The Billionaire’s Pet (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance) Page 15

  "What do you think you're doing?" he barked, crowding into me and glaring down. I raised my chin and met his silver gaze with my own stubborn one.

  "I'm taking a shower," I said. "I'm filthy. I feel disgusting."

  Disgusting didn't even cover it. My fever had broken the night before, leaving me soaked in sweat. I vaguely recalled Jacob picking me up and putting me in the arm chair in the corner of the room, then carrying me back to bed and tucking me into clean sheets sometime later. I'd been grateful that I hadn't slept in the damp, sweaty bed linens, but the T-shirt I was wearing felt stuck to my skin and I was afraid the ripe scent wafting to my nose was me.

  "You are in no shape to take a shower by yourself," Jacob said. I raised my chin a little higher and didn't say anything. I didn't have the energy to argue with him, and I was taking a goddamn shower. If I had to sit on the floor, I would, but I was not going to smell bad for a second longer. Jacob gritted his teeth and stuck his hand under the spray. He adjusted the temperature before he set his hands on his hips and said, "Fine. We'll take a shower, but then, you're going back to bed."

  "Fine," I said. I had no illusions that I would be in any shape to do much but sleep once I got myself through a shower, but at least I'd be clean. Jacob stripped off his clothes with brisk efficiency, barely giving me time to admire the cut lines of his torso and the perfect curve of his tight ass before he was pulling the shirt over my head and ushering me beneath the warm spray of the shower.

  I did little more than stand there. I was alarmingly weak. Jacob squirted my body wash onto a shower pouf and scrubbed every inch of me. When I reached for the razor to shave my armpits, he plucked it from my hand and did it himself, ignoring my eyes squeezed shut with embarrassment. No way would I ask him to shave anything else.

  His hands lingered on my body, gentle and arousing in a distant way. He smoothed soap over my breasts, lingering for only a moment on my nipples, cleaned me between my legs, touching but not trying to turn me on. My brain struggled to adjust. I wanted his hands on me, felt the jut of his hard cock against my back as he stroked his hands over my breasts and down my stomach, but I couldn't seem to muster the will to do anything about it.

  Sex and orgasm were a distant dream. Reality was my legs shaking after holding me up for an entire fifteen minutes after days in bed. Done cleaning my body, Jacob sat me on the bench in the shower and stood beside me to wash my hair, using the hand-held shower head to rinse the shampoo and then the conditioner.

  I sat there, acquiescent and deeply grateful he'd thought to wash my hair. I rested my head against his hipbone as he worked, my eyes fixed on his thick cock shifting in front of me, close enough to touch with my mouth if I moved only a little. I wanted it, but I didn't have the energy to do anything about it. He hung up the sprayer and looked down at me, a wry smile on his face.

  "You're killing me, sweetheart," he said. "You're looking at my cock like it's a lollipop."

  Involuntarily, I licked my lips. Realizing what I'd done, I blushed and turned my face into his hip, hiding my eyes. I had been. I'd been staring at his cock like it was a lollipop. I'd been thinking how much I wanted to lick it. How did he always know what I was thinking?

  Pulling me to my feet, he wrapped a fluffy towel around me and said, "Later. Maybe when you can stand for more than a few minutes without your knees knocking together."

  I knew I was getting better when the thought of licking that magnificent cock stirred a wisp of desire between my legs, the most alive my body had felt in days.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ABIGAIL

  * * *

  I thought about touching him, then abandoned the idea. I could barely stand up. If I tried to seduce him, I'd pass out from the exertion. Instead, I stood there as Jacob dried my body and used the towel to squeeze water from my hair. I was wonderfully clean, but exhausted again.

  Jacob led me back to the bed and sat me down on the side, dropping yet another T-shirt over my head. I fed my arms through the holes and looked down to see the words, Emory Athletics. There was something intimate about sleeping in his shirts, so much more personal than the decadent lingerie he'd purchased for me. I loved silk and lace, but not as much as I loved wearing his T-shirt. He sat beside me and squeezed water from my hair a second time before gently combing it straight and braiding it.

