The Billionaire and the Wild Man Read online

  “Erm, well.” I touch my face and it does sting a little, but maybe that’s just because I’m remembering how it felt as we kissed. “It is a little prickly.”

  “Give me ten minutes and we’ll try it again without the beard in the way.”

  Chapter Three

  I duck back behind the curtain in an attempt to hide my surprise at what I just did. That and to secrete the budding erection I’m sporting. God, it’s been so long since I was with a woman in any way, shape, or form that a quick kiss has got my blood pumping and my hormones racing out of control. I’m like a puberty-wracked teenage boy.

  The bathroom door closes, and I heave a sigh of relief. I need some time to think. Think about what just happened, and what’s going to happen next. I’ve implied that we’re going to continue where we left off, minus my beard, but is that what I really want? Is it what Carrie really wants? We’re both damaged souls. She’s fragile, and I haven’t had a meaningful relationship with anyone since … well, since Basra.

  And that’s it. As soon as I think of Basra, of what happened there, and why, I make the decision that I’m not going to pursue anything with Carrie. It wouldn’t be right, not even if she was her normal self—a self which I suspect is a much stronger, more confident woman. I hope she’ll agree to just be friends, as it’s nice to have someone to talk to, beyond the perfunctory conversations I’ve had to secure me work so far in Hartington. She’s nice, and doesn’t seem to look down on me, even though she knows what lifestyle I lead. Not what I was expecting from a hot shot billionaire businesswoman.

  I guess we’ve surprised each other.

  Forcing my thoughts away from the eager press of her soft lips against mine, I lean out of the shower and dump the razor and foam in the sink, then move back under the spray and finish cleaning up. Then I twist the taps so cold water is beating down on my body. Letting out a gasp at the sudden chill, I quickly relish the way it takes the heat out of my hard-on. I’m soft again in no time, and I turn off the spray and step out of the tub, grabbing one of the towels Carrie left for me and having a quick rub down before securing it around my waist.

  Then I use the other towel to wipe the steam from the mirror above the sink and set about shaving off my damn beard. It is seriously thick, and I wonder if one blade is going to cut it—literally. Luckily Carrie left the packet containing the other razors by the sink, so I’ve got multiple backups. I’ll just see how I go.

  Giving the tin of foam a good shake, I squirt a liberal amount out and smear it over my face. Satisfied, I rinse the excess off my hands, pick up the razor and go to town. It takes several passes of the blade, getting closer to my skin each time, but eventually I have a bare patch. I half expect it to be much whiter than the upper part of my face, a tan line of sorts, but it doesn’t appear to be. Perhaps when I’m finished I’ll notice the difference. Not much I can do about it even if it’s the case.

  By the time I’m done, I reckon I’m well over the ten minutes I mentioned to Carrie, but I’d massively underestimated the time it would take to rediscover my chin. Man probably found the North Pole more easily. Or the moon. And now I have had a shave, I’m painfully aware of how much I need a haircut. The general hairiness of earlier must have balanced me out, but now my dark curls look like they’re straying into afro territory. It’ll only get worse when my hair dries. I either need to get myself acquainted with a sharp pair of scissors or find a charity shop and purchase a woolly hat, which will hide a multitude of sins. Not to mention come in handy, as the end of summer is approaching, and with it, colder days and nights. I move that either/or task to the top of my mental to-do list and make do with raking my fingers through the unruly mop for now.

  I then grab the toothpaste that’s sitting in a plastic cup mounted at the bottom right hand corner of the mirror and brush my teeth with my finger. A toothbrush is something I do have, but it’s back at my illegal digs. I’m improvising.

  Finally, I check the towel is still securely in place and head downstairs in search of Carrie. I’ve left the foam and razor in the bathroom for now. I can go back and get them when I’m dressed. I don’t really want to carry a sharp item around when I’m wearing nothing but terrycloth. One slip and I could do myself some real damage. The thought makes me wince.

  “Carrie?” I say quietly, aware that her mother could have come home early. Or, given she’s a control freak, popped home at random to make sure her daughter isn’t misbehaving. “Carrie?” I repeat, a little louder.

