Riley’s Billionaire (16 page)

His breathing was ragged, his eyes fierce. ‘Tell me what you want,
chérie,
and I’ll do it. Anything.’

Riley’s hesitation drove him mad with need. Why wouldn’t she give in to what they both wanted? Why hold back? It was all Jack could do to contain himself. He wanted to rip off her clothes, to bare her for his eyes and mouth, to slip inside her and stay for hours.

His body ached for release, and the fire he felt for Riley was reciprocated — he knew it. So why delay? He’d no doubt she could satisfy him and that he could completely make her his.

Jack’s heated body relaxed when he looked into Riley’s eyes. Tears glistened, threatening to spill, and why was beyond him. He knew he hadn’t hurt her, so there had to be another reason she became emotional.

Idiot. She told you straight up she didn’t want a baby by you.
His ego did a flip-flop. He was elated her body responded to his as it did, deflated that no matter how hot they were for one another, there was still a part of him she didn’t want.

You only have yourself to blame.
He grimaced and slid away from her, onto his back. He rubbed his hands over his face, wishing he’d not gotten carried away to the point that he’d ignored their blasted bargain. He wished he’d never had her agree to a marriage of convenience, because it bloody well wasn’t convenient for him anymore.

Perhaps if they’d met under different circumstances. If he’d met her at a party, on holiday, or through friends. But then he’d never have met her at all, considering they moved in different circles.

Maybe there was hope for them if he took his time, showed her what kind of family life he’d really prefer once she met his grandparents. Every family had their skeletons in the closet, their members who were warm and those that were cold. Had he become so used to lack of emotion in Australia that he’d forgotten how wonderful it had been growing up? When had he turned into such a calculating monster that he could conceive of marrying someone because of their potential background? It was galling, abominable. A disservice to both himself and Riley.

But dammit, he wanted her, now more than ever, and he didn’t want a stupid piece of paper dictating how they proceeded.

He reached for her hand, hoping to let her know how he felt, that he was finally able to verbalise his regret in placing her in the awkward position of remaining with him only out of obligation. Wanting to ask her if there was a possibility she might...what? But his hand groped empty space. Riley was gone.

Once it became obvious Jack wasn’t making love to her, Riley slid out of bed to hide the pain, the thought he didn’t really want her. Just as she was on the brink of abandoning pride, he became reluctant. Maybe it was because he didn’t want anyone else in the house to hear them.

Then again, perhaps it was because he just didn’t want to lead her on.

She shoved the doubt demons aside. She’d think about them another day. She’d asked to see his ancestral home, and here they were. It was time to make the best of it. He might not want her now, but she was still interested in at least knowing him better, seeing something of his background, meeting his family, learning as much as she could. After all, it wasn’t like they were divorcing so soon.

He’d said his father was a cold man, more interested in business than family, but what of his mother? She had to have some spark of familial need if she was willing to move in with her in-laws and care for them. Lord knew they were wealthy enough they could’ve hired help or moved them to a convalescent home once they became infirm.

Riley primped, looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She assured Jack she was fine, but she was hungry and wanted to follow the aroma of bread baking, so while he righted himself, she left, venturing on her own to find the kitchen.

The tiny woman hovering over the cooking range and examining the contents of a large copper pot made Riley smile.

So this was Jack’s grandmother. A lovely vision straight out of a painting. She wore a sky blue cotton dress, cream-coloured ballet flats, and an apron that all but swallowed her small figure. Her silver hair was in a bun at the nape of her neck, and a few tendrils escaped, making her look fragile.

But when she turned, the sparkling dark eyes let Riley know — this old lady was anything but helpless or weak. She held the wooden spoon she’d used for stirring aloft. ‘For a minute, I thought you might be my grandson. I was ready to smack him for not writing or calling more often.’ She squinted. ‘Who are you?’

Riley opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a sound, she felt Jack come up behind her and place an arm across her shoulders.

‘Grand-mere,
this is my wife. Riley, my grandmother Phoebe Beauchamp.’

The older woman gave Riley a quick glance up and down then muttered. ‘Hmph. She’s not very big.’

Jack laughed. ‘Neither are you, so the two of you should get along great, as long as she respects the kitchen as your territory.’

