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  And she’s no prude, often regaling me with her sexcapades and the imaginative things that her fiancé Kent comes up with.

  Way too much information, but I roll with it and throw in a few pointers if Cameron and I have done something similar.

  “Oh, er, you know, you weren’t too happy with him before the accident,” she says slowly, pouting when Margery bustles in to take the now flagging Angel.

  “Time for her nap, dear.”

  They share a look that I can’t see before Margery kisses my cheeks and battles out, leaving us alone.

  “Molly?”

  “Oh dear. I really shouldn’t have said anything. The doctors were adamant about us not telling you anything, and I swear I would never want to do or say anything to upset you,” she says with a moan, wringing her hands. “Please don’t tell. Cameron will have a positive fit.”

  “I’ll keep my trap shut if you tell me what you were talking about,” I say, watching her face pale and her eyes skitter to the doorway. “It’s closed and no one will come in without knocking first. Now tell me. Were Cameron and I having problems before the accident?”

  God, please tell me we weren’t. I’d hate to find out that we were on the verge of collapse and that we’re only together out of guilt or something. I love him, madly, deeply, whole-heartedly already.

  I assume he loves me, too, though he has yet to say it. But if we weren’t doing well before, maybe the reason he hasn’t told me he loves me is because…he doesn’t.

  “Oh no, Shaw! Cameron positively adores you so don’t even start thinking that way,” she rushes to say, obviously having deduced my fears from my expression. “You should have seen how utterly wild he went when he found you at the bottom of the stairs. He was absolutely crazed. Griffin had to knock him out because he went…”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and close my eyes when something niggles at the periphery of my mind, just begging to break free. No matter how hard I try to keep the thought though, it disappears before I can grasp it.

  “I’m so tired of this. Just when I think I’m about to remember something, it disappears. It’s so frustrating not remembering anything or anyone that I love. And you know the worst thing? I have this urgency all the time, like I need to tell Cameron something, something really important, but it’s just not there,” I mutter, rubbing at my pounding head. “I’m afraid for some reason, and I can’t…”

  Molly casts another look at the door before closing her eyes and sighing loudly. When she opens them again, I see fear and no little amount of guilt.

  “I think that’s because your brain is trying to tell you who pushed you,” she whispers, her face going green when I gasp and pale.

  “Someone pushed me?”

  “I…you and I were partnered for the treasure hunt. We were searching for the next clue upstairs, but the place is so bloody big that we decided to split up to make up time. You were determined to win this thing because you wanted to rub her nose in it. You weren’t gone five minutes when I heard a scream and ran out to see you…you were falling, and I saw…someone had pushed you and then ran away…I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there because it would never have happened if I…”

  “Oh, Molly, no honey. No. You can’t blame yourself.”

  But someone is to blame. Some disgusting animal had shoved me down the stairs without so much as a second thought to the fact that I was very pregnant with my dear little Angel.

  Some animal had cared so little about the innocent life growing inside me that they’d pushed me anyway, not caring if my baby survived or not.

  Someone is going to die. Painfully.

  I’m going to find that person, that filth, and when I do, I will hurt them so badly before cleaning their clock that they’ll understand the meaning of the words mama bear.

  “You think I saw who did it?” I ask, reining my temper in with a force of will I didn’t know I possessed.

  “Yes, most definitely. The hallways were dark because Millie only kept minimal lighting to make things harder, but that section near the stairs was well lit. There’s no way you couldn’t have seen who it was.”

  “Good.”

  I need to remember who that someone is and I will, even if it kills me. No one but no one is getting away with endangering my baby. No one.

  “Why didn’t Cameron say anything?”

  “Oh, Ducky dearest, he’s been so concerned that you would have a relapse, and as I said, the man adores you. He’ll do just about anything to keep you safe and happy.”

  “I need to remember, Mol. I have to. You need to tell me as much about that night as you can remember. I need to jog my memory. Please.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says with a groan, wringing her hands and eyeing the door with desperation. “Cameron will murder me if I do anything that hurts you.”

  “Cameron needs to stop smothering me and worry about himself. Now spill it. Or I’ll tell Kent you told me anyway,” I say, smirking when she scowls and narrows her eyes.

  “Well, at least one thing hasn’t changed. You’re still a bitch, Ducky.”

  “Yup. Some things don’t change and never will. I want it all, starting at the beginning. And Mol? If you mess with me…”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Cam

  She’s pregnant. I know it. I feel it in my heart, in my very bones, and I’m so fucking relieved that I almost collapsed when she raced from the bed to throw up, her moaning and retching a sick song that made me want to cry in joy.

  I’m a bloody bastard for doing this too her so soon after her ordeal, and yet, I can’t regret it, not knowing that I now have a solid, indelible connection to her even if she regains her memory and realizes how wrong I’ve played her.

  “Ducky. Baby, are you okay?”

  She’s green and swallowing convulsively over a breakfast of dry toast and sweet tea that seemed to help her the last go round.

  “Fine.” She’s swallowing again as she says it, her face so wretched I wince with guilt.

  “You look quite pale, darling. Come, let me take you back to bed.”

