The Billionaire X-MAS Wonder: A Billionaire Christmal Novel Read online

  Mr. Matheson stepped forward, beckoning him to come. He led him inside through the large living room, up the stairs, and down the passage. Three doors down, he pushed and switched on a light. The room was warm, with baby pink walls, pink floral curtains, and matching bed linen. Gael couldn’t help being amused that his friend would just hate the pinkness of it all.

  His father closed the door softly, leaving him to tend to her. However, he had no clue what to do. He pulled off her boots and eased her from her coat. When he pulled the hat from her head, he winced at the hair.

  Touching a hand to her forehead, he noted that her fever was still raging. He retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, which he moistened under the tap with cold water. He then placed it on the forehead and waited a few minutes before wetting it again and repeating the process. After about fifteen minutes of this, he tucked her in, and then went back downstairs.

  “You will sleep in your old bedroom, no?” his father asked as he passed through the living room. “Or stay with her, it doesn’t matter,” he added.

  He kept moving toward the front door. “I’ll take my own bedroom.”

  “I’m happy that you came home,” the man added.

  Gael paused and turned. “Don’t be too happy. I only came because of her.” He jutted his head toward the stairs.

  “I know. Still, you’re here, and you brought a girl home for the first time.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. She’s not a girl.”

  “Huh?” Mr. Matheson’s baby soft blue eyes widened. “She’s a trans …?”

  “No, she is a girl … hell.” The conversation was uncomfortable.

  “Oh, you mean, she’s not your girlfriend?”

  “Right,” he replied, turning away. “I’m going to get the bags.”

  When he returned, his father was waiting at the bottom of the stairs looking sheepish. He came forward as Gael entered, seemingly with something on his mind.

  “Scooch …”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  David Matheson nodded. “Okay, I won’t call you that. There’s something you need to know.”

  “Honey?” a woman’s voice came from upstairs. “Do we have company?”

  Gael raised his eyes as a woman clad in the same matching Christmas sweater as the man of the house, came hesitantly down the steps. When she saw Gael, she halted, her mouth gaped and eyes widening. His chest tightened upon seeing her, and he crunched his teeth together. How stupid was his father to take her back after she walked out?

  “Gael?”

  His stepmother, a woman three years older, came down and stood before him. His height towered her by about half a foot. She looked well, with her neatly brushed honey blonde hair and her expertly applied makeup. Then his mind flicked to his friend.

  “Hello, Marla.” He nodded his greeting. “I’ll go check on her and take a well-needed shower. I’ll be down in a few.”

  “Who?” Marla asked her husband.

  “His friend. She isn’t feeling very well,” David replied as Gael moved away.

  As he took the stairs, he shook his head. He was unable to fathom that the woman who had walked out on his father for another man was back. Was he the only one in his family to see the trend? If one is going to run around, don’t get married. He certainly wasn’t planning to.

  He pushed the door to the bedroom and placed her luggage inside. It was the first time since meeting her that he was actually curious about her name. He couldn’t very well keep referring to her as ‘the girl.’ She was still asleep, so he closed the door softly and strode to his bedroom situated across the hall, placing his back on a chair against the wall.

  Thankfully, the room had its own bath, and he stripped off his jacket, hung it in the closet before removing the rest of his clothes. Naked, he made his way into the bathroom, thinking of his ‘friend’ across the hall. What was her deal? Who was she?

  His curiosity mounted as he adjusted the shower to his desired temperature. As the hot water sprayed his skin, the room steamed. His mind kept going back to her, recalling their first encounter. Absently, he picked up the shampoo and squirted some on his large hands, then lathered his muscled chest and abs.

  As his hand brushed his cock, he recalled his brief encounter with the stewardess and the girl’s reaction to it. He soaped himself, all the while trying to figure her out. Then her lips flashed before him, her beautifully formed pink lips.

  The thought startled him. But he was right. He had thought the same thing when he observed her sleeping on the plane. The events of the night and entire day played back in his mind until he saw her, and his heart skipped a beat.

  It skipped a beat even now, as he thought of the way she felt in his arms when he picked her up. She’d mumbled incoherently, and at one point, wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d felt an unfamiliar sensation rush through him. He wanted to protect her. It had been strange, and he counted it down to her being a girl, and that she was ill.

  Unsure of what brought it on, he looked down at his erect penis with a grunt. With some frustration, he turned the tap on cold and allowed the water to cool his body. Steam rose from his shoulders as his manhood slowly returned to normal.

  “Now behave.” He chuckled, turning off the tap.

  When he went back down, his father and wife were waiting in the living room. They stood expectantly as though they’d been waiting for his return. He waited for them to speak.

  “I know what this looks like, but there are things you don’t know,” David said.

  “Please, it’s none of my business,” he replied, holding a hand up.

  Marla’s smile faded, but she managed to ask, “How is your friend?”

  “What’s her name?” David asked.

  “Actually, I don’t know her name.” Marla and David looked at each other, but they both said nothing. “We met at the airport in Santa Cruz. We aren’t exactly friends.” He noted their puzzled expressions and sought to allay their suspicions. “She got sick, and I couldn’t leave her alone in the airport, now could I?”

