Читать книгу Captured by the Billionaire - Robyn Donald - Страница 10

ALEX’S lips barely moved when he said, ‘Serina,’ and traced the outline of her mouth with a lean, gentle forefinger.

Colour burned up through her skin and her heartbeats drummed in her ears, awareness tingling through every cell and filling her with longing. Incredulously, she realised she was holding her breath, unable to summon her wits to move. Drowned in the burnished blue of his eyes, she clung single-mindedly to the simple concept of staying upright.

Then he said, ‘You must know already that I’m glad you came.’ And stepped away.

Serina fought to hide a fierce disappointment, keen as a knife blade. What had gone wrong? Why had he decided against…?

Against what, exactly?

Against kissing her.

Humiliation drove a desperate desire to gloss over the violence of her response. She said on a breath jagged enough to be painful, ‘I wasn’t fishing for any compliment. I was actually being slightly sarcastic.’

He hadn’t answered her question so she still didn’t know whether he’d invited her to New Zealand to find out what Doran and his friends were doing. Had he deliberately engineered that touch, that convincingly intense gaze, to fog her brain with sensual expectation so she wouldn’t push for an answer?

If so, he knew now she wanted him more than he did her. Her response gave him power; he’d been able to pull away while she’d been frozen.

Pride came to her rescue. Stiffening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze level and slightly ironic. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d never been kissed.

However, past kisses had been pleasant, only mildly stimulating, about as far removed as anything could be from the jolting, heady anticipation she’d experienced when Alex touched her.

What was the difference?

No other man had stirred her as Alex did, arousing a need she’d never felt before, as potent and clamorous as hunger. He was the only man able to set her hormones surging in that delicious, terrifying flood of anticipation…

Cool it, she warned her body staunchly, but she had to wait a few seconds before her voice was steady enough for her to observe in a casual tone, ‘I hope you manage to convince Gerd that his concern about trouble on his borders is baseless.’

Alex’s expression gave nothing away, but her skin tightened when her eyes met his, unyielding and austere.

‘I’ll tell him you said so,’ he said, then glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve rung the organiser of the fund-raising dinner I promised to attend tonight, and she’s quite sure that if you want to come she can arrange that.’

‘No, no,’ she broke in. The surge of response ebbed rapidly, leaving her lax and enervated. ‘I think jet lag must have struck—I wouldn’t be entertaining company tonight.’

Black brows drawn together, he scrutinised her face. ‘I should have realised you’d feel the effects—I’m sorry for wearing you out at tennis.’

‘You didn’t,’ she said promptly. ‘All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be back well before midnight. When you want to eat, use the telephone to call the restaurant and order a meal.’

Serina was relieved when he left, although the big penthouse seemed to echo emptily without his vibrant presence. After she’d eaten an excellent meal, she explored the bookshelves in a room that combined the functions of a library and media area, strangely delighted to find several well-read books she’d enjoyed too. But she couldn’t settle and although she was tired enough to feel drowsy it took her a long time to get to sleep.

In fact, she didn’t manage it until she heard sounds that indicated Alex had returned.

When she woke, a glance at her watch revealed she’d slept only four hours. City noises floated up to the penthouse—traffic, the distant clamour of a siren, a squeal of brakes from the street below…

Just like all other cities, she thought wearily. And, to take her mind off wondering whether Alex had really intended to kiss her, she tried to imagine what she’d hear in the countryside where he lived.

It was a lost cause. Her wilful memory kept returning to those electrifying moments when he’d touched her mouth. Dreamily, she recalled the look on his face, the charged intensity about him that had awakened her equal untrammelled response.

He had wanted to kiss her.

So why had he pulled back? He was experienced; she knew of at least two long-term affairs he’d had. Surely he’d read the signals clearly enough to know she wouldn’t slap his face and storm out of the room?

Perhaps he’d decided it was too soon. Which was amazingly considerate of him…

And quite correct. However, there were four weeks ahead for them both to find out more about each other.

Smiling languorously, she turned over, closed her eyes and slid into sleep, waking to a morning as crisp and welcoming as a summer’s day. After showering and pulling on a pair of well-cut trousers and a paler blue silk shirt that intensified the colour of her eyes, she opened the curtains and gazed out at a radiant sky beaming over the city, the harbour glinting in the sunlight and dotted with islands that danced clear and bright in the vivid sea.

