The Billionaire Husband's Regret

Chapter 4

“Hmm.” Alice tried to agree, but she was feeling fuzzy again, unable to concentrate.

“Try to get some rest,” Nancy suggested gently. “You look done in.”

“I didn’t . . . would never . . .” She could not complete the thought and was aware of nothing more as she slid into unconsciousness.

She looked fragile, like the slightest touch would break her, and how he wanted to break her. Jack glared down at the stranger who was his wife and was eaten up by pure hatred for her. This innocent-looking b***h had destroyed his life and stolen his child. The barely contained violence he felt toward her had been festering for just over two years, and he quite cheerfully would have strangled her in her sleep if it weren’t for the fact that their daughter needed her. He watched her labor to breathe and imagined that it sounded hoarse and ragged. He remembered sounds but sometimes wondered if his memory was accurate. For the longest time, despite his unsuccessful attempts to force it out, his most precious memory had been of her voice. Now the memory of the sweet, clear sound of her voice returned unbidden along with the bell-like clarity of her laugh and, lastly, how that lovely voice had sounded during their final argument, thick with tears and entreaties.

She looked so ill. He grimaced, unwilling to feel any compassion for her. If she had worked herself into the ground it was less than she deserved for running out on him, for stealing his child, and for crippling him! He lived in a silent world now, the only sounds he heard were mere echoes of memories and her voice . . . always her voice.

He had hated her for haunting him, and he hated her still for looking so damned vulnerable, for being ill and weak and nearly defenseless, thereby rendering him impotent to lash out and rail at her the way he had fantasized about doing for so long.

Well, she wouldn’t always be sick. He could wait. Revenge, they said, was a dish best served cold. He’d been waiting for two years, so a few more weeks wouldn’t make a difference. And how much sweeter the payback would be now that he had her very firmly within his grasp!

Kayla decided that she didn’t like scary and noisy helicopters and cried during the entire short, chartered flight from Plettenberg Bay to Camps Bay. Her beleaguered father, who was figuring out that parenthood may not be as fabulous as he had first imagined, battled to keep her calm while Alice, who was feeling the effects of some pretty powerful medication, remained mostly oblivious to it all. Alice was vaguely aware of Jack frantically trying to shush the child. He made funny faces and played silly little games but Kayla refused to be comforted by someone who was a total stranger to her. She was too small to be belted in but she stubbornly refused to stay in Jack’s lap. Instead she kept trying to crawl over onto her mother’s lap, and Alice tried her best to soothe the little girl, but Kayla wasn’t too impressed with her limp hugs either.

“Do something,” Jack eventually entreated, when Kayla slid from his grasp like a greased pig and melted to the floor in a boneless heap. Once at their feet she wailed pitifully.

“Kayla scairt, mummy, Kayla scairt!” she howled. Alice, thoroughly fed up with the theatrics, reached down and dragged the limp toddler up with as much strength as she could muster.

“Mikayla,” she managed hoarsely in her toughest, no-nonsense, voice. Kayla was momentarily silenced by Alice’s “mummy” voice and her wide blue eyes melted Alice’s heart. The poor little thing was understandably scared. Too many changes in too short a time for her. Alice gentled her voice and smiled with what she hoped was cheerful confidence. “It’s fine, baby. Sit with your daddy; he’ll take care of you.” Mikayla glanced over at the swiftly unraveling Jack with wary speculation in her gaze. Turning to him for protection had evidently not occurred to her.

“Man?” she questioned uncertainly.

“Daddy,” Alice corrected tiredly, fading fast. “Go and sit with him.” The little girl, clutching her favorite stuffed doll to her chest, took the one small step separating her from Jack and raised her arms to let it be known that she would allow him to pick her up now. Jack lifted her into his lap and she curled up against his chest, propping her thumb into her mouth. Huge crocodile tears were streaming down her cheeks. Alice rolled her eyes and leaned back with an exhausted sigh. For a couple of minutes everything was quiet, save for the noisy drone of the chopper. Alice was just settling in for a doze when Jack spoke, so softly that she could barely hear his voice above all the noise. Not even the headphones she was wearing helped to amplify his voice.

