Bargaining with the Billionaire. Robyn Donald
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right,’ he said after a moment. ‘In three days’ time. That will give Joe all the information he needs to keep the operation running.’
The tone of his voice told her there’d be no more negotiation. She bit her lip. ‘How long do you expect me to stay away?’
‘A week should do it,’ he said blandly. ‘And I come bearing a note from Gillian.’
He took an envelope from the pocket of his shirt and handed it over. Gillian invited her to a casual family dinner that night with a couple of old friends. She glanced up, realising from Curt’s expression that she didn’t have any choice.
‘All right,’ she said reluctantly.
‘It will be extremely informal,’ Curt informed her.
Thoroughly exasperated with Ian for precipitating this situation and Curt for forcing her to bend to his will, she snapped, ‘I do know which fork to use.’
‘I’d noticed,’ he said, deadpan.
For some obscure reason this struck her as funny and she gave a gurgle of laughter.
A flash of blue kindled in his eyes but his voice was level and emotionless. ‘That’s better. Look on this as your good deed for the month. I’ll pick you up around seven.’
He swung on his heel and strode away; unwillingly she admitted that he looked like some—well, some demigod from a young girl’s romantic fantasy. And he walked like one too, with a lithe male grace that promised leashed power and uncompromising strength. He was, she thought as she went back into the shed, a man who revealed bone-deep competence in every movement.
It might be another fantasy, but she suspected that he’d be able to deal with any situation that came his way.
She envied that confidence. Her father’s views had somehow cut her off from the other children in the district; once she left school she’d seen little of those she’d been friends with. Naturally she’d chafed against his dogmatism and his iron control, but because her mother wasn’t well she’d had to go along with it.
Living on the outside had marked her in ways she hadn’t realised until she’d grown up.
She and Joe worked together until everything was done. When he left she went inside; instead of working in the vegetable garden for an hour or so she showered, and while her hair dried, hauled clothes out of her wardrobe, trying to decide what clothes would be suitable for dinner at the homestead.
Very informal was so vague as to be meaningless—in Curt’s circle it probably indicated that tiaras wouldn’t be worn, she thought snidely. The only thing that might suit the occasion were a pair of silk-look capri pants the colour of chocolate. With them she paired a figure-skimming top she’d made in a dark, richly dramatic green.
Once dressed, she looped a tie around her hair, now thankfully dry, then stopped. Would Curt yank it out again? She frowned at her reflection before an idea struck her. Smiling smugly, she picked a hibiscus flower from the bush by the garden shed and tucked it into the knot. Back inside, she surveyed it, her grin widening. The silken petals gleamed in an exotic, almost barbaric blending of crimson and cinnabar.
‘I don’t think he’ll pull the tie off this time,’ she said dulcetly to her reflection.
The V-neck of her top needed some sort of necklace, but her mother’s silver chain was too delicate for the colours that suited her, so in spite of the rather large expanse of bare golden skin she left it unadorned.
She let out a huff of breath when the Range Rover started up the drive. Her stomach clenched and she stopped, trying to calm her racing pulse with a hand pressed protectively over her heart.
‘Oh, don’t over-dramatise things,’ she muttered furiously and strode to the door, flinging it open with a small crash.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘AND I’m delighted to see you too,’ Curt said sardonically.
Peta gave a crack of unwilling laughter. How did he do that—make her laugh when she was angry and worried and scared?
Without waiting for an answer, he took her arm and drew her out into the soft light of dusk. Her witless body registered his touch with acute pleasure, and every sense blazed into fierce life as they walked silently through the soft evening, the scent of the gardenias floating around them like a lazy invitation.
At the car he held the door open and said, ‘You look superb.’
Stunned, she sent him a swift glance.
Something deep and inscrutable glimmered in the blue depths of his eyes. ‘Surely that’s not the first time a man’s told you that?’
Actually, it was. ‘Your sister dresses superbly,’ she said with blunt honesty. ‘I made this top myself, and the trousers came from a local store.’
‘You rise above them,’ he said blandly. ‘And you know exactly what looks good on you. Forget about where anyone’s clothes were bought. You’ll fit in.’ He closed the door on her.
Flushing, she had to turn her head and pretend to examine the fruit trees down the drive so that he wouldn’t see how much pleasure his casual compliment had given her.
When Gillian met them at the door of the homestead, Peta felt a twinge of humiliation at the instantly concealed surprise in the other woman’s eyes. What on earth had Gillian expected—that she’d turn up in jeans and a T-shirt?
Worse was to come when she introduced Peta to her friends—Hunter Radcliffe and his wife, who lived some distance further north. Lucia Radcliffe just happened to have been born princess of a small Mediterranean island.
At least there was no sign of a tiara on her regal head.
It took Peta only one glance to realise that Curt and Hunter Radcliffe were two of a kind—elite, alpha males with more than their fair share of forceful authority.
Like her father…
The following half-hour revealed that the princess was about as different from Peta’s mother as anyone could be. Lucia Radcliffe knew her own mind and spoke it, a state of affairs her husband clearly enjoyed.
Strangely enough Peta found herself neither tongue-tied nor awkward. Gillian’s manners were perfect and the princess, who insisted on being called plain Lucia, was a charming, warmly interested guest. And while Ian’s avoidance of Peta was obvious to her, nobody else gave any indication of noticing.
In spite of the tension sawing at her nerves, she found herself taking part in the conversation as though she’d known them for some time. When she needed it Curt was always there with unobtrusive support. Slowly she relaxed, until a wail from not too far away startled her.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Lucia said, swiftly getting to her feet. She smiled at Peta. ‘That is our darling daughter, six months old and hungry! As I’m the source of sustenance I’ll deal with it.’
‘May I take a peek?’ Peta asked.
The princess laughed. ‘Of course! We think she’s adorable, but then we’re a bit biased.’
The baby stopped crying the moment she saw her mother, opening her eyes wide to stare solemnly at Peta before giving a swift, triangular smile.
‘Oh—she’s gorgeous,’ Peta said on a sigh.
The princess picked up the child and held her out. ‘Do you want a cuddle? It will have to be quick, because Natalia doesn’t like being kept waiting for her dinner.’
‘I don’t know how to hold babies,’ Peta confessed.
Lucia plonked the baby into her embrace, standing back to watch Peta’s arms automatically curve around the sweet- smelling bundle.
‘I think it’s instinctive,’ the princess said wisely as Peta smiled into the quizzical little face.
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