  “In here,” comes a voice. Sounds like she’s in the kitchen. I head there, and sure enough, she’s standing at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan. It smells good.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me, “but I thought better of going to the pub. It seems everyone in this godforsaken village knows my business, and if I’m seen with you, the news will get back to my mum before our bums even hit the seats. And, before you get the wrong idea, I don’t mean that I’m embarrassed to be seen with you. I just don’t want anyone knowing my business, who I’m spending time with. I’d feel the same if I was stepping out with Benedict Cumberbatch.”

  I haven’t got the faintest idea who this Bendybum Cabbagepatch is, but I’m glad she said that, because I was starting to get the wrong idea. If I wasn’t mostly naked, I’d have considered walking out. Instead, I shrug.

  “It’s okay, I understand. It can’t be nice to be in your situation and have everyone know about it, whether you want them to or not. Don’t worry about it. Am I gonna be able to get dressed before we eat?”

  Pausing her stirring momentarily, she steps away from the cooker and over to the washing machine. “Looks as though this’ll be done in a few minutes—good job you put it on a quick wash—and then I’ll stick ‘em in the tumble drier. So probably not. It’s only soup I’ve got heating, so it won’t take long. You’ll just have to be careful.”

  She grins at me, her gaze flicking momentarily down to the area covered by the towel. Which, I realize, isn’t as much as I’d hoped. On a smaller guy, the white material would reach down to the knee area. On me, it’s way farther up my thigh than is decent. If Carrie’s mother walks in now, I’m going to give her a heart attack.

  “I’ll be careful,” I say tightly, resisting the temptation to tug at the towel. I’ll only end up pulling the damn thing off altogether, and that will definitely not give the right impression.

  “Okay,” she says brightly, moving back to her task. “Could you get the bowls and spoons, please? I’ve already put mats out on the table.”

  On instinct, I look at the table, then back at Carrie. All I see is the back of her, her glossy hair, a little messy from her tough day, waist nipping in just right and flaring back out to perfectly proportioned hips and luscious bottom…

  “Yep!” I say, too hastily, moving over and pressing myself against the cupboards to her right before I get a suspicious tent in the material covering my crotch. Damn it, so much for not doing anything sexual. The woman’s given me two hard-ons in half an hour. “Where are they?”

  Fortunately, she doesn’t glance up from what she’s doing, merely points. “Spoons in there. And bowls up there.”

  “No problem.” I set about the task quickly, then sit down at the table and continue watching her, my groin area now happily hidden beneath the table. “It smells great.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t take credit. It’s just chicken soup, out of a tin. We don’t even have any bread to go with it, I’m afraid. If I’d known, I’d have gotten some from the shop.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. I’m very grateful for what you’re doing, really I am. All I had to look forward to was a freeze-dried meal. So hot soup’s very civilized. Practically gourmet.”

  “Freeze-dried?” She turns to me, saucepan in hand. “You mean one of those plastic bags you pour hot water into?” Her expression makes it perfectly clear what she thinks about that.

  “Yes,” I reply, smiling gratefully as she pours
the soup into my bowl. “Thank you. They’re not that bad, though. I’ve had worse.”

  “Really?” She’s filled her own bowl now, put the saucepan in the sink and taken her place at the table. “Where at? McDonald’s?” Grinning, she picks up her spoon. We continue our conversation in between blowing on and eating the delicious soup.

  “Even worse than McDonald’s.”

  “Not possible.”

  “Trust me, it is.”

  “Then tell me about it.”

  Bugger. I should have known this line of chatter would bring her to that question. If our roles had been reversed, I would have been curious, too. “Another time, maybe.”

  “Seriously? You know about how I ended up stuck here, and how the whole village knows my sorry state of affairs. I think you owe me at least a snippet of your life story.”

  I stifle a sigh, take my time scooping up more of the broth and supping it. “Okay, okay. You’re right. But you might not like it.”

