She wondered fleetingly if perhaps they were not all triggered by desire, but out of relief she hadn’t been hurt—that somewhere inside he actually cared that she was okay. But as a tiny moan of desire rose from her throat, Helena knew she’d never be okay again. Not as long as she remained in Mason’s arms. Not as long as she allowed him to feed the fire of her need for him—a need she’d denied for the last twelve years. A need ignited by a chance encounter a lifetime ago. She thought she’d learned to live without it, without wanting him. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d made her choice and stood by it.
Mason lifted his head, resting his forehead briefly against hers before letting her go from his embrace. Without another word, he got out of the vehicle and stalked around to the front of the four-by-four. Helena watched in silence as anger, then resignation, flew across his face at the sight of the damage to the side of the truck.
“Pop the hood,” he called in a clipped tone.
With a trembling hand Helena reached under the dash to find the necessary lever. She sighed in relief when she found the right one and the hood was raised as a visual barrier between them. She touched her fingers to her lips. Lord help her, would the wanting never go away?
Mason slammed the hood down with a heavy thud. He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have goaded her into driving when she was obviously not ready for it. By the same token, he knew she shouldn’t have attempted to drive, especially something as powerful as what his brothers teasingly referred to as “the Black Beast.” He could shake her for taking such a risk.
His gut clenched when he thought again of how badly she could have been hurt. The visual image that had imprinted across his mind when he’d heard the impact, of Helena’s broken and bleeding body trapped in his wrecked truck, flared vividly. He shook his head and blinked hard to dismiss the all too graphic picture and took a deep breath. For reasons he didn’t want to dissect, the thought of Helena coming to harm had frightened him so much that he’d flown down the drive like a 200-metre sprint champion. The relief that she’d been okay had been sharp, coming from deep inside.
He welcomed the anger that now followed—embraced it, as it gave him the opportunity not to examine his feelings too closely. Instead, it allowed him to focus on the physical damage to his truck and brought him some much needed composure. He was familiar with the cold tang of fury on his tongue when he thought of Helena. It was quantifiable. Justified. Worrying about her was not. Satisfied he’d reassumed control, he leaned back in through the passenger door.
“Hop out. I’ll see if we can get the truck back to the house. I need to check if it can still make the trip back to Auckland.” Mason extended a hand to help Helena climb across the front seats. He gritted his teeth when she rejected his overture of assistance. Fine, she wanted to manage without his help, so be it. Let’s just see how long that would last.
He stood aside while Helena clambered gingerly over the seats. She was still as white as a ghost; her green eyes bright as emeralds in her pale face. His hands itched to draw her to him, to reassure himself once more that she was okay, but he suppressed the urge, focusing instead on the desire to give her a good shaking, which hadn’t completely deserted him.
Nor had the desire to kiss her again. He was going to have to either get that out of his system soon, or learn to come to terms with it. And if the past was any indicator, he wasn’t going to come to terms with it soon. He had to remind himself sharply of the reason why she’d invaded his haven.
Cursing under his breath, Mason climbed into the cab and settled behind the steering wheel. He turned the key in the ignition and heaved a massive sigh of relief when the engine turned over the first time. He eased the truck into gear and slowly drove forward, pulling away from the bank as he did so.
The scraping sounds against the side of his once highly polished paintwork was enough to bring tears to a grown man’s eyes. Away from the bank, Mason slipped the truck into neutral and, leaving it idling, shoved and pushed against the driver’s door until it could open enough for him to get out.
“Ah, hell.” Mason shook his head again. Bare metal, crumpled and scratched panels. She’d made a fine mess. One of the wheel guards had buckled in and rubbed against the tyre. Knowing he needed to do something physical to relieve his suppressed anger and frustration—before it reached volcanic proportions—he burned up excess energy dragging the reluctant metal away from the rubber. The physical damage done to the truck could be repaired, but it wasn’t going to be as easy to ignore the fire that still licked heatedly through his veins.
“Get in.”
She flinched at his sharply bitten command, but at this precise moment he wasn’t concerned with her mental fragility. The steam coming out from under the hood was beginning to tell its own story. The four-by-four would never make the trip back to Auckland and there was no way he was spending another night with her under his roof. He’d have to arrange alternative transport, and quickly.
Once she was settled he coaxed the vehicle back up the road and parked it in the garage.
“I need to climb up the hill, see if I can get a cell phone signal so I can make some calls. Why don’t you make us some coffee.” He gestured toward the kitchen, and was relieved when she gave a small nod.
Some time later, the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee tantalised his nostrils as he walked back to the sitting room. As he entered, Helena poured a mug of coffee and handed it to him.
“I’m sorry for what I did to the truck.” She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “After last night, I…”
A pang of remorse prodded Mason’s conscience but it was short-lived. She’d come here without his permission. He couldn’t afford any sympathy for a woman who’d barter her child—potentially his child—to preserve her lifestyle. What was it she’d said again? Oh yeah, I’ll do whatever it takes to satisfy your demands. Last night had shown him just how far she was prepared to go. A curl of tension started low in his belly. No matter how hard he tried he could not remain immune to her. It was something he was going to have to handle. Last night had only whetted his appetite for more. Leaving her, as he’d done, had drawn its own satisfaction—and its own torment.
