Sparks Fly with the Billionaire

by Marion Lennox

  She was so tired all she wanted to do was crawl under a log somewhere and sleep.

  She walked out of the main entrance to the hospital—and a gorgeous British Racing Green Rover was sitting in the car park. And Mathew/Matt/Maestro, or whoever this man was, was leaning against the driver’s door as if he had all the time in the world to wait, and with one look she knew he was waiting for her.

  With her dogs?

  Tinkerbelle and Fairy were in the car, their little heads hanging out of the window, their tails wagging almost enough to vibrate the car. What on earth were they doing here? They should be ready for the show. She should be ready for the show.

  She glanced at her watch. No, she still had two and a half hours. She was so tired she was losing sense of time.

  ‘Hi,’ he said as she walked—very slowly—down the steps towards him. Her legs didn’t seem like they wanted to carry her.

  ‘H...hi,’ she ventured back.

  ‘Fizz tells me you’re not eating,’ he said gently as she reached him. ‘He said you didn’t eat breakfast and you hardly touched lunch. He checked the fridge in your van and he’s horrified. I’ve just bullied Margot into eating dinner and now it’s your turn. Hop in the car, Allie. We’re going to eat.’

  * * *

  What could a girl do except climb into his gorgeous car and hug her ecstatic dogs and wait for him to tell her what he was about to do with her?

  How pathetic was that? But in truth Allie had gone past pathetic. She hadn’t slept. She’d spent the morning being terrified for her camels. She’d given a performance which took every ounce of energy she possessed, she’d spent time with an emotional, devastated set of grandparents, and somehow she had to gear up for another performance tonight.

  If a tsunami swept inland now, she thought, she didn’t have the energy to run.

  She didn’t want to run. She wanted to sink back into the gorgeous leather seats of Matt’s fabulous car and simply stop.

  He seemed to sense it. He didn’t speak, just quietly climbed into the driver’s seat and set the big motor purring towards the sea.

  He paused at the strip of shops on the esplanade and disappeared into the fish shop. She could climb out and go home, she thought as she waited, but it’d seem ungrateful. The dogs were on her knees, and they were heavy. She didn’t have the energy to push them off and, quite simply, she was past making such a decision.

  Passive R Us, she thought mutely, but she didn’t even begin to smile.

  Mathew returned, booted the dogs into the back seat and handed her the parcel of fish and chips—a big, fat bundle of warmth. He glanced at her sharply and then nosed the car away from the shops, around the headland, away from the town.

  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 i
t 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.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Matt...’

  ‘It’s a long time ago,’ he said, more roughly than he intended. ‘After the crash my grandfather was even more formal. There was no nonsense about him, no emotion, no stupid diminutives. I didn’t want a diminutive anyway.’

  ‘But you think of yourself as Matt.’

  He started to say no. He started—and then he stopped.

  He did, he conceded. On the surface and all through the exterior layers he was Mathew, but underneath was where the pain lay. To let anyone call him Matt...

  ‘Does me calling you Matt hurt?’

  Yes, he thought. It was like biting on a tooth he knew was broken. But he glanced at her, lying sideways on her cushion, drifting towards sleep, and he knew that somehow she was worth the pain.

  Something in this girl was inching through the layers of armour he’d built. He knew pain would come, but for now all he felt was a gentle, insidious warmth.

  He hadn’t felt cold, he thought. He hadn’t thought he wanted...

  He didn’t want. This woman was a bereft client of the bank, and he needed to remember it. He needed to put things back on a business footing, fast.

  So talk about her business affairs now?

  No. He might be a businessman but he wasn’t cruel. He’d brought her here—wise or not—to give her time out and he’d follow through. He’d let her sleep.

  But first... She’d exposed part of him he didn’t want exposed. Fair was fair.

  ‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘Who called you Allie?’

  ‘My mother, of course,’ she said, but she didn’t stir. There didn’t seem any pain there.

  ‘But I gather you’ve been cared for by your grandparents since you were tiny.’

  ‘You have been doing your research.’ She snuggled further into the pillows. Tinkerbelle, or maybe it was Fairy, one of the identical dogs with identical tails that whirred like helicopters when they were happy, which would be now, had snuggled onto the pillow beside her and she held her close. ‘Gran and Grandpa have been great. I had the best childhood.’

  ‘Without a mum?’

