Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed

“Where are your pajamas?” he asked.

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’ll get them. Go fix yourself a cup of coffee.”

One eyebrow lifted. “You have coffee?”

In England, she had done her best to wean him from the uncivilized beverage. “For guests,” she said stiffly.

He nodded once and walked away. Sinking down onto the bed, she told herself she could manage to wash up and change clothes. It was a matter of pride and self-preservation. Having Aidan help was unthinkable. She was far too aware of him as it was. His physical presence dwarfed her cozy apartment.

In the bathroom she dared to glance in the mirror and groaned. Why had no one seen fit to give her a hairbrush? Moving as carefully as an old lady, she removed her rumpled and stained blouse and skirt and stripped off her undies and bra. Bruises already marked her skin in a dozen places. She had been given strict instructions not to get her stitches wet, so a shower was out. With a soft washcloth and a bar of her favorite lavender soap, she managed a quick cleanup.

When she was done, she realized that she had forgotten to get a nightgown from the bureau. Wrapping a towel around herself sarong-style, she opened the bathroom door and walked into the bedroom.

As she did so, she caught Aidan leaning down to put a cup of steaming hot tea on her bedside table.

Four

Aidan froze. If Emma’s eyes grew any bigger, they would eclipse her face. Though it hurt to look at her, he forced himself to meet her gaze with dispassion. “Drink your tea while it’s hot,” he said. “I’ll see what I can whip up for our dinner.”

In her tiny kitchen, he put his hands on the table, palms flat, and bowed his head. So many feelings, so many memories...

Emma laughed up at him, her skin dappled by shadows from the willow tree that served as shelter for their impromptu picnic. “Why the serious look?” she asked.

She lay on her back, arms outstretched above her head, eyes ripe with happiness. They had borrowed an old quilt from her neighbor. The faded colors only made her more beautiful in comparison.

“I have to go home soon,” he said, unable to comprehend the upcoming rift. “What will I do without you?” He sat upright, his back propped against the tree trunk, trying not to think about how much he wanted to make love to her at this moment. But the perfectly manicured English park was filled with adults and children eager to enjoy the warmth of a late fall afternoon.

Emma linked her fingers with his, pulling his hand to her lips. “Don’t spoil it,” she whispered, for a moment seeming as desperately dejected as he was. But immediately, her optimism returned, even if manufactured. “Remember—you’ll graduate in the spring, and then we’ll have all sorts of choices.”

There was no acceptable choice if it didn’t include her. He managed a grimace that was supposed to placate her. But from the expression on her face, he knew she saw through him. She had since the first day they met.

He lay down at her side, not caring if anyone raised an eyebrow. Propped on an elbow, he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “I can’t leave you, Emma. I can’t...”

But in the end, he had...

Inhaling sharply, he slammed the door on recollections that served no purpose. That day was so far in the past, it might as well be written up in the history books. Perhaps in a chapter labeled “youthful indiscretions.”

Turning his attention to practical matters, he examined the contents of Emma’s fridge. The woman lived on yogurt and granola and fancy cheese. His stomach rumbled in protest. But he’d have to make do with a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich.

He found a skillet and spooned a dollop of butter into it, listening to the sizzle as he strained to hear movement in Emma’s room. Even now, the image of her half-naked body remained imprinted on his brain. All that creamy English skin. Long legs. Hair the color of spring sunshine.

He dropped a chunk of cheese on the burner and had to fish it out before he set off the smoke alarm. His final efforts were not visually pleasing, but the sandwiches would keep them both from starving.

Leaving his meal in the kitchen, he took Emma’s plate to her door and knocked quietly. She would be dressed by now, but he didn’t want any additional surprises. He knocked a second time and then opened the door a crack. “Emma?”

The lights were on, but Emma was in bed, fast asleep. Curled on her side, she slept like a child with a hand under her cheek. A neat row of stitches near her ear reminded him anew of how close she had come to disaster.

He glanced at his watch. He hated to wake her, but if she awoke later in pain, it would be worse. He put the plate on the dresser and crouched beside the bed. The instinct to touch her was one he had to ignore.

“Emma,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She moved restlessly but didn’t open her eyes.

“Emma.”

This time her eyelids fluttered. A small smile curved her lips before she realized where she was and with whom. Immediately, a mask slipped over her features. “Aidan. I told you to go. I’ll sleep ’til morning.”

Fishing the bottle of pills out of his pocket, he shook a couple of tablets into his palm. “The doctor gave you enough pain meds to last until we can get your prescription filled tomorrow. You’re an hour past due, so you’d better take them. And at least eat a few bites of food.”

She took his offering with visible reluctance and washed it down with two sips of tea. When he brought the grilled cheese, she stared at it. “You cooked for me?”

He felt his face redden. His lack of expertise in the kitchen was well documented. “It’s a sandwich,” he said gruffly. “Don’t get too excited. I’ll be back in a minute with a glass of milk. That might help you sleep.”

When he returned, she had managed to finish half of the meal. He held out the tumbler of milk and waited until she drained most of it. Already, the simple exertion of eating had taxed her strength. She was as pale as her bedding, and he saw her hands shake before she tucked them beneath the sheets and settled back into her original position.