  "How do you do that so well?" I asked.

  "You know I have a little sister, right?"

  I did know that. Charlotte, though he often referred to her as Charlie. She'd gone to business school at Emory and worked for his older brother, Aidan, at Winters Consolidated. Still, a lot of men had sisters, but I didn't think most of them knew how to braid hair. My father had had a daughter, and he would have had no clue.

  "Did you braid Charlotte's hair?" I asked.

  "Sometimes," he said. "My mother had her hands full with all of us. She didn't work outside the home, but she was very active in the community on top of trying to run herd on her own kids, plus my cousins, after my aunt and uncle died."

  "You didn't have a nanny?" Most families of their social class would have had a nanny. My own family had been a few rungs below the Winters clan in terms of wealth, if not social standing, and I'd had a nanny when I was a child.

  "We did," he admitted. "But she was only one woman, and there were eight of us. Plus, my mother loved being a mom. She didn't want any of us raised by staff, so she had some help, but she mostly did it on her own, which meant those of us who were older chipped in some with the younger ones. I was tight with Charlotte. Aiden and Gage thought she was a pest, and Vance teased her, so she always asked me to braid her hair."

  "You are sweet, Jacob Winters," I accused, smiling as he fastened the elastic on my braid and urged me to lie down again.

  "Shh, don't tell. See if you can get some sleep. If you feel up to it, Rachel made you chicken and dumplings for dinner."

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of solid food. It wasn't enough to stop me from drifting to sleep. The shower had wiped me out. Sleep now. Eat later.

  I'm not sure how long I slept. Time had been fuzzy since I'd been sick. I woke up feeling better than I had in days, with no fever and only a mild headache, with clean hair and a clean body lying between clean sheets. The only problem was my growling stomach. Slowly, I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

  Dizziness swamped me for a few seconds, but that was normal after so much time spent lying down. I waited until my head cleared to stand up. I thought about changing clothes, but I was loath to take off Jacob's T-shirt. Once I was better, things would go back to normal. I doubted Jacob would be lending me any more of his T-shirts. They didn't fit my job description. I found my silk robe and pulled it on over the shirt before I went in search of Jacob.

  He looked up when I came to a stop in the open doorway of his office, his eyes concerned as they studied me. "Are you ready to be out of bed?"

  "I'm hungry," I confessed. He stood, closing his laptop, and rounded the desk toward me.

  "So am I," he said, taking my arm and leading me to the dining room. As we neared that side of the penthouse, I became aware of a rich, salty scent in the air, warm, comforting, and delicious. Explaining before I could ask, he said, "Rachel made you chicken and dumplings. It's heating on the stove."

  He led me to my usual seat in the dining room, pulling out my chair and helping me sit as if I were fragile, ready to crumble at any but the gentlest touch. I sat, concentrating on pulling my chair into the table after he left, still not sure how to respond. He returned a few minutes later with two white stoneware bowls brimming with thick, creamy chicken and dumplings.

  Chicken and dumplings is one of those meals, like gumbo or lasagna, that can be made a thousand different ways. Some people favor a clear broth with flat hand-rolled noodles. On the other side of the spectrum, cooks like myself preferred a creamy soup base with big chunks of chicken and dumplings that resembled small biscuits.

  With a rush of grateful pleasure
, I saw that Rachel and I were on the same page when it came to chicken and dumplings. Just the scent, familiar and soothing, brought tears to my eyes. And a little confusion. Chicken and dumplings wasn't the most complex meal, but it did take time. Especially if it had been made from scratch, as this looked like it had. I should know. I'd made the meal often enough myself.

  Before I took the first bite, I asked, "Rachel made this? Why?" Taking a bite, I hummed in the back of my throat. It was perfect. Exactly what I would have wanted, hearty yet gentle on my throat and stomach. Jacob chewed slowly and swallowed his own bite before answering.