  “What’s not to like? I’m a ruthless, cold-hearted businesswoman.” I watch as she visibly deflates, drops her spoon into the now-empty bowl. “Or at least I was.”

  “I’m ex-army. Special Forces, to be precise. So obviously I can’t tell you everything, as I’m bound by the Official Secrets Act.”

  Carrie nods. She doesn’t seem surprised by my admission. “Go on.”

  “I, uh, had to do some pretty dangerous and unpleasant stuff on behalf of Queen and country. Then something really horrendous happened to the rest of my unit, and I didn’t handle it very well. I couldn’t cope at all, with the army, with life. So I left. After what I saw, what I felt, the last thing I wanted was to ever be in that kind of situation again. I didn’t even want to talk about it, explain or discuss what had happened. There were a lot of people that weren’t happy about that, but by that point it was too late.”

  “Because you’d already gone?”

  I nodded, trying to remain calm in spite of my racing heart and the lump that is sitting in my throat.

  “So why didn’t they contact you and…” Carrie fell silent, her eyes widening as realization dawned. “Y-you went AWOL?”

  Fuck. I didn’t expect her to catch on that quickly. I thought I had a little longer before she came to the conclusion I’m a complete and utter arsehole. “Yeah. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “But you had your reasons.”

  Our gazes meet across the table, and I force myself not to look away. “I did. I still do. I quickly realized I was being a twat, but the longer I was in hiding, the harder it became for me to face the music. The more trouble I’d be in. So I dropped completely off the grid. They’d have a real hard time finding me now.”

  “Wow. So that’s why you’re not on benefits or anything. You don’t want a paper trail of any description. Hey, is Flynn Gifford even your real name?”

  I raise my eyebrows. This is one smart woman. I’m gonna have to be careful. Very bloody careful. “It is, actually. Why, are you gonna turn me in?”

  She looks surprised, then angry. “No, of course I’m not. What sort of person do you think I am? Actually, don’t answer that.” She grins, sheepishly. “I did just say I used to be cold-hearted. Perhaps you think I still am.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t. But I’m glad you’re not going to turn me in. I’ve grown to like it around here.”

  Carrie screws her face up, then becomes thoughtful. “You know what, my mother and her interfering busybody friends aside, it’s not actually that bad, is it? It’s certainly very beautiful.”

  “Have you even been out of the main part of the village? Not including appearing next to me in a field, I mean.”

  “No, why?”

  “Well then, you haven’t even seen the best parts. It’s gorgeous around here, sure, but the best bits are where nature rules.”

  “You sound like a hippy. Or Bear Grylls.”

  Ah, I know who Bear Grylls is, at least. She’s obviously got a fondness for blokes with stupid names.

  Her face takes on a slightly dreamy expression. I cough, glare. “Hey, I could give that idiot a run for his money. He has no idea what real danger is.”

  “Um, wasn’t he Special Forces? And didn’t he survive a torn parachute and three crushed vertebrae? Not to mention all the nutty stuff I’ve seen him do on TV.”

  I shrug. I’ve got to tread carefully here. If we carry on down this route and she spots my scars and starts asking more questions, I’m going to be in real trouble. “So,” I say, as brightly as possible, “fancy going for a hike tomorrow? You’ll need some shoes, though. Preferably sensible ones.”

  Rolling her eyes, Carrie picks up our bowls and puts them in the sink. Then, thinking better of it, she washes and dries one, along with the accompanying spoon, then puts them away. Yep, a seriously clever woman. “That would be nice. As long as I’m not keeping you from anything. Any more odd jobs and stuff, I mean.”

  “Not tomorrow. I’m helping one of the local farmers out the day after. But tomorrow I’m just going to scout around and pick up some more litter, see if there are any broken fences or anything like that. If there are, I’ll get in touch with the landowners and see if they want to hire me.”

  “How much work do you generally get? You know, hours a week or whatever.” The washing machine bleeps at that moment, and she glances at the clock before hurriedly retrieving my damp clothes and loading them into the tumble drier.

