Читать книгу Captured by the Billionaire: Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess - Robyn Donald - Страница 11

THAT night Serina slept well and the next morning Alex showed her around his garden, but for the first time ever she couldn’t fully concentrate on the beauty and harmony of flowers and foliage and form. Her attention was fixed on the man beside her.

She wondered dismally if this—whatever—she felt for Alex was going to destroy her pleasure in gardens.

Not that it could be love. The mere thought of that shocked her.

She couldn’t afford to love him. He’d made his attitude brutally clear; the unfulfilled desire that pulsated between them indicated a relationship, nothing more.

It was a relief to get into the Land Rover for a quick overview of the station. The track wound up to an airstrip along a ridge, providing a magnificent view over green hills and bush-clad gullies and the Pacific Ocean, a wide stretch of brilliant blue under the bright winter sky.

‘Tomorrow we’ll go down to the nearest beach,’ he told her on their way back to the homestead. ‘I hope you have some warm clothes with you?’

‘Of course I have,’ she returned crisply. ‘But you don’t need to entertain me, you know. Tomorrow I’ll see about hiring a car so I can visit some of the gardens in the guidebook you found for me.’

He gave her a narrow glance. ‘Have you ever driven on the left?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said absently, trying not to look down the hill. Although the track was well-maintained, the ground fell away sharply on her side without any barrier and she refused to let him see how nervous she was. Heights intimidated her.

But he must have sensed it because he slowed the Land Rover down. ‘When? And how much?’

Warmed by his unspoken consideration, she said, ‘I used to visit Doran at his school in England. Also, when our nanny was ill I drove down to Somerset quite frequently to visit her.’

And on other occasions when she’d been checking out gardens and interviewing their owners.

He said, ‘So you’re experienced on both sides of the road.’

‘And I’m a careful driver.’ Scrupulously, she added, ‘I did once set off from an intersection and head straight towards the wrong side. I was lucky—there was no other traffic, but it scared me and I’ve been supercautious ever since.’

‘If there had been other traffic you’d probably have kept to the left,’Alex said. He glanced at her. ‘You don’t need to hire a car; I’ll drive you around.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ she protested, hiding her quick flare of pleasure.

‘You didn’t,’ he said, reacting instantly when a bird sunning itself in the gravel flew up suddenly in front of the Land Rover.

Serina’s sharp intake of breath wasn’t necessary. Without stamping on the brake, Alex slowed the vehicle but held it to the line.

‘Never try to avoid a bird or an animal,’ he said calmly. ‘Probably more people have been killed taking abrupt evasive action than actually hitting something. Always stay on the road, and on your side if it’s a public road.’

‘Surely it’s human instinct to try not to hurt anything?’ she protested, feeling her tense muscles relax.

‘Control it. You’re good at control.’

Serina flushed. Except when he touched her…

He added, ‘Unless you’re faced with hitting another person and, even then, you need to weigh the consequences.’

Soberly, she said, ‘I hope I never have to.’ She returned to the original subject. ‘But you don’t need to drive me—you must have plenty of things to do without that. I’ll buy a good map and I’m capable of finding my way around.’

‘I can spare the time.’

When she began to object again, he said, ‘Serina, I know lots more people—and gardens—than whoever wrote that guidebook, and most of them aren’t open to the public.’

Serina was torn. She had to make this visit worthwhile, which meant seeing as many gardens as she could fit in. The more material she gathered, the better.

For worthwhile read profitable, she thought as the track they were on joined another wider and more travelled one.

But the real reason for her reluctance to have Alex for a chauffeur was the intensity of her response to him.

Thoughtfully, she said, ‘There are occasions when you sound like my father in his most aristocratic mood.’

His tone matching hers, he responded, ‘I do not feel in the least like your father.’After a taut few seconds he added dryly, ‘Or your brother.’