  "I'm sure you don't remember, but she was here when you were sick. She brought me more Tylenol and the thermometer, plus she brought work back and forth so I didn't have to leave you alone. She felt terrible because, apparently, her granddaughter had the same virus last week. Since you haven't left the penthouse and Rachel is one of the few people you've had contact with, no matter how slight, she probably passed it to you."

  "You told her it wasn't her fault, right? She couldn't have known I'd get sick. She didn't have to make me soup."

  Jacob shrugged, his silver eyes glinting with amusement. "I told her not to feel badly about it. And she didn't make you soup because she thought she had to. She could have just ordered in. That's what she usually does if I need food and I don't have time to go out. She made you chicken and dumplings because she likes you."

  My jaw dropped in astonishment. Of all the people in Jacob's life, Rachel was one of the few who knew who I was and what I was doing there. She'd witnessed the humiliating scene with the doctor. She'd bought me clothes and toiletries. I would have thought she despised me but was professional enough to keep her opinion to herself. Unable to let it go, I asked, "What do you mean, she likes me?"

  Jacob shrugged again, this time the amusement taking over his face as his lips curled up in a grin. "She said you have manners and class and I could do worse. Actually, she said I have done worse. She may have suggested it was possible you could do better."

  I didn't think my eyes could get any wider. Rachel liked me? I'm sure she was teasing Jacob when she said I could do better, because it wasn't possible to do better than Jacob Winters.

  I had no idea what to say, so I concentrated on eating my dinner. It had been a few days since I'd had a solid meal, and though it hurt my throat, I ate eagerly. Rachel's recipe wasn't exactly like mine. She used less black pepper and more thyme, but it was close enough to be immensely comforting. I only made it halfway through the bowl before I was forced to stop, my stomach uncomfortably full.

  "Have you given any thought to what you want to do once you're clear of Big John?" Jacob asked, his voice oddly neutral. I had given it thought. A lot of thought. I had not, however, come to any conclusions.

  "I don't know," I admitted. "When I left school, I was halfway through a degree in education. I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher."

  "And now?" Jacob asked. I shook my head. That girl, with her dreams of small children at her feet and a classroom of her own, seemed so very far away.

  "I don't want to teach anymore. I don't know why. It just doesn't feel right. And anyway, the salary is too small. I have to find a way to take care of my mother, and a teacher's salary would barely cover her expenses, much less my own."

  "You don't have to worry about that, Abigail," he said, sounding annoyed. I couldn't help scowling at him. Most of the time, Jacob was brilliant, but sometimes, he could be ridiculously stupid.

  "Of course I have to worry about that, Jacob. I didn't do all of this to walk away from her. She's only getting worse, I can't move her somewhere else, and I'm not qualified for the kind of job that can pay for her care." An ugly thought occurred to me, and I lifted my hands helplessly. "Except for this one. And mistressing has a limited shelf-life."

  Jacob scowled, his silver eyes flashing with anger. "You are not my mistress, and this is not a job."

  I stared back at him, confused. Maybe I wasn't his mistress. Mistresses were generally allowed to leave the house. But it was the closest description appropriate for polite conversation. Sex slave sounded funny at the dinner table. And he might not like the word, but this was a job. I didn't like it either. I'd give anything to pretend that what we had together was more than an arrangement where I provided service and he compensated me. But I'd be the greatest kind of fool if I let myself think anything else. I didn't understand his anger at the turn of the conversation.

  Jacob knew better than anyone what we were to each other. He was the one who'd made the proposal in the first place, though I'd gone to him looking for something just like it. I watched as he took a deep breath and visibly got his temper under control. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and inviting. "Pretend you don't have to worry about your mother's care. Pretend you could do anything. What would you do?"

  I didn't want to play this game. Pretending with Jacob was dangerous. But I did need to figure out what I was going to do with my life, and Jacob could be a helpful sounding board. When it came to things like school and jobs and work experience, he had a far better grasp of the possibilities than I did.