“Do you want the lights off?” he asked.

“I suppose. Please leave, Aidan.”

He flipped off all except the bathroom light. Leaving that door cracked an inch or so, he took one last look at the patient. “Go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”

* * *

The chair and ottoman were more comfortable than they appeared. With the gas logs flickering and a couple of woolen throws in lieu of blankets, he managed to fall asleep. His dreams were a mishmash of good and bad, past and present.

Somewhere in the middle of the night a crash jerked him out of his restless slumber. Leaping to his feet, he headed for Emma’s room, almost sure the noise had emanated from that direction.

He found her in the bathroom surrounded by the broken remains of a small water glass she kept on the counter. “Don’t move,” he barked. Her feet were bare. Scooping her up, he avoided the worst of the mess and carried her back to bed. “Why didn’t you call me?” he grumbled.

“I didn’t need a witness for that,” she snapped. Even drugged and injured, she had spunk.

Smothering a smile he knew she wouldn’t appreciate, he tucked her in and straightened the covers. It was still another forty-five minutes before she could have anything for pain. “How do you feel?”

She shrugged, her expression mulish. “How do you think?”

Evidently, the ladylike manners were eroding in direct proportion to her unhappiness. “Sorry I asked,” he said drolly, hoping to coax a smile.

But Emma turned her back on him. “Don’t be here when I wake up,” she ordered, the words pointed.

He shook his head though she couldn’t see him. “Do you want me to bring in the medicine when it’s time?”

“No.” She burrowed her face into her arm. “I can take care of myself.”

* * *

Emma had cause to regret her hasty words only a few hours later. When pale winter sunshine peeked into her room, she stirred and groaned. Today was worse than yesterday, and that was saying something. Of course, part of the problem was her stubborn pride. It was long past time for a pain pill, and she was paying the price.

She eased onto her back and listened. The apartment was silent and still. For a moment, she panicked about the shop, and then she remembered it was Sunday. Well, she wasn’t going to get any relief until she took something, so she had to get out of this bed.

Cursing softly when pain shot up her thigh, she grabbed hold of the foot rail and found her balance. Her slippers were tucked beneath the edge of the bed, but if she bent to retrieve them, she was fairly certain her headache would ratchet upward about a million notches.

Tiptoeing on icy feet, she went in search of the elusive pill bottle. What she found was Aidan, sleeping soundly beside the hearth. Her shock was equal parts relief and dismay. His longs legs sprawled across her ottoman, his shoes in a jumble nearby. Though his neck was bent at an awkward angle, he snored softly, irrefutable evidence that he was actually slumbering.

She counted the breaths as his broad chest rose and fell. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew their color by heart. Hazel, beautiful irises that changed with his mood. Lately all she had seen was the dark glare of disapproval.

His thick hair was mussed. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a dusting of hair below his collarbone. The intimacy of the scene curled her stomach with regret and sharp envy. No doubt there was a woman in New York who had laid claim to this beautiful man. But Emma had known him before...before he had acquired the spit and polish of a successful entrepreneur.

As he slumbered, she finally caught a glimpse of the boy she had known. After all, even at twenty-one she and Aidan had been little more than teenagers. They’d had no clue what forces could tear them apart, no way to understand that life seldom produced fairy-tale endings.

The old Emma would have curled into his embrace, not waiting for an invitation, confident of her welcome. Wistfully, she allowed herself a full minute to watch him sleep. But no more.

Easing past him, she spied the bottle on the end table, scooped it up and retreated before the lion awoke and caught her gawking at him. Her bravery extended only so far.

Though she would sell her soul for a cup of hot tea, that luxury would have to wait. The simple task was more than she could handle at the moment, and she had leaned on Aidan far too much already.

Thankfully, he never stirred as she retraced her steps. The partial glass of milk from the night before still sat beside her bed. It wouldn’t have spoiled in this amount of time, and she needed something to coat her stomach. Wrinkling her nose at the taste, she swallowed the medicine with one big gulp of liquid.

Though she had heard Aidan clean up the mess in the bathroom, she knew it was foolhardy to go in there again with bare feet. So she forced herself to slowly and carefully retrieve her footwear from its hiding place beneath the bed. When she straightened, she saw black spots dancing in front of her eyes and her forehead was clammy.

Even so, her immediate need was pressing. After a quick visit to the facilities, she washed her face, brushed her teeth and shuffled back to bed. She didn’t even bother glancing at the clock. What did it matter? She had no place to go.

* * *

Aidan breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Emma’s door shut. He’d heard her the moment she climbed out of bed. Feigning sleep had seemed the wisest course of action. But he hadn’t anticipated how strongly her silent perusal would affect him.

What was she thinking as she stood there and stared at him? How did she reconcile the way they had left things between them years ago with her current choice to live in Silver Glen? She had to possess an agenda. There was no way she could call such a thing coincidence. She was far too intelligent to try that tactic.

The only explanation was that she had come here intentionally. But why?

He told himself it didn’t matter. And he almost believed it.

