Page 12 of The Billionaire's One-Night Baby

‘I’m smarter than that,’ Jago told her, his expression turning sly. ‘His biggest complaint is that there are no small children around, so whenever he gets broody I send him around to Thadie’s place and she lets him look after the twins for a day. He comes back shattered and doesn’t nag us for a week or two.’

Dodi’s laugh tumbled over her lips. She’d seen the normally staid and distinguished Jabu running after Thadie’s Energizer Bunny three-year-old twin boys but hadn’t realised how they exhausted the older man. Or the motivations behind why the brilliant butler was playing nanny.

‘He desperately wants more Le Roux grandchildren, but he’s equally terrified he might be saddled with more boys. After all, the man barely survived Micah and me.’

Dodi shook her head, still laughing. ‘C’mon, you couldn’t have been that bad!’

‘We were his worst nightmare. Frogs and sugar in beds, sliding down the bannisters in the great hall, throwing darts at old paintings,’ Jago told her, his affection for Jabu shining in his eyes. ‘What else? Food colouring in the pool, dyeing our white Labrador green. Making chlorine bombs and trying to jump off the turret roof onto mattresses—’

Dodi grimaced. ‘No way!’

‘We were monsters. Occasionally, I remind him of how bad we were and that also shuts him up for a while,’ Jago said, smiling. He really should smile more often, Dodi thought. Smiles belonged on that sexy face.

‘Do you want a tour?’ Jago asked, standing up straight. ‘Would you like to see what we’ve done to the house?’

CHAPTER FOUR

DODINODDEDANDJago plucked her glass from her hand, placed it on the nearest table and, taking her hand, led her around the corner of the house. It was darker here in the shadows and she tightened her grip on Jago’s hand, trusting where he led.

He tested a handle, a door opened and Jago tugged her into another dark space. He told her it was their home gym and sauna. ‘I’m not going to turn on the lights—I don’t want to attract attention.’

He pulled her past a kick bag hanging from the ceiling, and as her eyes adjusted she noticed the different machines, all top of the line. Right, that explained his beautiful body under the excellent suit.

They emerged into a hallway and to the right, at the end of the passage, she saw a chic, extra-large kitchen—black granite surfaces and matte black ply doors and drawers—filled with the catering staff. Jago turned left and Dodi followed him, idly noting the incredible art on the walls. She passed a Tretchikoff, a massive Blessing Ngobeni, and an exceptional William Kentridge. The passage bent right and ended in a rather prosaic set of stairs, the exact opposite of the magnificent, hand-turned wooden staircase dominating the main hall of the residence.

‘This was originally the servants’ staircase. There’s another one on the other side of the kitchen. We can, obviously, access our suites via the main hallway but this is a more private entrance.’

Dodi licked her lips as she followed him up the stairs onto a landing that overlooked the hallway that doubled as a fantastic space for entertaining. Keeping to the shadows, they looked down at the guests below, some of whom were listening to the four-man jazz band playing in the corner, some quietly talking in small groups. Dodi allowed her fingers to drift over the shoulder of a bronze sculpture of a Khoisan hunter, his eyes squinting against the sun. She’d forgotten that Theo Le Roux had been such an avid collector of art, sculpture and ceramics.

‘Your house is amazing,’ Dodi told Jago, still conscious that her hand was in his. She tried to tug it away, but he tightened his grip as he led her down the gallery and another hall, passing a series of closed doors.

He stopped at the end of the passage, pushed open an oversized door and stepped back to let her walk inside. The door clicked closed behind him and Jago tapped a screen on the wall next to the door and a soft, warm light filled the room. Dodi looked around, intrigued. Like the rest of the house, his sitting room was exquisitely decorated, with rich cream walls featuring amazing seascapes from artists at the top of their game. Two leather sofas and an oatmeal-coloured wingback chair faced a massive flat screen on the wall.

But, unlike the rest of the exquisitely decorated house, this room looked lived-in, loved. A haphazard pile of books sat on the coffee table, there was a dirty coffee cup on the side table and a sweatshirt lay across the back of the chair. A pair of top-of-the-range trainers sat on the ancient, massive Persian carpet. A sleek laptop lay on the cushion of one of the sofas.

Jago shrugged out of his jacket, pulled down his tie and opened the buttons to his waistcoat. ‘Take a seat,’ he told her, heading to the corner of the room, where two walls filled with bookshelves met. Pulling a bottle of red wine from the built-in wine rack, he held it up. ‘Would you like a glass?’

Dodi narrowed her eyes at the expensive label. ‘I’m not a wine connoisseur, so maybe you shouldn’t waste your good wine on a plebeian like me.’

Jago gave her another half-smile, efficiently removed the cork and poured wine into two huge glasses. He walked over to her, handing her the glass before sinking into the depths of his enormous sofa. She could imagine him falling asleep there, weary after a long workday.

Dodi, still standing, sipped her wine—fruity and rich and, yes, delicious—and sauntered over to the bookcases to inspect his reading material. Books on politics were mixed in with crime thrillers, autobiographies stood alongside business tomes. ‘How on earth do you find a book?’

‘I have a photographic memory,’ Jago replied, crossing his feet at the ankles. ‘I know where everything is, mostly.’

Dodi walked across the carpet to the open doors, which led to a small patio. Peeking outside, she saw a wrought-iron table and a lovely, plump sofa squatting on the balcony—good grief, what was a Fendi Casa sofa doing on a balcony? It was a perfect place to drink an early morning coffee. She could hear the distant sounds of the party but, because they were on the other side of the house, the noise was a gentle wash in the background.

‘Aren’t your guests going to miss you?’

Jago shrugged. ‘Micah did a “welcome to the family” speech on our behalf—he’s better at that sort of stuff—and Liyana is playing hostess, backed up by my twin. And they know I hate crowds and won’t be surprised by my disappearing act.’

She looked down at her feet. ‘I can go if you want to be alone.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘But you might have to draw me a map so that I can find my way back to my car.’

Jago’s eyes slammed into hers. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you up here, to myprivateliving space, if I didn’t want you here, Elodie Kate.’

Right. Well, then.

‘Why don’t you take a seat, kick off your shoes?’ Jago suggested. He looked at her spiky heels and pulled a face. ‘Those heels are super-sexy and do amazing things for your butt and legs, but they have to be as uncomfortable as all hell.’

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