On the terrace outside her bedroom window flowers bloomed in a small garden; Serina opened the door that led out onto it and on a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure bent to smell one particular potted rose, sinfully crimson with a heart as darkly potent as forbidden love.

‘A rose for a rose.’

Alex’s voice brought her upright so suddenly her head swam.

‘Are you all right?’A second later, his hands clamped around her upper arms, ‘Is there something I should know about? This must be the second or third time you’ve stumbled.’

Shamefully, Serina would have liked nothing more than to rest her head on that broad chest and stay there, but an instinctive self-protection made her stiffen. ‘I didn’t stumble—I just missed a step each time. And I’m fine, thank you. I just straightened up too quickly.’

Alex looked down at her, a faint smile curving his mouth. For a moment Serina thought her heart stood still.

Hastily, so conscious of his hands on her skin that her thoughts dissolved under a heady burst of sensation, she finished, ‘And probably a bit drunk on that gorgeous perfume. Do you know what the rose is called?’

‘No, but I can find out.’ He sounded abstracted, but he stepped back and when she risked an upwards glance she saw his eyes narrow, become intent and smoky. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you. How…how did the charity function go?’

‘Very well.’

Meaningless stuff, she thought, caught in a bubble of stillness. She was babbling, and he—he wasn’t concentrating on her words…

A chasm opened up in front of her. If she jumped, it would be into the unknown. She might crash—or she might find some unexplored place ablaze with possibility. Whatever, she’d never be the same again.

Much safer to stay where she was, step back, smile at him, go on talking meaningless platitudes—and leave New Zealand after four weeks, the same person she’d always been.

A coward.

Her heart began to race. Banishing fear, she lifted a hand to touch his cheek.

His smile became set, his gaze piercing. ‘Sure, Princess?’

‘My name is Serina,’ she said, holding his eyes.

She wanted him to kiss the woman she was, not the public persona—serene princess, daughter of a long line of monarchs, scion of a defunct throne.

Serina read comprehension in his eyes, and knew that for some reason he didn’t want to make the small surrender. She didn’t even know why it was so important to her.

Tension sparked the silence between them, turning it heavy with desire.

‘Do you know what you’re asking for?’ he said, a raw note altering the timbre of his voice and sending little shudders down her spine.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know. But what do you want?’

Something flickered in the burnished blue of his eyes and brought a half-mocking smile to that wicked mouth, with its narrow top lip buttressed by a sensuous lower one. ‘A kiss,’ he said. ‘And I’m not asking, Serina—I’m taking what you’ve been silently promising me since we danced together at the wedding.’

He drew her towards him. She put a hand on his chest, looking up into an intense chiselled face. On a thrill that was half fear, half voluptuous anticipation, she thought he looked like a hunter.

Buoyed by a sudden, rather shameless relief, she nodded. Yet when he made no move she was assailed by shyness. Hot and embarrassing, colour stole along her cheekbones, but she met his eyes without wavering.

Although his eyes were still fiercely predatory, his voice became gentler. ‘All right?’

‘Yes.’

And when he bent his head and claimed her mouth with his own she yielded, leaning into him as he gathered her against him. White-hot sensations swamped her in a rush of adrenalin—his hard male contours, the taste of him, the faint barely-there fragrance that was his alone.

Her knees buckled and he tightened his grip, bringing her even closer to his powerful, fully aroused body.

Alex lifted his head and looked down into eyes that were slumbrous, almost dazed with passion, their violet-blue depths mysteriously dark. Gritting his teeth against a hungry surge of triumph, he fought back the primitive impulse to carry her across to the lounger a few metres away and take her then and there.

It was too soon, too public, and she deserved better than a hasty, violent consummation.

But he couldn’t resist the enticement of her soft lips. When he lowered his head and claimed them again, she melted into him without resistance, her open, sensual surrender setting off a torrid chain effect that affected his every clamorous cell.

He managed to call a halt, to look into her huge eyes and say in a voice that probably sounded as taut and explosive as he felt, ‘Serina—we have to stop this right now or it will be too late.’

