Billionaires: The Tycoon. Julia James
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‘Conall—’
‘Get in,’ he said.
For a moment she was tempted to tell him that she’d rather walk in the pouring rain than get in a car driven by him. But that would be stupid—and wasn’t she trying her best to be a bit more sensible? She was cold and she was wet and she was headed for his house and the grown-up thing to do would be to thank him for stopping. Pulling open the passenger door, she threw her bag on the floor, beginning to shiver violently as she slid onto the passenger seat and slammed the car door shut.
‘This is getting to be something of a habit,’ he said grimly. ‘Do you think I have the words “rescue mission” permanently stamped on my forehead?’
His rudeness made her polite response disintegrate. ‘I didn’t ask you to rescue me.’
‘But you accepted my help soon enough, didn’t you?’
‘Because even I’m not stubborn enough to throw up the chance of getting into a warm car! And now I s-suppose you’re going to ch-chastise me for getting wet.’ She began to shiver. ‘As if I have any control over the weather!’
‘I was going to chastise you for walking in the middle of the damned road and not paying any attention!’ he retorted. ‘If I’d been going any faster I could have run you over.’
Her teeth had started to chatter loudly and the way he was looking at her was making her feel... Beneath her sopping silk shirt, Amber’s heart began to hammer. She didn’t want to think about the way he was making her feel. How could that cold blue stare make her body spring into life like this? How could it make her feel as if her breasts were being pierced by tiny little needles and make a slow melting heat unfurl deep in her belly?
But he was tugging off his leather jacket and draping it impatiently over her shoulders and as his shadow fell over her Amber was suddenly aware of just how close he was. Coal-black lashes framed the gleaming sapphire eyes and his deeply shadowed jaw seemed to emphasise his own very potent brand of masculinity. An unfamiliar sense of longing began to bubble up inside her and she held her breath as she looked up into his face. For a split second she thought he might be about to kiss her. A second when his mouth was so close that all she needed to do was reach up and hook her hand behind his neck, and bring those lips down to meet hers. And in that same second she saw his eyes narrow. She thought...thought...
Did he read the longing in her eyes? Was that why he suddenly pulled away with a hard smile, as if he’d known exactly what was going through her head? Maybe he was able to make women desire him, even if they didn’t want to, just by giving them that intense and rather smouldering look. Instinctively, she hugged the coat closer, the leather feeling unbearably soft against her erect and sensitised nipples.
‘Do up your seat belt,’ he ordered, turning up the car’s heater full blast and glancing in his rear mirror before pulling away. ‘And talk me through the reason why you decided to walk from the station. It’s miles.’
‘Why do you think? Because there was no taxi and the man at the ticket office said it wasn’t far.’
‘You should have rung me.’
‘Make your mind up, Conall. You can’t criticise me for not behaving like a normal person and then moan at me when I do. I thought it would be good for me to make my way to the house independently. I thought you might even award me a special gold star for good behaviour.’ She glanced at him, a smile playing around her lips. ‘And to be honest, I didn’t know you were already there.’
Conall said nothing as the car made its way through the downpour, the rhythmical swishing of the wiper blades the only sound he could hear above his suddenly erratic breathing. Of course she hadn’t known he’d be at the house—he hadn’t known himself. He’d planned to arrive later when everything was in place but something had compelled him to get here earlier, and that something was making him uncomfortable because it was all to do with her.
He’d tried telling himself that he needed to oversee the massive security detail which the Prince of Mardovia’s bodyguards had demanded prior to the royal visit. That he needed to check on the painting he was hoping to sell and to ensure it was properly lit. But although both those reasons were valid, they weren’t the real reason why he was desperately trying to avert his gaze from the damp denim which outlined the slenderness of her thighs.
Admit it, he thought grimly. You want her. Despite everything you know about her, you haven’t been able to get her out of your head since you saw her lying on a white leather sofa wearing that baggy T-shirt. Only now the image searing into his brain was the way her wet silk shirt had been clinging to her peaking breasts before he’d hastily covered them up with his jacket. Was it shocking to admit that he wanted to rip the delicate fabric aside and lick her on each hard nub until she squirmed with pleasure? To slide the damp denim from her thighs and put his heated hands all over her chilled flesh?
Of course it was shocking. He had been entrusted to look after her, not seduce her. If it was sex he wanted then Eleanor was only a phone call away. Their grown-up and civilised ‘friends with benefits’ relationship suited them both—even if the physical stimulation it gave him wasn’t matched by a mental one.
But for once the thought of Eleanor’s blonde beauty paled in the face of the fiery, green-eyed temptress on the seat next to him and he was relieved when the sudden shower began to lessen. The sun broke through the clouds as the car made its way up the long drive, just in time to illuminate his house in a radiant display which emphasised its stately proportions. Golden light washed over the tall chimneys and glinted off the mullioned windows. The emerald lawns surrounding the building looked vivid in the bright sunshine and, on a tranquil pond, several ducks quacked happily. Beside him he felt Amber stiffen.
‘But this is...this is beautiful,’ she breathed as the car drew up outside.
He heard the note of wonder in her voice and his mouth hardened. He wondered if she would have been quite so gushing if she’d known the truth about his background. About the hardship and pain and the sense of being an outsider which had never quite left him.
‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed evenly as he stared at the house. With its acres of parkland and sense of history, places like this didn’t come on the market very often and Conall still couldn’t quite believe it was his. Coming hot on the heels of his London deal, it had been a heady time in terms of recent property acquisitions. Had he ever imagined being a major landowner, when he was eighteen and mad with rage and injustice? When the walls of the detention centre had threatened to close in on him and he had been looking down the barrel of an extended jail sentence?
He turned off the ignition, his glance straying to Amber’s large handbag, and it wasn’t the sight of the printout about Prince Luciano which caught his eye—although he was pleased to see she’d been doing her homework—but the intricate doodles on the edge of one of the pages which stirred a faint but enduring memory.
He frowned. ‘I remember seeing some drawings like this in your apartment that first day.’
She stiffened. ‘What, you mean you were snooping around?’
‘They were half hidden behind a sofa. Were they yours?’
‘Of course they were mine—why?’
Ignoring the defensive note in her voice, he narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought some of them showed real promise and a few were really very good.’
‘You don’t have to say that. Anyway, I know they’re rubbish.’
‘I don’t say things I don’t mean, Amber. And why are they rubbish?’
She shrugged, but the words seemed to take a long time coming. ‘I used to paint a lot when we were in Europe and my mother was otherwise occupied. But when I went to live with my father, he made it very clear he thought they were no good—that a kid of six could throw some paint at the canvas and get the same effect, and that I was wasting my time.’ She flashed a brittle kind of smile. ‘So I stopped trying to be an artist and became the society girl that