A Gambling Heart: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (8 page)

“Okay, I can do this, I can do this. There’s nothing to worry about. He’s just another man… err…patient. ” I had been repeating that thought in my mind ever since the limo picked me up from the curbside of the hospital.

I knew there were eyes staring down at me from the windows of the hospital. Word had gotten around pretty fast about the arrangement. I received a few high-fives, like it was the best thing that ever happened. Some followed me with brows arched to the sky.

Nurse Silva cornered me for a talk just before I left.

“You’re a nurse, never forget that. You don’t have to accept shit from him. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Nurse Silva. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Chantal was ecstatic and goggly-eyed. She made me swear to keep her in the loop. Like she expected to hear juicy gossip.  She also asked if it were possible to visit me at Gareth’s place. I knew she was curious about a lot of things and told her so. She giggled and I replied that I didn’t think it would be a problem. I was there to work and was not a prisoner after all. But in my mind, I wondered if there were certain schedules I had to make clear with Gareth. It was a Monday to Friday live-in set up. I had weekends off.

We entered a gated subdivision in the suburb. The houses were huge with tall wrought iron gates. Just beyond those gates were manicured lawns and sprawling gardens.

Everything my eyes beheld screamed exclusivity. From the immaculate tree-lined wide roads to the cars that were parked outside the gates. There was a regal stillness typical to the moneyed class.

You didn’t see a single soul loitering in the streets or a dog rummaging through a garbage dump. I wasn’t surprised. I knew Gareth was wealthy.

“Does Mr. Westbrook keep residence here in this neighborhood?”

I was almost embarrassed to use the term neighborhood. This felt more like an enclave for the rich and famous. Neighborhood was a place I lived in. You could hear the neighbors screaming from across the yard and there was always a baby crying, day or night.

He looked at me through the rearview mirror and replied, “No, ma’am. Mr. Westbrook has his own apartment in the city. This is his mother’s home, but she prefers to stay in Spain now because of the weather. Mr. Westbrook comes over for the weekends.”

“Oh. So this is not where he will be recuperating?”

“He intends to stay for the duration, ma’am.”

“Please call me Sienna.”

The chauffeur nodded but did not respond. He turned into a cul-de-sac and stopped by the gate of a palatial home. He pressed a series of numbers on a button and the gate opened. I felt my heart skip a beat. I could almost feel Gareth’s presence within those walls.

“Mr. Westbrook left word that you should make yourself at home. The maid will show you up to your room.”

I was surprised. “Uhhm, Mr. Westbrook is not here right now?”

“He went for a run and will be back soon.”

We were met at the entrance by a uniformed maid who took possession of my stuff and said, “Mr. Truman is in the breakfast room. He said to bring you right in when you arrived.”

I nodded as I recognized the name. Mr. Truman…Steve Truman. Gareth’s manager. I followed the maid’s direction and came to an open doorway where I heard a voice.

“…went out jogging. The doctor says it’s alright.Yes, yes, he is feeling well. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be back soon and doing those shoots with your company.

Tell your lawyers to proceed with the contract as scheduled. Wire the money to the Westbrook account I gave you. If the money is not deposited within today, all deals are off. Good day, Mr. Aziz.”

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

When I was sure he was off the phone, I knocked before I entered the room. He was about to call another number when he saw me come in. There was a look of stunned surprise on his face as his jaw slackened.

Then he furrowed his brow deep in thought, followed by a realization, and then he chuckled. But the smile didn’t strike me as a welcoming. I was surprised at my own observation.

Truman and I have never been introduced but I saw him twice before today. The first time was inside Gareth’s hospital room when he arrived with his doctors. Gareth’s team, I remember him saying. The second time was at the meeting attended by Director Newel where they warned us not to talk or give any information to the media eager to know about Gareth’s condition.

I didn’t give much thought to Steve Truman back then. I only knew him to be Gareth’s manager.

Short and squat, with slicked-back hair, he reminded me of a bulldog. The man exuded authority and control. I guess he had to, having a high profile client like Gareth Westbrook. And with multi-million dollar contracts to deal with, he had to be a wheeler-dealer of the highest degree.

Strangely, I felt wary of him. His eyes were sizing me and I felt like a piece of meat on display. He extended his hand and I hesitated before I gave him mine. His hand felt hot and sweaty and I pulled away.

“Miss Miller? Nurse Miller? I…You’re not exactly who I expected to show up.” Then he snorted. “I guess I thought you’d be much older and more experienced.”

