Marion Lennox - One Night With The Billionaire - Sparks Fly with the Billionaire / The Nanny Plan / Second Chance with the Billionaire

He pulled into a reserve on the far side of the headland, by a table and benches overlooking the sea.

‘Is it okay to let the dogs loose?’ he asked, and she had enough energy to think thank heaven the dogs weren’t white and fluffy; they were plain, scruffy brown. They could tear in crazy circles on the sand and still look presentable for the show. So that was what they did while Matt produced a tablecloth from the back of the car—linen?—plates, cutlery, napkins, glassware—and then he fetched the parcel from her knees and placed it reverently in the middle of his beautifully laid table.

‘Dinner, my lady,’ he intoned in the voice of Very Serious Butler, ‘is served.’

The ridiculousness of the whole tableau was enough to shake her lethargy. Haziness receded. She climbed from the car and looked at the table in astonishment. The council picnic table was transformed into an elegant dining setting. Gum trees were hanging overhead, filled with corellas, vivid green and red parrots coming to perch for the night. Behind them were miles of glorious beach, no vestige of wind, the only sound being the soft hush of the surf and the calls of the sandpipers darting back and forth on the wet sand. Down on the beach Fairy and Tinkerbelle were digging their way to China in a setting that was so picturesque it took her breath away.

This was Fish and Chips with Style.

‘Margot and I had a discussion,’ Matt said, leading her to the table simply by taking her hand and tugging. ‘Margot thought I should take you out to dinner, somewhere fancy. I thought you might like to sit on the beach. We’ve compromised. This is Margot’s idea of picnic requirements. She can be quite insistent for someone who’s almost dead.’

‘She’s very much alive,’ Allie managed. ‘Mathew, I should go back …’

‘Did we agree it was Matt?’

‘Nobody calls you Matt.’

‘No,’ he said and she couldn’t figure whether there was regret there or not. No matter, he was moving on. ‘But you do. Please.’ He unwrapped the paper to expose slivers of golden crumbed fish fillets and gorgeous crunchy chips. He poured lemonade into the crystal glasswear.

‘I know wine matches the setting,’ he said. ‘But you have to hang upside down tonight and I don’t want you sleeping on the job.’

‘No, Maestro,’ she said and he chuckled.

‘Excellent. Maybe I need to be Maestro tonight. The boss.’ He saw her hesitation and he placed his hand on her shoulder in a fleeting gesture of reassurance. ‘Allie, the circus crew knows where you are—they concur with my plan to give you a couple of hours off. They’re doing everything needed so you can walk back in the gates at twenty past seven, don your false eyelashes and go straight to the ring. So you have two full hours to eat and to sleep.’

‘I could go back to the circus and sleep.’

‘Would you sleep?’ He headed to the back of the car and hauled out a massive picnic rug and a load of cushions. ‘You might nap,’ he conceded, ‘but you can nap here. Herewith a beach bed, my lady, for when you’ve polished off enough fish and chips to keep me happy.’

And then he sat beside her and ate fish and chips and looked out at the sea and he didn’t say a word—and she could eat fish and chips or not—no pressure—but the pressure was insidious. The late afternoon sun was gorgeous. The dogs were deliriously happy. She was suddenly … almost happy.

It was the setting, she told herself, feeling totally disoriented. The beach was gorgeous. The fish and chips were gorgeous.

Matt was gorgeous.

Whoa … Concentrate on fish and chips, she told herself fiercely, and don’t think any further.

For gorgeous was scary.

Once Allie had disposed of enough food to satisfy him—which was a lot—Matt once again refused her a choice. He pointed to the rug and the pillows and he gave his orders.

‘Lie. Sleep.’

‘I can’t just lie out here in public …’

‘Why not? The sun’s great. No one’s around. I’m not asking you to sunbathe naked.’

‘No,’ she said and looked doubtfully at the cushions. They did look great. The dogs had already settled amongst them but Matt had ordered them to the edge so there was more than enough room for her.

She was tired.

‘So you’re standing over me to keep guard,’ she said nervously and he shook his head.

‘I’m on washing-up duty,’ he said and proceeded to toss the remaining chips to a hundred seagulls who’d magically appeared and then bundle all the picnic gear into his capacious basket. ‘That’s that. And then, if you don’t mind, I’ll share your very big blanket.’

‘You want to share my bed?’

‘My nefarious plan’s uncovered,’ he said and gave an evil chuckle and she had to smile.

This man was an enigma. Solitary, aloof, ruthless, kind …

Mind-blowingly sexy.

She should argue, but the sun was on her face and she was full of fish and chips and her dogs were here, which made it seem … okay … and those cushions … And this man …

She slid down onto the rug and sank into the pillows and it was like she was letting go.

It wasn’t just today that had exhausted her, she thought. It was … life. Matt was right; this circus was unviable. Even without the massive debt for the animals, she’d been struggling.

She’d been struggling for years. Her grandparents were growing increasingly frail. Slowly, imperceptibly, she’d taken over their roles, taking the day-to-day running of the circus onto her shoulders. As more of the performers grew older she’d simply taken on more.

But she couldn’t think of that now. She couldn’t think past the pillows. All roads led to this place, she thought. All paths led to these pillows, and to this man standing over her simply assuming control.

‘It’s scary having you hover,’ she complained and he grinned and sank down to join her. To sleep with her? Sleep in the real sense, she thought. There was no way she was up for a spot of seduction now.

‘I’m only doing this to make you feel better,’ he said. ‘So you won’t feel self-conscious snoozing alone.’

‘I don’t think I’ll snooze.’

‘Close your eyes then,’ he said. ‘Think of anything you like except money and circuses and grandparents and camels.’

‘Is this the advice you give to all your clients?’

‘Clients?’

‘You are my banker,’ she said and then caught herself. ‘I mean, my grandparents’ banker. Mathew who’s really Matt.’ And then she said sleepily, into her pillows, ‘Why did you look upset when you told me you were Matt? Why does no one call you Matt? Is it about your family?’

He’d lain beside her, feeling vaguely self conscious but knowing he needed to do this to make her relax. There was a good foot between them. The dogs were on the end of the rug. This could be totally impersonal.

It wasn’t. It was as if there was a cocoon around them, enclosing them in a bubble of space where there could be no secrets.

It was an illusion, Matt thought, but even so, a question which would normally make him freeze was suddenly able to be answered.

‘My grandfather was Mathew,’ he said. ‘My father was Mathew. My great-grandfather was Mathew. I expect if ever I have a son he’ll be Mathew.’

‘That doesn’t leave much room for the imagination,’ she said sleepily. ‘But … Matt?’

‘My father and my grandfather were … to put it bluntly … strong personalities, and my mother was just as rigid,’ he said. ‘You’ve met my great-aunt. Picture her multiplied by a hundred. Even Margot would never consider calling me Matt.’

‘But someone did.’

‘My sister Lizzy,’ he said. ‘Elizabeth. As the biography you read told you, she died when I was six, in a car crash with my parents. Matt died with her.’