She glanced sideways, her heart thumping erratically as she took in his autocratic profile. He might not work on the station, but his hands on the wheel were strong and competent. Some wicked part of her mind flashed up an image of them stroking slowly across her pale skin. Heat flamed deep within her, and she had to stare stonily ahead and concentrate on a flock of sheep in the field.

‘One of them is cast,’ Alex said, and brought the Land Rover to a stop.

Serina opened her door and scrambled down too, eyes on the sheep lying in the grass, its legs sticking out pathetically. ‘What’s the matter with it?’ she asked as Alex swung lithely over the wire fence.

He set off towards the animal. ‘It’s heavy with wool and couldn’t get up, and now its balance has gone. It will die if it’s left like that. Stay there—I can deal with it.’

But Serina climbed the fence too, making sure she kept close to the post as he had done. The wires hurt her hands a little; she rubbed them down her jeans as she joined him. The rest of the flock scattered at their approach, but they stopped a safe distance away and turned to eye the two intruders curiously as Alex strode over to the struggling sheep.

It didn’t seem likely that he’d need help but, just in case, Serina followed him across the short grass.

The sheep registered its dislike of being approached by bleating weakly and struggling. Serina watched as Alex bent and, without seeming to exert much effort, turned the animal so that it stood. It panted and hung its head, but seemed stable enough until he stepped back.

‘Damn,’ he muttered as it staggered. He grabbed it and held it steady.

Serina said, ‘If we both hold it for a while until it gets its balance, would that help?’

‘Probably, but you’d get dirty.’ His voice held a sardonic note.

‘So?’Irritated, she positioned herself beside the panting animal and pressed her knee against it. Greasy wool, warm from the winter sun, clung to the denim of her jeans.

‘It smells,’ he said, adding, ‘and the wool will leave unfiltered, dirty lanolin on your hands and clothes. Those extremely well-cut jeans may never be the same again.’

‘I’ve smelt a lot worse than this,’ she said, meeting his eyes.

‘In that case, thanks for helping,’ he said coolly. ‘They’re due to be shorn today, so if we can get it steady it will be all right.’

It was oddly intimate, standing there with the animal panting between them. Serina concealed a wry smile, wondering how many of the women who’d stayed at that beautiful homestead had got this close to a sheep.

And what would his business rivals and allies think if they could see him now? Clad in a plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal strongly muscular arms, and a pair of trousers in some hard-wearing fabric that showed off narrow hips and strongly muscled thighs, he stood with booted feet braced, taller than her by some inches.

Accustomed to looking most men in the eyes, Serina felt overshadowed, yet oddly protected.

The silence was weighted too heavily with awareness, and she found herself saying, ‘I somehow got the impression that most farmers in New Zealand travel with packs of eager dogs.’

‘Usually only one or two,’ he told her.

A note in his deep, amused voice sent a thrill of excitement through her. Serina nodded and looked away, trying to concentrate on the sunny day, the sounds of birds she’d never heard before, the earthy smell of the sheep—anything to take her mind off Alex’s nearness.

Nothing worked.

He said, ‘And I’m not a farmer. I’m a businessman. I don’t have a dog because I’m away a lot and dogs—like spouses—need companionship to be happy.’

‘Is that why you haven’t married?’

The moment the words emerged she wished she could unsay them. Tensely, she waited for a well-deserved snub.

But he replied coolly, ‘No. When—if—I marry I’ll organise my life differently. Why are you still obstinately single?’

‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ she said lamely, and risked a glance upwards.

She met crystalline steel-blue eyes that heated instantly. ‘Indeed you have,’ he said lazily. And smiled, the sort of disturbing smile that should have sent her fleeing.

Instead, it further stimulated her rioting senses. This attraction was mutual, and she’d already decided to let things happen, so why wasn’t she flirting with him, letting him know in a subtle way that she was—

Well, what was she?

Ready sounded over-eager and, anyway, she didn’t know that she was ready.

With a pang, she realised she wanted something more solid and lasting than flirtation. She wanted to be wooed.

