Читать книгу Purchased By The Billionaire - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 5

JACOB was in a large ward, his leg strapped in protective padding, and receiving pain management via a drip.

He looked pale, dejected and almost fearful in the initial seconds before Kayla entered his line of vision, then his expression lightened and he smiled as he sighted the man at her side.

Duardo Alvarez. Their white knight in shining armor. Although dark angel was more appropriate, she acknowledged with wry cynicism.

‘Hi.’ Her greeting was warm with concern as she leaned in close to brush her lips to her brother’s cheek, and heard his barely audible ‘thank God’ seconds before she lifted her head.

In the space of what appeared to be a very short time Duardo organized for Jacob to be transferred to a private suite, engaged a team of orthopaedic surgeons and scheduled surgery.

Omnipotent power, Kayla perceived, backed by unlimited money.

She knew she should be grateful…and she assured herself she was, for Jacob’s sake. It didn’t mean she had to like the deal or the man who’d made it.

The Orderly arrived to effect Jacob’s transfer, and she bade her brother a reluctant ‘goodnight’.

‘I’ll be here in the morning before they take you into Theatre,’ Kayla promised as the Orderly wheeled Jacob down the corridor.

It was after seven when Duardo eased the Aston Martin from the hospital car park, and the evening light was beginning to fade, tinging the pale sky with streaks of pink that gradually changed to orange as he negotiated traffic.

Soon it would be dark, and she wanted nothing more than to return to her apartment, hit the shower and fall into bed.

Except that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, and the bed she’d sleep in wouldn’t be her own, but his.

The mere thought sent heat flooding her veins, and she consciously focused on the scene beyond the windscreen in an effort to divert attention from what the night would bring.

Streetlights sprang on, vying with brightly coloured neon signs, and traffic banked up as main arterial roads linked to traverse the Harbour Bridge.

A short while later Duardo brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine.

Nothing looked familiar—not the locale, the street. ‘Why did you stop here?’

‘Dinner.’ He freed his seat belt and climbed out from behind the wheel. ‘We both need to eat.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

He crossed round to her side and opened the door. ‘Get out, Kayla.’ When she made no effort to move he leant forward to release her seat belt.

The simple action had the breath lodging in her throat as his arm brushed her breast. He was close, much too close, and she froze, unwilling to so much as breathe for the few seconds it took him to complete the simple task.

Arguing with him would get her nowhere. And there was such a thing as sheer cussedness. It had been a while since lunch, and no way could the yoghurt and fruit she’d snacked on be termed a meal.

With that thought in mind she slid to her feet and crossed the street at his side, entering a small restaurant where the maître d’ greeted Duardo by name and personally ushered them to a secluded table.

Kayla refused wine, chose soup as a starter, an entrée as a main, followed by fresh fruit.

‘Would you prefer silence, or meaningless conversation?’

Duardo spared her a faintly mocking smile. ‘You could begin by filling me in on the last few years.’

‘Why, when you already know everything?’ She lifted her water glass and took a sip of the iced liquid. ‘Did you employ someone to watch my every move?’

Duardo leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. ‘Last time I heard, it wasn’t a crime for a man to retain interest in an ex-wife.’

The waiter served their soup, offered crusty bread then retreated as Kayla raked Duardo’s compelling features with something akin to scorn.

‘A wife you deliberately sought with an eye to the main chance.’

His expression hardened, and there was an almost frightening element evident in the depths of those dark eyes.

‘Perhaps you’d care to explain that comment?’

‘The Enright-Smythe consortium.’

‘Indeed?’

His voice was like ice slithering in a slow slide down the length of her spine.

‘Benjamin showed me written proof.’

‘Impossible, given there was none at the time.’

‘You’re lying. I saw the letters.’

‘Which you read?’

The scene flashed vividly to mind, ingrained in her mind as the moment love had died. Papers, Duardo’s name. Her father’s voice, loud and accusing in denunciation.

She’d skimmed the text, sightlessly, before Benjamin had flung the papers onto his study floor and stamped a foot on them.

‘You can’t deny you succeeded in a takeover bid for Benjamin’s company.’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘Did it give you pleasure to watch him sink into bankruptcy?’

His gaze didn’t waiver. ‘Your father’s financial decline provided me with an opportunity to add to my investment portfolio. I’m a businessman. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’

‘Of course,’ she acknowledged with facetious intent, only to lapse into strained silence as the waiter appeared at the table to remove their soup bowls; soup she hardly remembered tasting.