“Forget last night. The helicopter will be at the pad soon. Drink your coffee.”
In confirmation of his words, the distant beat of rotor blades in the air approached the house.
“Helicopter?”
“It’s the quickest way to get back to Auckland. Do you have a problem with that?” He downed his coffee in one quick gulp.
“No. No problem.”
“Good. The sooner we get back the sooner you can find out when we can get the paternity test done.”
“How am I going to do that without Brody finding out what it’s for? I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t want him to know that Patrick wasn’t his father. He’s been through enough already.”
Mason bit back the retort that sprang to mind. Typical. She wanted it all—his help with Brody and with Davies Freight, but no acknowledgement if her paternity claim proved to be correct. Why didn’t that surprise him?
“We’ll cross that bridge when the results come in. With respect to the testing, I’m sure you can use your imagination to find something that won’t rouse his suspicions.”
“He’s a clever boy, Mason. He’ll ask questions.”
“Then you’ll just have to be one step ahead, won’t you. Get this clear in your head, Helena. Without proof, I’m not lifting a finger to help you. With that incentive you’re bound to come up with something.”
Five
The sound of the chopper overhead put an end to any further desire to battle the situation out with her.
“Come on.” Mason led the way out of the house, snatching up his briefcase in the front entrance on the way. Beside the garage a path was cut in the bank, leading up to where a sleek black chopper, emblazoned with Black Knight Transport in gold along the side, had settled on the designated landing pad.
T
he pilot stepped down from the craft, opening the side door to usher Helena into a luxurious passenger compartment before ducking around the back to climb in on the other side of the cockpit. Mason secured his briefcase then settled himself in the pilot’s seat.
Helena sat in the back, alone and feeling like a pariah. The journey back to Auckland could only have taken about thirty minutes, but it felt like forever, seated as she was in splendid isolation. By the time the chopper set down at Ardmore Airfield her stomach had tied in knots. Mason opened the door to help her alight but, as before, she refused his assistance. It was all very well that he exhibited such gentlemanly manners, but it was more than she could bear to let her fingers linger in his hand—to feel the hard, dry warmth of his fingers and not remember how they’d felt as they’d driven the wild response from her body last night. How he’d rejected her.
“Thank you,” she managed through stiff lips. “I’ll call a cab to get home from here.”
“A cab? I don’t think so. I’ll see you get home.”
“A cab was good enough for me last night,” she reminded him tartly.
“I didn’t believe I had a potential vested interest in you then. Like I said, I’ll see you home.”
She bristled at his overbearing response but acquiesced silently. What else could she do? She was between a rock and a hard place, either at his mercy or Evan’s. She didn’t know which was worse.
A shiny black late-model Porsche stood parked next to a hangar, a tall, slim young man standing by it. Mason walked toward it, lifting his hand to catch the keys the younger man threw to him with a smile and a word of thanks. When he noticed she hadn’t followed, he stopped and turned. The look in his eyes left her with no doubt that if he had to pick her up and insert her body into the vehicle he’d do it. With a tiny sigh she covered the distance between them, hoping against hope that the car could make the journey to her home in as short a time as its smooth lines suggested. The sooner this weekend came to an end, the better.
“What do you want me for, Knight?” Evan Davies stumbled a little as he rose from the chaise longue situated in the hotel lobby where Mason had asked to meet him. “It’s Sunday night. I’ve got better things to do than discuss business with you.” His words slurred slightly.
The strong smell of alcohol hit Mason square in the nose, but he bit his tongue. Evan’s dissolute features aged him beyond his years. His excessive playboy lifestyle had caught up to him with a vengeance. It was hard to believe they were both the same age.
“I think you’ll like what I have to say. Come upstairs. I’ve reserved a suite for our discussion.”
Once in the plush suite, Evan went straight for the whiskey decanter on the sideboard in the main sitting room, pouring a generous serving before sinking into one of the large leather-covered sofas angled to appreciate the sumptuous harbour view.
“So spit it out. I haven’t got all night.”
“I want to make you an offer for your shares in Davies Freight.”
Evan’s short bark of laughter cut through the air. “You’re kidding me, right? Black Knight Transport wants to merge with Davies Freight? It’s a money soak hole. Why the hell would you want to buy it? Your distribution contracts out earn anything Davies Freight could bring you.”
The information Mason had gleaned today had proven that the situation with Davies Freight was far worse than he’d imagined. The company was bleeding funds—badly. He had his suspicions about who was responsible. “I have my reasons.” Mason remained standing, his fists pushed deep into his trouser pockets.
“One of those reasons wouldn’t be about five foot four with come-to-bed green eyes and sexy chestnut hair, would it?” Evan’s watery blue eyes narrowed speculatively. “You know she controls Brody’s share of the company. Whatever you’ve got in mind, she’s going to have to agree, too. I’ve tried to get that share off her already. She’s not in a cooperative mood. Even telling her that it was our last chance to make some money off of dear old Dad’s failing business wasn’t enough to get her to sell. What makes you think you’ll change her mind?”