Scraping his hands through his hair, he sat up and put on his shoes. As he rolled his neck trying to undo the kinks, he wondered how long it had been since he’d spent a platonic night on a woman’s sofa.

Emma would probably sleep for a few hours now that she had taken her medicine. Which meant he had time to drop off her prescription, grab some breakfast and dash up to the hotel for clean clothes and a shower.

The first two items on his list were accomplished without incident. But when he tried to access the back stairs at the Silver Beeches to avoid any awkward questions, he ran in to Liam coming down as he was going up.

His older brother, dressed to the nines as always, lifted an eyebrow. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Don’t rag on me, Liam. I haven’t slept worth a damn.”

“At least not in your own bed. I thought all your lady friends were in New York.”

Aidan counted to ten and then to twenty. Liam was not giving him any more grief than usual, but Aidan wasn’t in the mood to be teased. Not today. His jaw clenched, he offered a simple explanation, knowing that Liam wouldn’t let him pass without at least that. “I ran in to a friend who was having a bit of trouble. I helped out. That’s all. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to my room and get cleaned up.”

Liam leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the young woman who was hit by a car day before yesterday...downtown?”

Aidan stared at him. “Damn it. That’s exactly why I don’t live here anymore. Nobody has anything better to do than gossip.”

“People were concerned. Silver Glen is a tight-knit place.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

Liam’s face changed, all trace of amusement gone. “I know it’s hard for you to be here this time of year. But I want you to know how glad we all are to have you home for the holidays.”

The knot in Aidan’s chest prevented him from answering—that and the sting of emotion that tightened his throat.

His sibling knew him too well to be fooled. “I’ll let you go,” Liam said, his eyes expressing the depth of their relationship. “If I can help with anything, let me know.”

Five

By the time Aidan picked up the prescription and made it back to Emma’s place, almost two hours had passed. He had taken her key with him, so he let himself in quietly and placed his packages on the table. Peeking into the bedroom, he saw that she still slept.

The extra rest was good for her. And besides, the sooner she was stable, the sooner he could leave.

He shoved the carryout bags he had picked up into the fridge. The greasy burgers and fries came from a mom-and-pop joint down the street. The Silver Shake Shack had been there since he was a kid. While Emma had converted Aidan to drinking proper English tea, he had been the one to teach her the joys of comfort food.

His immediate mission accomplished, he sprawled in the chair again and scrolled through his email. No big surprises there. Except for the one from his mother that said: Dinner at eight. S.B. dining room. Don’t make me hunt you down.

He laughed softly, knowing that had been her intention. Everyone wanted Aidan to be in a good mood. To be happy. He understood their concern, but he was fine. He was here, wasn’t he? They couldn’t expect more than that.

Evidently the smell of his lunch offering permeated the apartment. Emma wandered out of her room wearing stretchy black knit pants and a hip-length cashmere sweater. She had done her hair up in a ponytail, and wore bunny slippers on her feet.

She gave him a diffident smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Doing any better?”

“Actually, yes. Was that food I smelled?”

“Some of the best. I put it in the fridge, but it hasn’t been there long. We can zap it in the microwave. Are you hungry now?’

She nodded, heading for her small dining table. Her gait was halting, so he knew her leg was bothering her.

While Emma sat and rested her head in her hands, he managed to rustle up paper plates and condiments. “I ordered you one with mustard, mayo and tomato. I hope that’s still the way you like it.”

Her expression guarded, she nodded. “Sounds lovely.”

The silent meal was half-awkward, half-familiar. Emma had changed very little over the years, though he did see a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She had always been more serious than he was, conscientious to a fault. The one thing he couldn’t help noticing was that her breasts had filled out. The soft sweater emphasized them and her narrow waist.

When the food was gone, down to the last crumb, he cleared the table. “Do you feel like sitting up for a little while? I’ll give you the seat by the fire.”

“That would be nice.”

So polite. Like a little girl minding her manners. Swallowing his irritation at her meekness, he hovered as she made her way across the room. He wouldn’t touch her unless she showed signs of being lightheaded. When she was settled, he stood in the center of the room, hands in his pockets. “If you have an extra key,” he said, “I can check on you later and you won’t have to get up to answer the door. I have dinner plans, but I’ll bring you something hot to eat before I go.”

Staring into the fire, she nodded. Her profile, silhouetted against the flames, had the purity of an angel’s. He felt something in his chest wrench and pull. The shaft of pain took his breath away. That wouldn’t do. Not at all. He was way past dancing to Emma Braithwaite’s tune.

He made a show of glancing at his watch. “Will you be okay for the afternoon on your own?”

“Of course.” Her chin lifted with all the haughtiness of a duchess.

For all he knew, she might actually be a duchess. He hadn’t kept up with the details of her life. Anything was possible.

She pointed. “The spare key is in the top drawer of that desk by the window. I think it’s tied to a bit of green ribbon.”

He rummaged as directed and found what he was looking for. As he pushed everything back into place, his gaze landed on a familiar-looking piece of paper. When he recognized what it was, he felt a mule-kick to the chest. “Emma?”

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