Julia James - Billionaires - The Tycoon

‘I’ll get my coat,’ she said.

‘Do it,’ he bit out impatiently. ‘And hurry up. This place is making my skin crawl.’

She headed for the changing room—relieved to strip off the minuscule satin dress and fishnet tights and kick the scarlet shoes from her aching feet. Her skin was clammy and briefly she splashed her face with cold water, dabbing herself dry with a paper towel before slithering into jeans and a sweater. Her heart was racing when she reappeared in the club—thankful to find Conall still standing there, with the bar manager handing over what looked like a wad of cash, with a sour expression on her face.

‘Let’s go,’ he said as she approached.

‘Conall—’

‘Not now, Amber,’ he snapped. ‘I really don’t want to have a conversation with you here, in earshot of all this low life.’

His expression was resolute and his determination undeniable—so what choice did she have but to follow him through the weaving basement corridors of the hotel until they found the elevator which took them to the main lobby?

They emerged into the dark crispness of a clear spring night and Amber sucked in a lungful of clean air as a chauffeur-driven car purred to a halt beside the kerb.

‘Get in,’ said Conall and she wondered if he’d spent his whole life barking out orders like that.

But she did as he asked and a feeling of being cocooned washed over her the moment she climbed onto the back seat, because this level of luxury was reassuringly familiar. A luxury she’d been able to count on before Conall and her father had conspired to take it away from her. She glanced over at his hard profile as he got into the car beside her, and her temporary gratitude began to dissolve into a feeling of resentment.

‘How did you find me?’ she demanded as the powerful engine began to purr into life.

He turned to look at her and, despite the dim light of the car’s interior, the angry glitter in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘I had one of my people keep track of you.’

‘Why?’

‘Why do you think? Because you’re so damned irresistible I couldn’t keep away from you? I hoped I might be able to tell your father how well you were doing following your dramatic exit from my office.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Some hope. I should have guessed that you’d head for the tackiest venue in town in search of some easy money.’

‘So why bother coming to look for me if you’d already written me off as useless?’ she flared.

Conall didn’t answer straight away, because his own motives were still giving him cause for concern. He’d been worried about her ability to adapt to a hard world without the cushion of her wealth—yes. And he’d heard stuff about the club where she was working which made him feel uneasy. Yes. That, too. But there had been something more—something which wasn’t quite so easy to quantify—which had nothing to do with his moral debt to her father. Hadn’t there been a part of him which had admired the way she’d flounced out of his office? And he didn’t just mean the pleasure of watching the magnificent sway of her curvy bottom as she’d done so. The way she’d turned down his offer of a job with a flash of defiance in those emerald eyes had made him think that maybe there was a strong streak of pride hidden beneath her wilful surface. He’d imagined her scrubbing floors, doing anything rather than having to work for him, and he couldn’t deny that the idea had appealed to him.

He had been wrong, of course. She had gone for the easy solution. The quick fix. She’d seized the first opportunity to shoehorn her magnificent body into a dress which left very little to the imagination and work in a place which attracted nothing but low life. Clearing his throat, he tried to wipe from his mind the memory of those magnificent breasts spilling over the top of the tight satin gown, but the hard aching in his groin was proving more stubborn to control.

‘I felt a certain responsibility towards you.’

‘Because of my father?’

‘Of course. Why else?’

‘Another of Daddy’s yes-men,’ she said tonelessly.

‘Oh, I’m nobody’s yes-man, Amber. Be very clear about that.’ His voice sounded steely. ‘And ask yourself what would have happened if I hadn’t turned up when I had. Or have I got it all wrong? Maybe you liked that creep pawing your thigh like that? Maybe you couldn’t wait to get back to his room for him to give you a “square meal”.’

‘Of course I didn’t! He was a complete creep. They all were.’

He shook his head in exasperation. ‘So why the hell couldn’t you have taken a normal job? Worked in a shop? Or a café?’

‘Because shops and cafés don’t provide accommodation! And the club said if I worked a successful month’s trial, then I could have one of the staff rooms in the hotel! Which would have coincided neatly with me being evicted from my apartment.’ She glared at him. ‘And I don’t know why you’re suddenly trying to sound like the voice of concern when it’s your fault I’m going to be homeless.’

He gave an impatient sigh. ‘I can’t believe you’d be so naïve. You must realise how these places operate.’

‘I’ve been to more nightclubs than you’ve had hot dinners!’ she retorted.

‘I don’t doubt it—but you went there as a rich and valued customer, not a member of staff! Places like that exploit beautiful women. They expect you to earn your bonuses—in a way which is usually some variation of lying flat on your back. Haven’t you ever heard the expression that there’s no such thing as a free lunch?’

The way she was biting on her lip told him that maybe she wasn’t as sophisticated as her foxy appearance suggested, or maybe her wealth had always ensured that she’d frequented a classier kind of club, up until now. Unwillingly, he let his gaze drift over her and once he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop. Her black hair was spilling down over the shoulders of her raincoat and her green eyes were heavy with make-up. The fading scarlet streak of her lipstick matched those killer heels she’d been wearing when he’d watched her sashaying across the bar, making him have the sort of unwanted erotic thoughts which involved having her ankles wrapped very tightly around his neck. Hell, it would be easy to have those kinds of thoughts even now—even when she was bundled up in an all-concealing raincoat.

He tapped his fingers against one taut thigh. It would be better to wash his hands of her. To tell Ambrose that she was pretty much a lost cause and maybe he would just have to accept that and let her carry on with an open chequebook and a life of pure indulgence.

But as the car passed a lamp post and the light splashed over her face, he noticed for the first time the dark shadows beneath her long-lashed eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t had a lot of sleep lately—and she’d lost weight. Her cheekbones were shockingly prominent in her porcelain skin and the belted raincoat drew definition to the narrowness of her waist. She looked as if a puff of wind might blow her away. As if on cue, her stomach began to rumble and he frowned.

‘When did you last eat?’

Her expression was mulish. ‘What do you care?’

‘Stop being so damned stubborn and just answer the question, Amber,’ he growled.

She shrugged. ‘At the club they advised you not to eat for at least four hours before your shift. Actually, it was pretty sound advice because it seemed to be club policy to give you a uniform dress which was at least one size too small.’

‘And do you have food back in your apartment?’

‘Not much,’ she admitted.

‘Spent it all on cigarettes, I suppose?’ he accused.

She didn’t correct him as he leaned forward to tap the glass panel which divided them from the chauffeur and the panel slid open.