‘A deal brokered after the dissolution of our marriage.’

The tension escalated into a tangible entity. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Any more than you can accept your father might have fabricated a tissue of lies and manufactured supposed proof?’

Shocked anger widened her eyes. ‘He wouldn’t have done that.’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘I was his daughter!’

Their main meal was delivered, and served with a polite flourish.

‘Benjamin’s most prized possession.’ Duardo waited a beat. ‘One he would have done anything to remove from my orbit.’

Kayla looked at the artistically displayed food on her plate, and felt suddenly ill. ‘You’re wrong.’

‘I, too, can produce documented proof.’ He picked up a fork, speared a morsel and held it suspended for a few seconds. ‘The comparison with Benjamin’s papers should prove—’ he paused almost perceptibly ‘—interesting, don’t you think?’

Except there were no papers. At least, not those. When she’d asked, Benjamin had insisted they were with his lawyers. Who, on enquiry, could find no record of them.

It seemed unconscionable that Benjamin would contrive to destroy her marriage. Had his personal grief over Blanche’s loss tipped him over the edge?

‘Eat,’ Durado commanded quietly.

‘I’m not hungry.’ For even a mouthful would choke her, and she pushed her plate to one side, her appetite gone.

It had been a doozy of a day. One that was far from over. She wanted to walk out of here, away from this inimical man, what he proposed…everything.

‘Don’t even consider it.’ His tone was a silky threat, and, without thinking, she picked up her glass and flung the contents in his face.

In seeming slow motion she watched Duardo collect his table napkin, glimpsed the startled attention of the waiter, who rushed to his aid, and she stood to her feet, collected her purse…and fled.

She made the pavement, lifted a hand to flag a passing cab, only to cry out as strong hands closed over her shoulders and swung her around.

Duardo’s features looked hard in the dim reflected streetlight, the structural bones etched in controlled anger.

‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Believe me, I’m being extremely careful not to.’

For a moment the tension between them was electric, stretched so taut the slightest movement would result in an explosive shower of sparks.

‘I can’t do this.’ It was an agonized cry dredged from the depths of her soul.

His hands slid up to cup her face, tilting it so she had no recourse but to look at him.

‘I need time,’ she said.

‘Time won’t change a thing.’

‘Please.’

He traced the outline of her mouth with the edge of his thumb. ‘No.’

Kayla bit him…hard. Heard his muffled oath, tasted his blood and cried out as he hefted her over one shoulder.

‘Put me down!’

‘Soon.’

She curled her hands into fists and pummelled them against his back. To no avail, as he strode easily to his car, unlocked the passenger door and bundled her into the seat.

He was close, far too close as he caught the seat belt and clipped it in place. ‘Move, and I won’t answer for the consequences.’

She hated him…didn’t she? Hated him for placing her in this invidious position.

Yet…what if he was telling the truth?

Had her father lied and connived to his own ends?

She shook her head in disbelief. It was almost too much for her to take in.

She watched as Duardo walked around the car and slid in behind the wheel.

It was difficult to see his expression in the dim interior of the car, and she stared blankly at the night scene beyond the windscreen.

‘I want to see the paperwork detailing your takeover.’

She had to know.

‘I’ll instruct my lawyer to supply you with a copy.’

The Aston Martin purred to life, and she sat in strained silence as the car traversed the city streets. Duardo offered the opportunity for a life free from debt, the fulfillment of her brother’s dream.

Jacob was all she had, and he deserved this chance.

So, too, did she. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. For the love of God…didn’t she?

The alternative…

Don’t go there. It serves no purpose.

There was only now. And she’d deal with it. She had to.

The car drew to a halt in the narrow inner-city suburban street where she lived.

A late-model four-wheel-drive was parked nearby, and she stood still as Duardo paused to speak with the driver before indicating the entrance to her apartment.

Dim lighting didn’t disguise the dingy surroundings, or the well-trodden wooden stairs as she ascended them ahead of him. Chipped paint, and the faint but distinct smell of decay.

Double locks on the door protected a pitiful space with minimal furniture, worn furnishings and the lack of personal touches. It was simply a place to sleep, not to live.

‘Collect what you need.’

It didn’t take long to transfer her meagre belongings into one bag and place Jacob’s possessions into another. ‘The landlord—’

‘Spence has already dealt with it.’ He indicated the small foldaway table. ‘Leave the key.’

Kayla looked at him in silent askance as he caught hold of both bags.

‘I made a few calls from the hospital.’

To people who were paid to jump instantly to attention at his slightest command.