“She’ll agree.” Mason’s response was clipped.
Evan got up and refilled his glass, taking a big swig before tilting his head and eyeing Mason carefully. “You sound pretty sure of yourself. I wondered when she’d move on to her next conquest, especially when I disagreed with her about keeping Davies Freight going. Making the widow merry, are we?”
Mason fought the need to bite back at the other man’s snide remark—to wipe the self-indulgent knowing expression off Evan’s face. “What were you thinking of, Evan, offering to buy her out? You know the company is going to the wall anyway.”
An expression of sheer hatred crossed the other man’s features. “You want to know why? I’ll bloody tell you. There’s no way her whiney little brat is entitled to what should have been all mine. I want to sell the whole lot, but the stupid bitch won’t let go of her baby’s entitlement. I had a buyer lined up and everything. Of course he’s gone cold on the idea now—he’s not interested in half shares.”
“I am. State your price.”
Evan almost dropped his drink. He bent to put the glass down heavily on the coffee table in front of him. “You want her that much?” he whistled long and low. “I’m impressed. She’s good, but not that good, if you know what I mean.” He winked and reached for his glass again.
Mason was a step ahead of him and moved the glass across the table, out of reach. “How much?” he demanded.
Evan sat back and announced a figure that would have had Mason laughing for weeks if he wasn’t so firmly set on his path. “Done.”
“Done? Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Mason flipped open his cell phone and made a call. “Yeah, bring the contract up now. He agreed.”
Before he’d even hung up Evan’s sick laugh filled the room. “Boy, you really have it bad for her, don’t you? What’s she promised you, hmm? Extras? You know her type gets a lot more for extras. It’s how she met dear old Dad, don’t you know? Yep, there’s a lot more to our darling Helena than meets the eye.”
“What the hell are you talking about? They met in Wellington on a business trip.”
“Is that what he told you? Yeah, sure. It figures.” Evan smiled nastily. “She was an escort. You know the type—the higher you pay ’em, the lower they’re prepared to go. Then again, maybe you don’t. You’ve never had to buy the company of a willing woman, have you? Ha! Looks like you have now. I hope she’s worth it, but from what I’ve experienced, I doubt it.”
Evan’s words fell like acid rain against Mason’s skin. He was hard-pressed not to drive his clenched fist into the man’s smug features. An escort. Suddenly her behaviour all began to make sense. How she’d seduced him that night in the truck. How she’d played the reluctant card on Friday night, yet still found her way into his bed. All along she’d played him with the oldest game in history.
A metallic taste filled his mouth and he realised he was biting the inside of his cheek. Damn her and all women like her. He wasn’t falling for that again. Oh, he was sure they’d end up in bed again. There was a magnetic pull from deep inside his gut that drew him to her—no point in denying it. But there was one thing he was certain of—when it did happen it would be totally on his terms. Every step of the way.
The doorbell to the suite rang and Mason crossed over to open the door. His younger brother, Connor, head of the corporate law office for Knight Enterprises—their father’s company—and the family’s lawyer, stood with a briefcase in his hand, worry clear in his eyes.
“Are you sure about this, Mase? The figures don’t look good. It’s not a strong move for BKT.”
“I know. I have my reasons. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
Once the legal necessities were taken care of, Connor left and Mason turned to face Evan.
“Don’t ever set foot near Davies Freight or Helena again. Do you understand?”
“Hey, you
bought the company, not the dame. She’s open to offers.”
Mason stepped up to Evan, grabbed his shirt front in his fist, twisting it and drawing his clenched hand up under Evan’s chin. He took great care to enunciate each word very clearly so there was no way Evan wouldn’t get the message. “Stay away from Helena.”
Beads of sweat broke out on Evan’s pasty forehead. “Sure, mate. Whatever you say. I’ve about had enough of her anyway.” He stumbled backward and fell onto the sofa as Mason released him.
Mason reached into his pocket and spun the room’s key-card through the air. It landed against Evan’s paunch. “Keep the suite for the night. It’s all paid up. Anything else on the tab is your expense. Don’t spend all your money at once.”
He turned and stalked to the door. He wasn’t spending another second in the same air space as this scumbag. He couldn’t wait to be shot of the other guy, couldn’t wait to wash the whole experience off his skin and out of his mind. If only getting Helena out of his system would be as easy. The satisfaction that he was now one step ahead of Helena’s grasping greed should be overwhelming right now, yet still it remained beyond his reach. Instead, the sour tang of disappointment left a bad taste on his tongue.
By nine o’clock Monday morning Helena had the information she needed to set the paternity testing in motion. She’d spent time on the weekend searching the net and had been relieved to locate New Zealand’s sole diagnostic lab for that area of work in Auckland. Armed with the data she took a taxi to work and, on her mental list of jobs for the day, made calling Mason her first priority. She was so preoccupied with her findings she didn’t notice the buzz of activity at the ground-floor reception which coordinated the vast freight forwarding enterprise that made up Davies Freight; she missed the slightly frantic wave from Mandy, her receptionist. She flew up the stairs to the next floor, determined to tackle what stood firmly in her mind as her least favourite task to deal with today.
The Tycoon's Hidden Heir Page 6
