HELEN BIANCHIN - Purchased By The Billionaire

What if she fell pregnant?

A groan rose and died in her throat. Protection…she had none. Hadn’t used or needed it.

‘Nothing to say?’

Kayla spared his profile a steady glance. ‘I’m plotting your downfall.’

His soft chuckle curled round her nerve-ends.

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘I believe you’ll try.’

‘Count on it.’ She glanced idly at the changing scene as the Aston Martin entered the eastern suburbs, where the inner-city shabby abodes were replaced with classy apartment buildings, well-kept homes guarded by walls and ornate gates.

Duardo, according to the media, resided in a luxurious Point Piper mansion overlooking the inner harbour, bought at the time of his marriage, but never lived in by her.

It was purported he’d brought in a team of builders, gutted the interior and virtually redesigned the internal structure before spending a veritable fortune on fittings and furnishings.

A fortress, Kayla observed, guarded by hi-tech security, and accessible only to those authorised to enter.

Well-positioned lighting revealed beautifully tended lawns and gardens, a curving driveway leading to an elegant mansion, and it was impossible not to feel the acceleration of nervous tension as Duardo brought the car to a halt beneath the wide portico.

One of two large double doors opened to frame a slender middle-aged woman.

‘Maria,’ Duardo indicated quietly as he released his seat belt. ‘My housekeeper.’

Spence, Maria—

‘Her husband, Josef, takes care of the grounds and maintenance.’

And Josef comprised the complement of staff. Live-in?

‘There are two self-contained flats above the garages. Maria and Josef occupy one, Spence the other.’

Kayla slid out from the car, and, introductions complete, she entered the magnificent marble-tiled lobby.

Huge, with a curved double staircase leading to the upper floor, exquisite lighting, gleaming dark furniture and a number of beautifully carved wooden doors guarding various rooms.

There would, she determined, be panoramic views over the harbour during the day, with a fairyland of lights at night.

‘There is coffee, or tea if you’d prefer,’ the housekeeper relayed quietly and incurred Duardo’s thanks. ‘The bags have been taken up to the master suite.’

Kayla’s stomach took a backwards flip…at least, that was what it felt like! She didn’t want to think about the bedroom, much less go there.

‘Tea would be lovely.’ And a delaying tactic. ‘Perhaps I could freshen up, first?’

Duardo indicated the staircase. ‘Of course.’

Two different wings, one comprised of a few guest suites and an informal lounge, while the other held three bedrooms each with adjoining en suites, with the master suite in prominent position overlooking the harbour.

A large room, with a spacious alcove containing two comfortable chairs, an antique desk and a television cabinet. Two en suite bathrooms, two walk-in wardrobes.

She avoided looking at the bed…the very large bed.

‘You have a beautiful home.’

‘A compliment, Kayla?’

‘You doubt I can gift you one?’

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and spread it over a valet frame, then he tugged off his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt before moving to the door. ‘When you’re ready, take the second door on your left at the base of the stairs.’

There was a sense of relief in being free from his presence. But not for long…

It would be bliss, absolute bliss to take a leisurely shower and shampoo her hair with the high-end market products lined up in the en suite. To use the hair-drier, wrap her body in the luxurious towelling robe, then slip into that comfortable bed…and sleep.

The temptation was too great, and with quick, economical movements she discarded her clothes, then stepped into the large marbled-tiled shower stall to luxuriate in an endless supply of steaming hot water.

The delicately scented body-wash was heaven, so, too, the luxury shampoo…neither of which she’d been able to afford to use for years.

Had Maria been instructed to stock up the en suite? Or were the products a complimentary gesture to whichever female Duardo took to his bed?

A man of his calibre had women falling all over him. Attracted to his wealth, his social status…and tantalized by his former bad-boy reputation.

Kayla tilted her head and let the water’s needle-spray course over her face. Dammit, it felt so good not to have to consider a tiny heating system that permitted three-minute ablutions before the water ran cold.

It was a while before Kayla turned off the dial, then, towelled dry, she pulled on the robe before tending to her hair.

Bed had never looked so good, and she turned back the top cover, touched the feather pillow with something akin to reverence…

She should unpack—but who was she kidding? The contents of her bag were so basic it would take only minutes to stow them.

As to pulling on clothes…the idea had little appeal. Nor did returning downstairs.

The weight of the day and its outcome descended on her slim shoulders, and she slid between the fine percale sheets with care.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Duardo could come find her when he was ready.

Kayla slept, unaware of Duardo’s presence, more than an hour later, or that he stood looking down at her pale features in repose.

She didn’t register that he left the room and returned close to midnight, nor did she hear the shower or sense him slide into bed.

It was only when her hand came into contact with a solid, warm ribcage in the early hours of the morning that she freaked out, subconsciously unaware of where she was in those initial few seconds.

She knew only that it was dark, the bed wasn’t her own…and who in hell was controlling her frantic need to escape.

She heard her name…then movement, and the room became bathed in soft light.

Son-of-a-bitch. Duardo bit back the muffled curse as he took in the tumbled hair, the heated cheeks, her heaving body, the stark fear in those brilliant blue eyes…and witnessed the moment comprehension hit.

‘You forgot where you were.’

Oh, dear lord. ‘Yes.’ The simplicity of it seemed ludicrous.

He was close, much too close. The warmth of his skin covering hard muscle and sinew, the clean masculine scent of soap…the sensual heat that was his alone.

Physical awareness as strong as it had ever been. Riveting, hypnotic…pagan.

The need to put some space between them was imperative, and she moved a little, aware of the stillness apparent in the dark depths of his eyes.

He could easily reach for her, draw her in against him and cover her mouth with his own. Soothe, seduce…and have her go up in flames.

As he had, many times, during their magical time in Hawaii. An apt and willing pupil, she’d exulted beneath his skilled hands, his mouth, the feel of him deep inside her.

How many nights had she lain awake, cursing herself for allowing him to walk away? For not having the courage, the perspicacity to stand up against her father.

Now she was back in Duardo’s bed for all the wrong reasons, and she hated him for it.

‘Go to sleep.’

As if!

‘Unless you need some help?’ His drawled query was unmistakable, and she made no attempt to disguise the slight bitterness in her voice.

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘For now.’

‘Thank heaven for small mercies.’

‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’

‘Pity.’ She paused as she speared his gaze with her own. ‘I’m not big on warm fuzzies at the moment.’

His soft chuckle was almost her undoing. ‘I seem to recall you being quite talkative at this hour of the morning.’