Page 23 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Digby glared at her, not happy to be pushed into a corner. “You’re not going to let me change the subject, are you?”

Bay handed him a small smile. “Nope. Now, stop stalling and tell me.”

Digby rubbed the back of his neck as his words poured out in a rush. “I’m jealous of her, jealous that she has his time and I don’t. Jealous that he’s not mine anymore.”

Oh, Digby. Bay placed her hand on her heart but remained quiet, knowing that the dam wall had, well, not broken but cracked.

Digby’s sigh was both heavy and embarrassed. “As I said, we’ve been on our own since our teens. Radd tended to put himself between me and the world when we were younger but, as we grew up, our relationship evened out. Our school offered a gap year after we graduated and, because there’s less than a year between us, he chose to do that gap year so that we could attend the university together. We started our internet business together, developing a new payment system, worked together, planned our future together.”

Digby stared at her, his expression telling her that he was ready for her to mock him, or to dismiss his fears. For someone so personable on the surface, he really wasn’t good at emotionally deep conversations.

“We were a team,” Digby said and Bay heard the pain in his voice.

Bay allowed her eyes to connect with his. “And now you think you’re not because he’s going to marry Brin?”

“Stupid, right?”

Seeing his confusion, Bay decided to put him out of his misery. “You’re allowed to feel that way, Digby. Change is always scary.”

“I feel like an idiot. And, worse, like a crap brother!”

“Actually, you sound human,” Bay told him. “And normal.”

Digby grimaced. “I sound like a moron.”

Bay’s lips quirked up at his low grumble and grumpy face. Unable to resist, she stood up, placed a hand on his shoulder and brushed her lips across his mouth. Funny how perceptions were often wrong, she thought. She’d genuinely believed Digby had a wide circle of friends, but what he had were acquaintances and he was, actually, emotionally isolated.

Digby lifted his free hand to hold the back of her head, to keep her mouth on his. His tongue slid into her mouth, and want and need replaced sympathy. Knowing that she was on a runaway train, Bay slammed on the brakes and lifted her mouth from his. They were venturing into emotional-connection territory, heading toward some sort of nonphysical intimacy. Such connections—expressing feelings and vulnerabilities—were dangerous, especially for her. She refused to step onto that magic carpet only to crash and burn when the wind powering her flight died or changed direction.

She liked Digby, loved the way he made her body sing, but she refused to be another crash victim. Although he was becoming harder and harder to resist and here she was, giving herself more opportunities to be tempted.

Ignoring the whole custody-battle issue, there was a very real chance she could fall for Digby. And if she did that, she would get hurt. She’d throw herself at him, offer him everything, and he might, for a little time, return her affection. But then, because the man never had long-term relationships, she’d start to bore him and he’d begin looking around for something new, someone different.

Then, as her dad did, he’d pull his affection and attention and she’d be left swinging in a cold wind. God, having and losing love had hurt so damn much.

Not happening, never again.

And if that wasn’t enough of a reason, she couldn’t afford, according to her lawyer, to be romantically linked with Digby.

She wasn’t ready to tell him, or anyone, about her custody battle. That would mean explaining that she was estranged from her parents, that they didn’t think her capable of raising Liv, that her parents no longer loved her. Or even liked her.

Bay slid her hands under Liv’s thighs and back and easily lifted her into her arms. “I’ll put Olivia to bed and then we can get to work.”

Digby frowned at her, obviously confused by her sudden change of subject. But before he could respond, the peal of her doorbell drifted through the house.

Saved, she decided, by Chinese takeout.

“Digby, you’re a freaking maniac!”

A week or so later Digby laughed as he whipped his Ducati between two minibus taxis and smiled at Bay’s voice in his ear via the intercom system between their two helmets. She was tucked up behind him on his superbike, her arms around his waist, working with him as he steered his bike down the still busy Cape Town highway. Lifting one hand, he patted her slim, denim-covered thigh.

“Relax, I’m not going that fast.” Okay, maybe he was going a little fast.

Digby returned his hand to the handlebar and smiled as he recalled Bay’s confused face when she opened the door of her cottage earlier. She’d obviously been asleep; there were crease marks from the cushion on her cheek and her spectacular eyes were a bit foggy. Taking advantage of her confusion, he quickly established that Olivia was sleeping over at Mama B’s and that Bay was, blissfully, alone.

And a plan started to form.

He’d been on his way to Muzi’s; they’d made vague plans to hit some bars, maybe a club or two. Needing a hit of adrenaline, he decided to take his bike, even if it meant he couldn’t drink for the rest of the night. But instead of heading to Muzi’s flat in Camps Bay, his bike found itself—strange, that!—on Bay’s street, and then he was knocking on her door...

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