The Perfect Gift: A Christmas Billionaire Sexy Romance (Three Wise Men Book 1) (4 page)

“So come on then.” Brock sipped his piping hot coffee, trying not to burn his lip. “Tell me about yourself.” He smiled at the woman sitting opposite him, who looked as if she was also trying not to burn her lip, both of them as self-conscious as if they were on a date. Which they sort of were, he supposed, even if it wasn’t a very romantic one.

Erin gave a sexy shrug of her shoulders. “I think you already know everything about me.”

“Aw, come on. I know all about Ryan and how you’ve looked after him. I don’t know anything about
you
.” It was true—they’d talked often about the difficulties of looking after a sick kid, but they’d never made the step across that unspoken boundary into personal details until now.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

He leaned forward on the table, wanting to know more about this mysterious woman who pressed all his buttons, though he had no idea why. “Tell me about yourself, Erin. Do you work? What music do you like? What books do you read? I want to discover the woman behind the mother.”

Her smile faded, and she poked at the cream-covered mince pie on her plate with a fork. “I’m not sure there is one anymore.” Her tone was wry, but he sensed a touch of despair behind it. “I’ve been a mum for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be me.”

He nodded, took a bite of his mince pie, and ate it with enthusiasm. Georgia was right—it was terrific. “Yeah, that happens with both parenthood and demanding careers. I know sometimes I’m not home until ten, and I walk into my apartment and think right, time to myself, and I’m, like, okay… What do I do now?”

Erin laughed, her face lighting up, and Brock melted inside. He wanted to make her laugh like that all the time.

“That happens to me too,” she said. “I finally persuade Ryan to have a nap or get him to bed at night, and I think great, me time, and sometimes it’s all I can do to sit and watch the TV.”

“That’s natural,” he said. “Parenting is incredibly hard. Nowadays we’re all told we’re supposed to be super-parents, holding down a demanding career while being a terrific mother or father and partner, and it’s not that easy.”

“Well I don’t have a partner, I only work part-time at the local bookshop, and I’m a terrible mother, so I’m not sure what that says about me.” She laughed before eating her mince pie.

“You’re hardly a terrible mother, Erin. Look at all the research you’ve done into how to cope with an asthmatic child—not every mother can say the same. You’d be surprised.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I suppose.” Then an impish smile crossed her face. “But I can’t cook. I mean it—somehow even when I follow a recipe it always goes wrong, probably because I’m impatient and can’t be bothered to measure anything.” She gave a girlish giggle that made him grin. “I can’t sew,” she continued, “or knit. Too impatient to learn.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” he said. “Patience not your strong point?”

“Um, no. Not really. Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom, you know?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “So you work in a bookshop?”

“Three mornings a week while Ryan’s at playgroup. Keeps me sane. Kind of.” She rolled her eyes. “I like yoga. I paint a bit, not well, terribly messy abstract stuff that doesn’t mean anything to anyone but me, but I like doing it. I listen to funky rhythm and blues and jazz, and I can sing a bit. I like watching comedies that make me laugh and emotional dramas that make me cry. I love chocolate and I hate ginger. How’s that?”

Brock studied her face, watching how it lit up as she talked about the things she enjoyed doing. She’d look a million dollars in a designer dress with her hair done, makeup applied, and expensive jewelry glittering at her ears and on her fingers, but equally he loved her fresh-faced look, her sheer joie-de-vivre. She obviously thought she’d lost it since becoming a mother, but it was still there, like the Christmas baubles hanging by the counter that glittered when they caught the light.

“So,” she said, a light pink touching her cheekbones as he continued to watch her. “You’re a consultant pediatrician at Auckland Hospital?”

“Yes. My brother Charlie works there too—he develops medical equipment. My other brother you know as Matt King—he of Ward Seven fame.” He waited for her to quiz him about Matt the way most women did, captivated by the guy who was famous nationwide for his Kiwi cartoon characters.

“So what made you want to be a doctor?” she asked instead. “And a pediatrician at that?”

Warmed by her interest, he finished off his cake, pushed away the plate, and sat back in his chair. “My sister, Pippa, died when I was fourteen. She had an asthma attack. She was only eight. I was looking after her while my parents took Matt and Charlie to a school football competition. It was the middle of winter, freezing cold, but Pippa was bored and annoyed that the guys had gone to play football without her, so I took her into the garden for a kick around.”

It was still surprisingly difficult to talk about it, even after all these years. Brock concentrated on the table, picking at a black mark on the plastic with his nail. “I stuck her in goal, which she wasn’t happy about, but I was six years older than her and she tended to do whatever I wanted. We played for a while, and then she started complaining she was wheezy. Now, I recognize she’d had signs of asthma for a while. She had a recurrent cough. After playing sports and in the cold weather she’d sometimes complain of shortness of breath, but it always went away after a while. One doctor prescribed her an inhaler, but she didn’t like using it as none of us really understood asthma, and we didn’t realize how important it was. In a family of four kids, nobody has much sympathy with illness.”

In spite of his attempt at humor, to his surprise Erin reached out and held his hand, so she’d obviously spotted that this was still difficult. “Go on,” she said.

He shivered as she brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. “Eventually Pippa stopped playing,” he said distantly, “and sat on the grass. I teased her for a moment, then realized she was really in trouble. I carried her inside but by then she was barely breathing. I rang for an ambulance but she died before it turned up.”

Erin pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, Brock. That’s awful.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did she. Her hand was warm on his, and he concentrated on the feelings that gentle stroking of his skin aroused in him. He’d been too long without human touch, he thought. He hugged his mother, occasionally kissed a female friend on the cheek, but this was different. It felt intimate and sensual, and it stirred up a confusing swirl of emotions, from guilt to comfort to pleasure.