I bristled at the words.

“Mr. Truman, I have been working at Mary Johnston Hospital for the past five years. I think I have all the experience you may be referring to. I can show you my resume, if you need it.”

I didn’t mean to sound snooty but to hell with him if he thought I was a stuck-up bitch.

“No. No. I’m sure you are more than qualified. I was just surprised…but then, I should have remembered we’re dealing with Gareth here. This explains a lot of things.”

“What things, if I may ask?”

He chuckled. Whatever it was he found funny, I certainly wasn’t in on it. He dismissed my question with a wave of his hand and asked me to join him for breakfast. I lost my appetite somewhere between his stunned surprise upon seeing me and the dismissive way he waved his hand.

“I-I’m not hungry. But the maid said you wanted to see me.”

He nodded as he pulled a chair and asked me to sit. He opened a manila envelope and pulled a folder from inside which he tossed casually towards me.

“Those are Gareth’s latest lab results. Along with it are activities that his neurologist approved. Outside those listed there, you are to make sure he avoids doing them. That will be your main task. Keep an eye on him for us.”

I scanned the list. It seemed pretty routine. Physical therapy was at the top. I wondered if he had a therapist come and visit him. I asked Truman about it.

“No. Gareth refused that aspect of his rehabilitation program. We settled on a masseuse who will come.”

He gave me a sly look and remarked, “Maybe you can convince him to change his mind?”

“Convince me to change my mind about what?”

We both wheeled around. Gareth stood there tall, sleek, and sweaty. His hair stuck to the back of his neck and moisture glistened on his arms and chest. Instead of looking like a bedraggled cat doused with water, he managed to look like the Greek god Apollo. Life wasn’t fair.

“G-Good morning, M-Mr. Westbrook.” I was inarticulate.

He gave me a deprecating look upon hearing ‘Mr. Westbrook.’

“Good morning, Sienna. Steve…”

He walked towards the breakfast table, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and then sauntered back to where Steve and I were. His sinewy movements reminded me of a cougar stalking its prey.

“Convince me of what?” he repeated.

“I was telling Sienna here that you refused to see a physical therapist and she doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

Liar. I never said that. All I asked was if they acquired the services of a physical therapist.

“I already made up my mind about that, Steve. I do not need or want a physical therapist.”

Perfect timing. Truman could have a sample of my expertise after all.

“Mr. Westbrook, you may want to give it some thought before deciding against a physical therapist. Right now you feel fine. But there are symptoms which doesn’t manifest at the onset of initial injury. You’ve heard of whiplash, I would assume, Mr. Westbrook? That can be a debilitating injury to your neck, spine, and arms, if not diagnosed properly.

I wouldn’t want to be behind the wheel of a car running at 120 miles an hour and suddenly feel a sharp, jabbing, electric shock at the back of the head and neck. Or aching, burning, throbbing pains that will radiate all the way down your arms to your fingertips while holding the wheel of your car.

Most probably it will be just pain on one or both sides of the head, or visual disturbance at the back of your eyes. Bad memory and difficulty concentrating are probably the least of your worries. Your body…your call, Mr. Westbrook.”

Stunned silence. Both men were gaping at me like I just predicted the crash of the stock market.

“Alright…alright, I say yes to a physical therapist…if you stop calling me Mr. Westbrook. It’s Gareth.”

“If you say so… Gareth,” I replied, turning my back on them and pouring myself a glass of juice from the carafe.

Truman was smiling, even winked to show his approval. He then proceeded to consult with Gareth. Business, I assumed, as I made my way out to look for my bedroom. When I returned to the breakfast room, Truman was gone and Gareth was sitting with a newspaper in his hand, which he put down when he saw me come in.

“Alright, Miss Smarty-Mouth, you won that round.”

I smiled, approached him, and took hold of his hand. He twisted his palm and held mine. But I felt for his pulse with my thumb instead. Steady. Strong.

“It’s not a contest, Gareth. It’s your health we’re talking about here.”

He shrugged and added, “I’m glad you decided to come. I-I wasn’t really sure…”

“You made it difficult for me to say no. But just so you know, I felt you were blackmailing me and the entire hospital.”

He smiled a guilty smile.

“It was the only way I knew how.”

“You really want me here, Gareth?”

He nodded.

“Okay, then let me do my job. Please don’t make things difficult. You’ll do as told by your doctors and I’m here to make sure you take your medication and follow a regimen. Is that clear?”

