Page 153 of The Billionaire's Baby
The girls stare at me and my stomach ties itself up in knots. Why the hell do I feel so protective of that ass? After everything he’s done to me, I still don’t want to do something that would cause him pain… At least, not in a vindictive way... Apparently, I still feel something for him. Okay, face it, I want him, especially the things he can do to my body—the way he seems to make me come alive with just a glare, how he’d said he wanted to give me a child. A child... Hell, I still want to get pregnant, but not by any man. I want his baby. A child who will be the best of both him and me. I squeeze my eyes shut. This is hopeless. Why can’t I go even a few minutes without thinking about the a-hole?
She raises her eyebrows, "You worried about him?"
"Of course, not." I snort. "That obnoxious grumpy pants can take care of himself."
"So, you're in?" Isla tilts her head.
I heave out a breath, "I'm in. What do you have in mind?"
50
Arpad
I drive slowly up High Street Kensington, keeping her sporty Mercedes in sight. Where the hell is that woman headed? It’s as if she knows I’m on her trail…
Okay, okay, I know I said I’d leave her alone, and I had. For two full weeks, I’d only had my man—someone whom I pay a lot of money, by the way—follow her, because all the other agencies I’d approached had turned me down. Something about professional etiquette… What jerks. More like, they are afraid my little spitfire would give them hell if she found out that they’d helped me keep tabs on her. Unfortunately, as it turned out, the geezer I’d managed to engage to track her had been completely inept. He’d lost her repeatedly. He’d insisted that it hadn’t been his fault because the woman is simply really good at covering her tracks. The wanker—the detective I’d employed, I mean—had insisted she was way too good and taking measures to ensure that she wasn’t being followed.
Which, I have to admit, sounds like my woman. And she’d called me canny? Sparks is a woman on a mission, and damn, if I am not going to unearth what she is up to. It is my pride on the line. Know what I mean? She threw down the challenge, and there is nothing I enjoy as much as sparring with someone who is gunning for me. And she is. And I am going to do my best to stop her. Hell, thanks to her, I haven’t thought of taking my yacht out to sea, or chasing another storm… Because chasing Sparks around London gives me all the adrenaline rush I need.
What would it be like to live in this perpetual state of high for the rest of my life? To have her go toe-to-toe with me, constantly coming at me with her sass, defying me and questioning me... Until I’d have no choice, but to tie her down and make her submit to me. And submit she will… It is only a matter of time.
I watch as she pulls off onto a side road, then parks and hops out. She’s wearing a pant suit that shows off her curvy figure; and those legs, bloody fuck. I can’t wait to have them wrapped around me again. I park at enough of a distance so there’s no chance of her spotting me. Then jump out and walk toward the boutique she’s gone into. I stare at the window display of the understated, elegant shop—What the fuck? It shows wedding dresses. Why the hell is she here? I stare through the display window at the rows of dresses lining the wall on one side. At the far end, Karina speaks to another woman. They laugh, then the woman guides Karina further inside. Why the hell is she here? Is she trying on dresses? Why would she do that? She can’t be getting married, can she?
To whom?
Why would she do that?
Maybe because I’ve been bloody stupid with her…? But I’d asked her to marry me, and she’d refused. Fuck. Bloody. Fuck. I dig my fingers in my hair and tug, then begin to pace the sidewalk. Twenty minutes pass… I know, I counted, as I stared at my watch, then back at the shop window, all the while walking back-forth-back like a douchebag—which admittedly, I am. But seriously, can you believe this? She’s thinking of getting married. But to whom? What loser dares move in on my woman, while I… I…pace the pavement outside the shop like a—yeah, a blooming’ moron. I fist my fingers at my sides, turn and peer inside the shop. She comes out of the fitting room holding a long white dress in her hand. She beams at the woman behind the counter, then hands over the dress. They speak, then the saleswoman hands over a bag which I assume has the same dress.
Motherfucker! Is that a wedding dress? Did she buy a wedding dress? Who is she marrying?
Karina turns to leave. I glance around, then pivot and race into the adjoining street. I peer around to find her walking to her car. She gets in, then drives off.
I wait a few more minutes to make sure she’s turned the corner, then straighten and head for the main road. I am about to turn the corner when a voice asks me, "Have a cigarette, ol’ chap?"
I glance sideways to find a homeless man leaning against the wall.
"Sorry," I raise my shoulders, "I quit."
"That’s a shame." He looks me up and down, "You look like you need it."
"You’re telling me." I blow out a breath.
"Woman trouble, huh?"
"Something like that." I frown. What the hell am I doing talking to him anyway? I shake my head. "Have a good day."
I turn to leave, when he says,
"I loved you so sincerely, so fondly
Likewise may someone love you next."
I pause, then pivot and stalk up to him, "The hell did you say?"
"I loved you so—"
"I heard you," I growl. "Why the hell are you quoting Pushkin?"