Wealth…extreme wealth, she mentally corrected, had its distinct advantages.

It took only minutes to descend the stairs and pass through the shabby entrance onto the pavement. Almost instantly, a dark figure moved forward to take both bags from Duardo’s grasp and deposit them in the rear of the four-wheel-drive.

‘Spence.’ Duardo clarified and completed the introduction before turning towards her. ‘Let’s go.’

Was it too late to change her mind? Could she?

Yes…and no.

She was barely aware of Spence sliding behind the wheel until she heard the engine engage and saw the four-wheel-drive ease away from the kerb.

There went all her worldly possessions.

Kayla spared Duardo a vengeful look that lost most of its effect in the dim evening light. ‘Mind-reading is one of your talents?’

‘You want to argue?’ His voice was deceptively mild, yet she sensed steel beneath the surface.

‘Not particularly.’

He crossed to the car, disarmed the alarm, opened the passenger door and stood waiting for her to get in.

Which she did, with considerable grace and no apparent reluctance. A lesson in the game of pretense, she accorded, aware it was the first of many she’d be required to play in the coming months.

Oh, tell it like it is, she chided silently as the car whispered through the busy streets.

Duardo had specified…wife.

A warm and willing body in his bed. A social hostess.

What if she fell pregnant?

A groan rose and died in her throat. Protection…she had none. Hadn’t used or needed it.

‘Nothing to say?’

Kayla spared his profile a steady glance. ‘I’m plotting your downfall.’

His soft chuckle curled round her nerve-ends.

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘I believe you’ll try.’

‘Count on it.’ She glanced idly at the changing scene as the Aston Martin entered the eastern suburbs, where the inner-city shabby abodes were replaced with classy apartment buildings, well-kept homes guarded by walls and ornate gates.

Duardo, according to the media, resided in a luxurious Point Piper mansion overlooking the inner harbour, bought at the time of his marriage, but never lived in by her.

It was purported he’d brought in a team of builders, gutted the interior and virtually redesigned the internal structure before spending a veritable fortune on fittings and furnishings.

A fortress, Kayla observed, guarded by hi-tech security, and accessible only to those authorised to enter.

Well-positioned lighting revealed beautifully tended lawns and gardens, a curving driveway leading to an elegant mansion, and it was impossible not to feel the acceleration of nervous tension as Duardo brought the car to a halt beneath the wide portico.

One of two large double doors opened to frame a slender middle-aged woman.

‘Maria,’ Duardo indicated quietly as he released his seat belt. ‘My housekeeper.’

Spence, Maria—

‘Her husband, Josef, takes care of the grounds and maintenance.’

And Josef comprised the complement of staff. Live-in?

‘There are two self-contained flats above the garages. Maria and Josef occupy one, Spence the other.’

Kayla slid out from the car, and, introductions complete, she entered the magnificent marble-tiled lobby.

Huge, with a curved double staircase leading to the upper floor, exquisite lighting, gleaming dark furniture and a number of beautifully carved wooden doors guarding various rooms.

There would, she determined, be panoramic views over the harbour during the day, with a fairyland of lights at night.

‘There is coffee, or tea if you’d prefer,’ the housekeeper relayed quietly and incurred Duardo’s thanks. ‘The bags have been taken up to the master suite.’

Kayla’s stomach took a backwards flip…at least, that was what it felt like! She didn’t want to think about the bedroom, much less go there.

‘Tea would be lovely.’ And a delaying tactic. ‘Perhaps I could freshen up, first?’

Duardo indicated the staircase. ‘Of course.’

Two different wings, one comprised of a few guest suites and an informal lounge, while the other held three bedrooms each with adjoining en suites, with the master suite in prominent position overlooking the harbour.

A large room, with a spacious alcove containing two comfortable chairs, an antique desk and a television cabinet. Two en suite bathrooms, two walk-in wardrobes.

She avoided looking at the bed…the very large bed.

‘You have a beautiful home.’

‘A compliment, Kayla?’

‘You doubt I can gift you one?’

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and spread it over a valet frame, then he tugged off his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt before moving to the door. ‘When you’re ready, take the second door on your left at the base of the stairs.’

There was a sense of relief in being free from his presence. But not for long…

It would be bliss, absolute bliss to take a leisurely shower and shampoo her hair with the high-end market products lined up in the en suite. To use the hair-drier, wrap her body in the luxurious towelling robe, then slip into that comfortable bed…and sleep.