He swallowed and tried to concentrate. “I’d not been great at school before that—I was bright but messed around a lot, and my grades were all over the place. After she died, though, I decided I was going to become a doctor and do my best to make sure others didn’t have to go through what I went through. I want to raise awareness of asthma, and make treatments easier and more readily available for everyone, and to try to take away the fear of medical equipment for kids.”

“It was a great idea,” Erin said softly, “and you’ve made such a difference to a huge number of people.”

“Well, it’ll never bring Pippa back, but it’s better than doing nothing.”

“It’s a lot better than doing nothing.”

They smiled at each other. Brock knew she was about to pull her hand away, and he turned his over to hold hers so she couldn’t remove it. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. Strange how such an innocent gesture made him feel as if they were the only two people in the room.

Erin looked down at their hands, but she didn’t pull away. “So tell me about yourself,” she said. “I only know that you’re a doctor.”

“Well, I can cook, a bit. I’d do more but it’s time, you know? I play the guitar, nothing fancy, just strum along to songs and irritate everyone.” He grinned. “I like comedies too, and I love a good drama series. I read to relax, thrillers and crime mostly, books that don’t take too much brain power. I used to play football and rugby, but don’t have the time to commit to a team now, so mainly I just run to keep fit.”

“You sound very committed to your work.” Erin smiled. “I do admire that. Is it the main reason you’re still single?”

He brushed her knuckles again. “Kind of. There’s not been much time or opportunity to meet anyone else. But I’ve not been looking either. Two years sounds a long time but it doesn’t feel like it. When Fleur was dying, I told her I’d never look at another woman again. She just laughed, but I meant every word. Now though…” He paused and then gave a long sigh.

“I know what you mean,” Erin said. “It’s not quite the same for me, obviously, but when Jack left, I decided I was done with men. I’d had the hassles of pregnancy, then all the issues of a newborn, then the complications of a toddler. It’s been hard doing it on my own, but I’ve managed, and I’ve told myself I don’t need a man. I haven’t had time to devote to another person anyway. But sometimes…” Her voice trailed off.

Brock’s eyes met hers as she looked up at him, and then his gaze slid to her mouth. He’d not had feelings for a woman for so long, and yet even before he’d met Erin, he’d felt a connection with her he couldn’t explain.

It was so complicated. He didn’t know if he’d ever get rid of his guilt about betraying Fleur. She’d told him she didn’t want him to stay single for the rest of his life, but he’d promised her he’d never love again. What kind of man would it make him if he broke that promise?

And yet in another way it was so simple. He liked Erin. She was gorgeous and he wanted to lean across the table and kiss her, but it was also more than that. It was nice just to talk to someone about something other than work. To have a woman look at him with warmth in her eyes.

For God’s sake, he scolded himself, he didn’t have to ask her to marry him. And asking her out on a date didn’t mean he’d stopped loving or missing his wife. Only that time had moved on, and although a piece of him had died along with Fleur, he was ready for something—or someone—to bring him back to life again.

One step at a time, Brock. No need to rush.

“Next weekend,” he said, “providing Ryan’s well enough for you to leave… I wondered if you’d like to go away somewhere with me for your birthday. A nice hotel in the Bay, maybe, for a treat after all the stress you’ve had.”

Erin stared at him. Her eyes widened to saucers and she leaned back in her chair, withdrawing her hand from his grip.

Suddenly, he realized how his offer might have sounded. “Oh, I meant separate rooms,” he added hastily. “Christ, I’m not that forward.”

Her lips curved up, but her face flushed a beautiful shade of pink.

Brock ran a hand through his hair. “I’m making a real hash of this. Can you tell I haven’t asked a girl out for about ten years?”

“A little, yeah.”

He sighed.
Best to be honest now you’ve nearly screwed it up, dude
. “I’m sorry. I should have just asked you to dinner. But seriously, I thought it would be a nice gift for you. A night in a hotel with a room to yourself. We could have dinner in the restaurant—a fancy steak or whatever you wanted, a glass of red wine, and a Lagavulin to finish the night off. And then imagine it—a night in a Queen bed on your own, without a small person playing starfish beside you. You could have a decent bath without being interrupted and watch a real movie on the TV without having to turn over for cartoons. And you could drink the whole contents of the mini bar without having to worry about being there for Ryan.”

Erin was smiling warmly by now. “Actually that sounds like heaven.”

His heart swelled. “Is that a yes?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s a maybe. It’s a lovely gesture, Brock. And you’re right—we’ve been communicating for a long time, but ultimately I don’t know you very well. It feels odd accepting such a generous gift from a man.”

He reached out and took her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away. “I’m really sorry, I honestly didn’t mean it to come out the way it did. I just want to spend some time with you and get to know you a little better, and you’ve obviously been through a lot lately. You deserve a special treat. I sincerely meant separate rooms, I swear.”

“I believe you,” she said softly.

“The We Three Kings Foundation often helps out toward accommodation costs for parents, as usually only one person can stay in hospital with the child. We can say we’ll pay for your room out of that fund if it makes you feel better.”

An impish smile crossed her face. “The fund pays for glasses of Lagavulin, does it?”

He grinned. “No, you’d have to let me pay for that.”

She looked down at where he was brushing his thumb across her knuckles. “May I think about it and see how Ryan is toward the end of the week?”

“Of course. I’ll book the rooms anyway, but if you decide you’d rather stay with Ryan or you feel too uncomfortable, maybe we can just do lunch at a nearby cafe or something instead.”

She nodded. “Okay.” Clearing her throat, she pushed back her chair. “I’d better get back upstairs.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you and pick up my bags.”

He accompanied her up the stairs, pausing when they reached the room where he’d changed. “I’ll give you a call toward the end of the week, if I don’t speak to you before,” he said.