The Millionaire's Redemption

Chapter
One

Justin Devereux fumed as he strode on board the aircraft. Heads would roll over this debacle. If he hadn’t needed to get out of
England
so urgently, he would have waited for another flight. To hell with the risk of being grounded by a blizzard.

He showed his ticket to the flight attendant. He hadn’t flown in economy class for years, wouldn’t be doing it today if he had any say in the matter, either.

“I’m so sorry about this mix-up, Mr. Devereux. The airline did everything it could to get you a last minute business class seat, but like first class it was booked out.”

Well, you didn’t try hard enough, he nearly said, but bit back the angry words. It wasn’t the flight attendant’s fault that his booking still floated around in cyber space.

“We were able to get you an aisle seat near the front.”

“Thank goodness for that at least.” 

On being shown to his seat, he took off his cashmere coat, folded it neatly and stowed it in the overhead locker. If he had even an ounce of luck, the seat beside him would remain empty, but he wouldn’t take bets on it. Setting his briefcase on the floor, he rested his laptop on the vacant seat. What a shocking few hours it had been.

At least it was a little more spacious here. He couldn’t understand why there was extra leg space and only one other seat when there would normally be at least three, sometimes four seats, jammed together.

Closing his eyes, he thought back on the last twenty-four hours. He didn’t care about Deanna dumping him for Simon as their relationship had just about run its course.

Running off with millions of dollars of his employees’ pension fun
d.
Now that was something else. Despicable and criminal, and they did it in
such a way the blame fell
on him. He was ruthless. He had to be to claw his way to the top of the business world, but he had always acted with integrity. There were only two choices in the short term. Risk tarnishing his good business reputation or pay the money back. He chose the latter.

I’ll hound them to the ends of the earth he vowed furiously; I don’t care how long it takes. No one cheats Justin Devereux and gets away with it.

“Hell.” Something hard and sharp rammed into his groin. His eyes flew open. God, someone was trying to castrate him.

“S… sorry,” the wavering female voice said.

Justin looked up into a pair of blue eyes that were swimming in tears.

“Here, let me help,” he growled, pushing the weapon away from his crotch and handing it back to her. It was a wonder they let her bring the wretched thing on board. She took the folded-up baby stroller but dropped a large pink bag on to his foot. Where were the attendants when you needed them? This was definitely going to be the flight from hell.

He watched the girl struggling with the stroller, her handbag and a baby. His first thought was she didn’t
look
old enough to have a baby. His second was how tiny and frail she appeared, with the fine, ice blonde hair tumbling out of its restraining clip.

“It’s all right, don’t get flustered.” He felt strangely moved by her pale, heart shaped face, and trembling lips.

As she reached across his briefcase to sit the baby on the floor, a swathe of hair brushed his face, and he smelt a faint elusive perfume. Flowers perhaps? Like enticing fingers, it captured his senses.

Before he could offer to help, she lifted up the pink bag, to try to put it in the overhead lo
cker, but s
he wasn’t tall enough to reach. As he got up to assist her, the bag tilted, and a jar of baby food hit him on the head.

This girl was a walking disaster area.

“I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Accidents happen.”  Grimacing, he rubbed his head. “Let me put the bag up for you.” And that lethal pram too he thought, not wanting to risk being run through again. He valued his manhood too much.

As he stowed everything in the locker, he noticed that the white-haired and blue- eyed baby was playing with his briefcase
-
-
its plump little fingers trying to pick the lock.

The girl darted under his arm and scooped up the baby, and sat down as quick as a flash.

Thank goodness, he’d be safe for a little while at least.

***

Holly gnawed the inside of her lower lip. I’m not going to cry again. I’ll dehydrate if I do. She had to keep her wits about her in case the Kirwans came after them. Even with all their power and money, surely they couldn’t drag Lilly and her off the plane. If only it
would
hurry and take off and get her away from
England
with all its trauma, betrayal and bittersweet memories.

She stifled a sob, letting Lilly pull at her hair
-
-
anything to stop the baby from crying, at least until they got into the air. If the man sitting next to her complained, and he looked savage enough to do so, they might be put off the plane. It was stupid, illogical. She had paid for her ticket just like him, but her defenses had taken such a battering over the last few weeks, she couldn’t think straight.

Lilly suddenly tired of pulling Holly’s hair. She leaned across and grabbed the strap of the man’s laptop carry bag. He tried to snatch it back.

“I’m sorry.”  Holly pried the baby fingers open. Don’t cry, darling, don’t cry, not now, she pleaded inwardly.

The seat belt sign lit up. They were getting ready to take off. She clipped on her seat belt, watching as the man did the same. He had long, tanned fingers with well-kept nails. His dark trousers were tailor made and his shoes hand crafted, by the look of them. The cream high-necked sweater he wore was of the finest wool. This man’s appearance screamed wealth and power. So why did he travel economy class?