Her lashes fell slowly, trembled against skin as translucent as the finest silk, but when she lifted them again she was once more in command of herself.

‘So we stop,’ she said, a husky note in her voice giving her away.

Alex found himself wishing he’d taken the chance.

For the first time ever he’d lost control, been tempted to follow his desires and damn the consequences.

Mastering his hunger, he released her and tried to summon his usual detached attitude. The aftermath of a carnal storm unlike anything he’d ever experienced made it near impossible.

Who’d have thought the gracious, reserved Princess would show all the instincts of a courtesan?

No, most courtesans had their eyes firmly on their bank balances, bargaining sex for security. Serina had offered herself ardently and without reserve.

And then he wondered whether she’d have been so passionately willing if they hadn’t spoken about her brother.

Even as the thought formulated, he knew it wasn’t likely. She seemed convinced that Doran and his friends were designing a video game, so why would she be concerned? She also guessed he’d warned Gerd about the possibility of trouble on his borders.

However, he had to assume that she might have been lying. An inner revulsion at the thought forced him to realise how much he wanted to trust her. The computer game story was a brilliant subterfuge, entirely believable. Pity it wasn’t true. Young Doran and his band of romantic, eager conspirators had no idea what they’d got into.

He looked down into her face and saw with savage satisfaction that she too was struggling for control. The ache in his groin intensified into a plea, a demand—almost a command. He fought it back because he didn’t dare give his innermost instinct free rein.

He’d be betraying Gerd and Rosie if he didn’t make every effort to find out whether Serina knew anything—any small scrap of information that could lead them to the people who were backing her brother and his friends. In spite of their efforts, he and Gerd still weren’t sure who was pulling the strings, or why, although they had their suspicions. If the Princess had any inkling, he was honour bound to find out.

And if that meant seducing her into pillow talk, then it would have to be done. It was, quite literally, a matter of life and death, not only for her brother and his friends, but for many other people.

Serina looked up, catching a glimpse of something harsh and grim in his eyes. Chilled, she masked a shiver by turning away so she could pretend to examine the rose again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said evenly.

‘Why?’ She even managed a smile. ‘I know the tabloids call me the ice princess, but surely you don’t believe them? I have been kissed before.’

His brows rose and he surprised her by stooping to snap off the bloom and hold it out to her. In a wry voice he told her, ‘I’m sorry because I stupidly made the arrangement for our flights without thinking that we might want to prolong our stay here.’

Colour heated her skin. Now—or never, she thought, wondering if he could hear her heart thudding so heavily in her chest.

Now. Because she wanted to know what making love to Alex was like infinitely more than she wanted to obey the strictures drummed into her by her mother and her governess. For the first time in her life she realised how potent desire could be…

‘I—thank you,’ she said, and answered his unspoken proposition by lifting the flower to her lips, still tender from his kisses. The petals were warm and smooth and she inhaled their sweetly provocative perfume.

Hastily, she said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rose exactly this shade of red before. And, as it seems perfectly happy growing in a pot, I’d like to buy one for myself when I get back home. It should enjoy living on my balcony, and it would be a charming reminder of my visit here.’

‘If you want a true reminder of New Zealand, a native plant might be more appropriate. You can buy sealed packets of seeds that are acceptable to most countries now.’

How could he switch so abruptly—from the passionately demanding kisses of a few minutes ago to this pleasant, conversational courtesy?

With ease, clearly. Emotion and sensation were still churning through her, but Alex was once more fully in control.

‘I’ll look out for them.’ She turned to go, but remembered something. ‘What time do you plan to leave this morning?’

He paused, as though remembering something. ‘There’s been a change of plan—if you’re happy with it. I met friends at the dinner last night who live not far north of here in a vineyard. Their garden is beautiful—a showpiece. Today they’re launching their latest red with lunch and a reception there. They invited me and, when I mentioned you were with me, they extended the invitation to you.’

‘That’s very kind of them,’ she said uncertainly.

His brows lifted. ‘How is it that in your conversation I so often hear a but coming?’

The ironic question brought a smile. ‘I’d love to meet them, and the launching of a new wine is a very special occasion…’

Her voice trailed away. How could she explain that she didn’t want to appear to his friends as his latest conquest, arm candy for a successful man?

