Robyn Donald - Captured by the Billionaire - Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess

She frowned, and before she could speak he went on levelly, ‘In your world, Princess, you’re very well known. Here, you’re not. I am.’

He waited while she absorbed that, watching her frown smooth out and her thoughtful nod.

Slowly, she said, ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve just realised I have a confession to make—I took photographs of your garden and sent them to my editor as an indication of what gardens are like here. I’m sorry, I’ll get her to delete them.’

Irritated, he said shortly, ‘Just make sure she doesn’t publish them.’

‘She knows they’re not for publication.’

She took another sip of her wine and this time he watched deliberately, noting the way she tasted—as though she was an expert.

Perfectly trained, he thought, and wondered why, when he wanted so urgently to kiss the wine from her lips, to feel the soft meltdown of her body against his, all he could do was search for flaws. Just looking at her was enough to scramble his brain, and he couldn’t afford to allow this unusual desire to overwhelm his common sense.

Only an hour ago he’d spoken to Gerd on the secure line and discovered that, although Doran seemed more than happy to explore the delights of Vanuatu wrecks and reefs, his band of gaming companions had turned up in one of the coastal towns in the border region of Carathia and Montevel.

Ostensibly on holiday.

Had Princess Serina made the somewhat surprising decision to come to New Zealand in order to throw any suspicious person off the scent? He had every reason to believe her brother had gone to Vanuatu for just that reason. That afternoon Gerd had told Alex that the security man he’d sent to infiltrate the group had been overeager and raised suspicion. Alex had ordered the plant’s immediate withdrawal, but from now on they’d have to work on the assumption that the group knew they’d been infiltrated.

How deeply in their confidence was Serina? She’d used her email that afternoon to send photographs. Had she contacted Doran, or the plotters?

He glanced down at her face, as serene as her name, beautiful and remote and desirably tempting.

Her explanation of her brother’s activities had been almost believable, but she hadn’t been persuasive enough to quite convince him. According to his man, there was an excellent chance she was fully aware of what was going on.

With the spy gone, he and Gerd had no other way of finding out anything more but, from what they’d learned, the plotters were getting ready to make a move.

Perhaps it was time to find out whether Serina was ready to sacrifice her body to the cause.

He forced back an instinctive distaste. Lives would be lost if the group were allowed to proceed and, although he had no sympathy for those who believed the end justified the means, he suspected this was one of the times when it really did.

Besides, although Serina was extremely aware of him, she was no fluttering ingénue, hoping that an affair would lead to marriage. Her father, a notorious libertine, would have taught her that such things were transitory.

And he wouldn’t be faking. From the moment he’d met her, he’d found the aloof Princess Serina very alluring and he was enjoying crossing swords with her.

Plenty of very satisfactory relationships, he thought cynically, had been built on much more shaky grounds than that.

MADE wary and somewhat confused by Alex’s silence, Serina took another sip of wine.

He said calmly, ‘So it’s agreed then that I’ll make the first contact, and I’ll come with you.’

Why was she hesitating? His suggestion made sense, yet some recalcitrant part of her urged her to be cautious, to cling to her independence. And long periods spent with Alex in the close confines of a car would dangerously weaken her resistance.

What resistance?

In his arms she’d completely surrendered, offering him anything he wanted. What would have happened if Lindy hadn’t come along?

Nothing, she thought sturdily. Alex was super-sophis-ticated; she couldn’t imagine him making love in a Land Rover, or on the grass in full view of a mob of sheep…

The thought should have made her smile. Instead, heat curled up through her, seductive and taunting. Imposing rigid constraint on her treacherous thoughts, she said, ‘Yes. Thank you very much for being so helpful.’

Something moved in the depths of his eyes and his smile held a touch of mockery, as though he understood her reluctance and found it amusing. However, his tone was almost formal. ‘It will be my pleasure. How are you enjoying that wine?’

‘It’s delicious.’

‘Someone taught you how to evaluate it.’

She set the glass down. ‘My father was a true connoisseur and did his best to make sure Doran and I were too.’

Her father’s cellar and her mother’s jewels had helped pay off his debts after her parents had been killed. Selling the villa, with its magnificent gardens, hadn’t been enough. The only things she’d been able to salvage were her mother’s tiara—paste, she’d discovered to her shock—and her father’s telescope.

‘So I’ve heard,’ Alex said.

A note in his voice made Serina wonder what else he’d heard about her father. That he was also a great connoisseur of women?

Ignoring the cynical thought, she said lightly, ‘And of course anyone who likes wine knows that New Zealand produces really interesting, fresh vintages that have won some top competitions.’

She relaxed when they moved on to more general topics. Alex’s keen mind fascinated her, and she quickly learned to respect his breadth of knowledge.

Yet his every word, each disturbing look from those ice-blue eyes, was enriched by an undercurrent of muted, potent sensuality. Focused on her, hot and intense, it sharpened her senses into an unbearably exciting awareness of everything about him—from the deep timbre of his voice to the lithe masculine grace of his movements.

During the superb meal and coffee in the library afterwards, Serina was not only aware of a smouldering arousal, but was shocked to find herself unconsciously sending subtly flirtatious glances his way.

Enough , she commanded after a pause that had gone on too long. Much more of this, and you’ll be asking him to kiss you again.

Or take you to bed…

But it took a huge effort of will to uncoil herself from an elderly and extremely comfortable leather sofa in front of the fireplace and say huskily, ‘I suspect I haven’t entirely got over jet lag. I know I should try to stay awake, but I’m going to drop off to sleep right here if I don’t go.’

He got to his feet. The renewed impact of his height and the fluid power of his body stirred a heady stimulation more potent than the champagne she’d drunk before dinner.

Terrified that he’d recognise her chaotic mixture of need and longing, she kept her gaze fixed on the arrogant jut of his jaw and dredged up enough composure to say almost steadily, ‘Thank you for a delicious meal and a very pleasant evening.’

But, when she turned to go, a hand on her shoulder froze her into stillness. Heart juddering into overdrive, she opened her mouth to object, then closed it again and allowed herself to be eased around to face him.

Their eyes duelled—his narrowed in an intent, direct challenge so forceful she shivered.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he said, each word harsh and distinct.

She swallowed and nodded, stunned at her trust in this man she barely knew. ‘You already know,’ she said in a tone she’d never used before.

His chest rose and fell. Mindlessly, she swayed into his arms as they closed around her.