Like some Victorian maiden with a head stuffed full of unrealistic dreams, she scoffed. It didn’t happen in her world, where people responded to strong attraction by embarking on an affair. Sometimes they married, but once the glamour became tarnished they called everything off, often to repeat the whole process with someone else.

Love was a temporary aberration, and marriage an alliance made for other, infinitely more practical reasons.

Except for rare, fortunate exceptions like Rosie and Gerd, of course. And, although she wished them every good thing in their life together, she couldn’t help wondering how long Rosie’s incandescent joy would last.

She looked up. Alex was watching her, and something about his waiting silence made her heart flip madly so that when she spoke her voice was husky and soft.

‘What is it? Do I have lanolin on my face?’

Colour tinged her skin when he inspected her even more closely, but she held her gaze steady when he drawled, ‘Not a speck on that exquisite skin. I was just admiring the way the sun strikes blue sparks off your hair. But I’ll give you a hat when we get home—the sun can burn even in winter here.’

She swallowed. ‘Thank you.’

‘And it would be a crime to singe that exquisite skin.’ Taking her by surprise, he bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose.

Eyes enormous in her face, Serina held her breath and froze. The sun suddenly seemed brighter, the colours more vivid, the unseen birds more piercingly musical. A wave of heat broke over her.

Until he straightened and said, ‘We’ll see if this old girl can stand up by herself now. Let her go and step slowly away.’

Fighting a fierce, foolish disappointment, Serina obeyed. The ewe lurched, but as Alex moved back she stood more firmly. After a few seconds she dropped her head and, ignoring them, began to crop the grass eagerly.

‘She should be all right,’ Alex said.

Serina didn’t dare speak until they were well away, then she said, ‘What will happen if she falls again?’

‘I’ll tell Caroline’s husband and he’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on this mob.’

He reached out and took her hand. Serina almost stumbled, heart pounding as they finished the walk back to the Land Rover.

The fence negotiated, Alex leant past her to open the door but, before she could get in, he slid an arm around her and held her loosely, his eyes intent.

Serina’s breath locked in her throat. Mutely, wondering how on earth other women signalled that they’d decided they were ready for an affair, she followed the instinct that prompted a sigh, then turned her head into the strong tanned column of his throat, unconsciously letting her lips linger on his skin.

Alex’s big frame hardened, sending fierce little shivers through her, but he made no attempt to tighten his embrace. In a voice that alerted every nerve, he said, ‘Sure, Serina?’

‘Absolutely.’ The word sounded faint and faraway, so to make sure there could be no doubt she lifted her head, her lips curving in a smile that hinted at a sultry promise when her smoky gaze met the narrowed, glittering intensity of Alex’s. ‘Are you always going to ask me if I’m sure?’

‘Until I’m sure of you.’

Her stomach dropped several inches, but it was too late for any second thoughts. He bent his head and kissed her.

The kiss was everything she’d been secretly craving, a passionate seal on their almost wordless pact. Her tumbling thoughts vanished under the barely leashed sensuality of his mouth as he showed her just what his kiss could do.

The arm across her back slid downwards, catching her hips and pulling them against him. His fierce response to the erotic pressure made her gasp, and he immediately took advantage, claiming more than her lips, his deep, deep kisses carrying her into some unknown world of the senses where all she could feel was the rising urgency of her own needs and a fierce, unbelievable hunger.

Abandoning herself to desire, she pressed against him, some unknown part of her relishing the unchained compulsion to lose herself entirely in this dazzling, sensuous world.

It came as a shock when he lifted his head and said in a voice that rasped with a blend of passion and frustration, ‘Someone’s coming.’

Sure enough, when he let her go Serina registered the sound of an engine. Another vehicle was heading towards them along the track.

Alex held her for a moment as she struggled for balance—just like the ewe, she thought half-hysteri-cally. He frowned as he looked above her head and let his hands drop. ‘Lindy.’

