot up.'

Not only did the housekeeper show Alex to her room, she brought her tea and an ice pack for her ankle.

It was a delightful guest room. The walls were saffron and the three   tall windows had cream wooden frames and calico roman blinds. The floor   was wooden and pale smooth beech had been used for the double bed and   bedside tables. There were two thick taupe rugs on either side of the   bed, and a glass vase crammed with creamy pink-edged tulips on a   dresser.

The bedspread was slightly darker than the walls, closer to sandalwood,   and the bed was heaped with silk-covered cushions in the pale bluish   green of beryl, and lavender.

The en-suite bathroom was a highly polished affair of marble, glass and   chrome. There was an inter-leading door to another bedroom. She looked   through it to see Nicky's things in place.

She took a quick shower. Her clothes were already unpacked for her, and   she changed into jeans and a jumper. She took her contact lenses out  and  breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped on her glasses. Then she  sank  into a linen-covered wingbacked armchair that looked out to a view  of an  area of the Broadwater known as the Aldershots.

She could see a curve of green channel markers and a yacht travelling   north keeping them to its starboard side, which must mean shallow water   and sand banks on the starboard side of the markers. The water was   glassy and there was little breeze so the yacht was having to tack.   Where were they headed? she wondered. She stirred and poured her tea.   There was a selection of petit fours to go with it. But it wasn't the   question of which delicious pastry to select that exercised her mind-she   ignored them completely-it was the question of how Max Goodwin had  read  her so accurately.