Page 26 of The Billionaire's One-Night Baby

Jago smiled. ‘And you snore, by the way.’

Really? No, she didn’t! Needing to change the subject, she gestured to his house. ‘I thought you sold this place.’

His expression clouded and he shook his head.

She took a step towards the open door, then stopped. ‘Can I look around inside? I remember Thadie raving about the design.’ Seeing that he was about to say no, she carried on quickly. ‘Just a quick peek, Jago.’

He pulled a face before taking her hand and leading her up the three shallow steps to the oversized front door. ‘It hasn’t been opened for a while, so it will likely smell musty,’ he said, leading her into the two-storey rotunda. The deep grey floors were highly glossy and complemented the light grey walls and a modern floating staircase.

Dodi walked across the rotunda into a massive open-plan living, dining and kitchen area, minimalistic, elegant, and very, very cold with its silver and white accents. She noticed the hand-painted cushions on the sofa and the large and expensive coffee table books stacked neatly on the glass table. It looked like a show house, waiting for its new, wealthy owner to arrive. It didn’t look like a house that had stood empty for years.

On the other side of the rotunda was a high-tech media and games room with a huge, wall-mounted TV and a full-sized billiard table. The bi-fold doors opened up onto a long entertainment deck edged by a two-person lap pool. Beyond the pool was a well maintained, manicured garden.

She could see signs of Anju everywhere and it felt as if she’d just left the room. There was a book on neuroplasticity sitting on a side table, a bookmark peeking out from between its covers. There was even a cream cardigan hanging over the back of a chair, something Jago must’ve missed when he’d packed up the house.

Ifhe’d packed up the house...

‘Can I look upstairs?’ she asked.

Jago nodded and followed her up the floating stairs to the second floor. To her, it felt as if the house was holding its breath, as if it was full of tension, desperate to exhale. It felt cold and lonely and, despite the slick decor, expensive art and high-end furniture, oozed neglect. Houses needed human energy, and they needed to be lived in.

At the top of the stairs, Dodi turned right and poked her head into three luxurious, huge guest rooms, all with en-suite bathrooms. Hotel rooms, she decided. Moving to the other side of the hall, she opened another door and blinked at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves containing, well, books, arranged alphabetically. She also noticed a closed laptop, a stack of notebooks, pottery containers holding pens, a stack of folders. A shelf containing files lined the wall above the desk and a corkboard was covered in sticky notes in elegant handwriting, a reminder of appointments and oft used phone numbers.

It looked as if someone, a feminine someone, had just stepped out of the room and had run downstairs for a break.

This was, had to be, Anju’s study. But why hadn’t Jago cleared it out, packed up her things? Puzzled, Dodi left the study and eyed the room at the end of the hall, deciding whether she should go in or not. It was where Jago and Anju had spent their most intimate moments together and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see where they’d loved and, hopefully, laughed.

But she was curious to know whether Jago had cleared this room or whether it was a shrine to his dead wife.

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped inside, her eyes rising at the massive bed that dominated the stark white room. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides allowed the light in, but it was so cold and clinical it reminded her of a hospital room. Walking around the back of the bed, she found a bathroom with a huge two-person shower and twin granite basins. Putting her finger on the cupboard below one basin, she pulled it open and saw that the shelves were bare. Unable to stop snooping, she popped open the door under the other basin and saw that it was filled with high-end toiletries and expensive make-up, two-thousand-dollar bottles of perfume.

Jago had cleared out his stuff but not Anju’s.

There was a walk-in closet leading off both the bathroom and the bedroom, but Dodi didn’t need to look inside it to know that she would find Anju’s clothes, her handbags, shoes and accessories.

Biting her lip, she walked back into the bedroom and over to the corner of the room to look down onto the entertainment deck and the landscaped garden. Was Jago in a holding pattern? Had he still not accepted Anju’s death? Not moved on? Was he still living in the past?

Dodi heard Jago’s footsteps and turned to watch him enter the room. He wore his normal impassive expression but his eyes seemed darker, a little more turbulent.

He joined her at the window and leaned his shoulder into the glass, folding his arms across his wide chest, the fabric of his shirt tight across his big biceps. And Dodi felt that familiar rush of heat, that weirdI want you nowfeeling.

Her body wanted his again, over hers, under hers, hot and hard. But her mind was flashing huge red warning lights, telling her to be very, very careful. He was a complicated man, one fighting demons. She had her problems. She didn’t want to help him fight his. Not that he would let her. Jago was the most emotionally distant person she’d ever met and wasn’t one to invite confidences.

‘Do you like the house?’ Jago asked her, a slight frown pulling his eyebrows together.

She wished she could say that she did, but she didn’t, not at all. Oh, it was innovative and thoughtfully designed, with super-luxurious finishes, but it was cold and stark and every room made her want to pull on a cardigan or wrap her arms around her torso to contain her shiver.

She looked for a diplomatic way to tell him that she didn’t.

The corner of Jago’s mouth lifted in that sexy almost smile. ‘Don’t hurt yourself trying to be kind. I can see that you don’t.’

Oops. She shrugged. ‘I far prefer your family home,’ she admitted. ‘It’s...warmer.’

Dodi walked over to the bed and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. Should she ask him why he hadn’t sold the house and cleared out her things? Did she have a right to question him, to pry into his life? No, probably not. They’d only slept together once, had a few conversations. They weren’t friends...

But they were also going to have a baby together.

She’d ask. He’d either answer her or not. ‘Why haven’t you emptied the house, Jago? Packed up Anju’s stuff, sold the property? Why leave it?’

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