Page 40 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

Not having any water to drink, I muscled the medicine down and rested my head on the back of the seat, closing my eyes and attempting to be patient while the meds kicked in.

“Anything else?”

I cracked my eyes open only to find that he was still watching me. This fact made my stomach squiggle in an entirely different way. He was asking if he could help me?

And he sounded like he meant it? It was the coffee incident all over again.

I swallowed. I could use a drink of water, but that was my own fault for not planning ahead.

“Music helps,” I said. “Could your driver put some on?”

“Clive?” Duncan called.

The driver’s dark brows were visible in the rearview mirror. “Anything in particular you’d like to listen to?” he asked from the front seat.

That was a no-brainer. “The Beatles.”

Duncan snorted. “Seriously?”

So much for the considerate side of him. “What? The Beatles are classic.”

He continued studying me as “Eight Days a Week” began strumming through the car’s sound system. The familiar guitar strains worked like a lubricant to my joints. My muscles relaxed. I settled a little deeper into my seat.

“I never pictured you a golden oldies type,” Duncan said.

I stopped myself from singing the lyrics and nodded. “Why? What kind of music do you like? Don’t tell me. Metallica.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“You’re kidding.” I’d guessed right? It wasn’t like I pegged Duncan as a smooth jazz kind of guy, so I could totally buy his interest in metal. But to have gotten it right on the first guess?

“I like all kinds of music,” he admitted. “Rap and, yeah, Metallica when I’m working up a sweat. But I don’t mind country and alternative, too.”

“I love oldies,” I said. “Honestly, I think I was born in the wrong time period.”

A few lyrics leaked out in spite of myself. Duncan raised an eyebrow.

I didn’t care if he minded. This was who I was. It was time he found that out.

Wonder of wonders, he lowered his tablet and gave me his full attention. “What do you mean by that?”

I shifted, eagerly taking the distraction he provided. “Everything, I guess. My favorite books are classics. I adore period movies, too, and even old shows. LikeThe Dick Van Dyke Show?He was hilarious! Granted, society was more sexist back then, but still. You don’t find that wholesome humor in shows today.”

“So you wish you were born in the 1950s?” Duncan asked.

I thought the question over, humming in time to the song. “Hm. If I could pick any time period, it would have to be 1837.”

Duncan fought back a smile, which hinted at a dimple in his cheek. “So specific?”

“Sure. That was the start of the Victorian Era. I would have one of those delectable Victorian homes with their decorative roofs and gingerbread-house gables that have those really ornate ridge tiles, you know? And the bay windows with their own roof.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on the stained-glass mosaics.” I sighed before finishing. “They’re exquisite.”

“Sounds like it,” he said pensively.

“I love the clothing, the dresses, the men’s attire, the manners…”

“The social classes,” he went on. “Female oppression, lack of sufficient medical care…”

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