Beauty in the Billionaire's Bed by Louise Fuller

Author:Louise Fuller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-06-03T14:10:38+00:00

* * *

Frankie had chosen a picnic, as he’d known she would, Arlo thought, glancing up at the flawless forget-me-not-blue sky.

Who wouldn’t want a picnic on a day like this?

As if trying to make amends for the storm-force winds and slanting rain of a few days ago, the weather was perfect. Just the shimmering sun and a soft, Gulf-Stream-warmed breeze that barely lifted Frankie’s dark red curls from her face.

A part of him was still reeling from her revelation yesterday. He hated to think that she’d been so hurt and lost, that she was still hurting.

That was what today was about.

Distracting her from the pain and hoping that it eased a little in the meantime—just like when Johnny had been teething and Arlo had carried him around the Hall, showing him the paintings in the early hours of the morning.

They had dropped anchor near one of the small uninhabited islands on the outer Firth of Forth. They’d taken the tender between the jagged rocks, and now they were sprawled on rugs on the heather-topped cliffs, picking through Constance’s peerless picnic.

A loaf of homemade bread and a simple cold dish of thinly sliced slivers of chicken breast, dressed with a refreshing yoghurt sauce, were joined by baby beetroot with chutney, spiced aubergines, and some superb cheeses. To follow there was a rhubarb fool and a fruit and marzipan panforte, accompanied by a chilled bottle of Mâcon Blanc.

‘I can’t...’ Frankie protested as he leaned forward and filled up her glass.

‘On the contrary—you can. I’m the one who can’t.’ He dropped the bottle back in the ice bucket.

She screwed up her face. ‘But that’s not fair. You organised all of this and now you have to stay sober.’

Arlo stared at her in silence, a pulse ticking below his skin. It didn’t matter that most of his crew were experienced sailors, or that it was a beautiful calm day. Alcohol and boats didn’t mix.

But that didn’t mean he was sober. On the contrary, being with Frankie made him feel as if he’d drunk a cellar full of wine. Although probably that was just the ozone. After a day at sea, he often felt that way. It was just a coincidence that he was here with her.

His heart thumped against his ribs.

He couldn’t deny, though, that he liked knowing he could make her happy. That it was in his power to make her happy.

And unhappy.

Here, out in the sunlight, basking in Frankie’s smile, it felt suddenly more important than ever to remember that—to remember how it had ended the last time he’d sought out that power.

He felt a twinge of guilt, as he always did when he thought about his blink-and-you’d-miss-it marriage.

His marriage...the divorce.

Harriet was part of a past he’d intentionally buried deep, deep down, so that he didn’t have to think about it. And it had been working just fine until Frankie had arrived with her past, and her questions, and now suddenly memories kept pushing to the surface.

He gritted his teeth. Not just memories.

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