Free At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? by Rachel Bailey Page B

famous, with her acting career just taking off, when she’d been killed in a plane crash.He kicked himself for not thinking ahead and connecting the dots. For not realizing this could be hard for her.
    The world had seen the images of the crumpled plane, had been flooded with photos of her mother on a movie set one week before her death, and had moved on. But this was Macy’s private pain—completely removed from the public circus. He was almost reluctant to pry into something so personal. But another glance at her clenched hands and he knew he couldn’t leave her as she was.
    â€œYour mother?” he asked softly.
    She nodded once, still staring ahead, her body radiating tension now—as if his insight had given her permission to feel the fear more fully.
    He peeled her fingers from the armrest and gripped her hand tightly in his, his heart ripping open for the little girl whose mother hadn’t come home. For the woman here and now. He wanted to shield her, gather her against him and tell her she’d be all right.
    But he couldn’t let her see that—his pity would only make her feel more vulnerable, a fate worse than death to Macy.
    He cast around for a way to take her mind off the situation. Something…distracting. She desperately needed a life raft. No question, she’d hate grabbing onto it, but she needed one nonetheless. And he was the only one here.
    He looked at the scenery out the window, and found an idea. “Have I told you about my ideal Australian holiday?”
    Her eyes darted to his, confused, then back to the front of the plane.
    â€œObviously I’ve failed to mention it. Perhaps I’ll get time for it after we’ve finished with the business from your project.” He settled into his seat, bringing herhand—still wrapped in his—to lie on his thigh. He liked it there. “You might like to come with me. It starts with a field of grass surrounded by mountains.”
    Her eyes turned to him, lingered a moment this time, a corner of her mouth twitching before she returned her scrutiny ahead.
    â€œWe’ll be there alone with a picnic basket. No one for hundreds of miles. The grass is peppered with bluebells and the sun is warm.” He tried to assess her reaction. How thick should he lay it on? “Surrounding the field is a rainforest and—”
    Without turning, she interrupted, a reluctant smile on her face. “What planet has rainforest and a field of grass with bluebells growing beside each other?”
    Okay. Perhaps he’d gone too far. But at least she was smiling. “I said it was an ideal holiday, Macy. Work with me.”
    The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay, keep going.”
    â€œAs I said, we’ll be alone and we’ll run through the field toward the clear lake. When we reach it we strip off to our bathing suits and dive in.”
    â€œDo we check for crocodiles? Because if we’re in the north of Australia where a lot of the rainforest is, I think we should check for crocodiles first.” She faced him as she asked and the tension around her face had softened.
    His chest swelled. It was working. He nudged a little closer and whispered, “There are no crocodiles in my lake. It’s safe and the water’s always warm.”
    â€œGood.” Her hand released its death-grip on his to a more companionable clasp.
    â€œWe swim lazily until we’ve had enough.” This near, he could smell the scent of her skin, wanted to lean acrossthat last space separating them and kiss her neck. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath. “Then we drag ourselves from the water and lie on towels on the grass, letting the sun dry our skin.”
    The plane slowed for the final approach, engines straining and Macy jerked back into the tense position of earlier, her hand almost cutting off the blood supply in his.
    â€œThe setting looks good, but you look better in your bathing