Before she could go any further, he said, ‘New Zealanders are notoriously informal, and I can promise you the invitation is genuine. Aura suggested we come for lunch and look around their garden as that’s your interest.’ And, when she hesitated anew, he added, ‘She recognised your name and has read some of your columns.’

Somehow that appeased her uncertainty. ‘I’d love to go,’ she said quietly.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Then we’d better move. Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll be there,’ she promised and headed back into her bedroom.

Once inside, she stood still in the middle of the room and took several deep breaths, trying to clear the fog of confusion and frustrated desire from her brain.

The perfume from the rose drifted up, softly seductive, and she said beneath her breath, ‘That’s enough of that, thank you! I need a clear head right now.’

She filled a glass with water and popped the flower into it, ruefully examining a tiny bead of bright blood where a thorn had broken the skin on her thumb.

For some reason she didn’t want to analyse what had happened out there on the terrace. Tiny tantalising prickles of sensation ran across her skin as she remembered…

Stop it, she commanded her wayward mind. So she enjoyed Alex’s kisses—too much—and, judging by his initial reaction, he’d enjoyed her response.

And then he’d shut down. Again.

Why? And where—if anywhere—did they go from here?

She stared at the mirror, absently taking in the luxurious cream and gold opulence of the bathroom. Very feminine. And she’d better not forget that other women would have used this room.

The thought tarnished the residual excitement of his kisses, her pleasure in the day, in the rose.

Once she’d been the unwilling witness to a scene between her mother and her father, when her father had said impatiently, ‘It means nothing, my dear. You are and will always be the only woman I love—any others are mere entertainment.’

Her mother had asked wearily, ‘Do all men feel that way?’

And her father, probably made uncomfortable by his wife’s unspoken grief, had blustered a little before replying, ‘Yes. All the ones I have met, anyway. It is simply the way men are.’

Serina’s experience had backed up her father’s words. Many men—and women—didn’t need to love, or even like someone to want them.

Serina knew she wasn’t that sort of person. She’d promised herself that she’d wait for someone special, someone who would make her feel things she’d never felt before, someone she could respect…

And a year ago that imaginary someone became concrete when she’d met Alex. Now she understood that her wildfire physical response to him had made that decision, rather than anything she knew of his character. In danger of letting passion override everything else, she needed to be absolutely sure of her feelings. And to do that she’d have to learn more about him, respond to him intellectually and emotionally as well as with this consuming, elemental hunger.

Only then could she take the next step.

And by then, she thought with an inward quiver of excitement, she’d understand what that next step should be.

In the meantime, she’d better work out what she should wear to a lunch and reception to launch a new wine.

She chose a sleek, sophisticated suit of fine wool in a deep crimson.

When she emerged in it Alex looked at her and asked, ‘Did you choose that to match the colour of the wine?’

‘It never occurred to me,’ she said, half-laughing.

They drove to the vineyard, where his friends made her welcome. The Jansens were a few years older than Alex, and they lived with their four children in a magnificent house overlooking a wide valley braided with vines that ran down to an estuary. They were a striking couple, interesting and informative, and their garden was superb, a blend of native plants and subtropical exotica that transfixed Serina.

The guests at the launch were an equally international selection; Serina enjoyed chatting with the local residents, and was delighted to see an old friend, daughter of the royal house in a Mediterranean island, now living in a vineyard in the South Island with her handsome husband.

There were others she recognised too. As she sipped an exquisite champagne-style wine at the reception, she caught the eye of another old friend making his way towards them. The handsome scion of a famous French champagne house, Gilberte swooped on her, kissing her on both cheeks.

‘Dearest Serina,’ he said extravagantly, ‘what on earth are you doing here in the uttermost ends of the earth?’

‘She’s with me,’ Alex said from behind her.

Smile widening, Gilberte looked up. ‘Ah, Alex, I should have known you’d be with the most beautiful woman here—apart from our hostess, of course!’

Serina laughed. ‘Same old Gilberte—a compliment for every woman,’ she said affectionately, aware of a prickle of tension that had nothing to do with Gilberte. ‘What are you doing in the den of the opposition?’

