BEG (A Standalone Billionaire Romance Novel) Page 15

  When the waiter comes round, I order myself a bottle and start getting serious while we wait for the others to arrive.

  Dougal and Griff are due in a minute, and I’m bloody itching for them to get here so I can get this all out. I only have it in me to say it once so I’m not saying a bloody thing as much as Kent wants.

  “Cam.”

  “Shut your whining gob and wait, will ya? Surely you can go without your girl for a bloody hour without your dick falling off?!”

  Maybe I’m bitter and frustrated that he’s getting everything he wants while I’m forced to struggle for happiness at every turn. Doesn’t much matter that it’s through my own doing that I’m at odds with my woman, just irks me to see him so at peace while I’m forced to jack off in an empty bed every night.

  “Ho lads! What brings two of Britain’s most pussy-whipped blokes to our fine establishment late on a Friday night?” Dougal asks, grinning as if he’s a bloody comic.

  “Shut it, you toff. Cam needs help. Or so he bloody says.” Kent gripes, taking another swallow of brandy. “He wouldn’t say a bloody thing until you all got here so I’ve had his sterling company all to myself about a solid bleeding hour now. Thanks much.”

  I roll him a look before signaling for drinks for the blokes.

  “You still chewing yourself about who pushed our lass then?” Dougal groans. “Told ya he wouldn’t quit till he knows, Griff. Bloody bulldog this one.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t figure it. Fanny didn’t do it since this arse finally confessed to being tongue deep in her at the time. Letitia, well, I had her tied up at that stage, literally.” Griffin grins, licking his lips with a leer. “I left her for a few minutes to get the hunt done, and when I came back, she was still there. I checked everything again, and I’m pretty certain it wasn’t her. That leaves that toff, and since he was with a partner, we’re shit out of suspects.”

  “Well, hold on! Why didn’t you rule Lettie out from the start?” Kent demands, scowling darkly.

  Griff colors and coughs before giving us all a shit eating grin.

  “Didn’t want to confess to setting up some video. Looked over it all, and I can guarantee it wasn’t her.”

  “So that leaves us where?” I demand, feeling a cold slice of foreboding pierce my gut.

  We’ve been through it all. Griff, me, and the blokes, and my security. Short of one of the females, we have no other suspects, almost as if she was pushed by a ghost.

  Short of suspecting Shaw herself—I’ve ruled that out thank you very fucking much! That female would die before hurting Angelica, and I know it so…

  “Fuuuck.”

  “Sorry, mate. We tried, but it’s as if a bloody—”

  “Ghost pushed her?” I finish, shoving a hand through my already mussed hair.

  I can’t bloody believe I’m even considering this, but the doubts that have been plaguing me of late have only multiplied, made that much worse by the fact that I’d caught Shaw reading a massive stack of baby literature that I know for a bloody certainty she’d read not months ago while she cuddled against me in bed.

  I can’t deny it any longer. The woman isn’t playing a part; she’s truly been floating around, muddling her way through things, like which car is hers and where exactly she put her diary.

  Fuck.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of lads. She woke up one afternoon a week ago, hysterical and bloody sick. She was crying so hard I couldn’t make out half of what she was saying. But one thing was clear.”

  They share a look, obviously picking up on my tone before zeroing in on me.

  “She still hasn’t regained her memory, but she says she saw who pushed her and—”

  “Well, who was it then?! If I get my hands on that fuck and—”

  “She said it was Robert.”

  Dead silence. The kind that makes my skin crawl as they sit back, their mouths hanging as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing.

  “You’re having us on, mate.”

  “No. I bloody wish I were, Dougal lad, but she was bloody insistent about that. I caught her looking at albums with Mum, and I swear she turned white as a sheet when she saw his picture. I can’t…she’s pregnant…I can’t have her afraid.”

  The news sets off a round of congratulations and back slapping that I have to admit makes me swell with pride before they get serious again, their eyes going stony.

  “You believe her?” Kent asks reflectively.