“She’s a handful.”

Alice opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into his brooding eyes. “Yes.” She nodded tiredly. “She tends to be. But she’s just frightened right now; this isn’t anything that she’s used to.”

“Tell me about her,” he invited, almost reluctantly. It obviously dented his pride having to ask her for anything.

“She’s inherited more than just some of your physical traits,” Alice said with a smile. “She has a stubborn streak a mile wide and is ferociously independent.”

“When did she start walking and talking?”

“She was an early talker.” Alice’s smile went misty. “She mostly gurgled a lot, babbled incoherently for a while . . .” Jack was frowning and she stuttered to a halt. “What’s wrong?”

“Slow down,” he commanded gruffly. “I can’t understand a damned thing you’re saying!”

Having momentarily forgotten about his deafness, the reminder served as a cruel reality check. She swallowed convulsively, aware of the dry, painful heat in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before repeating her previous statement as slowly and clearly as she could. Jack rolled his eyes impatiently.

“I’m deaf, not stupid,” he ground out furiously. “Just speak normally; don’t babble and don’t drawl and keep facing me.”

“I’m sorry.” She helplessly repeated her apology. She felt hopelessly inadequate. Again, she tried to repeat her previous statement, but she was so nervous by now that she stammered badly. Jack swore impatiently beneath his breath before deliberately lowering his gaze to Kayla. That easily he ended the conversation. The slight was brutally effective and left Alice feeling thoroughly abandoned. She felt like a complete failure and kept her eyes trained on his face, hoping that he would look back up, but he was talking to the still-crying Kayla. He was so absorbed by his daughter that Alice might as well not have been there.

She eventually lowered her gaze to where her hands were curled into tight fists in her lap, and as she desperately fought the urge to cry, she tried to figure out where and how her life had gone so very wrong. She thought back to their first meeting, which had always seemed like something out of a fairy tale to her—Prince Charming meeting Cinderella while she was still in her rags but falling for her anyway.

It had seemed so perfect . . .

He had been, without a doubt, the most handsome man she had ever seen. It was her first day waitressing at the upscale beachfront restaurant in Camps Bay and she could not afford distractions, especially since she had lied about her qualifications to get the job. Fortunately she had managed to bluff her way through the in-house training without looking too incompetent. Since finishing high school six years ago, she hadn’t been much good at anything except looking after her ailing grandmother, her only relative. It had been a full-time job, leaving no room in her life for the socializing other women her age enjoyed. Instead, she had spent most of her day in the company of an infirm old woman and any free time she may have had was devoted to her stash of books. It had been a sad and solitary existence for a young woman with such a sunny disposition but Alice had never wished the task away. Her grandmother had raised her without complaint after her parents had died and Alice had loved the old lady fiercely because of that.

They had scraped by, living off her gran’s pension and a small trust fund her grandfather had set up for his wife. After her grandmother’s death just two months before, the balance of the fund had been spent on the funeral and Alice had been forced to sell their small semi-detached house. Most of the money made from the sale had gone toward settling outstanding hospital bills, with barely enough left over for Alice to pay the deposit on the tiny flat that she was now renting.

So here she was, trying desperately to do well at her new job, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the man who had just walked into the restaurant. He was tall, blond, and beautiful, and he was absorbed in the conversation he was having with the lean, dark man beside him. The two men were as opposite as night and day. The blond was big and bulky, almost Nordic in appearance, while the dark one was lean and lithe, with a definite sexy Gallic look to him. They sat down at one of her tables and her mouth went dry. She hurried over, not wanting to keep such important-looking men waiting and thankfully stumbled only once along the way.

“Good morning . . . Uh, hello . . . How may I . . .” She blanked, having already stuffed up the perky greeting that had been drilled into her during training. The men were looking at her expectantly, and she faltered even more beneath the blond man’s icy stare. “Your order,” she concluded abruptly. “What is it, please?”