Taking what tiny comfort she could from the narrow frown between his brows, Serina realised she wasn’t surprised. With the intuition of a woman in an equivocal situation, she’d realised that Lindy wanted Alex. They might have been brought up as brother and sister, but that wasn’t how Lindy saw him.

Serina tried to feel sorry for her, but she couldn’t prevent a cold prickle of foreboding when she met the other woman’s flat stare as she drew up beside them in a sleek, only slightly dusty ute.

‘What on earth are you two up to?’ Lindy asked through the window.

Alex nodded towards the sheep, all watching them. ‘One of them was cast,’ he said. ‘We got her on her feet, but she’s still shaky.’

‘Oh, poor Serina,’ Lindy said with a glittery smile. ‘What an introduction to the place! Smelly old sheep aren’t in the least romantic, are they? Never mind—get Alex to take you out to dinner.’

She waved an airy hand and shot off, scattering stones.

Alex said, ‘Would you like to go out to dinner?’

Not at Lindy’s behest she wouldn’t!

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ Serina hedged. ‘Although I slept like a top last night, I’m feeling a bit washed out right now.’

The glint in his eyes told her he was amused, but he said soberly, ‘Then we’ll have a quiet meal at home tonight and see how you feel tomorrow.’

But the other woman’s arrival had somehow cast a cloud over the afternoon.

Back at the homestead, Serina thanked him, then said, ‘I’d like to try my camera out in your garden, if that’s all right with you?’

‘I don’t want you writing about my garden,’ he said crisply.

‘I know, and I won’t, but I’ll want to take photographs when I visit other gardens, and the light here, especially during the middle of the day, is very clear and stark. I’d like to work out what settings are best.’

He held her eyes a second longer than necessary, then nodded. ‘Have you always taken your own photographs?’

‘Not at the beginning, but I do now,’ she said a little aloofly, still chilled by his initial distrust. ‘When I was working for Rassel I became interested in photography, so I soaked up as much knowledge about the way professional photographers do it as I could. I was lucky—one in particular used to critique my shots.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘He was cruel, but I learned an awful lot from him.’

His mouth thinned, then relaxed. ‘I have a few calls to answer,’ he said, ‘so I’ll be busy for an hour or so. Enjoy the garden.’

Still on edge, Serina collected her camera and went out into the garden again. The flowers in a wide border glowed as she relived Alex’s kisses and their explosive effect on her.

He’d kissed her like a lover, she thought dreamily.

She walked beneath a huge tree and closed her eyes for a moment.

Of course she wasn’t his lover. If it existed, true love had to mean you knew the person you loved, trusted them deeply and intimately and were completely convinced they’d never let you down.

Like Rosie and Gerd. They’d known each other since they were children. Whereas she’d only met Alex a few times before she’d embarked on this crazy trip across the world with him.

Yes, she’d felt an instant attraction, and been strangely elated to realise he felt it too. And she’d trusted him enough to come to New Zealand with him, she reminded herself and bit her lip—then muttered, ‘Ouch!’ when her teeth grazed the tender skin there.

When Alex kissed a woman she certainly knew she’d been kissed, she thought, trying to find some humour to lighten her mood.

But his reaction when she’d suggested she take photographs of his garden showed her how little he trusted her. Tension wound her tight, set her pacing restlessly out into the sunlight, still warm but now thickening into a gold that edged close to amber as the sun sank towards the hills to the west.

It was stupid to feel hurt. Alex certainly wasn’t in love with her, so why did she expect him to trust her?

Because what she felt for him—all she could allow herself to feel—was a mad, wild, unreasonable desire. Just thinking of him made her body spring into instant life, as though charged with electricity, and when she was with him she teetered on the most deliciously terrifying tenterhooks, so aware of his every movement that it was almost a relief to walk away.

Lust, she told herself sternly. Not love…

‘Forget about him,’ she told herself, startling a small bird with a tail like a fan into darting upwards. It landed on a tall stem a few feet away and surveyed her with black button eyes, scolding her with high-pitched chirps as it flirted its tail at her.

