One Night with Her Millionaire Boss, page 14
He thought he remembered going to see bands at the big pub on the next corner. One of his friends at uni had lived somewhere nearby in a slovenly student flat, with a shifting population, that had been quite a shock to the boy from a Toorak mansion and the splendours of Five and a Half Mile Creek. And he’d loved it.
Freya came out of the bedroom carrying a suitcase that he immediately took from her. Over her shoulder he could see her bedroom was decorated in the same eclectic style, an old brass bed piled with colourful cushions.
‘I like your apartment,’ he said.
‘I love it,’ she said. ‘Small space, big mortgage, but it brings me joy. The one thing I wanted above all when I got out of care was my own home that no one could kick me out of. I started to save for a deposit the day I started working.’
Ned had grown up with two luxurious homes and the security of knowing he belonged there. Freya had had no such assurance. He admired her for making her own, secure home through her own efforts.
‘Well done,’ he said.
He looked around him. Charming as it was, it was a single person’s space. Not much room for a baby. He knew Nina came with a whole lot of paraphernalia deemed essential by her parents.
‘There’s an enclosed sunroom off my bedroom, which will be the nursery, in case you’re wondering,’ Freya said as she headed towards the door.
As she led Ned down the stairs to the street Freya remembered her orchid. She didn’t know for how long she’d be away but it would be at least a week, she imagined. The plant might die in that time. ‘I need to pop in to my neighbours in the supermarket and ask them to water my potted plant while I’m away,’ she said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You trust them with a key?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘All the people living nearby have each other’s keys in case of emergencies.’
‘Yet you wanted to lock your car in the country?’
‘That’s different—that’s protection from strangers. These are my neighbours. We’re quite the little community here and look out for each other. We know the people in the other shops and restaurants as well. I feel really safe. It’s another reason I like living here.’
‘I see,’ he said. As she followed him to where he was parked, she wondered if he actually did. And yet it struck her how at home he seemed on these city streets in black jeans and an edgy deep charcoal coat. More than a few women’s heads turned in his direction—something she found disconcerting.
She hadn’t quite got her head around the situation she’d found herself in—agreeing to go back to his home with the father of her baby. But she was still feeling vaguely nauseous and light-headed and didn’t want to get into heavy discussions about expectations—and certainly not about marriage.
Nevertheless, she tried to keep up some kind of conversation with Ned as she sat beside him in his car—a fabulously expensive European model he’d mentioned he kept garaged in Melbourne to be used when he was in town. What was that saying? The rich are different. Every moment with Ned made her aware of the truth of it. He didn’t even seem aware that ordinary mortals couldn’t dream of such an extravagance.
A fifteen-minute drive from Richmond took them into a completely different world—affluent, elite Toorak, one of the most expensive suburbs in Australia. Its gracious streets were home to socialites, celebrities, and the seriously wealthy. Toorak hosted consulates from major-player countries like Britain, the USA and China. And the Hudson family from Five and a Half Mile Creek.
Ned explained he needed to pick up his stuff from his apartment where he had spent the previous night. Then he would drive to the nearby family mansion to access the helipad near the tennis court and swimming pool. They would leave from there via helicopter, the same one Ned had taken her up in on her first visit to his home.
Ned’s city home was the penthouse of an elegant Georgian-inspired apartment block. An elevator whisked them straight up from the underground garage to the entrance hallway of his apartment.
‘You call this an apartment?’ she said, looking around her. ‘It’s the size of a large house.’
‘I’m used to wide open spaces,’ he said. She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.
‘You must have felt very cramped in my little space.’
He would have felt as if he was slumming it. Again, she felt slammed by the differences in their social standing—although she told herself she was his equal in every other way.
‘For a big guy like me it’s a touch on the small side. But it’s warm and welcoming and it expresses your personality perfectly. Your apartment must be a really fun place to live. If we’d had time I would have liked to follow the strains of that jazz guitar down to the bistro and settle us in to listen with a coffee and a baguette. It reminded me of the time when I used to have a lot of fun in Melbourne before—’
‘Before what?’
‘Before I had to step up to my responsibilities,’ he said shortly, not inviting further discussion.
The house-sized apartment was splendid, decorated in tones of grey and silver with ebony woodwork. Opulent but masculine. Veering on the sterile, Freya thought, but of course didn’t say. It seemed a lonely place. Although the heating was on, she shivered.
‘Did your mother design the interiors?’ Her voice actually echoed in the emptiness.
‘Of course. I got her to refurbish it a few years ago.’
‘But it must have been quite new then. Why—?’
‘Because I wanted to eradicate all trace of that woman I told you about. She spent a lot of time here.’
‘She really hurt you,’ Freya said slowly.
‘I got over it,’ he said curtly.
‘But what—?’
‘I was spending way too much time with her here in Melbourne, neglecting my duties at Five and a Half Mile Creek. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, my father had to beg me to come back. Beg his own son, the heir to the property. My girlfriend didn’t care enough about me or my family to even consider coming back with me. That’s it. I don’t want to discuss it any further.’