  “I didn’t. I went off on her like a madman. Bloody treated her like shit for days, to the point she’s sleeping in Angelica’s nursery, but she’s not budging. I don’t know what to think. Maybe we’re looking for a man who fits Rob’s description.”

  “Not many men who look like Rob though.” Griff points out, signaling for a refill. “One of the best looking blokes I ever laid eyes on, and that’s saying a lot with what I get to see in the mirror every morning.”

  “Vain bastard,” Dougal mutters, just stopping short from flicking at the scar at the right corner of his lips. “Real men have scars.”

  “Oy, I have scars. On my back. The ladies really like me.” He volleys back with a wiggle of his brows.

  “Shut up, the both of you. We have better things to discuss,” Kent says with a growl, shooting them both a glare. “Be serious. We just learned that whoever pushed Ducky looks like Rob.”

  “Or bloody well is him,” Griff mutters, drinking deeply. “My money’s on our girl. She says she saw Rob, then she bloody well saw him.”

  His utter faith in her shames me, deeply, and I sigh, closing my eyes in true pain. I’m a fucking idiot! I verbally bullied the woman I lo—

  Shit. Fuck and bloody damn!

  “Oh Goood!”

  They’re all grinning like loons when I finally open my eyes in defeat and not a little amount of dread. How the hell am I, the biggest idiot in the world, going to fix my monumental fuck up when my woman will only deign to look at me when she’s glaring or pretending I’m not that crud she’s trying to scrape off from under her shoe?

  Bleeding fuck.

  “Aaah, and he finally succumbs. Took you long enough, considering. Want to tell us the whole story so we can piece this all together?” Kent asks, smirking when I slump and order another bottle.

  “I met Shaw when I flew to the U.S.—”

  “Yeah, yeah, skip the bloody lust at first sight shit—”

  “No, Doug, I flew there after the poor woman had been ringing us non-stop, searching for Rob.”

  “Rob?”

  “Yeah Rob. Look, what I tell you all now stays between us. Yes?”

  “Yeah, man. Mum’s the word.”

  “Course.”

  “Pain of death and all that.”

  I breathe deep and just say it even though it kills me to let that fucker have any claim over my daughter.

  “Shaw met Rob one night and…he started dating her. Yeah, I know, completely new for the wanker, but true all the same. So she ends up sleeping with him and true to form—”

  “Fucking dick up, he pulled a runner, leaving her holding the bag.” Griff growls, giving me the distinct impression that he had about as much time for Rob as I did, which was basically none, truth be told.

  “Yeah. She called, was desperate really since she lost her job after upchucking all over an exhibit. Not only was she bloody living in a shelter, she was really sick those first few months, and I swear to God I thought she was dying the first time I saw her.”

  “Some poor women are that way when pregnant. Hormones or some shite, yeah?”

  We all give Dougal a ‘What the fuck?’ look but he just shrugs and waves to urge me on.

  “I was not very nice to her at the beginning.”

  “Big surprise there, arsehole.”

  I throw Griff a glare before continuing, my drink the lifeline I need right now.

  “But I couldn’t…fuck, I couldn’t resist her. That woman is one beautifu
l creature, irresistible really. I took what I wanted, all the while telling myself that it was okay because she was using me as much as I was using her.”

  Stupid. I should have known that she is not capable of it. Any woman who would subject herself to my brand of “kindness”—and still tell her brother that I’m nice is a freaking angel.

  “So let me get this straight. Your brother impregnated her, left her, and then you decided to go and get her. Not only was the poor girl sick and homeless, but you gave her your red carpet roll out. And she’s still here? I knew she was a fucking saint, and now you’ve just proved it.” Griffin growls, giving me a nasty look.

  “Now, now lads,” Kent mutters, looking intrigued. “How did the whole engagement thing come about, especially if Angelica is Rob’s—?”

  “She is not his! My daughter.”

  “Whoa there, papa. Just saying.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Cam

  “I walked in on her and Mum the day that Letitia showed up.”

