The Billionaire and the Wild Man Read online

  “Like I said, it’s a long story. I’ve chosen to live this way, though, love. Off the grid, as they say. Footloose and fancy free.” I pause. “Actually, scratch that last. It’s bullshit. I’m dying for a shower and a shave. Clean clothes. A proper meal.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I can help you with that. With all of those things.”

  Chapter Two

  I’ve made friends with a tramp. He seems rather nice actually. He’s looked after me, and I’m sure I look a fright. Running through the wilds in bare feet. I don’t think under usual circumstances I’d have looked at him twice. His clothes are old, rumpled, and worse for wear. He doesn’t stink, that’s a definite plus, but that beard eating his face is scary and annoying. I can’t see what he looks like under it, and I suspect he’s actually kinda handsome. He’s got a lovely deep timbre to his voice, and although his accent is most definitely northern I can understand what he’s saying, which is a pleasure and more than I can say for some of the people in the village.

  “What do you mean?” Flynn asks, breaking into my reverie.

  “Oh, well, I think I should be able to sneak you in to my mum’s place when she’s not around. You can have a shower and a shave, and then I’ll treat you to a slap up meal at the pub since you’ve been so good to me.” I might only have a measly allowance, but as I’ve not bought a thing since arriving in the village, it’s enough to treat us to a meal. Apparently having access to my bank accounts would make me do a bunk. So Mum is controlling my funds and giving me just a little cash each week. Like bloody pocket money. Another thing for me to get annoyed about.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” he waves a hand dismissively, “but I really wouldn’t say no to that hot shower.”

  “Well, I’m going to have to go back and apologize before I can get you in, and please don’t take this the wrong way, my mum would freak out if I turned up with you in tow.”

  “No offence taken.” He laughs, bending down to pick up a discarded can. “I’ve got thick skin, me.”

  “I know you’re perfectly lovely, but my mother is a bit, well, snobby.” I shrug. “But I know she’s going out tonight to one of her clubs, I think it’s flower arranging, so once she’s gone you can come in and use the facilities.”

  “Won’t you be flower arranging, too?”

  “No, I bloody well won’t,” I huff, “though she’d like me to. I’ll plead insanity or sickness or something and get out of it.”

  “Good plan.” Flynn nods, a distinct twinkle in his blue eyes. He must really be eager for a wash. I wonder when he last went in a proper bathroom. How can someone choose to live like that? I’ve no idea, but I’m intrigued.

  “If you come with me now I’ll show you the back wall of mum’s place. If you come back about seven-thirty I should be able to let you in.”

  “Okay, cool. I can’t see any more litter here, can you?”

  I quickly cast a glance around me. “Looks like you’ve done a good job,” I confirm.

  “Grand. I’m all yours then, love.”

  Now was that as suggestive as it sounded? If I could see more of him through the undergrowth on his face maybe I could work it out. Flynn walks beside me back the way I’d come. I keep a careful eye on where I’m stepping. What had I been thinking? Running away in bare feet. Ridiculous. But Mum just knows how to wind me up. She’s always been the same, and she never realizes what she’s doing, or so she says. I know I was unreasonable, but she always wants to live my damn life for me. I hate that. I know I’m a bit fragile right now and I need looking after, but I don’t want to be suffocated by kindness.

  “Are you all right?” Flynn brushes his hand over mine, and my tummy flips.

  “Yeah, fine, sorry. I just hate this bit. I’m going to have to apologize and my mother will drag the whole painful process out for as long as she can manage and make me feel absolutely terrible and I hate it. I said that already, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “It’s why I left home. She drives me round the damn bend with her attempts to run my life and her bloody martyr complex.”

  “I getcha,” Flynn sighs. “I don’t do so well at being told what to do either. Not any more, anyway.”

  “I just wish she’d realize I’m a grown woman, you know? I can make my own decisions. Okay, sometimes I make stupid ones, but they’re my decisions and I have to make them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Flynn, you seem to be terribly wise.”