‘I see,’ said Freya. It explained a lot about why Mr Eligible was still single, why he buried himself out there at the property with little chance of connecting with anyone.
‘Do you want something to eat while we’re here?’ he said. ‘The kitchen is stocked. I have a housekeeper I notify when Wil or I are coming to Melbourne.’
Freya put her hand to her throat. ‘No, thank you. I don’t trust myself not to feel nauseous on the helicopter ride.’ She patted her handbag. ‘I’ve got some dry crackers here.’
‘If you’re sure, then we’ll get moving. I’ll get my bag from my bedroom.’
She followed him down the hallway, curious to see more of his home away from home. His bedroom was palatial, dominated by an enormous, super-king-sized bed. His monogrammed leather overnight bag was already packed.
As he picked it up Freya tried not to look at the bed. He turned and his gaze connected with hers. He was also trying not to look at the bed. Tension hummed between them. Her nipples hardened.
She still wanted him.
He was the father of her baby. But to give into the urge to put her arms around his neck, kiss him and tumble together onto the bed would be foolish beyond belief.
She was pregnant, but nothing else had changed between them. The contrasts between the way they each lived in Melbourne only reinforced their innate incompatibility.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DESPITE HIS STATEMENT of intent, once back at Five and a Half Mile Creek, Ned did not bombard Freya with proposals of marriage, for which she was profoundly grateful. To marry Ned because she was pregnant—when marriage had otherwise been so completely off the cards—was a monumental decision. To choose not to marry and somehow share the custody and upbringing of their child was equally monumental.
Whatever her decision, her life had been turned completely upside down by her unplanned pregnancy. Because, despite her long-held opinion that she never wanted to have children, she was happy at a deep, soul level at the prospect of being a mother. Already she felt a fierce love for her baby.
Ned had done everything he could to make her enforced rest comfortable. Not in the cottage—she couldn’t bear to go back there—but in the luxurious guest room they had shared. He’d made no demands on her, rather behaved like a considerate friend. The attraction between them still hummed along, but it was as if they had—by mutual consent—put it on hold until she felt better.
She’d been shocked—and more than a little scared—of how exhausted she’d been and how much sleep she’d needed. Even now, after five days here, she was only halfway back to her old energy levels. During her days of bed rest, she’d thought a lot about what Ned had said about needing ‘to accept a helping hand’. Was to accept help in the form of a marriage proposal the right thing to do?
She’d spent the last ten years fiercely defending her independence and found it difficult to cede even a scrap of it for fear of losing control of her life. Now she was responsible for another life growing inside her. She still couldn’t quite get her head around the idea. Perhaps she wouldn’t until her baby was born and they met face to face. But her baby would grow into a child, then a teenager, then an adult. The decisions she made now would affect his or her entire life. It was up to her to make the right choices to the best of her ability.
After breakfast, she headed down to the horse yards. During her explorations of the property, beyond the bounds of the house and garden, she always took her camera with her and had found a new delight in photographing Ned’s horses.
Today she’d asked Ned if she could take photos of him on horseback and he’d agreed. He waved a greeting as he led Hero, his black thoroughbred gelding, out of his stable and towards the competition-sized sand arena. Freya had to turn a gasp of admiration into a pretend cough. The gasp wasn’t for Hero—though he was a superb-looking horse—it was for Ned. He wore perfectly fitted riding breeches that outlined every muscle, a tight-fitting polo shirt that emphasised his broad shoulders and powerful torso, and high black boots that were quite the sexiest thing she’d ever seen him wear. She felt quite light-headed, not with low blood pressure but with a heady mix of admiration and desire.
She watched him mount his horse and take Hero through a series of warm-up exercises. On horseback Ned was magnificent. A highly skilled athlete. This was Ned in his true environment. He’d fitted in in Toorak too, but no wonder he preferred it here.
He was training Hero for polocrosse, a game Freya had never heard of, but which he’d explained was a combination of polo and lacrosse, and sometimes referred to as rugby on horseback. He took Hero through a series of quick changes of direction.
Freya marvelled at the rapport and respect between rider and horse—each a superb specimen of their species. No use of cruel whips or spurs for Ned, just commands transmitted through his hands and legs, he’d explained. Love too. He obviously loved his horse as he loved his dog.
As he would love his child.
She pushed that thought quickly to the back of her mind, although she knew it wouldn’t stay there for long. And certainly didn’t entertain the thought of what it might be like if Ned loved her.
She set up her camera on a high tripod. On his advice, she stayed outside the railings that surrounded the arena. He’d explained that, while his horses were very well trained, and bred for temperament as well as skill, horses were flighty creatures and he wanted her safe at all times.
She signalled to Ned that she was about to start shooting. He cantered Hero towards her, in a tightly controlled pattern of turns. In her heart, she knew her shots of him would be good. Better than good. The combination of man and horse was awesome. She was loving this.
