Billionaires' Secrets: Volatile Chemistry

Volatile Chemistry Part 12

Dominic blew out hard. The situation with her mom gave Bella's crazy plan an undercurrent of sheer desperation that churned his gut.

He rubbed her back, trying to warm and soothe her. Gradually she calmed a little, but he could tell her hands were still shaking.

"Let me drive you home. You tell me which way to go, okay?"

She nodded. He picked up her briefcase and handed it to her. The throbbing screech of tree frogs hurt his ears as they walked to her car.

He groped in the dark to move her seat far enough back so he could get in, then he started it up and she directed him down winding, wooded roads, then into a driveway flanked by stone pillars.

Tension hung in the air along with the muggy humidity left over from the summer day.

"I guess you'd better come in." Her voice sounded flat.

He gave her keys back on the front doorstep and a rich, sweet aroma filled his nostrils. "What's that smell?"

"Angel's trumpet. There's one on either side of the door. The flowers open at night."

"I wouldn't think those would be hardy up here."

"They're not. We take them inside in the winter."

"Wow." The blooms wrapped them in a blanket of seductive fragrance. He could make out the large white flowers in the moonlight. "The plants are huge. That's a labor of love."

"They're worth it." The conviction in her voice suggested she meant more than the plants.

She turned on the lights and led him down a hallway and into a kitchen. Despite the collection of copper pots hanging on the wall and the racks of spices, the place had an uninhabited, desolate feeling. Empty fruit bowls, the stove and countertops too uncluttered, the wooden table bare.

"Do you live here?"

"No, the commute is too long for the hours I work. I have a small apartment in the city. I come up here on weekends to keep the place going."

He pulled open the fridge, out of hunger more than curiosity. He'd had nothing but a couple of hors d'oeuvres all night. The lit interior contained a box of baking soda, two garlic bulbs and some ketchup. His stomach growled.

Her eyebrow lifted when he looked up. He shrugged and closed the door.

"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting company," she said dryly.

"No sweat."

She moved into another room and snapped on a light. A cozy living room with patterned rugs and sofas. Silver-framed photos lined the fireplace mantel. He peered into one and saw three smiling people in a summer garden: a tall, professorial-looking man in tweeds, a slender, pretty woman blowing bubbles, and a little girl with chubby cheeks and glasses.

He heard Bella's breath catch as he stared into the lost world of what was obviously an idyllic childhood.

"I should take those pictures down. They make me crazy."

"There's nothing wrong with remembering the good times."

"It hurts too much. We were so close. They were my best friends. Now my mom doesn't even seem to want to come home."

"Did she ever have problems before your dad died?"

"She struggled with depression now and then, but nothing she couldn't work through. My dad's death just pulled the rug out from under her. She can't seem to imagine being happy again." She tugged her gaze from the picture and glanced up at him. Her wide gray eyes glittered with tears. "Honestly, I feel the same way a lot of the time."