Page 22 of Her Billionaire Hero
“He didn’t look old,” she defended herself. “Preston was a good-looking man—even at forty-two.”
The thought of a forty-two-year-old man having the hots for a teenage girl wasn’t necessarily uncommon, but acting on that attraction wasn’t something most men did. And acting on an attraction they had for the daughter of a former lover wasn’t cool. “He was wrong for hitting on you.” I stopped myself as I thought that he might not have been the one who had done the leading. “Or didyouhit onhim?”
She shook her head before I could finish. “No. I didn’t put the moves on him. I didn’t have any moves. I suppose it was my mother’s absence that held me back where the opposite sex was concerned. I didn’t trust anyone to stay with me so why would I date anyone? Why would I give myself to anyone? But Preston wasn’t like guys my own age. He looked at me with something else in his eyes—not just lust.”
“I’m sure he loved your mother, Sloan. He was looking at you but seeingher.” I felt bad instantly that I’d messed with the image she’d created of him. “Sloan, I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Don’t be,” she said quickly. “I didn’t think that back then, since I was a naïve kid. I never thought he was using me as a placeholder. I didn’t know about the affair then either. But now, looking back on certain things, like when he surprised me by taking me to the hair salon and told the hairdresser to cut my hair in long layers, the way my mother’s had been cut, I get the idea that he was looking at me, but seeing her. And it hurts.”
Old bastard!
“Of course it hurts.” I pulled her in for another hug.
“The way he would look at me—with so much love in his eyes—makes me think he couldn’t have ever hurt my mother. You, Dad, the cops—you’re all wrong for thinking Preston is the killer of whoever it is they’ve found. Not only does he not have it in him to do that, he wouldn’t have hurt someone he loves.”
How blind you are, sweetheart. That man hurt you in ways you haven’t even figured out yet.
Chapter Twelve
Sloan
Baldwyn had his lips pressed against the top of my head. The numbness I’d been feeling had been slowly ebbing as he kept touching me, comforting me. And I did feel comfort. But I felt more than just that.
Tired of talking about upsetting things, I pulled my head off Baldwyn’s chest to look at him. “Have you had dinner yet?”
“I have not.” A slow grin curved his lips. “And you’ve had a hard day, so no cooking. I’ll go pick up something for us while you stay here and take a nice long hot bath or shower.”
“Bath. Bubbles.” I closed my eyes as I thought about pampering myself. “Or maybe a bath bomb. So many possibilities.” And the one that excited me most was the possibility of Baldwyn coming back to join me in the tub. Not that it would really happen, but I could have some nice fantasies while I soaked in the hot water.
He pulled me back in for another hug, this time kissing my forehead and sending chills all through me. “How about a nice bottle of red wine, some lasagna, salad, and breadsticks from Giovani’s?”
“The triple meat one?” I asked as my mouth began to water at the thought.
“Is there any other kind?” His arms unwrapped from around me and I already missed them on my body, holding me, hugging me, enveloping me in his warm embrace. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He headed to the kitchen, instead of the front door. “Before I go, I’ll open a bottle of wine and pour you a glass to take to your hot bath.”
“You’re spoiling me.” I loved it.
“You could never be spoiled.” Taking a bottle of wine from the chiller below the counter, he looked at the year. “Perfect.”
Yes, you are, Baldwyn Nash.
A half hour later, I lay in the tub, the bubbles all but gone as I enjoyed the long soak. The doorbell rang, which I found odd. Baldwyn knew the code to get back in. Climbing out of the tub, I put on my soft, fluffy white robe, then slid my feet into the matching slippers. “Coming,” I shouted as the bell rang again.
Whoever it was, was growing impatient. I hadn’t given anyone my new address so I had no idea who it could be. Even my father didn’t have it yet. As I came to the door, I saw a tall shadow through the etched glass—the shadow of a man. “Who is it?”
“Preston.”
A shudder ran through me.What’s he doing here?
Opening the door, I couldn’t hide my aggravation as I asked, “Who gave you this address?”
“I saw it on a report on the desk of the officer who’s been interrogating me for the last eight hours.” His eyes scanned my body. “You were in the bath?”
“I was.” I had no idea when Baldwyn would be back, and having my ex in my house would surely dampen the mood. The vibes had all been there that this might be the night that our friendship changed into something more. “And I’m expecting company. Sorry, but this visit has to be short.” I stopped talking as I walked away from him then turned to look at him as something struck me. “Why am I apologizing to you when you didn’t even call or text toaskme if you could come over?”
“Because you’re a nice person.” He caught me by the wrist before I could turn back around. “Sloan, honey, I need you right now. I’ve never been so worried in my life. These cops think I’m a murderer of the worst kind. They think I’m capable of breaking a woman’s neck and hacking her body into pieces. It’s disgusting. You know I would never do a horrible thing like that.” His eyes moved quickly back and forth as he searched for honesty in mine. “Right? You know that I’m innocent, don’t you?”
“What does it matter what I think?” I wasn’t the one in charge of things. “It only matters what the people who can put you in prison think.”