  “Of course not, son,” David agreed. “We’re glad to have you both.”

  Marla moved from her spot near her husband and came towards him, “Have you eaten. There’s plenty of food.”

  “I’ll wait until she’s awake,” he found himself saying.

  His words sounded strange to him. The feeling he was having was strange. His mind was constantly drawn to the room with the sleeping girl whose name he was yet to know. He wondered if her fever had broken or if she needed medical attention. What if him taking her through the snowstorm made everything worse?

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, heading to the stairs.

  He took them two at a time and was pushing the door within seconds. Standing just inside the door, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  “Where am I?” her voice came from the bed.

  In three strides, he was beside the bed. “At my father’s house in Central Avenue.”

  “You abducted me?” she asked. Her voice was soft, so he figured she was joking.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “No appetite,” she said, followed by a sniffle. “Did I pass out?”

  “You drank an entire bottle of flu medicine.”

  A groan emitted from her. “I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t remember how long I’d had the last shot, so I kept drinking. I felt so ill.”

  “You realize this is the first time in the last twenty-four hours we’ve had a civil conversation,” he remarked.

  “That’s because I’m in your debt. As soon as I pay you back, we’ll resume our … sniffle … feud.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He smiled.

  “I’m serious. We have a bone to pick.” Her voice was completely nasal from being stuffy.

  “Are you able to come down? You should try eating something. I’ll try to find som
e more medicine for you to get high on,” he said. “At least tell me your name. Wait, it doesn’t matter; I’ll just call you Unicorn.”

  She sat up on the bed, her eyes glinting. “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking it anyway, might as well just call you that openly.”

  “Have it your way, Lucifer!”

  “Isn’t that a bit over the top? I mean, you already know my name.”

  She lay back on the pillow and turned her face away. “Who says I know your name?”

  “You said it in your stupor a few hours ago, how much you hate me … remember?”

  “I can’t recall.”

  “Yeah, right. Let’s go down; you should try eating something,” he suggested.

  Involuntarily, he placed a hand on her forehead to check her temperature. She flinched. The fever was greatly reduced, but she was still warmer than normal.

  “Have you been touching me while I was passed out?”

  He glared at her. “Don’t flatter yourself. All I did was check your temperature.”

  “You’d better not have touched anywhere else,” she mumbled.

  “Aren’t you being a little dramatic? There’s nothing there anyway.” His eyes dropped to her chest.

  “At least they aren’t fake like the stewardess you screwed onboard,” she retorted.

  Gael stood. “I see you’re much better.”

  “I need to freshen up a bit,” she mumbled.

  “The bathroom is the door to your left,” he said, pointing to the closed door near the closet. “I’ll give you half hour, and then I come to fetch you.”

  “Okay,” she replied, easing from the bed.

  9. Chapter 8

  Zoe was stunned that Gael had taken the effort to care for her. In her haze, she recalled him lifting her from the airport lobby floor and placing her on the benches. Next thing she remembered was in the back seat of a vehicle. She had been too weak to protest, and now she awoke in a warm bed.

  She eased herself from the bed and stood. Still weak from whatever she had come down with, she inhaled a deep breath and headed to the bathroom. Once there, she looked around at the pink bath, sink, and floral wallpaper.

  “Gosh, how pink!” she chortled with a shudder.

  If there was anything Zoe hated, it was getting a cold. She hated the stuffiness in her head, the constant sneezing and blowing the nose. The remnant of a fever was weakness. Was this some twenty-four-hour bug? What was it? How suddenly did this thing come on?

  No, she’d started sneezing when she left the salon, but she never thought much of it. When she returned to the hotel, she was out of sorts but thought she was just tired.

  She showered and toweled herself before returning to the room. She cracked the bathroom door and peeked into the room to make sure Gael hadn’t yet returned. She was dressed in jeans and T-shirt by the time he knocked the door.

  “I’m decent,” she told him as he pushed the door.

  He poked his head through. “Come, let’s go Unicorn.”

  “Aren’t you going to carry me?”

  “Don’t wish for things you can’t handle,” he returned, leaving the door ajar as she retraced his steps.

  She tried to catch up to him, but her legs were weak. She hadn’t eaten in almost a full day; perhaps that was the reason for the weakness. She wished she could lean against his strong arms for support.

  “Wait for me,” she said, but he kept walking. “Gael!”

  Oh no, she couldn’t believe she said his name. Her hand flew to her mouth as he stopped, turned, and stomped toward her. The passage light revealed his day old stubble on his cheeks and the hard line of his mouth. His eyes blazed as he stared down at her, willing her to deny that she knew him.

  “Now tell me the truth; how’d you know my name?”

  Her mind whirred like a machine trying to figure what to tell him. The truth would only embarrass her. Then she remembered his bag. She’d placed it in her lap, and it had his name tag.

  “Your bag … remember, we’d jostled for the seat. I placed the bag in my lap?”

  For a moment, he didn’t seem convinced. After a few seconds, he visibly relaxed his face, and his eyes glinted. The sudden fluttering of her heart irritated her, and she returned a scowl.