Phoebe folded her arms across her chest. ‘Do you cook?’

Riley shook her head, feeling self-conscious. ‘Not well.’

‘Then get over here. You can watch my stew while I welcome my grandson home.’

Phoebe handed her the spoon.
‘Jacques, je t’aime!’

‘I love you, too, Grandmother.’

She smothered his face with kisses as he lifted her off her feet in a hug and swung her around. Then she made him set her down and slapped him. ‘Why do you stay away so long? Didn’t you miss me? Your grandfather worries himself sick.’

The two rattled through an animated conversation in French accompanied by numerous hand gestures while Riley stirred frantically, occasionally catching glimpses of them from the corners of her eyes. Occasionally, she caught words she understood, like apology, an endearment or two, and something about the vineyards.

Suddenly, silence, and Phoebe snatched the spoon from Riley’s hand. ‘It’s not mud. You stir like this...gently, scraping the sides as you go. Make love to it — don’t beat the shit out of it.’

Riley instinctively clapped a hand to her mouth, and Jack laughed.

‘I should have warned my wife that you speak like a sailor.’

She whirled, spoon aloft again, but before she could issue a threat, Jack pulled Riley out of harm’s way and asked about the bread.

‘It’s brioche, but you know that already. What you don’t know is that it’ll be ready in about ten minutes.’ She flapped her apron skirt at him. ‘Shoo. You go.’ She motioned toward Riley. ‘You stay — I will tell you how to make this recipe.’

At his mother’s request, Jack left the house to search for his grandfather. The old gentleman didn’t believe in cell phones, so Jack had to guess where he’d find him at that time.

He lifted his face to the sun and took a deep breath, which brought back memories of visiting Phoebe and his namesake, Jacques. There was something so peaceful, so delightfully refreshing about unpolluted air and hints of a French spring. Back home, Australia would soon be entering autumn and winter, but here an early spring was in the air.

Jack listened but heard nothing, but soon he saw the familiar, slightly stooped figure he sought. His grandfather looked up as Jack approached. With a huge grin and open arms, he welcomed his prodigal grandson.

Speaking in French, Jacques hugged Jack and kissed his cheeks. ‘You’ve been away too long!’

‘I know.’ Jack returned the affectionate hug. Then he stood back, surveying the land. ‘Already planting, I see. Grafts from the vines near the water well on the north side?’

‘Mm-hmm. I fear we may not beat the damned mould spores of last year, though.’ Jacques was thoughtful. ‘If the heavy rains come again, we’re screwed.’

‘ Maybe not.’ Jack told him about his new wife. ‘She’s a viticulturist who specialises in mould.’ Jack shrugged and laughed. ‘I suppose somebody needs to be. I don’t see the attraction myself.’

Jacques exclaimed and hugged him again. ‘When?’

‘A few weeks ago. She’s here.’ Jack indicated the direction of the house. ‘You’ll meet her at lunch, which is why I was sent to fetch you. Grandmother’s stew is ready.’

Jacques questioned him the entire walk back to the house. He wanted to know where they met, what Riley was like, where they intended to live. Jack knew he should’ve expected the questions, but some of them he wasn’t sure how to answer.

‘For now, we’re staying in Amelia’s house.’ He thought back to a conversation he and Amelia had had a few months prior. ‘Amelia wants to retire, and I don’t blame her. She’s due, and she hasn’t really handled much of the business the past two years.’

‘Ah, she’s grooming you, is she?’

‘Sort of.’ Jack didn’t go into detail about Patrick possibly being the one who was groomed to take over the business.

‘I always liked that woman. Good head on her shoulders, even if she is Irish.’ The old man chuckled.

‘Well, get ready for it, Grandpa, my wife is Irish as well.’ Jack told him that Riley might even be one of Amelia’s lost grandchildren.’

‘Mon dieu!’
Jacques clapped his hands. ‘How wonderful if that is so.’

When they reached the house, Jack couldn’t repress a smile. His wife stood next to his grandmother, and both women wore aprons and were sneaking bites of the brioche.

Riley grinned sheepishly. ‘Hey! Good cooks must sample their food before serving them, you know? Make sure the food is good.’