The dark man’s eyebrows climbed in astonishment, but the blond remained impassive even though Alice, for a fleeting moment, thought that she spotted amusement flashing in those seemingly cold eyes of his.

“Drinks,” she continued desperately. “You probably drink. So you probably want some, a lot, I mean . . .” She felt her face going blood red with embarrassment. The dark man was staring at her in complete amazement, with his jaw dropped practically to his chest. The other man though, his jaw was clenched; he looked like he was exerting enormous control over his emotions. She panicked. He was probably angry, probably used to vastly superior service from this restaurant. She floundered again . . . at a complete loss.

“You look thirsty,” she murmured, hoping to prompt them into saying something, anything. “And we have plenty of drinks.”

“What would you recommend?” the blond asked unexpectedly. His voice was warm and mellifluous and much gentler than she had expected. It seemed completely at odds with the craggy planes of his face, as well as with his tightly controlled expression. His voice flowed over her like warm honey, and she stood staring at him dreamily without being aware of it for the longest time.

“Miss?” the dark man prompted impatiently. “What do you recommend?”

“Uh”—she snapped out of her daze, embarrassingly aware that she had been caught staring at the blond. “Recommend?”

“Drinks,” the blond reminded gently.

“Yes of course . . .” She scanned her memory frantically. “Wine . . . we have wine, and of course we have . . . you might like it, because I quite like it, you see?” They didn’t seem to see. God, she was being such a socially awkward ditz. She wasn’t usually this bad.

“Like what?” the blond asked.

“The . . . um . . . the milkshake. Chocolate especially.” The dark man’s brows lowered in complete consternation; he really had the most expressive eyebrows.

“You recommend the . . .” He sounded like he was choking, and his face was going an unbecoming shade of red. “The milkshake?”

“I didn’t even know they had milkshakes here,” the blond said conversationally. “Did you, Pierre?” The other man, Pierre, seemed incapable of replying, and Alice wished the ground would open up and swallow her, she was so humiliated. Milkshake? What was she thinking recommending the milkshake to a pair of men who had doubtless not had one since hitting puberty?

“We have other—” she began miserably but was interrupted by Jake, the manager. Sensing a problem, he had come over to intervene.

“Excuse me, is everything all right here?” he asked politely, sending a surreptitious glare toward the flustered Alice. Alice suspected that he knew she had lied about her previous experience, and it seemed that the owner had hired her against Jake’s advice. Now Jake seemed desperate for her to mess up so that he could have an excuse to fire her. She hung her head and waited miserably for the men to complain. The darker one, Pierre, opened his mouth to say something, but the blond forestalled him.

“No problem at all,” he murmured smoothly. “My colleague and I were just having some difficulty deciding what to order.” Jake had no option but to retreat, but not before sending a warning glare toward Alice.

“Very well, Mr. Palmer.” He practically genuflected as he stepped back. “But if you need anything, please ask for Jake.”

“Now why would we do that when we already have an excellent server right here?” the blond, Mr. Palmer, asked smoothly before dismissing Jake with a casual flick of the hand. His colleague gaped at him in disbelief.

“Jack . . .” Pierre started to say. His name was Jack! He ignored his friend and refocused his beautiful ice-blue eyes on Alice’s flushed face.

“Now where were we?” he asked mildly, his eyes running over her face intently. “Ah, yes . . . I think I’ll have the chocolate milkshake.”

“Uh . . .” She gaped at him stupidly. “Uh . . . what?”

“The milkshake, I’ll have that. Chocolate of course.” She nodded dazedly and scribbled down the order before reluctantly turning her attention to Pierre.

“And for you, sir?” Pierre was staring at his friend in disbelief, before refocusing his attention on Alice. Those previously grim eyes of his were alight with humor.

“What the hell.” He had a French accent. She had been so focused on Jack that she hadn’t noticed that before. “I think I’ll have that milkshake too!”