Page 17 of The Billionaire's Baby
"Ari," I call out, "what happened to you?"
He pauses at the door, then glances over his shoulder. "You haven’t earned the right to find out about that yet."
I open my mouth again and he shakes his head. "Sleep. You are going to need it."
Turning, he leaves.
How annoying. He could share a little more of himself. Not that I had done anything of that sort, or intend to let him closer. Still, he could open himself a little more about what had happened. After all, he could well be the father of my child… Not yet, considering he hasn’t come inside of me. Why didn’t he, though? How the hell had he restrained himself so? Why the hell is he holding back? I have to find out… Right after this nap. Darkness engulfs me and I close my eyes.
When I awake, the light radiates through the sliding doors. I grab my phone, check the time, then blow out a breath. It's only noon.
There's still time for him to shag me. In actual fact, I'll still be fertile in the next few days... Now, if only I can figure out why he didn’t come inside me earlier.
I sit up and glance about the space. I spot the glass of water on the bedstand and down it. The muted thrum of the boat’s engines rolls through the space as I swing my legs over and stand. My thighs protest. A sensation of him between my legs... Of how he’d pounded into me, how he’d kissed me. I touch my lips and wince. Hell, I feel raw all over. Like he fucked me hard… Which he did and didn’t, and damnit, where is that jerk anyway? I need some answers. I glance around and find my handbag on the table. The coil of rope on the table is gone. Huh? Was it displaced when the boat hit the storm?
Where the hell are my clothes?
I glance around, then stalk over to the closet, pull it open. There are a few T-shirts, jeans, one set of formal wear, hung in one corner. I search for a pair of sweats, but can't find any. How strange.
I settle for a pair of his jeans, tying them at the waist with a belt—because that's the only way they'd stay up—then shrug into a sweatshirt. Of course, I am swimming in the clothes, but at least, I am covered. I roll up the sleeves of the sweatshirt, then pulling on a pair of thick socks, head out and into the living room. I walk up the small flight of steps to the captain's cabin and find him at the wheel.
He’s changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that defines the breadth of his shoulders. He’s so big that he blocks out the light that pours in from the windshield in front. His hair curls around his collar. His feet, clad in worn boots, are planted firmly on the floor. He seems at peace, more so than any other time I’ve seen him.
"You like being at sea."
"It’s the only place where I feel free."
"Were you restrained a lot as a child?"
He freezes, doesn’t reply for a few seconds. "What do you mean?" he finally asks.
"Were you disciplined a lot? Maybe you were sent to boarding school and found it stifling—?"
"I went to a day school with the rest of the Seven."
"Oh." I swallow. "Was that where you guys were—" I hesitate.
“Kidnapped from?" he drawls. "You can say it. We survived the ordeal. It made us who we are today."
"And what’s that?" I scoff, "Ruthless, obnoxious, too confident…"
"Focused, goal-oriented, not hesitant to go after what we want..." He looks me up and down. "I rest my case."
"You didn’t come after me," I protest.
"No, you came to me." He nods.
I stare at him. I mean, he is right, in a way. "It was a mistake, my being aboard this boat when you left the dock. You know that, right?"
"Or maybe a Freudian slip?" He curls his lip. "Maybe you wanted to stow away, maybe you wanted to be found out by me, and maybe you wanted to spend time with me."
"Maybe I did want you to be my sperm donor..."
"Did you?"
"I admit, there is something here," I wave at the space between us, "but most of the time, I want to slap your face."
"Getting kinky, are we?"