  ‘I know, sometimes I feel guilty for thinking it,’ she said. ‘Mum took off with the circus fire-eater when I was two. She and Scorcher left for a bigger, better circus where they could make more money, but it didn’t last. Scorcher went on to make his fortune in America and we haven’t heard from him since. Mum moved on to a series of men, places, adventures. She’s currently working as a psychic, reading Tarot cards up on the Gold Coast. She sends me Christmas and birthday cards. Every now and then she whirls in, usually needing money, spins our life into confusion and spins out again. I’ve figured she does love me, as much as she’s able to love anyone, but I’m eternally grateful she and Scorcher left me behind. My family is this circus. Gran and Grandpa, Fizz and Fluffy, the crew, the animals; they’ve been here all my life. Sparkles is my family.’ She sighed then and buried her face in her pillow, so her next words were muffled. ‘For two more weeks.’

  Matt thought back to the instructions he’d left at head office. Feelers had been put out already. There were circuses—one in particular—hovering, wanting to cherry pick the best of this little outfit. Their bookings. The best of their performers.

  The circus was in receivership, like it or not, and instructions were to sell.

  ‘If you wanted you could stay on in the circus,’ he said tentatively. ‘There are bigger commercially viable outfits that would be very willing to take you on. Your acts are wonderful.’

  ‘But just me,’ she said softly and hugged her dog closer. ‘By myself. How lonely would that be? As I said, we’re family. We’ll stay together. I’m not sure about the elephants, though.’

  ‘Let me help,’ he said, and he hadn’t known he was going to say it until he did. ‘Maybe I can take on the retired elephant fund.’

  She rolled over then and looked at him—really looked at him. It seemed weirdly intimate. Girl lying on pillows, the sinking sun on her face, her dog snuggled against her. Her banker sitting above her, offering...finance?

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I like elephants?’

  She smiled then, almost a chuckle, but her smile faded.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Um...not. Years ago my grandfather asked a favour of Bond’s Bank and it put us into all sorts of bother. I think it’s time for the...bonds...to be cut.’

  ‘And the elephants?’

  ‘I’ve already started contacting welfare groups. I’ll find somewhere.’

  ‘Not as good as where they are now.’

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘But that goes for all of us.’ She sighed, snuggled even further into the pillows and closed her eyes. ‘Nowhere’s as good as where I am right this minute,’ she said softly. ‘Nowhere at all, so if you don’t mind, I might just go to sleep and enjoy it.’

  * * *

  She slept.

  He watched over her.

  It was a curious sensation, sitting on the grassy verge above a deserted beach, watching the sandpipers scuttle to collect the
detritus of an outgoing tide—and watching a lady sleep.

  He felt absurdly protective. More, he felt...emotional. As if he’d do anything to protect her.

  In days of old, when knights were bold...

  There was a romantic notion, he told himself, and the thought of himself as knight on white charger almost made him smile.

  But not quite, for the notion wouldn’t go away. Something in this woman stirred him as he’d never been stirred.

  It was because she was needy, he told himself. She needed protection.

  But was she needy? She was a feisty, courageous, multi-talented circus performer and accountant, and she’d just knocked back his offer to help.

  He was her banker.

  He didn’t want to be her banker.

  Where were his thoughts taking him? Were they turning him into Matt?

  Exposing him?

  What if...? he thought. What if...?

  She looked so vulnerable. She was so vulnerable. He could pick her up, he thought, and take her back to Sydney and keep her safe.

  Yeah, that was white charger territory again, he thought ruefully. Romantic stuff. He had a very large apartment looking over the harbour. Even so, it’d hardly house Gran and Grandpa and Fizz and Fluffy and Tinkerbelle and Fairy and three ruddy great camels...

  He did grin then, thinking of the concierge of his apartment block. Thinking of camels.

  Then he glanced down at Allie again and he stopped thinking of concierge or camels.

  What he wanted, he decided, more than anything else in the world, was to sink onto the pillows, gather her into his arms and hold her.

  But even in sleep he could see her fierce independence. It was engendered by her background, he thought. He knew enough of the back story of this circus now to have a good idea of its dynamics.

  Yes, the circus had raised her, but it hadn’t been long before Allie had more or less taken over. Everyone his people had talked to when researching the circus had referred to Allie. ‘Allie only hires the best. Allie keeps the best animal quarters. Allie’s safety standards are second to none.’

  This circus...Allie’s family...Allie’s life.