Page 22 of How to Undo the Proud Billionaire

She’d pushed too far and he was closing down.

“I’m asking you never to repeat what I just told you, Brinley,” Radd stated, his voice colder than a dip in the Bering Sea.

“You have my word.” Brin passed the coffee mug to him and watched as he took a long sip, briefly closing his eyes. Handing her the mug again, he pulled his sunglasses from off his T-shirt and slipped them over his face, likely more to shield his eyes than to block out the glare of the sun.

“Shall we go look for those lions?” Brin asked, changing the subject, and relief flashed across his face.

“Absolu—” Radd’s reply was interrupted by the jarring, strident tones of his phone ringing, and he lifted his buttock to pull his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Those things don’t belong in the bush,” Brin muttered, annoyed by the interruption.

Radd sent her his sexy half-smile, half-smirk. The one that always warmed her. “I couldn’t agree more. But, unfortunately, I’m not on holiday and they are a necessary evil.” Radd lifted the device to his ear and briefly lifted his hand to point toward a large tree, and a massive antelope standing in the tree’s shade.

“Male kudu…hey, Dig.”

Brin and the kudu exchanged interested glances as the vehicle slowed down to a crawl. She could hear Digby’s voice and, though his words were indistinguishable, judging by the horrified expression on Radd’s face, he was the bearer of bad news. And, by the way, Radd looked at her, it involved her. Oh, crap, could Radd have found out her tenuous connection to Naledi? And did it matter? The flowers were done, and she was leaving; Naledi would never find out.

It wasn’t, shouldn’t be, an issue.

“Okay, well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll call you in the morning to make further arrangements.”

Radd disconnected the call and gently banged the expensive device against the steering wheel as the vehicle rolled to a stop.

“Problem?” Brin asked.

“Yeah. The pilot called Digby this morning, he picked up a problem when he was flying back yesterday. The technicians are working on it, but the plane won’t be able to pick you up today and the repairs will take a few days, maybe more.”

Brin felt cold, then hot, then cold again. Oh, crap, no.

“The Radebe’s have agreed to use their own jet, which will leave Johannesburg, collect them in Cape Town, offload them here and return to Johannesburg.” Radd placed his forearm on the steering wheel and faced her, her expression troubled. “So, what the hell do I do with you?”

Color drained from Brin’s face and Radd noticed her trembling hand. Whipping the coffee cup from her grasp, he tossed the liquid onto the veld grass and screwed the cup back onto the thermos, watching a dozen emotions jump in and out of her eyes.

A few minutes back, when they were talking about his parents—a topic he never discussed, not even with Digby—he’d felt like he was sitting on a hot griddle, but it was obvious he’d swapped places with Brin. Later, he’d try and work out why he’d revealed so much to Brin and why he felt comfortable opening up to her, but right now, he needed to focus on this latest hitch in his plans.

Brin bit her bottom lip. The plane’s delay was an inconvenience, but it didn’t warrant her deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Do you have somewhere to be tomorrow?”

“No, I mean, yes! Yes, I have to go back to Cape Town!” Brin quickly replied, her eyes sliding away as her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Damn, she was a really bad liar.

“A job? A doctor’s appointment? Lunch? A date?” He narrowed his eyes, inexplicably annoyed at the idea of her seeing someone else.

“Yes, a doctor’s appointment and a date.”

Lies number two and three.

Radd tapped his index finger on the knob of the gear lever. “I told you that I don’t like lies.”

“You told me you don’t like secrets and surprises,” Brin pointed out.

She was splitting hairs, because lies and secrets led to surprises. “So, why are you lying about needing to be somewhere tomorrow?”

“I can’t stay here, Radd. I just can’t,” Brin replied, still not able to meet his eyes.

“It’s a luxurious resort, not a jail cell, Brinley,” Radd retorted. “What’s the problem with you staying and leaving with me on Friday?”

Brin stared down at her intertwined hands, her lower lip between her teeth. “I need to get back to Cape Town, Radd. You promised I’d be back today. Can I hire a jet or, more realistically, another—smaller—plane?”

Damn, she really didn’t want to stay. Radd felt the stabbing pain in his chest and frowned. Could he be feeling hurt? And if he was, what the hell was wrong with him?

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