Ally Blake - Bargaining with the Billionaire - The Blackmail Bargain / The Billion-Dollar Bride / How To Marry a Billionaire

Eagerly expectant, she held her breath while tension spun between them in the taut, humming silence. Ravished by the pressure of his big, hard body against hers, the powerful strength of his arms, she at last surrendered to her own needs.

His heart thudded against hers, his chest rose and fell, and his arms were hard and demanding around her. Yet he didn’t move.

With immense reluctance she forced her heavy lids upwards.

Curt’s face was clamped into an expression she didn’t recognise; his eyes glittered and a streak of colour outlined the high, sweeping cheekbones.

Her stomach dropped in endless freefall, and she knew what he was going to say. Humiliated, she tried to turn her face away.

He said something under his breath and his mouth took hers again, hard and fierce and angry, only breaking the kiss to say harshly, ‘Not now. Not while Liz is waiting.’

Oh, God, no! She whispered, ‘Then what was that about?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, understanding the real question behind the words. He released her and stood with a face like stone, withdrawn to some inner place she could never reach.

She took a jagged indrawn breath, but before she could say anything he spoke again, the raw note banished from his voice.

With a remote deliberation that slammed up impassable barriers, he said, ‘I have no excuse; I lost my head. It won’t happen again.’

It took all her willpower to step back, to look straight at him. ‘Do I have your word on that?’

‘Yes.’

Her skin tightened; a heavy weight of loss overwhelmed her. She had to search for a response, and in the end all she could find was a banal, ‘Good.’

Curt looked around the bedroom and said with formidable composure, ‘An essential part of this masquerade is wearing the right clothes. I’m prepared to pay for them. If you don’t agree to that our bargain is over.’

He didn’t threaten; he didn’t need to. That cold, ruthless tone, his implacable face told her that if she reneged on their deal she’d find herself with no farm, no way of earning her living—nothing.

‘Very well,’ she said stonily. ‘But when I leave here the clothes will stay.’

He shrugged. ‘That’s entirely up to you. I’ll go and tell Liz you’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

In the sanctuary of the bathroom, all marble and mirrors and glimmering glass, Peta eyed her reflection. Completely out of place in this cool, sleek sophistication, the woman in the glass blazed with a sensuous earthiness, her mouth kissed red and sultry eyes shooting gold sparks.

Even her hair was wild—she looked as though she’d been plugged into an electric socket.

After fumbling with the taps she ran cold water over her wrists and washed her face, then dragged a comb through her hair and with a vicious twist tightened the tie that dragged it off her face.

Another survey of her reflection convinced her that she’d managed to tone down the telltale sensuality and hunger. Now she just looked…charged, energised, as though she was hurrying eagerly forward to the future.

As though she was in control of her life, she thought hollowly.

At the top of the stairs she heard voices floating up from below; they fell silent when she started down. She swallowed and held her head high, taking each step carefully as Curt watched her with an expression that gave nothing away. Liz followed his gaze, her mobile face registering a moment of comprehension before it too went blank.

Acutely self-conscious, Peta reached the bottom and came towards them.

‘You’re ready?’ Liz said, then gave a short laugh. ‘Stupid question. So let’s roll.’

‘Be back here at five,’ Curt said, walking beside Peta towards the open front door. ‘Don’t let them hack into her hair.’

Shocked, Peta glanced over her shoulder. He was looking at the woman beside her.

‘Of course not,’ Liz said with a frown. ‘It would be a wicked sin. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.’

Curt transferred his gaze to Peta. ‘Have fun.’

Peta’s eyes focused somewhere beyond and above his broad shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she said on a note of irony, and she and the other woman went out into the summer sunlight.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ Liz invited as she drove through Auckland’s crazy traffic.

‘I’m twenty-three,’ Peta said, wondering why she needed to do this. ‘I work my own farm and I lead a pure and wholesome life.’

Liz laughed. ‘Not if you stick with Curt for long,’ she warned. ‘He’s a course in sophistication all on his own. Who’s your favourite author?’

‘Only one?’

‘Run through them, then.’

Peta began with Jane Austen and finished with her latest discovery from the library, adding, ‘And I love reading whodunnits and romances.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ Liz said cheerfully. ‘OK, so you’re a romantic. What do you do for a hobby? What flowers do you have in your garden? Or is it only vegetables?’

The vegetable garden had been her father’s domain, one she kept up for economy’s sake. Flower gardens, he’d said, were a waste of precious time. ‘I have three hibiscus bushes and a gardenia in a pot by the front door. As for hobbies, I sew. Every so often I knit.’ When she’d saved enough money to buy the wool.

Liz’s brows shot up. ‘Interesting. You could be a casual or a romantic, but my guess is that you’re one of the rare people who can wear several looks. We’ll see.’

Expertly negotiating a crowded, narrow street, she pulled up outside a shop that had one outrageous dress in the window. ‘Let’s go,’ she said cheerfully.

CHAPTER SIX

WHAT followed was one of the most exhausting afternoons Peta had ever endured. ‘And that includes haymaking,’ she said wearily over a restorative cup of tea in a small, unfashionable café that made, Liz assured her, the best latte south of the equator. The tea was excellent too.

Liz laughed. ‘Admit that you thought all Aucklanders—especially shopaholics—were effete weaklings.’

‘I’m not that much of a hayseed,’ Peta told her loftily, ‘but I had no idea you were going to drag me around a couple of hundred stores and boutiques.’

‘Seven,’ her companion corrected. ‘And now that you’ve stocked up on caffeine and tannin again, let’s get your hair done.’

The stylist took them into a private room. Watching him in the mirror, Peta felt he spent an inordinately long time just letting her hair ripple through his fingers while he frowned at her reflection.

‘Good bone structure,’ he finally pronounced. ‘And I’m not going to mess about with colour—it’s perfect as it is. I’ll cut it a little shorter and show you a couple of ways to put it up.’ He glanced at her hands and shuddered. ‘One of the girls will give you a manicure.’

He was a genius with the scissors, but the manicure turned out to be an exercise in sensuous pleasure. On the way home Peta was very aware of the soft gloss of sheen on her nails, and wondered if Curt would like the way they seemed to make her fingers even longer.

No, she thought desperately, what the hell are you thinking?

It couldn’t be allowed to matter. Unfortunately, it did, and the next few days stretched out before her like an ordeal, one with an infinite possibility of consequences.

All of them bad.

Remember what happened to your mother, she ordered. Unless you’re a princess, loving a dominant man leads to misery. The intense, reluctant attraction she felt for Curt was only the first step on the perilous road that had led to her mother sacrificing her individuality, her talent and her freedom to the jealous god of love.

But her mother’s tragedy seemed thin and insubstantial, as though Curt’s vitality drained life from her memories.