One Wild Night: Magnate's Mistress...Accidentally Pregnant! / Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress / The Good, the Bad and the Wild. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
other plans or something?”
Lie. Tell him you’re busy. “Um, well…”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place at six. Bye, Ally.”
She was still sputtering her refusal when the line went dead. She placed the phone in its cradle and buried her head in her hands.
“What was that about?”
Ally didn’t bother to look up. “He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
She heard something that sounded suspiciously like a snort from Molly. “So much for staying below the radar.”
“Molls…” Lifting her head, she saw a smirk playing at the corners of Molly’s mouth. “This is not good.”
This is not good was rapidly becoming her mantra. She left work a little early and took a nap, waking up still groggy an hour later. Cold water splashed on her face helped wake her up a bit, but the fatigue still grabbed at the edges of her mind.
Molly’s lecture about the importance of appearing keen on Chris’s ideas—for the time being, at least—echoed in her head as she pulled on a simple skirt and a sleeveless silk shirt. After clipping her unruly hair at the nape of her neck, she tried to add some color to her pale face. Deciding it wasn’t going to get much better, she took one last critical look in the mirror before turning off the bathroom light.
She still had a few minutes before Chris was due to arrive, so she booted up her laptop and took it to the couch. She typed Chris’s name into the search engine, but hesitated over the enter key.
Part of her still didn’t want to know. She’d convinced herself weeks ago that the less she knew about Chris the better off she’d be. But that had backfired in her face. Molly had been more than willing to play research assistant, but Ally had held her off, still undecided about how much she did want to know. Even last night, after she’d returned from Charleston, she’d purposefully left the computer turned off, willing to just ride this out. But now, with Chris headed to her door, seemingly serious about this get-to-know-you game, she had no choice but to learn everything she could about him.
Taking a deep breath she hit Enter, and seconds later Google returned its list.
The impressiveness of Chris’s accomplishments floored her. From his earliest races when he was still in his teens to his most recent win, Chris had racked up an impressive résumé around the world. It didn’t seem to matter where or what kind of boat he raced, he rarely lost, and never finished lower than third place. It seemed Wells Racing had several teams, and while Chris captained their most successful one, he also oversaw the entire racing operation.
OWD Shipyard built a variety of yachts—not just the ones Chris sailed—and their designs were popular all over the world. From what she could find, Chris had his hands in that aspect of the business, as well.
Oh, and here was a mention of Chris meeting with the OWD stockholders in his grandfather’s place. And look, he ran summer camps for inner-city kids to learn sailing, and donated huge chunks of cash to environmental causes.
Good God, when did the man sleep? How on earth had he found the time to go to Tortola and sail the Circe home? Of all the men in the world she could have hooked up with, how had she, of all people, found the one who just happened to be the world’s only zillionaire businessman/champion racer/philanthropist paragon? It boggled the mind.
Remembering their discussion yesterday, she added “world solo record” to her search terms to narrow the results. Google returned very few this time. While several sites speculated Chris would one day attempt to do it—and most likely break the record in the process—none seemed to know that plans were in the works to do just that.
The last link on the page had a very odd headline, and Ally clicked through. The Charleston Gazette must have put all of their archives online because the date on the article was close to twenty years ago. She scanned the first few lines quickly and almost closed the window before the impact of the words sunk in. Carefully, she started over again.
After an intensive nine-day search, rescuers have located the boat of missing sailor Paul Wells floating abandoned ten miles off the coast of Darwin, Australia. Based on the heavy damage to the hull, rescuers believe Wells, who was attempting to break the solo circumnavigation world record, perished in recent storms in the Timor Sea. Wells was a native of Charleston and is survived by his father, Porter Wells, and his eleven-year-old son, Chris.
A rock landed in her stomach. Chris wanted to attempt the same stunt that had killed his father? Was the man insane?
Wait, hadn’t Chris told her before that sailboat racing wasn’t all that dangerous? “It’s hard to kill yourself,” he’d said. She changed her search terms to give her more information about solo circumnavigation, and from the results it seemed it wasn’t all that hard to die after all.
Great. The father of her child had a death wish. Maybe that’s why he was so keen on claiming this baby—he’d have a piece of immortality in case his boat sank in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
That thought made her a little sick.
The doorbell rang and she quickly shut down the laptop before she went to answer it. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, she opened the door to Chris.
Who looked so good the air in her lungs came out in a painful rush.
With the sun behind him, he seemed surrounded in a golden glow. A black T-shirt hugged those strong shoulders and skimmed over the planes of his chest before disappearing into the waistband of low-slung faded jeans. He grinned, and her heart melted a little as her senses sprang to life. This was the Chris she’d flipped for, and her body definitely remembered him. He leaned in to give her an innocent peck on the cheek in greeting, but even that brief touch of his mouth burned her.
“Come on in.” Ally stepped back to allow him to pass as she tried to compose herself. How different this time was from Monday when he’d been here, so angry the air around him had nearly burned from the heat. Today he seemed comfortable, almost relaxed.
Well, at least one of them should be, and it wasn’t shaping up to be her. With a sigh, she closed the door behind him.
“You look great, Ally. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.” Amazingly enough, she was, but she would’ve lied if necessary. Her living room usually seemed open and spacious, but Chris seemed to fill it completely, making her overly aware of him and creating an uncomfortable feeling of intimacy.
“Then let’s go.” Chris reached for her hand, and the touch of his hand sent a shiver through her. Yesterday she’d chalked up her immediate physical reaction to his touch as a simple aberration—something to do with all of those pregnancy hormones sweeping through her—but the repeat of the sensation today underscored her need to keep him at arm’s length.
Literally.
But he made that extremely difficult to accomplish. He kept touching her—to help her out of the car, to guide her as they walked, to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear—and her nerves were a complete jangle by the time they reached the restaurant on the riverfront.
Chris made small talk, and although her mind kept wandering to deeper places, she managed to keep up her end of the conversation. At the restaurant Chris sat opposite her, and finally she had enough distance to begin to incrementally relax.
A drink would have helped, but when Chris waved away the wine list, she remembered it would be a long while before alcohol touched her lips again. She’d have to find her courage outside of a bottle.
“I brought you a present.” Chris slid a small black box across the table.
Jewelry. Jewelry came in boxes like that. “That’s really not necessary.” She scooted the box back to his side of the table.
“Yes, it is. It’s what men do when they’re trying to impress a lady.”
She