Robyn Donald - Captured by the Billionaire

It seemed a waste, but it was her decision to make.

He glanced at her serene face as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair and picked up a magazine.

Last night the woman who’d finally wrecked her parents’ marriage and possibly caused their deaths had insinuated that Serina was on the lookout for a rich husband. He despised the woman—and himself for not being able to banish her words from his mind.

Perhaps Serina was saving herself for marriage, although he’d heard rumours of a couple of serious relationships. Since when had he allowed himself to worry about rumours? The elegant, intelligent, exquisitely mannered Princess with social kudos to spare would be the perfect wife for any man who could afford her.

With Gerd’s marriage a sure thing, had Serina seen Rosie’s half-brother—certainly not royal, but rich and well-connected—as a possible second-best?

And if Serina knew more about her brother’s conspiracy than Gerd’s security men had been able to uncover, then a wealthy, besotted husband would be a definite asset in their plans.

Mentally he shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had pursued him for reasons of her own, and he doubted if it would be the last. And if Princess Serina thought she could manipulate him into anything with coyness she was hugely mistaken.

He might find her very attractive, but he was fully in control of his sexual urges.

If she had wondered whether he was good husband material, she was clearly now having second thoughts. On that bed she’d catapulted out of his arms as though he’d been the unknown, terrifying pursuer of her dream.

Or perhaps, he thought cynically, she’d decided that giving in too soon would lower her value in his eyes…

He was surprised at his relief when the arrival of the steward offering drinks before the meal interrupted his thoughts.

After she’d eaten Serina opened her elderly laptop to map out several future columns. The previous night she’d spent some of her sleepless hours on the Internet researching New Zealand and its plant life.

‘Anything I can help you with?’Alex asked casually.

‘I don’t know.’ But he seemed interested, so she went on, ‘I emailed my editor, and she’s quite excited about my visit to New Zealand. Europeans know all about formal and English country gardens, but she and I are sure the readers will enjoy something different and new.’

Alex said, ‘Most of the gardens will be very in formal, and you won’t be able to give your readers a titillating glimpse into the private lives of the aristocracy. We don’t have one.’

‘Really?’ Serina didn’t try to repress her sarcasm. Was he being deliberately insulting? OK, so he had a point; on occasion she’d inserted innocuous information about the owners in her column, but she hoped that wasn’t the main reason for her readers’ loyalty.

‘Actually,’ she purred sweetly, ‘if you’d ever read my column you’d know that the gardens are the stars, not the people who own them. And to make sure I haven’t inadvertently invaded the owners’ privacy I show them the copy before it goes to the editor.’

‘So it’s a collaborative enterprise?’

Repressing an unusual impulse to snap back, she returned, ‘Besides, if I relied on gossip to sell my work I’d soon find my choice of gardens drying up. I’ve done some research, and it seems that in Northland alone there are several magnificent places that I’m sure would interest my readers.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘How about yours?’

‘I like it,’ he said neutrally, his eyes hardening. ‘But I won’t allow anyone to write about it.’

‘Fine,’ she said, showing her teeth as she bit out the word.

Arrogant man! She hoped very much he wasn’t going to be like this the whole time she was in New Zealand.

However, for the rest of the trip he was thoughtful and pleasant—and extremely stimulating, she thought gloomily as she gazed through a window at the city of Auckland sprawled out across a narrow isthmus.

She’d read, written, taken frequent walks around the cabin that eased the stiffness of the long journey, but refused to nap again in the luxurious sleeping cabin. Awash with industrial quantities of water, she was looking forward to fresh air, and a night in a bed that was firmly anchored to the ground.

She risked a glance at Alex beside her. That now familiar slow burn of sensation in the pit of her stomach made her hesitate a half-second before she said, ‘It’s beautiful—a splendid setting. I hadn’t realised the city was so big.’

He shrugged. ‘New Zealanders like living on their own land. And while we might have only four million inhabitants, a million of them live in Auckland. In area the country’s almost as big as Italy.’

‘How far away is Haruru?’ She pronounced the word carefully.

‘Well done,’ he said, his smile quickening her pulse. ‘It’s half an hour’s flight north. I’m afraid I have a function to attend in Auckland tonight, so we’ll spend the night at my apartment here, then head home tomorrow morning.’

Serina thought she’d hidden her surprise, but a black brow lifted and he said dryly, ‘Perhaps I should have mentioned that before.’

Chagrined, she shook her head and made a mental memo to watch her expression more closely. ‘Of course not,’ she said in her most practical tone.

‘I’m sorry to have to leave you alone for your first night in New Zealand.’

She laughed. ‘Nonsense. The last thing I want to do is go out for the evening.’

For most of the journey he’d worked solidly, except when he joined her for meals. She’d insisted he take the bed when he decided to sleep, pointing out that as she was shorter she’d be more comfortable in the reclining chair. He’d politely accepted.

If he’d been trying to convey his total lack of interest in her, he’d succeeded.

Serina despised the pang that thought produced.

She was far too conscious of Alex to be comfortable in his presence. He made the world seem a larger, more intriguing place, stirring her senses into hyperdrive and awakening reactions—both physical and mental—that were not only inconvenient but scary.

She must have been mad to agree to come, but four weeks wasn’t too long. She’d cope.

She hoped…

The plane eased down to a smooth landing at an airport near one of the city’s two harbours. Customs and immigration formalities quickly over, she walked beside Alex to a waiting car.

The driver, a tall, solidly built man, olive-skinned and with finely chiselled features, greeted Alex with a smile. ‘Good trip?’ he asked.

Alex’s return smile made him younger and more approachable than Serina had ever seen him.

‘Excellent, thanks, Craig. How’s the family?’

Craig beamed. ‘Brilliant.’ He took Serina’s bag and manoeuvred it into the boot before announcing, ‘The boy’s walking.’

Alex laughed. ‘So you don’t know what’s hit you?’

‘He’s a hell-child—into everything. It’s total mayhem,’ Craig told him, his proud smile contradicting his words.

Alex introduced Craig Morehu to her. They shook hands and Serina asked, ‘How old is your son?’

‘Ten months,’ Craig said with even more pride, and grinned at her surprise. ‘Yes, apparently he’s advanced for his age.’

Alex said, ‘Serina, if you don’t mind, Craig and I need to talk business so I’ll sit in the front seat with him.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said politely, and during the journey kept her gaze to either side of the car, ignoring the width of Alex’s shoulders and the incisive tone of his voice as he and the driver spoke together.

Auckland was leafy and green and busy, the motorway bordered by shrubs and trees, many of which she didn’t recognise. Small volcanic cones, most covered in brilliantly green grass, seemed to pop into view wherever she looked, and the twin harbours wove in and out of the land so that each change of direction revealed a new vista.