Page 23 of The Billionaire's One-Night Baby

Dodi rocked on her heels, feeling like a battery that was drained of power. ‘I need you to go, Jago. It’s been a long, long, emotional day and I’m wiped.’

‘We’ll talk soon,’ Jago said, nodding. ‘Hopefully we’ll make more progress next time.’

He wasn’t backing down or giving up. God help her. Jago surprised her when he lowered his head to place his lips against her temple. ‘Call me if you need me, Elodie Kate.’

Dodi stepped back and looked up. ‘I make it a point of never needing anybody for anything,’ she informed him.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek and Dodi fought the urge to step into his arms and seek his warmth and strength. ‘Start thinking of what you want to be moved into Hadleigh House, sweetheart. And as soon as you give me the word, I’ll send the movers to pack up your stuff.’

‘I am not—’ Dodi bit off the words and pointed in the direction of the front door. ‘Out! Now!’

Luckily, this time he listened. Dodi didn’t expect him to do it again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHORTLYBEFORELUNCHthe next day Jago slipped into Love & Enchantment unnoticed. The place was packed to the gills with prospective brides, bridesmaids, family members and the odd male hanging around looking uncomfortable.

His eyebrows rose as a slim, willowy blonde walked out from the dressing rooms in a strip of feathers covering her breasts and her hips. It was white, so he assumed it was a wedding dress. Look, he wasn’t a prude, but surely a wedding dress required a little more fabric?

And God, he hoped the priest, the groom or the best man didn’t have any heart issues, because they’d need a defibrillator when they saw that...thing...she wasalmostwearing.

Jago stepped to the side, hid behind an enormous bouquet of white lilies, happy to watch the mayhem. A pretty girl across the room stared at her meringue-like dress in the mirror, swishing her skirts as a four-year-old would.

A Goth-looking bride—black-as-coal hair and even blacker lipstick—stepped up onto a dais and cocked her head to look at the Morticia Adams-style wedding dress. Black, of course.

Her voice drifted over to Jago. ‘Could I wear a witch’s hat?’

Honestly, he thought she should. The dress certainly called for it.

Jago leaned his shoulder into the wall. This was actually fun. The customers seemed to be enjoying the experience and Dodi’s staff appeared relaxed and efficient and had perpetual smiles on their faces. And yeah, he was happy to stand here as he worked out how to apologise to Dodi. Apologies weren’t something he often did, and he sucked at them.

But he’d properly screwed up last night. He’d been tired and wired, upset and off-balance, and that made him rude. He should’ve taken some time to decompress and think before confronting Dodi.

And what had he been thinking when he demanded that she marry him or, at the very least, move in with him? He had a lot more finesse than that. He still wanted her living at Hadleigh House, sharing his bed, but her back was up and he’d have to work twice as hard to get her there.

He genuinely thought that moving in with him—he conceded that mentioning marriage had been a step too far—was a reasonable, sensible option. She was pregnant, owned a business and lived alone. And, being as independent as she was, she found it hard to ask for help, he suspected. He had the money, power and resources to make her life easier, to smooth away the obstacles that made life difficult and tiresome.

It was for her own good...hers and the baby’s.

But he’d have to tread carefully. Dodi wasn’t a pushover and had more pride than most.

Jago’s eyes moved around the room and his heart kicked up when he saw Dodi walking into the salon from the staff area, a fixed smile on her face. In her white silk T-shirt tucked into wide-legged trousers, she looked professional and sophisticated, but under her pleasant expression he could detect her frustration.

Something was wrong. He knew it the way he knew Hadleigh House.

As if sensing him, she jerked her chin up and looked around, immediately zeroing in on him standing in the corner. Those perfect, russet eyebrows lifted, silently asking why he was standing in her salon on a Friday afternoon, one of the busiest afternoons of the week.

Handing the dresses she carried to an assistant, she crossed the room to him. Standing close to him, she tipped her head to the side. ‘What are you doing here, Jago?’

He couldn’t tell her that their situation was all he could think about. And they weren’t just thoughts about the baby, but also thoughts ofher.What she tasted like, how she smelled, how he felt as if he was home when her arms wrapped around him, connected to her body. How much he wanted to be with her again, making love or just talking. He didn’t care which.

‘I need to apologise for my behaviour last night,’ he quietly stated.

She waited, her eyebrows still raised. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry, I was out of line.’

She nodded. ‘You were. Apology accepted.’

That was it? Two words? He frowned, unsure of her brief response. Did she mean it? ‘Let me take you to lunch so I can apologise properly.’

---