The temptation was too great, and with quick, economical movements she discarded her clothes, then stepped into the large marbled-tiled shower stall to luxuriate in an endless supply of steaming hot water.

The delicately scented body-wash was heaven, so, too, the luxury shampoo…neither of which she’d been able to afford to use for years.

Had Maria been instructed to stock up the en suite? Or were the products a complimentary gesture to whichever female Duardo took to his bed?

A man of his calibre had women falling all over him. Attracted to his wealth, his social status…and tantalized by his former bad-boy reputation.

Kayla tilted her head and let the water’s needle-spray course over her face. Dammit, it felt so good not to have to consider a tiny heating system that permitted three-minute ablutions before the water ran cold.

It was a while before Kayla turned off the dial, then, towelled dry, she pulled on the robe before tending to her hair.

Bed had never looked so good, and she turned back the top cover, touched the feather pillow with something akin to reverence…

She should unpack—but who was she kidding? The contents of her bag were so basic it would take only minutes to stow them.

As to pulling on clothes…the idea had little appeal. Nor did returning downstairs.

The weight of the day and its outcome descended on her slim shoulders, and she slid between the fine percale sheets with care.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Duardo could come find her when he was ready.

Kayla slept, unaware of Duardo’s presence, more than an hour later, or that he stood looking down at her pale features in repose.

She didn’t register that he left the room and returned close to midnight, nor did she hear the shower or sense him slide into bed.

It was only when her hand came into contact with a solid, warm ribcage in the early hours of the morning that she freaked out, subconsciously unaware of where she was in those initial few seconds.

She knew only that it was dark, the bed wasn’t her own…and who in hell was controlling her frantic need to escape.

She heard her name…then movement, and the room became bathed in soft light.

Son-of-a-bitch. Duardo bit back the muffled curse as he took in the tumbled hair, the heated cheeks, her heaving body, the stark fear in those brilliant blue eyes…and witnessed the moment comprehension hit.

‘You forgot where you were.’

Oh, dear lord. ‘Yes.’ The simplicity of it seemed ludicrous.

He was close, much too close. The warmth of his skin covering hard muscle and sinew, the clean masculine scent of soap…the sensual heat that was his alone.

Physical awareness as strong as it had ever been. Riveting, hypnotic…pagan.

The need to put some space between them was imperative, and she moved a little, aware of the stillness apparent in the dark depths of his eyes.

He could easily reach for her, draw her in against him and cover her mouth with his own. Soothe, seduce…and have her go up in flames.

As he had, many times, during their magical time in Hawaii. An apt and willing pupil, she’d exulted beneath his skilled hands, his mouth, the feel of him deep inside her.

How many nights had she lain awake, cursing herself for allowing him to walk away? For not having the courage, the perspicacity to stand up against her father.

Now she was back in Duardo’s bed for all the wrong reasons, and she hated him for it.

‘Go to sleep.’

As if!

‘Unless you need some help?’ His drawled query was unmistakable, and she made no attempt to disguise the slight bitterness in her voice.

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘For now.’

‘Thank heaven for small mercies.’

‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’

‘Pity.’ She paused as she speared his gaze with her own. ‘I’m not big on warm fuzzies at the moment.’

His soft chuckle was almost her undoing. ‘I seem to recall you being quite talkative at this hour of the morning.’

In the afterglow of exceptionally great sex. When she lay curled into him, her cheek nestled against his chest. A time of dreams, love, hope.

‘I’m surprised you remember.’ Kayla’s response was deliberately tart. ‘With all the women who followed me.’

‘You imagine there were so many?’

Thinking about just how many was like being stabbed in the heart. ‘They would have stood in line for the privilege.’

‘A back-handed compliment, Kayla?’

‘A statement of fact.’

‘Derived from experience?’

‘A trick question, Duardo?’ She was damned if she’d reveal she’d taken no one to her bed…since, or before him.

A silent laugh bubbled up in her throat, almost choking her. The original virgin…a one-man woman. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be hysterical.

‘Which you’d prefer not to answer.’

‘Got it in one.’

His mouth curved into a slight smile. ‘Are you done?’

She borrowed his words without compunction. ‘For now.’

‘Let’s make the most of the few hours before dawn, hmm?’

For a brief few seconds her eyes held uncertainty, followed by a degree of wariness.

‘To sleep,’ he added with a tinge of amusement before settling onto his back, and he proceeded to do just that within a very short period of time.

Much to her relief.

Or, so she told herself as she deliberately banished the slow-curling desire insidiously invading her body.