  “You worried your mum’s gonna come back?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She generally comes home when she says she’s going to. Perhaps she’s got secret cameras set up to make sure I’m behaving myself while she’s out.”

  I know she’s joking, but I can’t help looking around. A man being sneaked in through the back door of a house draws a lot more attention than one welcomed in through the front door. And the last thing I want is to draw any undue attention, or have any questions asked about me. I decide to ignore her last comment.

  “It varies massively. Depends on the time of year, the weather. I’ve done everything from helping to shear sheep, milk cows, repair dry stone walls, rebuild paths, chop wood, fix paths, replace signage, harvest crops. Anything you can think of to do in the countryside, I’ve probably done it. I have quiet periods, but I work my arse off when I can get the work and hope the cash lasts me until I get something else.”

  “It must be quite a scary way to live, if you know what I mean. Not knowing where your next meal is coming from. And I know you’re staying somewhere, sort of, but if it’s going derelict, how are you going to keep warm in the winter?”

  I give a tight-lipped smile. “I manage.” God, if this is going where I think it is, then I’m not going to be very happy. I don’t need a fucking handout. I’ve managed for this long by myself, and I’ll continue to do so.

  She appears a little startled by my sudden change of attitude, but fortunately doesn’t press me any further. Shrugging, she gets up again and flicks on the kettle. “Can I get you anything else? Your clothes will be dry soon, and I’m unfortunately going to have to kick you out before the hour’s up. You really don’t want to meet my mother.”

  “I’m sure she’s not as bad as you say. But even so, no, I don’t want to meet her. She sounds bloody terrifying.” I grin, pleased when she grins back. I think we may have gotten over that little bout of awkwardness, and I hope we never have to revisit it. “As soon as I get dressed, I’ll be out of your way. I’ll go and grab my razors and foam ready. By the way, what do I owe you for them? I’ll bring the cash tomorrow.”

  Carrie waves her hand dismissively. “It’s okay, don’t worry. Consider it a thank you gift for what you did for me today. An odd gift, I grant you, but a gift nonetheless.”

  “Hey,” I almost growl, “I can pay my way, you know. I’m not a charity case.”

  She laughs. “Don’t you get all macho and full of pride on me, Flynn Gifford. It doesn’t matter what backgrounds we come from, I was brought up to believe t
hat one good turn deserves another. And we’re friends now, right? Friends look out for one another. Charity, my arse.”

  I clench my fists beneath the table, trying not to let her see my irritation. Especially as it’s unfounded. Because she’s right, absolutely right. But my ego refuses to see it. Probably because she’s filthy rich. If she was just a normal chick, I probably wouldn’t give a toss about a can of shaving foam and a few razors, but the thought of her “keeping” me drives me crazy. The thought of anyone keeping me, in fact. I’ve worked my whole adult life, and I’m not about to start taking handouts now.

  “Yes,” I choke out, “you’re absolutely right. We are friends. And we’ll look out for one another.”

  There’s been no mention, not even so much as a hint, about the kiss we shared in the bathroom earlier. I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. I end up hovering somewhere in between.

  Chapter Four

  “Great.” I smile, tears pricking at the back of my eyes. “I really rather need a friend right now.”

  Flynn had been looking uncomfortable, like he’d swallowed the hot soup too fast, but at my words he lightens up and returns my smile. “You know what, Carrie, so do I.”

  Friends don’t snog friends, friends don’t snog friends. That should be my new mantra. If we’re going to make being mates work, I can’t give in to my urge to check out the difference in his bearded to unbearded kiss like he suggested we should when he kissed me. Mind you, I really want to stroke his shaven cheek and press my lips to his. Lips which I can now see properly. He’s hotter than I suspected, and I expected him to be seriously gorgeous. Even with the long, shaggy hair he’s startlingly handsome. I need to stop thinking about lip-locking with him because I quite like the idea of having a friend. I can’t remember the last one I had, not sure I’ve had any real ones, least not as an adult.

  Just as the weight of not speaking becomes unbearable, the drier clunks to a stop.