  “Oh, Cameron, I don’t think I can…”

  I chuckle when she colors, recalling quite a few mornings when I’d said those very same words to get her back in bed and under me.

  Of course, my cock goes hard, demanding immediate attention at the thought of my woman in bed, but I give the fucker a strong set down and swing her up into my arms, my chest tight as I take the stairs quickly and get to our room.

  She sighs when I place her back between the crisp sheets, her brow furrowed and creased with worry.

  “I think it’s from these headaches I’ve been getting.”

  Headaches?

  “You’ve been getting headaches?”

  Oh, God. Please, no. Don’t let her memory be coming back. I’ve done everything I can, threatened everyone that even comes in contact with her.

  “Yeah. I’ve been trying to remember. Now don’t get angry, Cam. I need to know who pushed me, and I won’t stop until I figure it out.”

  “Who told you?” I demand, shoving away to start pacing at the thought of Shaw actually trying to remember.

  I’m relieved that she hasn’t because that means I have time to rectify…. Oh, who am I kidding? The woman is and always has been a bloody dog at a bone when it comes to something she wants. She sees a goal and she works at it till she achieves it, consequences be damned.

  “Er—”

  “Who the fuck told you that you were pushed?” I yell, feeling my world spin out of control at the ramifications of it all.

  I have a failsafe in place in the form of the baby I know is growing in her, but that in no way calms the rage and fear sweeping through me. I need more time to make her love me.

  I need more time to convince her that what I feel for her isn’t just as the result of my attraction to her body, or the fact that I want Angelica as my child.

  “Cameron.”

  “Who. Told. You.”
r />   “Molly,” she whispers, her eyes wide and moist as she struggles not to cry.

  “I fucking warned them all.”

  “I know Cam, and she wouldn’t have said anything, but I told her how scared I am all the time because I know there’s something important I need to remember…but I just can’t,” she says, her eyes spilling twin tracks down her pale cheeks.

  “I don’t want you to remember, Shaw. I don’t ever want you to remember what it must have felt like to know you’re falling and can’t stop it. To know that the baby…”

  I pause because I feel every second of the terror she must have felt, every split second of bone numbing anguish, and I hadn’t even been there to see the horror of it.

  Shaw must have been so terrified in those moments that just thinking about it still has the power to make me want to decimate whole cities in my quest to find the culprit.

  Kent and Griff are still searching, looking over tapes from the few cameras that were set up in the house. And then there are Dougal’s attempts to track down every houseguest in the hopes that questioning them could narrow the list of suspects.

  My money is on Letitia, but without proof, I have no leg to stand on. I can’t even go near her for fear that I’ll throttle her to death and she might be innocent.

  “I know, honey, I know,” she says and sighs, lying back with a wince. “But I need to try. Some animal shoved me down the stairs without a thought to our Angel. Doesn’t that piss you the hell off?”

  “Of course. I have Griff and the lads looking into it, and I swear I won’t rest till we know who did it. I will personally make sure that whoever did it will suffer. Terribly. But I need you to stop trying so hard. Please. The doctors said it’s not good, and I don’t want you harming yourself over this. Promise me.”

  Another sigh before she nods and rolls her eyes.

  “You must be the most controlling oaf I’ve ever met Cameron Stone.”

  “Ah, but I’m your controlling oaf, aren’t I Ducky?” I tease, giving her the look that is guaranteed to melt her socks right off.

  It works, and I see her grin before she stretches lazily and crooks her finger at me.

  “That you are, honey. All mine.”

  “Forever,” I whisper, coming over her to take her mouth in a slow, consuming kiss that soon has her writhing and moaning beneath me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I pull back, unsure of the possibility of getting anywhere near the inside of her with the way she was looking just moments ago.

  My answer is her hand in my hair tugging me forcefully back to her lips before I feel wicked fingers creeping beneath the waistband of my slacks.

  Grinning, I mirror her movements, closing my eyes at the short reprieve she’s given me even as she sets out to pleasure me. I have a little more time. I just need to work harder.

  ***

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  I hear the anger in Kent’s voice and want to feel guilty about what poor Molly will have to suffer when he gets hold of her, but at this point, my anger is still so raw that I can’t bring myself to care.

  I see the strain on Ducky’s face almost every day now and know that she’s struggling not to think about her accident even though her mind keeps wanting to take her there.

  She keeps her promises, this I have come to know in the last weeks, and now instead of being carefree and calm, my poor darling is trying to keep her promise to me in the face of her minds insistence that she go over everything she’s heard to try to piece it all together.

  For this alone I could happily throttle Molly, friend, family, or not. The girl knew not to open her trap, and she did it anyway. Now she has to deal with the consequences of messing with mine, even if it was well meant.

  “Good. I don’t want her here again until Ducky calms down and forgets about this.”

  “I understand, mate. Believe me, I do. I’m sorry, Cam. I warned her not to say anything,” he says, sighing loudly.

  “Not your fault Kent, and I’m not so angry at Molly that you won’t ever be welcome in my home. I just need some time to get things sorted with my girl.”

  “Perfectly understandable. I would be the same if the situation were reversed. How are they, Ducky and Angelica?”

