Page 16 of The Wrong Billionaire
“You’re still young,” I tease. “Just a baby.”
He glares at me, and I giggle.
One of my cards drops to the ground. “Hold on,” I say, and I put the pile of cards and presents on a nearby bench, then fish a foldable shopping bag from my purse. After unfurling it, I put all my gifts into it, and Marcus adds the ones he was carrying to the collection.
“Are you dashing off now?” he asks. “You must be busy.”
I hesitate. As it happens, I don’t have anything to do. I’ve wrapped all my presents. Made the trifle I’m taking over to Mum’s tomorrow. Mended the hem of the dress I plan to wear. I was going to treat myself to a large pack of mince pies and a bottle of Baileys, go home, and watchLove Actually.
But Mars Ashford is standing before me, mouthwateringly gorgeous and smelling amazing, better even than the mince pies. I haven’t been out with a man for ages, especially with such a gorgeous guy, and even though I remind myself hastily this isn’t a date, I discover I can’t say no.
“I have a few minutes to spare,” I reply airily.
His lips curve up. “What would you prefer? A coffee or something stronger?”
“Did you Uber here?” I don’t want to suggest we go for a drink if he can only have a Coke because he’s driving.
His smile widens. “I came by car, yes. But it’s okay, I have a driver.”
My eyes widen. Of course, he’s probably got a chauffeur. “Show off,” I murmur, and he smirks.
“Come on,” he gestures with his head. “Let me buy you a glass of wine.”
We walk through the bustling village, heading for the bar at the end of the high street. I glance at him surreptitiously as we walk. It’s nice walking with a man who’s taller than me. Wow, his biceps are huge. I remember how big his jacket felt around me. He obviously works out. I bet there’s a six pack under his T-shirt.
I must not think about what lies under Marcus Ashford’s clothes. That way lies madness.
We don’t say much; I’m too nervous, and Marcus seems preoccupied. Why is he here? Is it something to do with Caesar? Suddenly, I wonder whether Caesar has made up his mind about being a sperm donor. Maybe he’s decided the answer’s no, andhe’s asked Marcus to deliver the bad news because he doesn’t want to face me.
But I can’t imagine he’d send his brother when he could call me, or even send a text. And none of those options sound like Caesar anyway. I’m pretty sure he’ll tell me face to face; he’s that kind of guy.
We get to the bar, and Marcus gestures for me to precede him. The tables on the street are full, and inside it’s warm and bustling. We approach the bar, and he says, “Champagne? Or I see they’re offering mulled wine?”
“A glass of Sauvignon will be fine,” I say hastily, embarrassed at the thought of the locals’ eyes falling out if they saw a bottle of champagne being opened.
“Can I see your wine list, please?” Marcus says to the bartender. He slides one over, and Marcus browses it briefly. “Let’s have a bottle of the Dog Point Section 94,” Marcus says, handing the menu back. “I prefer it to the Cloudy Bay.” The Cloudy Bay is the most expensive wine on the list. The Dog Point is only a few dollars cheaper.
“Sure thing.” The bartender goes off to retrieve a bottle.
“A whole bottle?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Dutch courage,” Marcus says mysteriously. “How has your day been?”
“Fine, thank you. Busy-ish. Getting ready for tomorrow.”
“Where are you spending the day? With your family?”
“My mum, yes, and my sister and her young son.”
“Did your mother ever remarry?”
He’s obviously remembered that my father left when I was young. “Yes, for a while, but she’s divorced now. And my sister is divorced, too.” I roll my eyes. “My family isn’t a great advert for the longevity of marriage.”
“So far,” he says. His eyes catch the sparkle from the fairy lights, and I feel an answering frisson down my spine.
He looks away as the bartender comes back with the bottle and two wine glasses. The bartender unscrews the top and pours a little into one of the glasses. Marcus sips it and nods his approval, and the bartender fills both glasses to about a third, leaving us with the bottle.
“Have you eaten?” Marcus asks.