  “It is always wise to agree with a lady,” he replies, “especially one who runs barefoot screaming through the wilds of Derbyshire.”

  Flynn’s laugh is a deep and throaty joy. I hit him anyway though.

  “Cheeky bugger,” I growl, “are you calling me crazy?”

  “Not at all,” he pulls his smile into a solemn line, “I really want to use your shower and have a shave.”

  I can’t help but giggle. I’ve laughed more in the time I’ve spent in Flynn’s company than I have in months. There’s something about him that lifts my spirits.

  “Well yes, you do need a damn good wash,” I reply, poking my tongue out briefly.

  “You wound me,” Flynn grips his heart dramatically, “but now we’re even.”

  We come up to the back wall of Mum’s garden quicker than I’d wanted. “Okay, so here it is. See you later.”

  “All right, Caroline, good luck.”

  “Thanks, Flynn and, well, you can call me Carrie. Most people do.”

  “Carrie it is then. See you at seven-thirty.” Flynn squeezes my hand reassuringly, smiles and backs away. I feel a lump in the back of my throat.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, “thanks for everything.”

  I take a deep breath and turn to face the dry stone wall. Well, here goes nothing. I scramble back over it, the rough stones biting into the soles of my feet. How had I not noticed that before? Ouch. I suppose it was the anger I felt. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to get away. I get to the other side in one piece and turn to see Flynn disappear out of sight. I fight back the anxiety that threatens to engulf me. I feel weirdly safe with him around, and seeing him walk away shakes me up. It’s probably for the best, though. If Mum saw him lingering about she’d probably call the police. She’s so damn judgmental.

  I look for my shoes, but Mum must have taken them back into the house. I stride across the perfectly cut lawn and onto the patio and try to open the French window, but it’s locked. I heave a sigh and knock.

  Mum approaches the door, key in hand. She looks pale, and her eyes are rimmed red. She isn’t smiling.

  “Hi,” I whisper when she lets me in.

  “Oh, you decided to come back to your prison, then,” she replies coldly.

  “Yes, well, I’m sorry I said that.” I would like to say I didn’t mean it, but I did. With her fussing and taking control of everything I do feel like a prisoner.

  “You’re back now, just in time for your appointment. You better get some shoes on and we’ll go.”

  “Okay.”

  I know I should say something more, attempt to clear the air, but my mother likes to drag out these kinds of things. I try to make it all right, and she acts wounded and upset. Eventually she’ll decide she’s milked the situation for all it’s worth and it’ll be like it never happened. I think she’s allergic to confrontation.

  ****

  “Good afternoon, Caroline,” Doctor Sherrington greets me cheerfully from behind his dark wood desk.

  “Hello, Doctor.” I sit down on the plastic chair opposite him.

  “How are you today?”

  “Okay, thanks.” I smile blithely.

  “Now, Caroline, what have I told you about lying to me?”

  I don’t know how he does it, but he sees through my polite answers every damn time.

  “Well, if truth be told I’m a bit frazzled.” I tell Doctor Sherrington everything all about how I feel like a prisoner, how Mum’s assumption I’d go to church with her really made me snap. The way s
he’s treating me like a child and how that makes me feel vulnerable. I told him how I ran away because I couldn’t cope. I wanted to escape. He taps his Parker pen on the pad of paper before him. When I finish he puts down the pen and looks at me thoughtfully through his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “So, you’re frustrated because your mum treats you like a child.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly right.”

  “Hmm.”

  I hate that noise. It means I’m going to hear something I don’t want to hear at any moment.

  “So how did you relate this to her?” the doctor asks, straight faced above his crisp white shirt and tweed jacket.

  “Well, I yelled and then I ran away.”

  “Hmm.”

  I tried to show Mum I’m all grown up by throwing a childish paddy. Clever.

  “I know that was not very grown up of me, Doctor, but Mum is so frustrating. When I try to talk to her sensibly about such things she sulks.”