They were moving, the roar of the engines a musical serenade in her ears. She and Lilly were safe.
No one
had followed them on board. She exhaled a breath without even realizing she had been holding it. Lilly started squirming again. For some reason, she seemed attracted to the man’s laptop. She wanted it, and for an eleven month old, she was determined.

“No, darling, you can’t have that.” She pulled the chubby hand away. “It isn’t ours.”

The man stared at her with slate-
gray
eyes that were cold and bleak as a wintry English sky. His wavy black hair showed flecks of silver at the sides. He compressed his mouth, but his lower lip jutted ever so slightly, full, sensuous, extremely kissable. Why did she care what shape his lips were? He seemed vaguely familiar, but in her troubled frame of
mind,
she couldn’t remember where she might have seen him before.

A shudder shook all the way through her. She shouldn’t be admiring men, didn’t want to be admiring men, not with Robbie barely cold in his grave.

Her stomach plummeted and her eardrums vibrated. She closed her eyes, clutching Lilly around the waist.
Don’t think about it.
Large passenger planes rarely crashed. Only military planes were shot down from the sky. Only laughing young soldiers died.

She couldn’t stop a moan of distress from escaping. She wanted to stop it, but couldn’t.

“Hey, it’s all right.”  The man touched her arm. “We’re off the ground now.”

She fought the terror, burying her face against Lilly’s warm back, inhaling her sweet baby scent. It comforted her. They were safe, on their way home now, out of reach of Robbie’s domineering parents.

It didn’t have to be this way. She had been prepared to share Lilly with them. She was their only grandchild, the only one they would ever have now. They wanted Lilly, but they didn’t want her. Pure and simple.

The story of my life, Holly thought bitterly. No one wanted her except Robbie. She sniffed back the tears.

“Are you all right?” the man asked in a gruff voice. “Do you want me to call the flight attendant?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” What a laugh. She was a twenty four year old runaway war widow whose in-laws were intent on stealing her child. She rammed back the bitter laughter building up in her throat in case it spilt out and she became hysterical.

“Mr. Devereux compliments of the Captain,” the flight attendant said, handing him a balloon glass half full of a warm-looking amber liquid. Some expensive tipple no doubt, Holly thought.

“Thank you.” He swirled the contents of his glass around releasing the aroma of fine malt whiskey. “The lady here might also like a drink.”

“No thanks.” Alcohol was the last thing she wanted. Recognition suddenly dawned on her. Justin Devereux, millionaire property developer and corporate giant in the flesh. No wonder he seemed familiar. His pictures didn’t do him justice though. She almost said ‘I did secretarial work in one of your smaller subsidiary offices.’

Lilly, having dropped off to sleep, became a dead weight in her arms. The airline clerk she had spoken to about bringing the stroller on board mentioned something about a cot being supplied. “Excuse me. I understood there would be a cot.”

“There is.” The flight attendant dragged her attention away from Justin Devereux and pulled down a foldaway canvas cot. “If you need anything heated up for the baby, just let me know.”

“Thank you.” Holly laid Lilly down. There was only a thin airline blanket to cover her, and it wasn’t enough. “Excuse me. I need to get a blanket.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Justin Devereux volunteered.

He wasn’t being chivalrous, Holly knew, merely acting out of self-preservation.

“Thank you, it’s the pink bag.”

Without a word, he stood up, got the bag down and handed it to her. He watched her every move. She wondered whether he thought she might drop something on him again. If he knew why her nerves were shot to pieces, he wouldn’t be glowering at her. That’s if he had any compassion. Did millionaires have compassion?

She took out a disposable nappy and Lilly’s shabby pink bunny rug with the faded ribbon chewed through in one corner. “It’s her favorite. She’ll want it when she wakes up.” Holly didn’t know why she told him this. Perhaps she didn’t want him to think of her as a deadbeat mother. Not that it mattered what he thought. It wasn’t as if she would ever see him again after this flight. He moved in the big league.

***

Justin watched with narrowed eyes as the girl gently wrapped the blanket around the baby. He didn’t know anything about babies and didn’t want to. That wasn’t his scene.

Compared to the plump, rosy-cheeked child, the mother looked like a stray, underfed waif. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t care what she looked like. Didn’t care what tragedy had befallen her. Why should he? She was distraught, her eyes deep blue pools of suffering, the pale skin stretched over her cheekbones. It aroused his curiosity because he could only remember one other time when he witnessed such abject misery.

“They’ll be serving dinner soon,” he said, leaning a little closer.

Holly could smell the alcohol on his breath, and the subtle spicy scent of male cologne. “I’m sorry for poking you with the stroller and hitting you on the head, Mr. Devereux,” she apologized. “I’m clumsy when I’m upset or nervous.”

“Have we met before?” he asked politely.