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‘So? Has she got a nanny for the kid?’
‘Even if she had the money for help it’s not that kind of set-up. She’s hands-on, home schools, community oriented. She’s the whole package.’ Nik shook his head slightly. ‘Why am I telling you this?’
‘So I’ll talk you out of it. How long have you known her?’
‘Forty-eight hours.’
Sasha obviously did his best to keep a straight face. ‘That long?’
It had been enough time to get her life story, lose himself in the wonderland of her body for one night and find himself here on the deck of a yacht half a world away unable to stop thinking about her.
He downed his whisky.
‘Why don’t you stop overthinking it and show her a good time? You might find out she’s more than happy to have a bit of a break from her packaged life. Is the kid’s father in the picture?’
‘She’s a widow.’
‘Then I don’t see your problem. But if it bothers you that much move on. I’ve got a phone full of numbers I don’t want. I can hook you up.’
‘Really?’ Nik raised a brow. ‘You’re farming out women now? Nice, Sasha.’
He ignored his brother, whose personal life was a car crash of beautiful girls and a man who walked away from the wreckage without a scratch, and stared meditatively at the tough glass, stainless steel and tiny circuit board he held in his hand that had revolutionised people’s lives and made it hard for a guy to go to ground.
Surely he was doing the right thing keeping away?
He’d seen the photo on her bedside table, of the dark-haired, homely young man with an even younger, bright-eyed Sybella welded to his side.
That was what she needed. A man who would be there for her every day, not one who couldn’t fix anyone’s life.
He’d tried with his grandfather, but there was no bringing Baba back, which was all Deda really wanted, and Sasha was never going to forgive him for having the upbringing that was stolen from him.
Although Simon Parminter hadn’t been there for Sybella in the end, he’d left her pregnant and with some hang-ups about her body that made Nik wish he could have set the guy straight.
Which was idiotic. If her husband was still alive Sybella wouldn’t have looked twice at him.
She was that kind of woman.
Clearly her husband hadn’t left her with much money either, given she was leasing the cottage.
He frowned. He could at least stop her payments. If they were seeing one another she could hardly be paying him rent.
Were they seeing each other?
Not that Sybella would accept any handouts. But he hated the idea of her struggling.
Maybe he could sort out the bed. Start with something basic.
Something solid.
Not a bed he would be occupying. Just a bed.
And under no circumstances was he delivering it himself.
He checked the text.
Can I have a yes or no on whether you’re closing west wing down? Syb.
After all that, not a romantic bone in that sentence’s body.
He exhaled a snort of amusement. She wasn’t pining for him at all. Practical, realistic Sybella.
He texted her back.
No, dushka.
* * *
No, dushka?
Sybella stood at her kitchen sink, scowling at the message on her phone.
It had been a week since Nik had stormed into her world and made love to her so thoroughly and tenderly he’d set the bar ridiculously high for any other intimate relationship she might have one day, far into the future, and left her with a broken bed and a bit of a bruised heart because she really liked him.
Then she’d sent a text.
She’d been sitting in front of an old film last night, sipping on a glass of red and nibbling some comfort chocolate, when she’d worked up the nerve to text him. Not Why haven’t you called? but a perfectly reasonable professional enquiry. She’d sat there while Jimmy Stewart carried a tipsy Katharine Hepburn back to her room, trying not to envisage Nik reading her text and saying Sybella, who?
Then No, dushka had popped up on her screen. She’d held her breath, feeling he was suddenly in the room with her, waiting for more. Only there was no more.
It answered her question whether she could show a pre-booked school group through the Hall on Thursday, but left her completely in the dark as to whether he was even interested in seeing her again.