‘If you say so.’ Jack’s heart swelled with pride, and it hit him in the solar plexus that this was the first time he’d truly felt married. And he liked it.

When he and Riley had first arrived and had discussed cooking, he hadn’t given it much thought, but he remembered her interest, and she’d asked if he’d cook for her.

That’s what was missing from his life prior to marrying Riley. He’d missed the French country home life, waking to a big family breakfast before everyone went their separate ways to work or split into pairs in order to work together. Family lunches — what the Aussies called having a Ploughman’s Lunch, with various breads, meats, cheeses, and toppings. Or a hearty stew. Everyone gathering around well-worn furniture for conversation and cuisine, validating their unity whether consciously or unconsciously.

His heart suddenly ached for the younger Riley who’d never experienced life within a large family, and Jack vowed if she still wanted that, he’d find a way to give her everything he could.

Riley had heard horror stories about how snobbish the French could be, and while she had never lived her life by a bias she hadn’t experienced, she was delighted to discover the gossip hadn’t been true, not for her. After Jack left to find his grandfather, Phoebe had produced an apron, instructed Riley to wear it, and then the older woman had told Riley in broken English how to make a good stew. They’d discussed breads, and when Riley said she’d never made bread, Phoebe had said ‘Then you shall learn this afternoon.’

Spending only a short time with Phoebe let Riley know Jack hadn’t gotten all of his bossiness from either of his parents, but even Jack wasn’t as decisive as his grandmother.

‘I swear, she was born with a wooden spoon in one hand and an apron in the other,’ Riley whispered to Jack after lunch.

He smiled. ‘I hope you aren’t upset I left you alone for so long.’

‘Oh, not at all! She’s marvellous.’ She told him about her upcoming culinary adventure, that of bread making.

Riley stopped chattering long enough to study him. ‘Why are you frowning?’

He put his hands in his pockets. ‘I find it interesting that you and I had a left-handed conversation about children, but we never discussed personal likes and dislikes.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘Don’t know about you, but it never occurred to me.’

She took his arm and fell into step beside him as they strolled outside toward a porch swing. ‘Neither of us considered anything past our business arrangement.’

‘And now, how do you feel?’ He motioned for her to sit first then slipped onto the seat beside her.

Riley thought a moment. ‘If this is still all business, I’m content. No, that’s not what I meant to say.’ She thought a while longer, and Jack kept silent. ‘I should’ve just said I’m content.’

He sighed. ‘For how long, I wonder?’

She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, teasing. ‘I don’t recall contentment anywhere in our contract.’

He snorted. ‘Maybe it should’ve been. Maybe I shouldn’t have had you sign anything.’

‘Ah. But then what would we have to fight about or worry over?’

Jack groaned. ‘I can think of one thing. My schedule. I got a text earlier; another meeting day after tomorrow, so we’ll only be able to spend a couple of nights here.’

He looked at her. ‘Unless you’d rather stay without me and meet me in Nice at the end of the week?’

The devil that had been pushing Riley to visit the prison reared his ugly head. Jack had unwittingly handed her the excuse she needed to fly home without him. He’d be busy, leaving her to...

‘I think I’d rather meet you back home. I really should get back to Sydney.’

‘I see.’ His voice was quiet, not judgemental, but definitely concerned. ‘I need to give you one final present from this trip.’

‘What?’

‘Up in the room, in my luggage. I bought you a new phone, one that has universal dialling — I saw your old one on the dresser at home. Looked like you needed an upgrade, so I purchased one for you. I took the liberty of having it activated in Sydney. Just forgot to give it to you.’

What a strange man.
Riley nodded. ‘What do I do now?’

‘You stop using your old phone. Unless you want two of them.’ He shrugged. ‘I programmed the business and home numbers in it for you, but I didn’t have those of your friends, of course.’

Riley wasn’t married to her current coverage carrier, but she found it odd that her husband would take it upon himself to do such a thing.

Then again...this was Jack, who was always full of surprises, and who always had a reason for his actions.

Two days later Riley found herself on a flight from Sydney to Hervey Bay, where she’d meet up with Lex and give her friend time to talk her out of visiting the prison. If she knew Lex, though, Lex would quiz her without judgement and allow Riley to decide for herself the best course of action.