  My heart swells at the mention of my girls, and I smile, feeling the ever-present joy that just the thought of them brings.

  “Great. Mum spoils the hell out of Angelica, and Shaw, well…I think she might be pregnant again,” I confide, dropping my voice down to a whisper. “Mums the word though since the poor darling seems to think it’s her headaches that are making her puke every morning.”

  Kent chuckles and heaves out a sigh that sounds equal parts jealous and resigned.

  “Don’t bloody let Mum know that, or she’ll be on Molly and me to start fornicating at all hours of the day. I still have a bloody business to run and the females are already putting pressure on me to give the baby thing a better go.”

  “You don’t want children yet?” I ask with a frown.

  Of all my cousins, Kent is the only one that shows signs of settling down. He’s engaged to Molly, but as yet, has not nailed down a definite date. Blighter keeps setting it back by weeks.

  “Course I do, you ninny. I just don’t want to be like Dad, working at all hours while my child goes without a father. I want to build the company a bit before I set a VP in place and hand over half the load is all. You’d think I was telling Molly I don’t love her the way she goes on every time I put her off about it though.” He gripes, cursing under his breath.

  “You’re thirty-four years old, mate. You don’t have that much time to start before you’re likely to be an old father. Take the leap. I promise you, it’s well worth it.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Look, I spoke to Griff this morning, and he’s made some headway, narrowed the list down to three people unaccounted for by teammates. Letitia, Fanny, and a bloke by the name of Riverton. You know anything about him?”

  “No. But I will in less than an hour. Thanks, mate.”

  “Yeah. Let me know what you find.”

  “Will do.” I assure him, ringing off to call a friend of mine, Bart Jones, an old school chum who happens to be a hacker who’s hunted by MI6.

  By the end of the hour, I have a full dossier on Stanley Riverton, and a wide smile now that I have the list narrowed down to two, soon-to-be-suffering females.

  I’ll get what I want from them, or I’ll set Mum lose and pray they don’t find the bodies.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Shaw

  The nightmares started about four days ago, and every time I close my eyes, daylight or not, I see those same stairs rushing at me and hear the screams—bloodcurdling shrieks—that leave my mouth.

  It’s the same every time.

  I feel the hard impact of hands, my foot suspended halfway over the step and I twist, despite the discomfort of the angle, to grab onto the banister and stop the momentum.

  I see my hand glancing off the wood, grasping at thin air and feel my body topple. I’m terrified. Horrified. Hopeless, as I realize that I’m about to hit on my back.

  The twisting, rolling hurricane, as I fall head over heels, is a sickening sound that knocks the air form my lungs and steals away the scream still reverberating around me.

  At first I’d been so terrified and afraid that I’d forced myself to wake, panting and gasping as the feeling swept over me. I’d cry silently, doing my best not to wake Cam as the fear gripped me, making my stomach churn.

  Now I do my best every time to look back and see that face.

  I need to see it with a desperation that haunts me, but for some reason, my mind won’t let me. I know—deep in my bones—that I saw who it was, but that person is always in shadow, and try as I might, I can’t distinguish anything before I wake gasping, silently crying out in denial.

  I force myself not to think of it when I’m awake because that would be going back on the promise I made to Cameron, but it’s
hard to have the answer right there, so close, and not be able to snatch it out of the dark recesses where my memories hide.

  I’ve spent as much time as possible immersing myself in Angel and the excitement of Margery and Victor every time they get their greedy paws on their granddaughter.

  They love her so much and get so much joy from her that I thank God every day for sparing her.

  God alone knows what I would have done if I’d woken in that hospital with no memory, only to learn that my baby had succumbed to that tragedy.

  Memory or not, I think I would have lost my freaking mind and snapped. And then where would my honey be? I can say without a doubt that Cameron wouldn’t have survived losing one of us, never mind both.

  The man is smitten with his daughter. When he’s not sticking to my ass like a blue-arsed fly, he’s spending hours just loving his little girl. He’s the perfect father who sees no shame in changing a diaper—even while retching so much that I sometimes lose the use of my legs I laugh so hard.

  He always tries though. God bless him—and that’s what counts.

  “Isn’t she just the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen?”

  I smile at Margery and giggle when Victor rolls his eyes at the question. Margery says the very same thing at least twice every hour—and the answer is always the same.

  “Perfect,” I say with a sigh, rubbing at my temples when the ever-present ache in my skull worsens to a throbbing pulse that leaves me woozy and slightly nauseous.

  “Oh, Ducky, Molly rang earlier, wanting to talk to you, but I told her you were busy with Angelica’s bath and that you’d ring her back later. She sounded somewhat upset about something but wouldn’t tell me what. Millie said her and Kent had a row two days ago and that the poor girl has been beside herself ever since.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible. I’ll go call her.”

  “Ah, I think that will have to wait, dearest.” She laughs when Angel starts her usual snuffling before letting off an indignant cry.

  “Now, Angel, leave grandmamma’s balloons alone. They ain’t got a drop of what you’re looking for.” Victor laughs, chuckling silently when Margery throws him a fulminating glare before rising and brining Angel to me.