Читать книгу Claimed By Her Billionaire Protector - Robyn Donald - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

SWALLOWING, ELANA PREPARED herself for bad news.

Time stretched unbearably in the silence before Niko Radcliffe said in a vastly different tone, ‘He’s regained consciousness? Great. And at his age bruised or cracked ribs should heal quickly. It doesn’t sound as though his other injuries will be any problem. He was lucky.’

Elana sagged, grateful for the strength of his arm around her. Despising herself for her weakness, she tried to pull away, only to find she couldn’t.

‘Yes, I’ll make sure she knows,’ he finished. ‘Thanks very much.’

And released her after he’d snapped the cell phone shut and tossed it onto the nearest chair. ‘That was your policeman friend. The ambulance people seem pretty convinced that young Jordan has nothing more than mild concussion, a shallow cut from flying glass, and what will probably be quite severe bruises caused by the seatbelt, but just might be cracked ribs.’

The mixture of relief and her body’s fierce, involuntary response to his nearness set Elana’s pulses hammering. Startled, she tried to pull back.

‘Sit down,’ Niko ordered, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. ‘You’re just about out on your feet.’ He released her, frowning as she sat too quickly onto the sofa. ‘You need something stronger than tea.’

She stiffened her backbone, resisting another debilitating wave of tiredness. ‘I don’t normally go to pieces. Thank heavens Jordan got off so lightly. I’m very glad he was wearing his seatbelt.’

‘Only an idiot would drive without one.’ His voice was coolly dismissive.

That tone—so dispassionate as to border on contempt—summoned harsh, painful memories of her father. Catapulted back to childhood, she looked up into her host’s hard face, then glanced away.

He went on curtly, ‘Especially a kid who doesn’t know how to drive safely on a back-country road.’

Mrs West came in carrying a tray, and frowned as she set the tray down on a table. ‘Goodness, Ms Grange, you’re as white as a ghost. I think you could do with some brandy in that tea.’

Bracing herself, Elana managed a smile. ‘No, really, the tea will work wonders. Actually, I’m reacting to good news.’

And a chilling flashback...

‘Young Jordan was very lucky,’ Niko explained, and briefly told the housekeeper the extent of Jordan’s injuries.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Mrs West gave a wry smile. ‘Well, you know what I mean! Better bruised ribs than a broken back.’

As she left the room her employer moved across to the tray and asked Elana how she drank tea.

‘As is,’ she said, ‘no milk, no sugar.’

Niko poured a cup of tea and brought it across to her. Gratefully lifting it, Elana began to sip, using the action as a kind of shield against that intimidating ice-blue gaze.

Pull yourself together, she told herself. Stop being so feeble! To fill the silence she said, ‘This has not been the most auspicious introduction to Waipuna for you. I hope any other visits will be much less dramatic.’

‘I hope so too, as I plan to visit frequently.’ At her surprised glance he added crisply, ‘At least until Mana Station is up and running again the way it should be.’

* * *

It would do no harm to spread the word that he intended to take a personal interest in the station. He was no micro-manager, and he trusted Dave West, the new manager, but he intended to make the important decisions for the station’s future.

And, he thought grimly, make sure they were carried out.

It should have been a pleasant extra that Elana Grange lived right next door. Even now, in spite of dark circles beneath her eyes and features sharpened by tiredness, her subtle magnetism stirred his blood. But independent though she clearly was, it was unlikely she’d be sophisticated enough to understand the sort of relationships he preferred.

So he wouldn’t be giving in to that primal summons.

‘Why the startled look?’ he enquired.

* * *

‘I suppose—well, I thought you’d be an absentee owner,’ she admitted. ‘Your life must keep you busy.’

He shrugged. ‘For most of their history the people of San Mari had to produce all their own food or starve. Sometimes they starved. So tending their cattle and the land that supported them was hugely important. Things have changed now with the advent of communications and tourism, of course. However, vast areas of the world still need food, and along with my other responsibilities I do what I can to supply it.’

Responsibilities? Elana allowed herself a small smile. That was an interesting way to describe the worldwide empire he’d built for himself. And although he might consider himself a farmer, very few men of the land wielded so much influence and power.

His brows lifted. ‘I said something amusing?’

‘No.’ She hesitated, met his narrowed gaze and expanded, ‘I made the mistake of assuming you’d be more like the previous owners, who used Mana as a cash cow so they could live the life they enjoyed.’

His expression warned her he didn’t like what she’d said. ‘Stereotyping is lazy thinking,’ he told her coolly.

