Billion Dollar Stranger - Stephanie Brother Page 0,38

boyfriend would.

After another five minutes of watching the depressing series of events occurring the world over, I hear a knock at the door.

When I open it, I find Aaron on the doorstep holding two carrier bags, with two embarrassed-looking teenage boys clutching more shopping behind.

“I couldn’t carry it all, so I found some help,” he says, striding past me. The boys place the bags on the doorstep and leave quickly.

“You found some help?” I say, incredulously.

“Well, hired some help would be a more accurate description.” He passes me to collect the other shopping bags, seemingly unaware of how abnormal his actions are.

“How much did you pay them?”

“Twenty pounds each.”

“You were robbed,” I say, laughing.

“Hardly. They looked like they could do with a good meal. I didn’t realize Oliver Twist was still a living reality. It was a perfectly satisfactory transaction all round.”

“Anyway, what the hell did you buy? I can afford my own food, you know.”

“I bought what I wanted to buy, and I know you can afford your own food. I just wasn’t sure what you already had, so I got everything.”

“I can see that.” I follow him back into the kitchen, where my counters are now overflowing with bags. “Here, let me do that.” I start to unpack, finding all the items required for a cooked breakfast, a continental breakfast, five different types of cereals, smoked salmon, four different types of Danish pastries, and enough fruit to run a pick-your-own farm. There is milk in every variety, five different flavors of juice, and even creamy yogurt and granola. Everything is of the best quality. I smile to myself, wondering if he knows he’s chosen all the most expensive stuff or if it’s a subconscious thing. Psychologists could have a field day with that one.

“So…what kind of breakfast would you like? I offer a full-service menu here. Name your pleasure, and I’ll provide it.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize what I’ve said. Aaron grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and my stomach comes alive with butterflies. He’s such a good-looking man, it’s almost unbearable. Good looking and infuriating. And dangerous too. I’m pretty sure that if I don’t keep my guard up, Aaron has the potential to spear my already wounded heart.

“You know my pleasure, Nicole. As for breakfast, I’m happy to have whatever you want.”

“We should have the pastries then, and the soft fruit because that won’t keep. I can refrigerate and freeze a lot of the rest.”

“Why don’t you have what you want? I bought it all, so it doesn’t matter if things go to waste.”

“Of course it does,” I snap. Aaron considers for a moment and then nods.

“Danish and soft fruit it is then. Can I have a cup of coffee with that?”

“Are you sure you don’t need another whiskey after your shopping ordeal?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, Nicole.” His lips quirk despite his assertion.

I potter around the kitchen, arranging our breakfast on a pretty, oval serving dish, and making our coffee while Aaron reclines against the wall, frowning at his phone.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, just some things I need to deal with.”

“I have internet if you need to work.”

“Thanks, I might do that. It’s hard to type on this thing.”

“It’s okay. I’m not going into the office today, so there’s no rush.”

He seems pleased at my offer, and despite still being angry with him for ignoring my wishes and traveling halfway across the globe without notice, I can’t help feeling a little spark of happiness. Little sparks can be the start of dangerous fires, though.

I need to extinguish the little sparks and keep my heart safe.

At least, that’s what I’m certain is the safest thing to do.

We sit at my little table and eat, chatting about silly things; our favorite pastries, our favorite cakes, and on to restaurants and cuisines, in a natural way that flows. When he talks, Aaron is animated and funny, but I notice more than anything that he really listens when I speak. It’s as if he finds everything that I’m saying fascinating. So unlike Jonathan, who used to get a glazed look in his eyes and then interrupt me halfway through to talk about himself again.

Breakfast at mine seems very different from the meal we shared in the plush surroundings of Aaron’s penthouse. It’s more relaxed, but strangely disconcerting to find how different this Aaron is from the man I’d allowed to seduce me.

I suppose people are like ice-cream