No one could be more ignorant about horses than her. It had taken her by surprise at how fascinated she had become by them, since she’d been back at Five and a Half Mile Creek. How she’d found a new interest in photographing horses. She was even growing to appreciate the scent of a clean, healthy horse.
Ned dismounted and swung himself over the fence. Freya hadn’t fainted since that day in Hugh’s studio when Ned had come to find her, but the sight of him, muscles defined, a slight sheen of sweat, his smile of intense satisfaction with his ride, almost made her swoon.
Her feelings towards him were all over the place, rocketing from elation in his company, plummeting to despair when she believed he was only interested in her because she was carrying his child. It was safer to keep her distance, to suppress that desire. There were enough hormones surging though her already, disrupting what should be a rational process of decision-making.
He fitted in here like the person he was—someone born to this level of wealth and prestige. Whereas she felt she would never fit. They might as well live on different planets. Yet her child would be born to this as Ned had been. How could she deny her child their birthright?
Back in Melbourne at his palatial penthouse, she had been aware that Ned wasn’t just from the country, he belonged in the city too. But she and he came from two very different Melbournes. She had never been more aware of the differences in status and background between them. Much as she fought those feelings of insecurity, they continued to creep through, not a good combination with those fluctuating hormones.
Now, she resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck and press her body to his; rather she kept her distance. ‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘I’m in awe of both you and Hero.’
Ned patted his horse on its sweat-flicked neck. ‘He’s a well-mannered, honest horse and a joy to ride.’ Freya risked a cautious pat too. Ned handed the reins to the stablehand to take Hero back to the state-of-the-art stables and wash him down after his workout.
I’d like to wash Ned down after his ride.
Freya flushed as she fought the image of gorgeous Ned naked in the shower and her soaping all over his body.
Darn hormones.
‘I brought a snack from the house,’ she said.
Although it was brilliantly sunny with a bright blue sky, it was a chilly winter’s day. When Ned pulled on a thick padded jacket, she was glad he’d covered up all that temptation. As she walked beside him she was careful not to brush against him or have any contact whatsoever. Just in case she acted on erotic impulse instead of reasoned decision.
They headed towards a table and chairs that had been set up for people who might want to watch the action on the arena. It was a beautiful setting with graceful eucalypts planted in stands around the perimeter of the arena, apple trees where the observers sat.
She’d brought some cookies and a flask of coffee from the house for Ned. There was fizzy mineral water for her. She could no longer stomach coffee, which she usually enjoyed—another change caused by pregnancy.
Freya realised it was the first time she had been completely alone with Ned since she’d arrived here. She took the nearest chair. He solicitously tucked a woollen rug around her knees, although she was warmly dressed. He flung himself down on the next chair and poured himself a mug of coffee. ‘You’re spending quite a bit of time with the horses,’ he said. ‘When are you going to show me some photos?’
‘When I get some that really do the subjects justice,’ she said. ‘It’s quite a learning curve for me.’
‘And you’re a perfectionist. I have every confidence you’ll be brilliant at equine photography. There could be a business in it, you know. Look how you took to garden photography. I’ve told you how much my mother loved your shoot. Best birthday present I’ve ever given her, she told me.’
‘I’m so pleased to hear that,’ she said. She’d put her heart and soul into those photos. To please Ned, she realised, more than his mother.
‘By the way, you might be interested to know my father gave her pearl earrings. He’s obviously in the know about her birthstone.’
Freya laughed. ‘That’s cute. Did you see your mum for her birthday?’
‘Of course. My parents are still in Italy but I flew out for a quick visit to surprise her. They’ll be back in a few weeks.’ He paused, put his mug back down on the table. ‘You know, they’ll be over the moon at the news of another grandchild.’
‘You haven’t told them, have you?’ she said on a surge of panic. They’d agreed to keep the news secret even from his family, until they’d come to terms with what it meant to them both as parents.
‘Not yet. But they’ll have to know.’
‘I realise that.’ She sighed. ‘This property, the history, your family, they’re part of our baby’s heritage, aren’t they?’ All this wealth and privilege and the security and certainty that came with that.
Ned went quiet and Freya realised it was the first time she had said our baby.
* * *
‘Yes, they are,’ Ned said, wondering if Freya realised the significance of what she’d just said. Up until now it had been her baby. ‘And it’s a wonderful heritage. Perhaps our child will be riding a pony on this very arena in a few years’ time.’
‘How old were you when you first got on a horse?’
‘I’m told I begged to get up on horseback as soon as I could walk. By eighteen months I was being led on a miniature pony. I could ride her by myself when I was four. Strictly supervised, of course.’
‘Do you think you’re born a horse person?’
‘I think I was born that way, but you can come to it at any age. Why do you ask?’ He held his breath for her answer.
‘I’ve never had anything to do with horses. But I’m fascinated by yours. They’re so beautiful and I... I find myself wanting to be around them.’
Just the answer he wanted to hear.
Common ground at last.
‘Do you think you’d ever want to ride one?’