He sighed and nodded his head.

I walked towards a console where a tray of supplement, vitamins, and a couple of pills stood in their plastic bottles. I knew he had to take some. I checked the list for his meds and doled it out to him.

He smirked in disgust as I arched my brow at him. He took them meekly as I handed him a glass of water. He made a show of swallowing them and opened his mouth for me to check. I smiled, controlling the urge to tousle his hair. He was such a child in some ways.

“I’m just really happy that you’re here now and I want to celebrate by taking you out to dinner tonight.”

Uh-oh. Was that part of what I signed in for?

I wondered at the etiquette about having dinner with a patient. But he wasn’t at the hospital. This was his home and I was his personal nurse. It wouldn’t hurt to go out with him. I had to make sure he ate right, didn’t I? I knew it was lame but I wanted to say yes.

“I have nothing fancy to wear so it will have to be really low-key.”

“No problem. Low-key is fine with me.”

“Alright, then. Maybe you can spare a few minutes and take a shower before going back to work. Your therapist will be here soon.”

“Would you like to come with me as I take a shower? I am suddenly feeling a bit dizzy.”

I looked at him with concern until I saw the twinkle in those mischievous eyes.

“Huh! You wish. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I replied coquettishly.

The image came back to me when he flashed me at the hospital. It was a disconcerting feeling. I knew I wanted to see more, touch him too. But I brushed the thought aside as he walked away.

I wondered how in heaven’s name I was going to keep brushing him off and treating everything he said as a joke. He was such a tease, and I was only human after all. This arrangement was going to test my grit and I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t always going to win.

I was glad she decided on low-key. I wasn’t in the mood to go to some fancy club and have someone see us. It wasn’t because I was ashamed to be seen with her.

The pesky paparazzi worried me more than anything. They were everywhere. I just wanted her to myself away from prying eyes.

I was really glad she showed up. I wasn’t sure she would. It was a risk I took and it cost me a pretty penny. Twenty-five million dollars to be exact, donated to Mary Johnston Hospital for the children’s hospice.

Steve was aghast, of course. But I said it was my money after all and he had no business in the matter. He wouldn’t understand anyway.

How could he? I didn’t understand it myself. I was in a highly agitated state. There was a fire burning inside of me that triggered an erection that refused to subside, leaving me feeling weak and frustrated.

Running didn’t help. I had constant visions of Sienna naked and docile in my arms. I racked my brain, searching for ways to get to her. I knew as long as I was a patient at the hospital that was how she would think of me. When Director Newell mentioned the hospice, I knew I had my ace. There was no way she would deny the hospital what it had needed for a long time.

Sienna was right. I made it difficult for her to say no. The money wasn’t important. I would earn as much, even more, for my next endorsement. Besides, it gave me a strange sense of fulfillment. Like I did something good for mankind. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I appeased my conscience.

If only she knew the reason…how much I wanted to fuck her. I chuckled. This had to be the most expensive fuck ever. The thought was giving me another hard-on. I concentrated on what she was saying even as I was imagining her already naked.

“I didn’t know you knew of places like this.”

‘Places like this’ meant a hole-in-the-wall steakhouse just outside of town. I smiled. She was much too considerate to call it a dump.

“They serve the most tender barbecue ribs this side of the earth. The greens for the salad are grown at the back, and the mash potatoes are moist and creamy. The owner is a friend of mine.”

Her eyes grew wide in surprise. Probably thought I only ran with the A-list crowd.

When our order arrived I was rewarded by the look of approval when she sunk her teeth into the tender meat.

“It goes well with beer…but you don’t have to.” I wasn’t sure whether she drank beer or not. I remembered her confession about getting wasted with her friends. I didn’t want her zonking out on me. Not tonight. I was ashamed at my own cunning and devious thoughts. I wanted her tipsy, not hammered out of her head.

“Beer is fine,” she agreed…to my relief.

The place was slowly filling up and I was glad Philippe, the owner, gave us a table that afforded a little privacy. We had a good view of the room from the little corner where we sat. I took a sip from my beer mug.

“Don’t overdo it, please,” she said. “You are taking medications. I know it’s just beer. Still…”

I nodded and then looked at her earnestly.

“I have a favor to ask from you,” I said as she looked back at me. She really had strikingly expressive eyes, and right now my cock was telling me so.

“I don’t want you to treat me like a patient, Sienna.”

