Page 43 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Maybe.

And maybe, possibly, he might; at some point in the future, he’d even want this enough to risk having his heart mangled if it—love and a family—disappeared on him.

And maybe Bay was the one person, the only person, who could make him feel this way. She was the first woman to have him contemplating permanence and commitment. He liked her, he liked her more than any woman he’d ever met before. He adored her body, and sex was, well, a revelation. Instead of it being a nice, satisfactory, albeit a bit of a mechanical act, making love with Bay was a feast of textures and tastes and sensations and sounds. Instead of pulling back after achievement of sexual satisfaction and creating physical, and emotional, distance, Digby normally stayed where he was, wanting to hold on to the moment as long as possible. Gentle kisses were exchanged, backs were rubbed, hands caressed.

For the first time ever, he felt emotionally connected to a woman and for once, he didn’t feel like running for the hills. Whatever was happening between him and Bay felt right and he was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. And God, although he knew that nothing lasted forever—that itcouldn’t—he hoped Bay would be in his life for the longest time.

BayandOlivia. Because they were a package deal.

“You had a nightmare last night,” Bay softly said, jerking him out of his rambling musings. Forcing himself not to react, Digby stayed where he was, conscious of his suddenly thundering heart. He didn’t remember any dreams from last night but obviously something had happened for Bay to reach that conclusion.

Before he could ask, Bay carried on speaking. “You were horribly agitated—at some point I actually thought you might be crying.”

Crap.Digby winced.How bloody embarrassing.

“What were you dreaming about, Dig?”

He could brush her off, tell her that it was nothing, that he didn’t remember. But they were long past white lies and inanities, and to hand her either would be a monstrous insult. Another option was to tell her he didn’t want to discuss the subject but then she’d be hurt and he didn’t want to hurt her. She also opened to him last night; didn’t he owe her the same courtesy?

He could give her part of the story; he didn’t have to tell her everything.

“I dream about Radd dying, about being left alone. It’s a recurring dream, something I’ve been experiencing most of my life.” He would not,never, tell her that he’d dreamed about her dying too. There were some things she didn’t need to know.

Her hand came to rest on his thigh, her gentle squeeze suggesting support. “Oh, Digby, that’s horrible.”

She had no damn idea. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” Digby muttered, glad his cap was still covering his eyes.

“I don’t care about that. Have you told Radd about your nightmares?”

Now why would he do that? “Uh...no.”

“You should. It helps to verbalize fears—it makes them smaller, weaker,” Bay told him, her voice empathetic.

Before he could tell her that he’d rather have his toenails pulled off with rusty pliers, Olivia sat down on his stomach and he released a pained, “Oof.” Despite having a little wind knocked out of him, he was incredibly grateful for her interruption. He couldn’t think of a subject he’d less like to discuss.

Olivia swung one leg over him so that her chubby knees were on either side of his ribs and her feet in the sand. She lifted his cap off his face, stared down at him and pursed her lips. “Is Mommy Bay your girlfriend?”

Digby sent her a “help me” look, but Bay seemed like she was enjoying this interrogation far too much to put a stop to it. “Bay is my friend and a girl.”

Bay smiled at his triumphant dodged-a-bullet expression.

“So she isn’t your girlfriend,” Liv stated.

He was being put on the spot by a three-year-old. This time Bay did come to his rescue. “Stop bugging Dig, Olivia.”

Olivia threw her hands up in the air. “I was just asking a question!”

Bay sighed. “Digby and I are friends, Olivia.”

“Oh. I understand.”

“You do?” Digby asked the little girl.

“You can’t be her boyfriend ’cause Mommy Bay is too pretty for you.”

Digby turned to look at Bay who was, rather unsuccessfully, trying to hide her laughter. “I might never recover from this emotional damage, Adair.”

“And she’s only three. Imagine how savage she is going to be when she’s sixteen,” Bay told him, patting his hand.

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