‘True,’ she admitted, and sipped more tea, welcoming its comfort and reassurance as a wave of intense weariness washed over her.

Her host asked, ‘Is there anything else besides that tea that you need?’

‘Thanks, but it’s done the trick. You were right—I’m already feeling better.’ She smothered a yawn with a hand. ‘I’m sorry, I think it’s time I went to bed.’

‘Patty will be back in a minute or so to show you your room,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, ask her.’

Sure enough, the housekeeper appeared almost immediately, and, after saying goodnight and being ordered to sleep well, Elana was ushered up the stairs into a bedroom that breathed luxury without being fussy or ostentatious.

When she didn’t have to force her eyelids to stay up, Elana knew she’d appreciate it even more.

Mrs West offered her a nightgown, saying with a smile, ‘It’s mine, so it won’t fit you, but it’ll cover you.’

Exhaustion weighed Elana down, slowed her brain, dragged through every word. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

Drat Niko Radcliffe. Why couldn’t he have delivered her home?

Her expression must have revealed her thoughts, because Mrs West said, ‘The en suite for this room isn’t functional yet, but there’s a bathroom two doors down the hall to the left. I’ve put toothpaste and some towels there for you.’

Elana thanked her and set off. It took all the concentration she could muster to wash her face and clean her teeth.

Back in the bedroom Mrs West said as she left, ‘The light in the hall will be on, so if you need to go to the bathroom later you’ll have no trouble finding your way here. Goodnight and sleep well.’

Feeling as though she’d been beaten with cudgels, Elana climbed into a nightgown several sizes too big, and sank into the enormous bed, gratefully allowing unconsciousness to claim her.

But with sleep came dreams—the same nightmares that had tortured her after the accident. Unable to prevent them, she relived again the horror of seeing the huge stock truck hurtle towards them, her mother’s scream cut off by the moment of impact, the pain mercifully shortened by a devouring darkness.

And then thank all the gods, she woke up, whimpering, and stumbled up to her feet, her heart thudding so strongly she felt it might jump out of her breast. After switching on the lamp on the bedside table, she drew in several deep breaths before realising she needed to head for the bathroom.

‘Two doors down,’ she muttered, clutching the over-large gown around her. ‘On the left...’

The hall light was dim, but she could see easily enough to make out the bathroom door. Tiptoeing, she got there, and was halfway back to her bedroom when she heard a noise behind her. Heart jumping, she increased her pace and prayed for it to be the housekeeper.

‘Elana.’

No such luck. The deep hard voice belonged to Niko Radcliffe. Hand groping to pull the wide neck of the nightdress up, she swivelled around. He loomed in the semi-darkness, big and tall and far too close, and showing far too much skin.

At first she thought he was naked and took a short step backwards as her stunned gaze took in wide, tanned shoulders and a muscled chest with a scroll of dark hair across it. A swift relief eased some of her shock when she realised he was wearing pyjama trousers.

‘What...?’ she breathed.

He took two strides towards her, stopping as she backed away. Frowning, he asked, ‘Are you properly awake?’

She ran her tongue over dry lips. ‘Of course I am,’ she said huskily. ‘I needed to use the bathroom.’

‘You’re shaking. I hope you’re not afraid of me.’

Something in his tone made her stiffen. ‘No, of course not.’ Despairingly, she realised her voice was thin and almost wavering. She had to steady it to continue, ‘I’m all right. I—I’m—’

She stopped and shook her head, dragging in more air in a quick gasp. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

He waited a few seconds before saying in a milder tone, ‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes.’

But when she took a step her legs crumpled beneath her. Mortified, she leant against the wall and clamped her eyes shut to stop the walls—and her host—from suddenly spinning.

‘I’ll carry you,’ he said harshly, and before she could protest she was enveloped in his warmth and strength, the faint, potent male scent of him somehow comforting as well as stimulating, so that she had to fight a craving to rest her head on his shoulder.

‘I’m too heavy,’ she managed as he lifted her.

‘You’re not. Just keep still and I’ll get you back to your bed.’

Wordlessly, her thoughts and emotions a tangled jumble, she obeyed.

When he straightened after lowering her into the bed she shivered again, suddenly cold and bereft. The light of the lamp picked out the strong bone structure of Niko’s face, and a sudden, unexpected sensation gripped her, a kind of urgency, of hunger...

Something in the Count’s gaze made her realise that the nightdress neckline had dragged down, revealing far too much of her breasts. Scarlet-faced, she hauled the material up, grateful that he’d immediately turned to pull the duvet over her.