Smiling, she lifted her camera and got a shot of it, using it to get some pointers on how to deal with the bright, clear light.

But, try as she did to concentrate on photographic techniques, her obstinate mind kept replaying the way Alex had held her hand as they’d walked back to the Land Rover.

Somehow, that most casual of caresses meant more—just more, she thought in confusion.

Not more than his kisses, which had rocked her world, yet in a strange way that casual linking of hands satisfied something she didn’t recognise in herself, a kind of yearning…

For what?

She shook her head. Romance?

Giving up, she went inside and inspected her shots, relieved when several showed up really well—so well, she emailed a couple to her editor as a sample of what was in store for her.

Then she surveyed her clothes, finally choosing a little black dress. Discretion itself, she thought satirically. Ladylike and quite forgettable, although it did nice things for her skin and eyes.

And it was useless to wish now she’d brought something more daring, something that would subtly signal the change in her. Pulling a face at her reflection, she combed back her hair and caught it behind her head with a neat, unobtrusive clip. It didn’t seem likely that for a quiet dinner for two at home Alex would dress too formally, but she had no idea what New Zealanders wore for such occasions.

Or even if it mattered. Last night she’d changed into a pair of tailored silk trousers and a simple soft blouse, relieved when Alex had been equally casually attired. And it was foolish to think anything had altered just because he’d kissed her again, and she’d somehow—she hoped—managed to convey how much she wanted him.

Butterflies swirled through her stomach when she left her room, setting up a frenzied internal tornado when Alex came through a door a few metres along the wide hallway. To her relief, he was clad informally in a well-tailored linen shirt and narrow-cut trousers that set off the powerful body beneath.

Without trying to hide the gleam of appreciation in his eyes, he said, ‘Tell me, is it training or do you somehow just know the perfect way to look for any occasion?’

Colour heated her skin, but she managed to say demurely, ‘What a lovely compliment.’

He laughed and opened a door into a room that looked more like a library than a study. Standing back to let her go in first, he said, ‘That is no answer.’

‘Because your question was unanswerable. I choose what I hope will be appropriate for the occasion and leave it at that.’

He surveyed her through his lashes. ‘And an elegant, very chic that it is tonight.’

His response washed a deeper tinge of colour through her translucent skin. For a moment the violet eyes were clouded by an emotion Alex couldn’t define.

They cleared almost instantly and she said, ‘I wonder why I have the feeling you’re testing me in some subtle way I don’t understand?’

He already knew she wasn’t the stock princess he’d first thought, but he was surprised she’d dropped her usual reserve for such a forthright statement. Ignoring a sharp rush of adrenalin, he said, ‘You have an overactive imagination. I like to see you blush—it’s a charming reaction.’

How many other men had summoned that swift, rapidly fading heat? The photographer who’d been cruel but helpful? That thought brought with it a fierce, baseless anger that startled him.

He asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’

After a cool glance she said, ‘Wine would be great, thank you.’

To her surprise, he opened a bottle of champagne-style wine. Pouring it for her, he said, ‘This is from the Hawkes Bay, a big wine-growing region. Like Aura and Flint, most Northland vineyards tend to concentrate on growing for red wines. Some vintners buy in grapes to make their white wines. In the far north there are several vineyards, some of them with magnificent grounds. I’ve included them in a list of places you might find interesting. You can look at it after dinner, and tomorrow I’ll contact any you’d like to see.’

She took a sip of the liquid. Alex watched the curve of her artfully coloured mouth as it kissed the glass, and felt his gut tighten. Cynically he thought that for someone who’d never put a foot wrong, never figured in any scandal, she certainly knew all the tricks.

And she kissed like a houri. She’d learned that from someone. Or several someones. So his Princess was nothing if not discreet.

For no reason—because she wasn’t his Princess—the thought burned like acid.

Serina set her champagne flute down and met his eyes, her gaze level. ‘You’re being very helpful,’ she said, ‘but I’d feel better if I contacted them.’