  “Well, I think you need to try to convey your emotions to your mum anyway. Tell her how you feel.”

  “But what if she doesn’t respond?”

  “At least you will have unburdened yourself of this frustration. Holding on to it only makes you feel worse.”

  I hate visiting him because he makes so much sense. I don’t like to admit that I ever need help, but why hadn’t I thought of this already?

  “Oh, well, I guess I can give it a try.”

  “If you find yourself in a confrontation like this again with your mother, here’s what I suggest. Take a deep breath and tell her how it makes you feel. The ball will then be in her court, so to speak.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” I smile, genuinely feeling better than when I walked in.

  “You’re welcome, Caroline. I’ve got you penciled in for Friday at two, so I’ll see you then.”

  “Okay, how many more sessions do you think I need before I can go back to work?” I’m ever the optimist.

  “You know I can’t say, Caroline,” he replies, voice level. “But I’m sure it won’t be too long now.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, “I’m just desperate to get back to London. Back to work.”

  “I know, but I think you need to slow down and appreciate what you’ve got here before you head back to the city.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” That irks me. How can he say the stress of doing absolutely nothing is good for me? I don’t work that way. I need to be doing things all the time. Just because I had a little mental breakdown doesn’t change that fact. So I threatened my PA and barricaded us in the boardroom for a bit. It was just a bad day in the office. So I’d been erratic all that week, scaring people, firing managers, breaking computers, and yelling a lot. It had just been a stressful week. But apparently no one else sees it the same way as I do.

  “How’d it go?” Mum asks as we walk out of the doctor’s office.

  “Not bad,” I reply. “Look, Mum. I need to tell you something. When you assumed I’d come to church with you without asking me, it hurt my feelings. It made me feel like you don’t see me as an adult. I know I didn’t respond in the right way and I’m sorry for that, but I am an adult, Mum. I can make my own decisions.”

  “I know,” she replies, tight-lipped. “Apology accepted.”

  A stab of irritation sears through my stomach. Apology accepted? Why isn’t she saying sorry to me? I bite down my anger though. I’ve done what I’ve been instructed to do, and I’ve been grown up about it. I can see this is going to be a long journey. I’m not sure my mother will ever accept I’m not her little girl anymore, but if I can demonstrate my sanity to the doctor, then I won’t have to worry about it anymore. I can go back to my business and forget all about my overbearing parent.

  The afternoon stretches into evening, and I’m anxious for Mum to leave.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she asks again.

  “I’m sure, Mum. I’m tired. I’m just going to have an early night.”

  “Well, okay. I’ll be back by nine at the very latest and you have the vicarage’s number if you need me at all.”

  “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Go and enjoy your evening.” I wish she’d stop dithering and just go. I’m sure I can see Flynn leaning by a tree on the other side of the garden wall.

  “Right, I will do then, if you’re certain.” She’s anxious. I can’t blame her after my flight earlier on.

  “I promise. I’m just going to go put my pajamas on and read in bed for a bit. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get back.”

  “Well, okay then. I better go or I won’t have time to finish my arrangement.”

  I wait until the door bangs shut and then count to ten before leaping up from the sofa and out of the French doors into the garden.

  “Flynn, all clear!”

  The figure by the tree moves, takes the wall in one jump, and walks towards me. It is indeed Flynn.

  “Evenin’.”

  “Hey, Flynn. Mum just left, so we’ve got an hour, an hour and a half or so before she gets back.”

  “Okay, you can do a lot in that time.”

  I blush at the suggestive tone of his voice.

  “Well, it’s plenty of time for a shower and a shave. Did you bring razors?”

  Flynn inhaled noisily through his teeth. “No.”

  “Well, no worries. You strip out of your clothes and put them in the washer, I’ll go and get some razors and foam, and then you can hop in the shower and get clean.”

  “If you’re sure. I mean, I can probably live with this beard a bit longer.”