  Marshalling the thoughts I'd had over the past few weeks, I said, "I think if I could do anything, I would go back to school and study something to do with business. I don't know how I would go about it, but the one thing I always liked were the charity events I helped with. I was very good at raising money. And I know there are a lot of organizations out there that need help with funding, but I don't understand the finance side of it, and I think I would need to if I wanted to do it as a job instead of a hobby."

  Jacob studied me for a moment, the look in his eyes both relieved and approving. "Emory's business school has a concentration in non-profit management. You'd have to finish your undergraduate, but you only had two years left, correct?"

  "A year and a half. I'd finished my sophomore year when my father died, but I went to school over the summer, so my credits put me halfway through my junior year."

  An unfamiliar lightness spread through my chest, a sense of anticipation and potential I hadn't known in years. Since my father had died, I'd felt essentially useless, unable to take care of both my mother and myself, as if all my life skills had no point. I'd married John out of desperation and taken up the role my mother had held as a society wife, mostly feeling trapped and unhappy.

  I'd dreamed of being a teacher, not one of the ladies who lunched. But I'd loved volunteering for the charity events we put together. Many of the women saw them as nothing more than an opportunity to see and be seen at prime social events, but I'd enjoyed throwing parties whose sole purpose, in truth, was to separate wealthy donors from their money and use that money to help the less fortunate. The art was to do it all in a way that made everybody happy.

  Interrupting my thoughts, Jacob said, "I'm sure you would've made an excellent teacher, but I think this is a much better plan for you. I remember the events you put together when you were married to John. You managed to raise an obscene amount of money. You have a knack for it, and that's a valuable resource to organizations in need of funding. We'll look into what you need to do to transfer your credits over from State and finish your undergrad."

  My head was spinning, both from his compliments and his assumption that I would be pursuing this plan. Jacob was paying for my mother's care and had given me a credit card, but I didn't have any money. Finishing college and going to graduate school were expensive. There was no way I was applying for student loans. I had enough financial obligation on my shoulders without adding more.

  I was fairly sure the kind of job Jacob was talking about didn't pay a huge salary. Probably better than a kindergarten teacher, but I doubted it would be enough to cover my mother's fees, not to mention my living expenses and tuition while I finished my education. This was why pretending was dangerous. I'd given Jacob my ideal situation, but my reality left me with no path from here to there.

  "Jacob, I can't afford to—"

&nbs
p; He cut me off with a shake of his head and a slash of his hand. I closed my mouth, knowing better than to argue with him when he was like this. "Is this what you want to do?" he asked." If you could do anything, you said, this is what you want."

  I nodded. It was. It was also completely impractical and out of my reach.

  "Then we'll do it," he said as if it were that simple. For Jacob Winters, it probably was. Part of me wanted to argue, to force him to admit that our situation was far more complicated and short-term than this conversation implied. If I'd been feeling better, I would have. I think. I don't know. It was very hard to argue with Jacob when he was set on a course. It was a moot point because my stomach was full, my head was starting to hurt again, and I was exhausted from sitting up for the first time in days. We could fight later. Now, I just wanted to go back to sleep for a while.

  Jacob, satisfied he'd gotten his way, was more than happy to end the conversation, at least for the moment. He walked me back down the hall, leading me past my room and to his own.

  "What—"

  He interrupted me again. "The housekeeper is coming, and she hasn't been in your room in days. Take a nap here."

  I was too tired to argue. I was well enough that I was sure I wouldn't get him sick at this point, and his bed filled my vision, wide and tall and inviting. I let him peel the robe down my arms and usher me beneath the covers. He stroked a loose strand of hair from my cheek and laid a soft kiss to the side of my mouth, saying, "Sleep tight."

  He joined me in bed later, wrapping his warm body around mine, one arm tucked around my waist. I had the half-formed thought that I should go back to my own room, but it slipped away beneath the comfort of Jacob's body beside me and the weight of my exhaustion.

  I slept late the next morning and awoke to a bowl of oatmeal on a tray in the living room. I didn't like oatmeal that much, but I was hungry, and when Jacob shrugged and said, "I'm sorry it's instant. It's all I had," I ate it without complaint, touched that he'd made me breakfast himself.