Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

g? Did you go and see him today?’

‘He’s doing well but, no, I didn’t.’ Her guilt at not going was so strong she could taste it, but she quite simply had not been able to go.

‘Do you want to talk about it? Maybe I can help. Give you a second opinion?’

For a long moment she looked at him and wondered how it had come to this. How had he slipped under her guard...under her skin? Was it his obvious concern for Jodie? Was it the understanding she’d begun to glean of him and the demons that dogged his steps? Was it the fact that his proximity heated her blood?

Whatever it was, she did want his opinion, his advice; she did want to talk it over with him. God knew it was a dangerous path to follow, but the danger was surely limited. In two days she would be back home. This was the last time she would confide in him.

‘My dad wants to see me and I don’t want to see him. I can’t go.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t erase what he said to me—the way he rejected my daughter. I can’t bear it that he blames me for his alcoholism, for the divorce.’

The image was seared in her mind—the way he’d screamed the accusation at her in that squalid, bottle-littered room.

‘I’m still so angry. And that makes me feel awful because I know I am partly to blame. I feel so...so mixed up. Like I can’t forgive him or myself.’

‘It was not your fault at all. None of it. You were sixteen years old. He was an adult—your parent. Your dad made the choices he made and those are his responsibility, not yours.’ Gently, he put his hand under her chin and tipped it up so she met his gaze. ‘I know how hard it is to accept that. I understand the sense of responsibility, the if-onlys and the what-ifs, the black tar of guilt that clogs your throat and fogs your brain. I know.’

And he did—she could see it in the cobalt depths of his eyes. ‘How do you know?’

His gaze didn’t falter as he spoke. ‘I told you about the divorce—that I don’t know who my dad is. But I didn’t explain how it all happened. My mum got married when she was in her early twenties, had a couple of kids, settled down to an affluent middle-class life. Then she had an affair and fell pregnant with me. My real dad didn’t want to know, so my mum pretended I was her husband’s—that I was child number three. Then, when I was five, I fell off my bike and my “dad” took me to A&E. Somewhere along the line he figured out that I couldn’t be his because of my blood type.’

The candlelight dappled his features with shadows as he gave a small mirthless laugh.

‘It sounds like some sort of soap plot,’ he said bitterly.

Only it wasn’t. It was real and it had happened to Ben, and all Sarah wanted to do was hold him.

‘The family imploded, exploded, combusted in the throes of a messy divorce. And do you know how many times I played the what-if game? What if I hadn’t fallen off my bike? What if I had been more loveable? What if I hadn’t been born?’

Her brain whirred and clicked as she tried to figure it all out. ‘You said your mum and you were left together. What about your siblings?’

‘They decided to stay with their dad.’

‘But surely he...he still loved you? He believed you were his son for years—a bond must have been forged.’

‘Apparently not.’ His voice was dry. ‘Apparently looking at me made him feel sick. I was a reminder of my mum’s betrayal.’

Now she flinched, because she knew exactly how it felt to be that person—a reminder of pain and loss and grief. Instinctively she moved closer to him.

‘My brothers took his side. I think they believed that if I didn’t exist or could be magicked away then everything could go back to normal.’

Red-hot anger raged through her, heating her very blood, and she clenched her fists. How could they have been so heartless? She knew the damage their behaviour had caused that young five-year-old. She knew that Ben too had believed that it would have been better if he’d never been born.

So much made sense now—why he eschewed relationships and love. He’d experienced the pain of the fallout of love and messy human emotions in upheaval and had decided to avoid them at all costs.

‘It was not your fault.’

‘I know that. But it felt like it was. After all, if I hadn’t been born, or if I hadn’t fallen off that damned bike, it would have been different.’

Sarah shook her head, and now she reached out to touch his cheek, guiding his face to meet her gaze. ‘It’s not your fault. Your mother made the choices she made, and I believe she made them with the best intentions, but the responsibility lies with her.’

‘She knows that—but the price she paid was too high. The loss of her lifestyle she could accept, but the loss of my brothers half killed her—however much she loved me.’

‘Did she not even get to see them?’ Sarah tried to imagine how she would feel if it were Jodie, and felt her heart rend in her chest.