‘Oh, Flint and I are old friends,’ he told her, ‘and I come often to New Zealand—just to keep a watch on what they are doing, you understand, but also because I love the place. And because we still sell a lot of champagne here.’

Later, she looked from the window of the small commercial aeroplane as they flew the length of the long, narrow spine of Northland.

Beside her, Alex said, ‘Admit it—you were surprised by the people you met at Flint and Aura’s launch.’

‘A little,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Because New Zealand is so far from anywhere—and looks so small on the map, lost in a waste of ocean—I suppose I’d expected a very insular group, although I’d heard that New Zealanders are extremely friendly.’

‘Well-travelled too,’ he drawled. ‘And accustomed to overseas visitors—we get a lot of them.’

She flashed him a rueful smile. ‘All right, I will admit that the very cosmopolitan guests at the launch surprised me. Apart from the lovely people, the whole occasion was like something out of a dream—the valley with vines braiding the hills and the lovely glimpse of sea, that beautiful house and the wonderful gardens, and some truly fabulous clothes.’

‘I’d have thought you were accustomed to occasions like that,’ Alex observed, his tone ambiguous.

‘It was—’ Serina stopped herself from finishing with special. Because, although she’d thoroughly enjoyed the occasion, it had been made special by Alex. She ended lamely, ‘—lovely. So friendly and warm and—well, just plain fun! The setting was exquisite. I liked your friends very much, and the wine they produce is an inspiration.’

Alex said, ‘I asked Aura and Flint if you could feature their garden.’

‘I—thank you so much,’ she said, more than a little surprised, and touched too. Because they were his friends, she hadn’t ventured anywhere near that subject. ‘That was very kind of you.’

He said, ‘They’re happy for you to do that, but not immediately—it’s holidays next week so they’re taking the children to the Maldives. When they come back they’ll get in touch and we’ll go down in the helicopter.’

‘You have a helicopter?’

‘I share one with Kelt, who lives not far away.’

Well, what had she expected? He shared a private jet with Kelt and Gerd, and as a businessman with worldwide interests he’d need to travel a lot.

She turned her head to scan the two separate seas that gleamed on either side of a green land folded into hills and valleys.

‘The Pacific Ocean on the right,’ Alex told her, pointing out an island-studded coast where beaches gleamed golden and white. He indicated the other side. ‘And the Tasman Sea on the left.’

The Tasman coast was wilder, more rugged, with no islands and long stretches of cliff-bound shore. Rows of breakers marched onto black glistening beaches that swept for miles. Between the seas were farmlands, small villages, the dark sombreness of vast tracts of pine plantations, and mountains covered in a dense cloak of trees.

‘It might look pristine and untouched, but most of it was milled for kauri during the nineteenth century,’ Alex said when she remarked on the huge areas of forest. ‘Originally this was a land of bush, insects and birds, many of them flightless. The only mammals here were three species of bats, plus the seals and sea lions and dolphins and orca and whales in the seas around the coast.’

She said wistfully, ‘It must have been breathtaking to be the first person to step on its shores.’

He regarded her with a slight smile. ‘An explorer at heart, Serina?’

‘Not until now,’ she said, wondering if he might read the underlying meaning in the words.

If he did, he didn’t respond. ‘The Maori colonised New Zealand from tropical islands. They brought kiore—Maori rats—and dogs that started the destruction of the native wildlife, and of course fire and stone axes travelled with them as well. Yet, even after eight hundred or more years of occupation, the birdlife was enough to make the first Europeans marvel at the dawn chorus. Apparently it was so loud they could hardly hear each other speak.’

He pointed out a swathe of silvery trees marching across hills by the sea. ‘Olives—a very successful crop here. And those darker trees are avocados.’ He settled back in his seat. ‘More predators arrived with the European colonists. Apart from a few visionaries well ahead of their time, people have only recently realised how much has been lost, and started working to bring back some of the glories of the past.’

Fascinated, Serina asked, ‘How are they doing that?’

He lifted a brow. ‘If you’re really interested, I’ll take you to see something I’m connected with.’

His sceptical tone irritated her. Did he think she was foolish enough to pretend an interest just to match his?

Probably, she thought realistically.