‘People here know who I am,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Like it or not, it does make a difference.’

A steely note in her voice, she answered, ‘I realise that, and of course I’m grateful for the offer, but I’m not accustomed to being sponsored.’

Alex had researched her work, concentrating on places he’d visited himself, and been surprised to discover she had a rare skill for evoking the soul of a garden. For a reason he wasn’t going to inspect too deeply, her refusal to accept his help sparked his temper.

‘With respect,’ he said sardonically, ‘I suggest you stop cutting off your nose to spite your face. This is New Zealand, and although I’m sure the magazine you write for has some readers here, it’s probably not enough to make you famous.’

‘I didn’t—’

He overrode her protest. ‘It will be much easier for you if I do stand sponsor to you—and at least the owners will know you won’t be casing their properties for a future robbery.’

Her head came up proudly. ‘As if that’s likely to happen,’ she retorted scornfully, her eyes sparkling with outrage.

Alex shrugged. ‘New Zealand has a low level of crime, but we’re not free of it. You can’t blame people if they are a little suspicious of an unknown person who not only asks if she can come and check out their properties, but brings a camera with her.’

She frowned, and before she could speak he went on levelly, ‘In your world, Princess, you’re very well known. Here, you’re not. I am.’

He waited while she absorbed that, watching her frown smooth out and her thoughtful nod.

Slowly, she said, ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve just realised I have a confession to make—I took photographs of your garden and sent them to my editor as an indication of what gardens are like here. I’m sorry, I’ll get her to delete them.’

Irritated, he said shortly, ‘Just make sure she doesn’t publish them.’

‘She knows they’re not for publication.’

She took another sip of her wine and this time he watched deliberately, noting the way she tasted—as though she was an expert.

Perfectly trained, he thought, and wondered why, when he wanted so urgently to kiss the wine from her lips, to feel the soft meltdown of her body against his, all he could do was search for flaws. Just looking at her was enough to scramble his brain, and he couldn’t afford to allow this unusual desire to overwhelm his common sense.

Only an hour ago he’d spoken to Gerd on the secure line and discovered that, although Doran seemed more than happy to explore the delights of Vanuatu wrecks and reefs, his band of gaming companions had turned up in one of the coastal towns in the border region of Carathia and Montevel.

Ostensibly on holiday.

Had Princess Serina made the somewhat surprising decision to come to New Zealand in order to throw any suspicious person off the scent? He had every reason to believe her brother had gone to Vanuatu for just that reason. That afternoon Gerd had told Alex that the security man he’d sent to infiltrate the group had been overeager and raised suspicion. Alex had ordered the plant’s immediate withdrawal, but from now on they’d have to work on the assumption that the group knew they’d been infiltrated.

How deeply in their confidence was Serina? She’d used her email that afternoon to send photographs. Had she contacted Doran, or the plotters?

He glanced down at her face, as serene as her name, beautiful and remote and desirably tempting.

Her explanation of her brother’s activities had been almost believable, but she hadn’t been persuasive enough to quite convince him. According to his man, there was an excellent chance she was fully aware of what was going on.

With the spy gone, he and Gerd had no other way of finding out anything more but, from what they’d learned, the plotters were getting ready to make a move.

Perhaps it was time to find out whether Serina was ready to sacrifice her body to the cause.

He forced back an instinctive distaste. Lives would be lost if the group were allowed to proceed and, although he had no sympathy for those who believed the end justified the means, he suspected this was one of the times when it really did.

Besides, although Serina was extremely aware of him, she was no fluttering ingénue, hoping that an affair would lead to marriage. Her father, a notorious libertine, would have taught her that such things were transitory.

And he wouldn’t be faking. From the moment he’d met her, he’d found the aloof Princess Serina very alluring and he was enjoying crossing swords with her.

Plenty of very satisfactory relationships, he thought cynically, had been built on much more shaky grounds than that.