Captured by the Billionaire. Robyn Donald
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an easy camaraderie about her interaction with Alex that spoke of something more than simple friendship.
To her shock, Serina realised she was prickly as a cat, tense and smouldering with a completely unrealistic jealousy. The kisses they’d exchanged didn’t give her any claim on Alex.
As he set the Land Rover into motion Lindy leaned forward and asked, ‘So how did Rosie’s wedding go?’
‘Very well,’ Alex said briefly.
Lindy’s laugh held a note of amused resignation that should have soothed Serina’s feelings. ‘And that’s all you’re going to say about it, I suppose. Serina, you’ll have to tell me everything.’
‘I’d be glad to,’ Serina said. She added, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so completely happy.’
‘Rosie does radiance very well,’ Lindy said.
Serina bristled. It seemed an odd thing to say in front of Rosie’s brother. ‘She looked utterly exquisite and yes, very happy, but I was actually referring to Gerd. They made a magnificent couple.’
Surely that would put an end to any conjecture about whether or not her heart was broken. Almost certainly she was being absurdly—and uncharacteristically—oversensitive; nobody here could possibly be interested in gossip from half the world away!
Her eyes drifted to Alex’s hands, lean and competent on the wheel as he manoeuvred the Land Rover onto the road. Adrenalin tore through her, clouding her brain and fuelling a nerve-racking increase in heart rate.
She twisted to look out of the side window. How could a glimpse of his hands do that? It was almost indecent.
Valiantly, she kept her eyes fixed on the countryside sliding past them—lush green pastures backed by ranges tinged a soft silver-blue as they disappeared into the distance.
Trees, she thought, remembering the mangroves.
She swallowed and said briskly, ‘What are those trees? The ones so shamelessly flaunting their autumn leaves? I didn’t expect autumn colour here—I had the impression the climate was almost subtropical.’
‘Not quite—warm temperate is the official classification,’ Alex told her, turning off the bitumen onto a narrow road that immediately began to twist its way up into the hills. ‘Which means we can ripen certain sorts of bananas here. The liquid ambers you noticed are some of the few that do colour up in the north, along with persimmons and Japanese maples.’
From the back Lindy asked, ‘Are you interested in gardening, Serina?’
‘Very,’ Serina told her.
‘The Princess writes a column for one of the European glossies,’Alex said. He sent a sideways glance at Serina. ‘Although it’s more about gardens than gardening, I assume.’
Keeping her voice cool, she said, ‘Yes.’
Lindy said, ‘Then you’ll love staying with Alex. His garden is magnificent.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ Serina responded.
The narrow road became a drive, winding down a hill through vast trees. Noting a fantastic oak that would have been several hundred years old in Europe, she realised that northern hemisphere trees must grow much more rapidly in Northland.
And Lindy was absolutely correct—they were magnificent. A great buttressed mound of foliage caught her attention and she twisted in her seat as they passed by it.
‘A Moreton Bay fig from Queensland in Australia,’ Alex told her. He slanted a glance her way. ‘Unfortunately, the fruit isn’t edible.’
‘Sad,’ she returned lightly. ‘I love figs. Oh!’
She leaned forward to examine a clump of jade-green trees that turned into one massive tree.
‘Puriri,’ Alex said. ‘They’re actually a bush tree, but they don’t seem to mind living in paddocks.’
‘If they were any happier they might take over the country,’ Serina said, amusement colouring her tone.
And then they drove through a grove of different trees and up to a house set in a great sweep of lawns. ‘Oh,’ Serina breathed on a long exhalation.
Alex’s home was glorious. He stopped the vehicle in a gravelled forecourt and, while Serina was still gazing at the long façade of the big house, Lindy came round and opened the front passenger door for her.
Feeling awkward, Serina said, ‘Thank you,’ and stepped out onto the gravel.
Alex collected the bags from the boot. Putting them on the gravel, he said, ‘Thank you, Lindy—I’ll see you later.’
Lindy’s smile remained firmly in place, but a certain stiffness about the set of her shoulders made Serina wonder again at their relationship.
‘No problems,’ the other woman said cheerfully. She bestowed that determined smile on Serina. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here.’
Once she was out of earshot, Alex said, ‘Welcome to my home, Serina.’
‘It’s amazing,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.’ His friends lived in a sophisticated modern house—Alex’s home was clearly a relic of the colonial period.
‘High Victoriana,’ he explained easily. ‘It was built in the late nineteenth century for an Anglo-Indian who exported horses from here to India. Verandas were fashionable then, and he rather went overboard on them.’ He bent to pick up their bags.
‘I can carry mine,’ Serina said, reaching for it. Their hands collided and she jerked back.
Alex straightened with both bags. Eyes gleaming, he said, ‘My touch isn’t poisonous.’
‘I know that,’ she blurted, for once unable to think straight. She added, ‘Neither is mine.’
They measured glances for a moment and reckless excitement welled up inside her in a warm, heady flood.
Alex said deliberately, ‘Lindy is the daughter of the woman who used to be our housekeeper. She’s dead now, but Lindy and I more or less grew up together until I was sent away to school. In many ways she’s as much of a sister to me as Rosie.’
He was telling her that Lindy meant nothing to him—well, nothing emotional, Serina amended.
Actually, he probably meant nothing emotional in a sexual way, because he was clearly fond of the other woman.
In spite of her efforts, Serina found she couldn’t be adult and sophisticated about Alex and the way she felt. The sensations coursing through her suffered a far-from-subtle transmutation into a rising tide of anticipation.
Trying to quell it, she asked, ‘How old were you then?’
‘Seven.’ He headed up the steps and onto the stone-floored veranda.
Horrified, Serina followed. She’d heard of small English children being sent off to school, but she had no idea New Zealanders did the same. Before she could formulate some meaningless comment, Alex looked down at her.
‘After my mother died, my father married again. His new wife found a noisy, grubby, resentful child too much to handle, so off I went to school. Which is why Rosie and I have a rather distant relationship for sib-lings—we only spent time together in the holidays.’
Serina ached for the child he’d been, a small boy sent away from the only home he’d known, away from his playmates, from his father and the housekeeper—and the little sister—who’d been the only constants in his life.
She said, ‘I’m so glad my parents waited until Doran and I were in our teens before they banished us to school.’
He opened the front door. ‘I think Rosie had the worst of it. I settled into school quite well, but