And why not? He was rich, well-connected and handsome—and, even more than that potent package deal, he possessed a charismatic presence, his combination of effortless male sexuality and compelling authority making him stand out in any company. He probably had gorgeous women flinging themselves at him all the time, wide-eyed with anticipation.

Like several at the launch that afternoon…

The smile she gave him was cool with an edge. ‘Oh, I couldn’t think of taking up your valuable time,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you give me a map, I’ll check it out.’

‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s on my land. I’ll take you. We’ve predator-fenced an area of bush, and when we’ve trapped the rats and weasels and possums and feral cats inside, we’ll return some of the birds that no longer live there.’

Her mother had always said the way to interest a man was to let him talk about himself. Deliberately ignoring the maternal instructions, Serina said, ‘I’d love to see it. What’s the name of that town beneath us?’

‘Whangarei,’ he said. ‘Northland’s only city.’

She looked down. ‘It has a glorious setting—those amazing mountains reaching out into the coast, and the harbour curling up into the heart of the town. But then, everything I’ve seen so far is breathtaking.’

‘There are ugly parts too, of course,’ he said judicially. ‘Some of our towns are old and tired, and some have been built with no regard for the countryside that surrounds them.’

Clearly he loved this part of New Zealand. She said, ‘I’ve read and heard quite a bit about the South Island, but not very much at all about the north.’

‘The South Island is magnificent; we’ll see whether we can get you there before you go back. But I was born and bred in the north—it’s always been home, so to me it’s the most beautiful place in the world.’

Without thinking, she said, ‘It must be wonderful to feel that way about a place.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No,’she said, wishing she’d stayed silent. ‘My parents were Montevellan, and they continually longed to go back. Nice—the Riviera—was only ever a temporary base for them. I think I was born homesick for a place I’ve never known. I’ve always felt alien.’ She shook her head, meeting hooded blue eyes with a tingle of sensation. ‘No, alien is too strong a word; dislocated would be better.’

‘You speak English like a native,’ he commented idly.

She shrugged. ‘Doran and I shared an English nanny and then a governess from Scotland until I went away to school.’

He didn’t seem overly interested—and why should he be? But he asked, ‘You’ve not been to Montevel?’

‘We can’t go. The government banned any member of the royal family from returning.’

‘Ever felt like taking another identity and slipping in to find out what it’s like? Seeing it might wipe out that inborn nostalgia; few places live up to the praise of the people who love them.’

‘I’ve got the same face as my grandmother,’ she said dryly. ‘I don’t think I’d get in. Anyway, I don’t have the courage—or feel the need so badly that I’d break the law to do it.’

‘Does your brother feel the same way?’

Alex watched the expression flee from her face; not a muscle moved, but he felt her resistance as palpably as though she’d shouted it at him.

‘I think so,’ she said remotely, turning her head so that he couldn’t see her face.

He settled back into his seat. Whether or not she knew about Doran’s plotting, she was worried about him. Which probably—no, possibly, Alex corrected himself—meant she did know. Perhaps, in spite of her apparent resignation to her fate, she did crave being a princess of Montevel, in fact as well as in title. He toyed with the idea of asking her directly, but decided against it.

She turned back, and his gut tightened in spontaneous homage. However hard he tried to rationalise his reaction to Serina—and he’d tried damned hard for a fair amount of the previous night—the moment her fingertips had caressed his cheek, such hunger had clamoured through him that he’d forgotten all those excellent reasons for not getting too emotionally involved with her.

Kissing her had been a revelation.

And watching young Gilberte kiss her cheeks had been like a call to arms, a primitive response that negated his understanding that it was nothing more than a greeting between friends. For a moment he’d had to rein in an urge to knock the man away from Serina.

His body clenched. Ruthlessly, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. Gerd needed information—information he wouldn’t get if Alex let his rampant hormones fog his usually logical mind.

Had Serina decided to deflect his interest by pretending to be interested in him?

Two, he thought succinctly, could play at that game.

And if he hurt her?

She might be hurt, he conceded, hardening his resolve, but if her brother went ahead with his plans she’d grieve infinitely more, because it was highly unlikely Doran would survive a foray into Montevel.

Alex made up his mind.