She smiled as a questioning furrow marred her brows.

“And how do you want me to treat you?”

“Like an ordinary man out on a date with a gorgeous woman.”

“I can’t do that.”

Alarm bells rang in my ear. She was throwing all my well-laid plans out the window. Then she grinned with mischief.

“Kidding! Okay I can do that. But just so you know…there is nothing ordinary about you, Gareth Westbrook.”

I laughed. My chances of getting her in the sack just leveled up a few notches. I was thinking of a good comeback when she spotted movement near an improvised stage and exclaimed, “Oh…there’s a band.”

“I forgot to mention,” I replied catching a glimpse of the band members, “two of Philippe’s sons are in the band and they perform here. One is a great sax player while the other one plays the guitar. But you might not be into their music. They play songs from the sixties and seventies…mostly Motown sound.”

I deliberately omitted to tell her the horn instruments, especially the saxophone, was music I listened to when having sex. Sex and saxophone combination was like silk and satin. It was all I had in my playlist.

“Are you kidding? I love Motown. I grew up on their music. My dad got me into it and I was hooked. Smokey Robinson , Jackson 5, Stevie Wonder, The Temptations, The Four Tops, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Gladys Knight and the Pips, Marvin Gaye and Tammy Turrell. I love them all.”

“That’s great. You’re going to love this band, then,” I replied, giving her a thumbs-up. I knew they were really good.

Sienna sat enrapt, listening to the band play soulful music which they interspersed with pop, blues, and jazz. But it was when the sax was on that she really came alive. She would close her eyes and lift her face up with a smile as she swayed in her chair, lost to the sexy strain of the instrument. Then she would open them and glance in my direction. It was electric.

Some of the younger couples took to the dance floor. It was time for me to make my move as I touched her arm. She turned towards me with a questioning look.

“I’d like to dance with you.” I indicated my intention by holding my hand out to her. A slight anxiety crossed her face, and then she rose from her chair with a wary coolness.

I took her hand as we walked slowly to the dance floor. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

I was feeling high with expectation at the thought of holding her. It was so unlike the blasé and experienced guy I considered myself.

It was an intoxicating feeling as I pulled her close, her right hand tight against the fingers of my left hand as my right arm snaked around her waist.

She placed her left hand on my shoulder and rested her cheek against my chest. The smell of her hair wafted up my nostrils, increasing the lust that I have been holding back since the day I first met her.

“Your heart is beating so fast. Are you afraid of me, Sienna?” I whispered down to her ear.

“No, not afraid…just wary of you, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to. That’s a promise.”

She raised her head, her eyes and lips inches away from mine. I wanted to possess her mouth but I just made a promise. Her eyes spoke volumes even as her lips stayed quiet.

I knew the wheels were turning inside her head. She arrived at some kind of decision because she pulled the hand that was in mine and raised it to my shoulder. She then locked both hands against my nape and pulled closer.

I smiled.

The sexy strains of the saxophone took hold of both of us. Electricity flowed between the tight spaces of our bodies as we began to sway and move slowly, lost in the moment of physical connection.

A heat burned deep within me as I felt her shiver slightly. I felt her thighs between my legs, her crotch bumping lightly against the bulge between my legs. I pulled her even closer as our hips began a slow languorous movement.

I heard her sigh. She pushed her thigh against my cock, brushing against it slightly before she raised her eyes up to mine.

I leaned down closer to her face, our lips barely touching, her mouth quivering ever so slightly, our eyes locked in unspoken agreement. Her eyes never faltered. It was then I knew she was mine for the taking.

I allowed my hand to move gently up and down her back, my fingers wrapping against the soft curves of her waist. My thumbs reached out and brushed against her breasts, a caress that made her breath whistle against her lips.

As the music played on, our bodies swayed in unison. She followed my lead perfectly, her hips rotating against my hip, her breast crunched tightly against my chest.

The intoxicating aroma of lust pervaded both our senses as we surrendered to the inescapable certainty that we would make love tonight.

The thought made my knees weak as my cock grew even harder. The music ended. Reluctantly I let go from the tight embrace as we slowly separated.

I threw some bills onto the table and made a beeline for the door. Her hand was tightly clasped in mine as we headed for the car. Not a word was spoken between us as the starry sky lit the darkness outside. The path was clear for the fire that was consuming us both, a fire that would only be doused by the merging of bodies and answering the primeval call of nature.