  He scratches his chin absently. It must be very uncomfortable in this heat.

  “It’s no problem. I want to see what you look like under all that hair.” I smile, and he replies with a grin that’s heart-stopping, even through the bristly undergrowth partially obscuring it. “Come on in, I’ll leave you to it and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, Carrie, you’re a star.”

  I’m almost at the village shop—which fortunately is still open—before I think about what I’ve just done. I’ve left a strange man in my mother’s house on his own. What if Flynn’s ransacking it as I buy razors? I’m fairly confident he’s a good bloke, but I rush into the shop, grab my purchases and take them to the till. The shop assistant raises her fuzzy brows and looks me up and down.

  “Why do you need razors?” she asks.

  “I need to shave my legs,” I reply tartly, “not that it’s any of your business.”

  “It is when Marjory’s asked me to keep an eye on you.”

  “Look,” I glance at the badge pinned to the assistant’s straining green tabard, “Pat, I appreciate you helping out my mum, but I promise you I just need to shave my legs, my armpits, my intimate bits and pieces, you know. I’m buying foam, too. I hate the sight of blood, and I dare not make that much mess in my mum’s house. So please just sell me the razors so I can get on with it.”

  Pat looks at my legs, and I hope they don’t look too smooth under her critical stare.

  “All right then. That’ll be seven pounds ninety-eight, please.”

  I pay, grab the items, and rush out. My bloody mother sticking her oar in again. I wonder if there’s anyone in this whole village who she hasn’t told about my mental breakdown. No wonder I get so many funny looks when I’m out and about.

  “I’m back,” I cry, flinging open the cottage door, “got your razors.”

  No reply, but I can hear the shower running over the low thrum of the washing machine. Briefly I check the washer and note that Flynn’s put it on for a quick wash, grab some scissors to open the ridiculously difficult packaging and run upstairs then tap on the bathroom door.

  “Flynn, I got your razors.”

  When he doesn’t answer, a stab of irrational panic strikes. Has he slipped and hurt himself? Has he stolen the silver and left the shower running as a distraction? Does Mum even have any silver?

  “Flynn,” I shout again. “Flynn!” I knock on
the door. “Flynn!” I turn the knob, and the door opens. I walk in to see the shower curtain pulled across the side of the bath and I can see there is someone in there. In fact I can see creamy buttocks just sticking out behind the screen. I try not to stare, but it is a deliciously perfect arse.

  “Is that you, Carrie?” Flynn’s voice carries over the clatter of the falling water.

  “Yeah,” I reply, starting guiltily. “I’ve got your razors and foam.”

  “Cool.” He puts his head around the front edge of the curtain, “I’m desperate to get rid of this hedgerow on my chin.”

  “I bet.” I chuckle nervously. “I’m sure it must chafe when you’re kissing your girlfriend.” Stupid nerves. Why did I say that?

  “Well, I’m sure it would,” he nods slowly, “but as I don’t have a girlfriend I can’t say for certain.”

  “Oh, right.” My inane answer makes no real sense, but I concentrate on cutting open the lethal packaging.

  “Thanks so much for helping me out, Carrie. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have a hot shower.”

  “No problem.” I smile. “I’m just sorry we’ve got to rush around while my mum’s out. She’s just such a damn control freak, though.”

  I step forward and pass him the razor. “Here you go.” The steam heats my skin, and I try really hard not to stare at his revealed chest, or peek at what he still has hidden behind the curtain.

  “Carrie,” Flynn says my name as I’m about to move back. I look up into his eyes, and he takes me completely by surprise. He touches his hand to my cheek then pushes his lips against mine. I can feel the sharp pricks and bristles of his beard, but they don’t distract me from the plump softness and insistent pressure of his lips. I press forward, give myself over to the kiss, and then he pulls back and it’s over as soon as it started.

  “So, what do you think? Does it chafe?” He smiles cheekily, and I know my cheeks are hot and flushed from more than the damp heat surrounding us.