Her Bossy Billionaire (Love in London 1)

“Her name’s Jemma.” He continued speaking. “She’s an enabler—you know, introduces people to people. People who might want to invest in start-ups or accountants who can help develop business plans and stuff. I’ve dealt with her in the past and she was interested in what you’re doing.”

Start-ups? As in like her cereal business? “Why do you want to set this up?” she croaked.

“I think you could make a real success of your muesli. You have an amazing product.”

“I thought oats were for horses?” She joked weakly while fighting back the inner panic. “And don’t you think it’s too expensive to be anything more than for a tiny niche market? That there’s no real way of making it viable?”

“I think it could work. Meet with Jemma—she’s very good at what she does.”

No. “That’s really nice of you Jack, but…”

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. And she couldn’t act pleased or laugh this off. She couldn’t take any of what he was offering. This was the last thing she’d wanted—not his help, his concern, his care.

“I’m only arranging a meeting. It’s not like I’m offering to invest millions in your company,” he finally broke the long silence. “Or is that what you want?”

“No.”

The charged word hung between them—final.

Of course that wasn’t what she wanted and her fury rose—as if she were some gold-digger? He was the one who’d come after her. He was he one who’d kissed her first.

“You know I can’t help myself.” His tone changed, like he was now joking. “I help out Tom and Anne all the time. Even when they don’t want me to. It’s the curse of the elder brother.”

All Libby could hear now were the panicked thoughts spinning in her head. She didn’t want his protectiveness—didn’t want to think about what it might mean. She didn’t want to know what he felt for her—she never wanted to know if it was more. Because she couldn’t do more.

And now she couldn’t escape this conversation unless she dived in the water. She smothered a hysterical laugh, if she did that she’d end up with Thames belly. Somehow she had to extricate herself from something that had grown painfully beautiful and terrifyingly fragile, too quickly.

The trouble wasn’t only him. She felt too much. If she took his assistance now, she’d always associate her company with him. She’d always be in his debt and he’d always be in her mind. She’d never get over him.

Truth? She feared he’d be there always already. She’d never be able to look at maple syrup again without thinking of him. But she couldn’t let this happen—if she said yes, it would always have an association with him and it would be too painful to hold on to if it reminded her of him. It was her passion, her baby—her only one because she’d never have real babies. She couldn’t risk it. She had to say no to him—for good.

“Libby.”

She didn’t turn to face him, but she heard everything in the way he said her name—the frustration, resignation, the dawning realization. He knew what she was going to do. He knew and she knew.

“It’s not you,” she said. So, so sorry.

“Oh come on.” His laugh was brief and laced with bitterness. “I thought you were more imaginative than that.”

“It’s the truth. It’s me. I can’t do this.” She twisted in her seat and put the key down between them.

“What is this?”

“This was a light fling that’s gone on a little long.” She swallowed. “I don’t want anything that goes on.”

“You were still having fun last night,” he argued. “All that’s happened since is I’ve offered help. Is that my mistake?”

In part—but really it had crystalized the real problem in her mind. She’d been such a fool—carried away on a tide of lust and laughter.

“If this goes on it would become too involved and too messy.” She turned away from him, unable to bear the intent scrutiny of his sharp, blue eyes.

“And you can’t do anything messy? Libby, the maple syrup is messy.”

“Don’t.” She gripped her oar and curled up her legs, hunching over her knees. She didn’t care that she was rocking the boat. She just needed to hold in her heart. “Jack, please.”

Silence.

“Here, I got these. You might as well have them.”

Another something was tossed over her shoulder. She looked down and drew the card from the envelope. Tickets to a circus coming to town next month.

Next month was too long. Another month of making love and laughing and growing closer and falling deeper, deeper, deeper?

Her heart hurt already but it would hurt more in another month. It would be unbearable six months after that. But this wasn’t only about her heart. This was about his. And if he cared for her—even a smidgeon as much as she cared for him—then he was in trouble. She wanted to spare him trouble. She wanted him to be free. To go and have fun. And maybe one day to make a family with someone else. She’d fooled with a guy who—for all his playfulness—was actually sincere and full of heart.

“Knife throwing might be dangerous for us to be around together,” he said sharply.

“Please try to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That I can’t do a serious relationship,” she said fiercely. “I told you that at the start. I can’t get close to anyone. I won’t.”

“Why?”

She twisted in her seat and glared at him. “Why do you think?”

He clamped his jaw shut and eyeballed her. She glared right back at him—she wasn’t giving way. She’d been strong for so long, and she refused to weaken. She knew what was right for her. And she absolutely knew what was right for him—and that wasn’t her.

The blades splashed and the boat began to surge through the water. The warmth and beauty of the morning broken.

“You’re a coward,” he spoke through his teeth, his muscles rippling.

“I’m as protective as you are.” She couldn’t let anyone get too close. She had to protect those she loved.

He shook his head, his expression grim as he powerfully pulled the blades. “You’re going to live your life not taking any chances?”

“Not a relationship, never commitment, certainly no family of my own.” She was never having children—never letting them suffer through what she’d suffered through. And she’d never love the way her father had loved—too deeply to survive the loss of it. She had to live more lightly than that.

She looked at him but he was too angry to look back at her. He lowered his gaze and focused on rowing them back to the club. He could have qualified for the Olympics himself with the speed with which he did it.

Libby got out the boat without looking at him. It was the right thing to do—better a little hurt now than devastation later.

“I’m sorry,” she choked as she passed him.

More sorry than she could express.

Nine days. Nine days was all it had taken to flip his life upside down. Jack stalked back to his apartment, stunned with how quickly everything had fallen apart. The leaden feeling in his chest didn’t lighten when he saw the black cab parked outside.

“How long you got?” he patted Tom’s shoulder.

“Only the night.” Tom grinned, clearly happy about it.

“Have you got like thirty pounds of Libby’s muesli in here?” Jack growled as he hefted the case up the stairs.

Waiting at the top, Tom looked uncomfortable.

Jack wasn’t in the mood to be mucked around. “Tom, what’s going on?”

“I exaggerated about how much I needed.”

“You mean you’ve brought most of the muesli I couriered to you back home again? Why say you needed more?”

“Because it was obvious you liked her. I wanted you to have some fun.”

With a grumpy humph Jack barged through his door, chucked the bag to the floor and stomped into the living room. He avoided the machines—instead he slumped into the one sofa at the back of the room.

Tom slowly followed him. Jack glanced at him and away again. He wasn’t in the mood for company and if his little brother wasn’t careful, he might get snappy.

“Do you know what I learned from you, Jack?” Tom gingerly sat on the hard seat of the lateral pull-down machine.

Jack didn’t answer. He really wasn’t in the mood.

“Never to give up.” Tom leaned forward. “You never gave up Jack. You never let me give up. You’ve fought so hard for so long.”

No, Jack hadn’t taught him that. That resilience and determination had been forged within Tom years before. “You learned that yourself, when you got through the cancer.”

“I didn’t get through the cancer on my own.” Tom argued fierce enough to make Jack bristle. “You helped me. Remember you used to sit there and read me stories when I was feeling sick? You took me to training with you. I used to sit on the embankment and watch you rowing on the river and I wanted to be just like you. That’s what got me started rowing. I looked up to you. You were my hero.”