  “Oh, tell me you did not.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Dougal. I killed two birds with one stone. I staked a claim and well, I’d be lying if we all did not enjoy the theatrics that came after my announcement.”

  They’re looking at me like I’m a three-headed dog, and perhaps I am, but I refuse to feel guilty about it. That one move had secured me what I wanted, and now, well, I’m damned bloody satisfied that Shaw is as stuck with me as I want her.

  Especially now with my baby in her. Damned satisfying thought that. Arousing, too.

  “So then…?”

  “I kept telling myself that she was a liar and a con artist, but that didn’t stop me from—”

  “Bleeding prick,” Griff mutters.

  “And then…I realized, true or not, the baby was mine, and I was bloody keeping them no matter what. Was about to tell her that I…like her when—anyway, when she woke up and didn’t remember, I thought it was like a gift. I needed that time to make her…”

  “Fall for you. Jesus, you must be the most mercenary bloke I ever met. No wonder you made such a success of the business, you’re ruthless,” Kent mutters. “So now what? You got her pregnant, and she fell for you? And then you went and fucked that up like the right royal prick you are? Fabulous!”

  “Yeah. So now she’s sleeping in the nursery, and I need to find a way to get her back.”

  “Not a good idea, right now,” Dougal says darkly, and I throw him a cutting glance. “Whoa, what I mean is, has it escaped your notice that she was just fine until you publicly announced your engagement? After that…well, whoever pushed her, and I’m with Griff, I believe her fully, only did that after the announcement and the big hoopla.”

  I consider it and grudgingly concede that it’s more than bloody feasible. Could this all be true? Was she pushed because of our connection? And more importantly, was what she saw, my brother come back from the grave?

  “Fuck.”

  “Right. My advice. Keep up the separation charade until we straighten things out. Double up security and make sure she’s never alone.”

  “I am not going to let this divide go on while some idiot rules the game! She’s miserable, I’m miserable, and I…well…I have a thing for my girl when she’s swelling.” I admit sheepishly.

  It’s not a kink because I have never found other pregnant women in any way sexy. They’re taken, claimed, and filled with another man, but for some reason, the sight of my girl growing with my babies is a huge bloody turn on.

  “You’re such a goner man, fucking half way to bloody Peru from that soft glint in your eye. Go home and get back in her good books. Leave this shite to us. I’ll call Giles and get him to start digging, but I’m telling you, man, this is seriously wigging out my creep meter. I’m officially weirded out about this,” Dougal says, serious for once.

  That gives me pause. Dougal, the fun, light-hearted bloke we all love and razz is serious, which means this is going to get very serious, probably very quickly.

  “I know. I’m hoping this is all just a product of her scrambled memories.”

  “But you need to know,” Kent says, reading my mind.

  “Yeah. Because I need to find the fuck who dared lay hands on my woman.”

  Possessive much, Cam? I snort at my inner voice and let off a silent growl. Bet your bloody arse I am. That is mine, and I always protect what is mine.

  “And if that fuck turns out to be…” Kent doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know where he’s going with it, and I’m ready.

  Surprisingly so.

  “Then I’ll put him back in the fucking ground.”

  I say it with enough conviction that they know I’m dead serious, and they nod, their eyes going just as dark as mine.

  “Then we’ll get this done.”

  “Go home, mate. You have a woman to coddle, and a little Angel to hand off to gram and gramps.”

  That puts a grin back on my face because yeah, I have every intention of using my smoking hot body to get what I want. I just hope I’m not too late to get her heart.

  ***

  Shaw

  I’m lying just where I fell just less than an hour ago, feeling sorry for myself and hoping that Margery and Victor come home soon. They’d elected to take Angel for an impromptu visit now that Millie and Molly are in town for a shopping expedition. I suspect it’s another one of Margery’s bragging visits. They should have been back already.

  It’s dark, somewhere past midnight, and my freaking back is killing me.

  And yet I don’t move, terrified that if I do, something bad will happen. I would have called someone when it had happened, but the phone is across the room, and with no cell phone…

  This is all Cameron’s fault. Somehow. I think.

