Playing the Billionaire's Game by Pippa Roscoe

Author:Pippa Roscoe [Roscoe, Pippa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mills & Boon Modern
Published: 2020-10-29T18:22:16+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

SEBASTIAN PUSHED OFF the wooden post with his foot, sending the hammock gently swaying beneath a spangled night sky, and cursed himself. He wasn’t quite sure what for, only that he knew he deserved it.

The full moon was so large and so bright it could have passed for that hour just before dawn, but at the last check of his watch it was barely one-thirty. With everything half lit, it felt half real... A time for fairies and magic, his mother would have whispered in his ear and he smiled sadly at the memory.

With one arm behind his head and the other hanging lazily down to where the ice-cold bottle of beer he’d retrieved from the outside fridge sat gathering condensation from the heat of the night, his eyes watched the sky, his mind skipping over the possibilities and infinities of the world. His lips curved into a half smile as he saw the bright burn and tail of a shooting star slash across the darkness as his unconscious mind made a wish he was barely aware of. Shaking off the abstract thought of Sia as more of a want than a wish, impossible either way, he pushed off against the post again.

He should never have extended this offer of fourteen days. He should never have allowed himself to get so distracted. He didn’t care about himself but the others, they had so much more to lose and he would never put them in danger like that. Yes, they’d all agreed, but still. It had been his plan, his idea...and he’d been the one to push it. Sia was a threat to all of that. He thought of Sia’s question earlier about what he saw when he looked at the painting. And then Sia’s answer when he’d asked who’d stolen her passion. He shook his head. Strange that they had both fought the same demons for incredibly different reasons.

He was about to snag hold of his beer when a creak on the decking stopped the movement. Every inch of him surged, the hairs on his arms lifted, he swore he could hear the thud of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins.

‘Go to bed.’

The command was gravelly and low even to his own ears. His eyes firmly on the horizon at sea, he knew, knew, that if he turned, if he caught sight of her there would be no going back.

‘No.’

‘You don’t want this,’ he warned.

‘Who are you to tell me what I want and don’t want? A thief? A liar?’ Her words struck him like bullets.

‘I have never lied to you.’

‘Then tell me you’re not attracted to me.’

He clamped his jaw shut but it did nothing to prevent the growl in his throat. Carefully and deliberately, he placed one foot and then the other on the decking and turned himself out of the hammock, his eyes neither on her or the horizon but somewhere in between. As if holding off the inevitable for as long as possible.

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