  “Let’s go down. My father and his wife are waiting.” He turned and began walking out the door.

  “After you,” she replied, trying to still her nerves.

  She’d have to be careful from now on and not give away the fact that they met before. It would be awkward for him to know that she was the model he rejected without an audition.

  “Are you serious about me carrying you?” she heard him ask.

  “Of course not; my legs aren’t broken,” she replied to his back.

  Gael stopped abruptly, resulting in her bumping into his rear. He turned just suddenly, and their faces were now inches apart. Their eyes locked, and she saw his blue ones flicker from dark blue to blue-green. Then he pulled back an inch or so.

  “Leave the attitude behind, will you? At least for the time we are here.”

  “Okay … sniffle …”

  It was going to be difficult holding her tongue around him. He seemed to bring out the worst in her. Ever since she met Gael Matheson, he’d rubbed her the wrong way. This wasn’t the first time she’d not been selected from a bunch of girls. It was, however, the first time anyone had rejected her after a few seconds without giving her a chance to prove herself.

  She had the urge to hold on to his arm, but she refrained, not wanting to rely on him any more than she had to. As they descended the stairs, her eyes scanned the house. It was homey and brightly decorated.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a man, whom she assumed to be Gael’s father, was there. His eyes were paler than Gael’s, but the build was the same, except that he was perhaps in his mid-sixties. Beside him was a woman she assumed was Gael’s sister.

  Zoe’s eyes widened as she took in the decorations around the living room. Her mouth gaped at the tall Christmas tree with its excessive decorations, the electric fireplace with the stockings hanging to the right and left of the mantle. She couldn’t help wondering if she was at the North Pole.

  “Wow,” she muttered. Gael stopped and glanced her way, warning her with his eyes. She shrugged. “It’s so … so … Christmassy!” she muttered only for his ears.

  “Hello, how are you feeling?” the woman stepped forward, taking her hand.

  “She’s still a little warm,” Gael, answered for her. He turned to her and introduced the couple. “This is my father and …” he hesitated, and she saw his face tighten before he continued, “this is my stepmother, Marla.” He glanced her way and added, “This is Unicorn.”

  She wanted to punch him. After telling her to behave, he introduced her as Unicorn; he was trying to get a rise from her. Maybe he realized they’d met before but needed to confirm. Does he remember me? she wondered.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Matheson,” Zoe greeted, noting the tension in Gael. “You can call me Unicorn … sniffle.”

  “It’s David and Marla,” Gael’s father said. “No need for formalities.”

  Marla stepped forward and placed the back of her hand on Zoe’s forehead. “Yes, she is still warm,” she told her husband before taking her arm and leading her to the sofa. “I’ll get you some chicken soup. It’s already made.”

  “I’m not hungry, thanks.”

  “You need to try and eat. The chicken soup is good for you,” Marla insisted.

  “I have just the remedy for these things,” David said. “Come sit and we’ll take care of you; isn’t that right, Scooch?”

  “Dad.” Gael’s voice was sharp.

  The man’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry.” David beamed. “Marla, get a blanket for the young lady,” he addressed his wife before turning to Zoe. “Make yourself at home, my dear.”

  Marla left to fetch the blanket while Gael’s father went to a sidebar off to th
e right. The living room was spacious, and the large sofa comfortable. As she leaned back on the sofa, Gael stood nearby like a mother hen. She could not help giggling at the exchange between father and son a minute ago.

  “Scooch, that’s a very pretty name,” she chuckled for his ears alone.

  Gael scowled at her, obviously not amused. Marla returned with the blanket and fussed over her a while, ensuring she was properly tucked under. She’d brought up her legs, sitting crosswise with her back against the cushion.

  This was her first experience spending the holidays with a stranger since she became an adult. It was a surreal feeling. Gael moved from beside her, making about three strides to his father and taking a glass the man had.

  “Are you sure about this? We don’t know if she can handle alcohol,” he said in a low tone.

  “It will be fine,” his father replied. “Let her sip it slowly.”

  Without replying, he returned to the sofa and handed her the small whiskey glass. “This is pretty potent stuff. He,” he thumbed behind him, “swears by it.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Brandy, whiskey, a shot of orange liqueur and honey. It’s warmed and should be soothing to the throat. Take your time and sip.”

  Tentatively, she took the warm glass. Their fingers brushed, and a small bolt of current tingled her hand. Startled at the sensation, she gripped the glass tightly, bringing it to her nose. The aroma was divine, but the scent alone made her giddy. One taste, and she would be out like a light.

  “Given how you were when you swallowed the bottle of flu syrup, you should perhaps not drink the whole thing.”

  His remark alarmed her. “What did I do?”

  “Babbled a lot.”

  “Oh.” She flushed. “Did I say anything?”

  “Nothing coherent enough to repeat … except you said my name.”

  She hoped he wouldn’t pursue the name thing again and silently prayed that he actually believed her about seeing the tag on the bag. Bringing the glass to her lips, she took a large gulp and swallowed.

  Her eyes bulged as fire scorched her already sore throat. “Ahhh!”

  David was by her side in a minute. “What’s the matter?”