Page 10 of The Billionaire's One-Night Baby

And if that meant feeling like he was dancing on the edge of a razor-sharp blade or connected to a thousand volts of electricity whenever he came within a few feet of Elodie Kate, then he’d just have to deal with it.

He was a big boy. He could handle it. And her.

‘I thought redheads weren’t supposed to wear red. Or pink.’

Dodi turned at the deep, rich voice in her ear, cursing the goosebumps pebbling her skin. A few words, two short sentences and she wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet. Utterly ridiculous. Could she be any more asinine if she tried? She was almost thirty and a hot guy in a designer suit shouldn’t have this mind-melting effect on her.

Dodi touched the pleated skirt of her halter-neck, sleeveless cocktail dress, a bright, bold red ending with an eight-inch block of bright pink. It was, she admitted, a bold choice but Liyana, Thadie’s mum, reassured her that the dress looked fabulous, and the colour suited her complexion. Since Liyana was fashion-obsessed and had exquisite taste, Dodi trusted her assessment.

‘I seldom do what people expect,’ Dodi told him, thinking how amazing he looked in his custom-made, perfectly fitting dark grey suit, striped shirt and a tie the colour of a rich, fat aubergine. A paisley handkerchief peeked out of the pocket above his heart. He had what Lily called a clotheshorse body: wide shoulders, slim hips, long legs. Honestly, Jago could make a priest’s robes look sexy.

Her inner fashionista nodded in approval. ‘Bold colour combination, Le Roux. I didn’t think you had it in you.’

He touched the knot of his perfectly formed tie. ‘Credit to my stylist. She puts these combinations together. I just take the complete outfit off the hanger and pull the clothes on.’ He straightened his waistcoat before shrugging his shoulders. ‘I don’t care much about clothes.’

Sacrilege! ‘I do. I love fabric and fashion, clothes, interior design. Anything that’s design-led.’

Jago snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and passed one to Dodi, who shivered when his fingers brushed hers. How old was she? Twenty nine or nineteen?

Sipping, Dodi looked across the entertainment deck of Jago’s childhood home and into a garden filled with shadows, smiling at the fairy lights wound around the trunks and branches of the old oak trees. She wasn’t a regular visitor to this house and the last time she’d been here was to attend Theo’s post-funeral wake.

Hadleigh House was one of the great historic homes of Johannesburg, built in 1904 by one of the city’s first mining magnates. She’d always loved this house, constructed in Arts and Crafts style with touches of the Art Nouveau movement. It was an enormous double-storey house with a shingled roof, and some windows still sported leaded light glass within their frames.

She remembered hearing that the first owners of the house were, like Jago’s parents, incredible hosts and the Hadleigh House balls, tennis parties and Sunday luncheons were the stuff of legend. Most of the original grounds surrounding the house had been sold off but the extensive garden was still wonderful, with old oak trees standing sentinel over wide, thoughtfully planted wide beds. The entertainment area ran the long length of the house and flowed onto an enormous pool, and at the end of the garden stood a tennis court and pavilion. Tonight their guests, immaculately dressed, stood around the pool or sat on comfortable sofas and chairs, enjoying the warm, scented air, excellent canapes and the steady supply of expensive alcohol. Occasionally they wandered down paths leading to secret gardens and courtyards, complete with deep ponds housing fat, and happy, koi fish.

Dodi saw Thadie standing next to the dessert buffet laid out by the pool, Clyde’s proprietary arm around her waist. They were talking to Liyana, a grey-haired man and a woman who had the look of a long-distance runner. Wait, wasn’t that...?

‘I didn’t know Thadie was friends with the British ambassador and the country’s favourite Olympian,’ Dodi commented, tipping her glass in their direction.

‘She isn’t. But Liyana, with input from Clyde, drew up the guest list,’ Jago replied. ‘The opportunity to network must never be missed.’

He definitively sounded cynical. ‘And you? Don’t you need to network?’ Dodi asked him.

‘No,’ Jago stated. ‘People either want to do business with me or don’t. I’m not the type to schmooze.’

‘You really need to work on your confidence, Jago,’ she sarcastically murmured.

He flashed that rare smile, the one that hit his eyes, and Dodi had to look away. That particular smile could be used as a weapon of mass destruction.

Right, moving on...

Dodi’s eyes bounced off more guests and then she saw Micah talking to Alta, Clyde’s stepsister dressed in a barely-there mini-dress. She grinned. ‘Your brother doesn’t seem to have the same problem.’

Jago’s thick eyebrows pulled together. ‘He’d better be careful because she is actively looking for husband number three.’

‘What happened to numbers one and two?’

‘Both marriages ended in divorce. Hopefully, the third time is the charm but she’s wasting her time looking for a commitment from Micah.’ Jago took her hand and led her to a quiet corner of the expansive entertainment area, pulling her behind two huge Ficus trees so that they were half hidden from curious eyes. He nodded to her dress. ‘You do look amazing, Elodie Kate.’

He had once told her that her old-fashioned name suited her and, as he was the only person who called her by it since Lily, and both times in private, she didn’t mind. Pleased by the compliment—such an ego boost coming from the super-sexy, normally reserved Jago—Dodi hoped the darkness hid her heightened colour. ‘Thank you.’

They were silent for a few moments before Jago spoke again. ‘You said you loved fashion, clothes...’

‘I do,’ she replied when his words trailed off.

‘But not wedding dresses?’

Surprised by his prescience, she felt her champagne glass wobble in her hand. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ she stated, cursing the unsteady note she heard in her voice.

---