  No, it’s not. It’s is all my freaking fault. I’d told Sally—the maid—that I was fine and that she could go out for the night, and the other staff has all retired. And then I’d got it in my freaking head to go downstairs and get a snack, something I’m not passing up since those pills are working and my appetite has returned tenfold.

  So yeah, I’d gone down by myself, and in the dark, well, it freaked me out a little. More so when I could have sworn I heard someone whisper my name.

  That had officially freaked me the hell out, and I’d started having these thoughts about old houses and ghosts and God alone knows what else—yeah, I am officially nuts now—and I’d dropped everything and rushed upstairs like a bat out of hell, my feet barely hitting the stairs in my haste to reach the safety of my and Cameron’s bed.

  I know what you’re probably thinking, and yeah, I am so in trouble if my first thought for safety is Cameron, but cut me some slack here. Those nightmares have only continued and gotten worse, and I’m starting to think that if I’m not wrong—I’m so not—then a freaking ghost shoved me, and I am now being haunted by the guy.

  So yeah, I’d run and gotten as far as the sitting room area when I’d taken a nose dive and ended up face planting into the Persian rug. Big time. I’d tried to stop my momentum of course and ended up doing something really painful to my ankle.

  Have I said how much pain I’m in yet? That would be a fucking lot! I’d spent ten minutes freaking out and crying like an ugly Julia Roberts character before calming down enough to assess the situation.

  My conclusion? I’m not freaking moving a muscle, and I am also not opening my eyes in case something is there. Ridiculous, but I’ve convinced myself that it’s a ghost and I am not up for seeing that. Ever. Like ever, ever!

  When I hear a sound coming from the hall, I stifle a gasp and seal my eyes shut, willing myself to lie as still as physically possible just in case the ghoul is playing with me.

  Another scrape sounds, and it sends my heart crashing and thudding like a runaway train.

  Please let me fall asleep. Please, I beg, biting into my already puffy lips and freezing when the slow creak of the door opening reaches my ears.

  The wind is still how
ling outside, lending an even eerier quality to my already overworked senses, and I whimper, going so stiff my muscles hurt when soft footfalls reach my ears.

  A gasp and then those footfalls speed up before a hand touches my shoulders.

  The piercing cry I let off is bloodcurdling, Jamie Lee type of stuff, and I hit out the second contact is made, going wild and slapping at whatever I can reach.

  “Don’t hurt me!”

  “Jesus Christ! Calm down.”

  My eyes pop open, and then I’m sobbing and practically clawing my way up Cameron’s chest, uncaring of the pain in my ankle or anything else when his strong arms surround me and lift me, cradling me so close I feel the heat of him pierce through the icy coldness that has seeped straight o my bones.

  “Baby. Baby, stop. Ssh, Ducky. There, baby, there now. I’ve got you,” he croons, and I cry harder because it’s pathetic that I’m eating it up and searching for more when just a few days ago I told him to bugger off and leave me alone.

  It’s not very in with the feminist movement that I’m relying on a man to chase away a figment of my imagination, but right now I don’t care. I just need him to make it all better so I can stop feeling the bitter terror.

  When I’ve calmed enough, he pulls back slightly, and I realize he’s sitting on the bed with my body cradled in his lap. His hands swipe at the tears still wetting my cheeks, and he gives me a small kiss before looking back, his concern evident.

  “Duck, what happened?”

  God! How am I supposed to tell him that I freaked out and fell because I think there’s a ghost stalking me? That’s like…Girls Interrupted shit! I’ll end up in the loony bin for sure.

  “Er, uh. I fell?”

  I’m a terrible liar so every half-truth is basically a question, and from the look on his face, he knows me well enough to have caught on in the months since we’ve known each other. Or should I say, since I got out of the hospital and had to relearn everything about the Stones.

  “Now Duck, I know you ask things when you’re not being truthful, so I’m going to ask again and this time tell me the truth. What happened?”