In the Australian Billionaire's Arms

by Margaret Way

  “And the big painting on the wall?” His interest was truly captured.

  “Mine,” she said. “Anyone can paint flowers.”

  “No, they can’t!” He moved nearer the painting, an oil reminiscent of the Dutch school: dark background, lightly touched with green and mauve strokes, with massed flower heads, roses, peonies, lilies, others, taking up the entire central canvas. “This is very painterly,” he said with genuine admiration.

  “I can’t resist flowers. I used a palette knife.”

  “Aren’t you clever! “ He was giving the painting his full attention. “Who taught you?”

  “Oh, a relative,” she said evasively.

  “As forthcoming as usual?” His black eyes mocked. “You know, you could make a good living as an artist, Sonya. I could help you.”

  “You think that preferable to my capturing your uncle’s heart and along the way a good slice of his fortune?” she retorted more sharply than she had intended. But she was made nervous by how easily he was getting under her skin. If he stayed too much longer she didn’t think she could withstand his powerful aura. The very last thing she wanted was for a man to turn her whole world inside out. Contact was too dangerous. He would never give her what she needed. He would eventually marry some beautiful young woman within his own circle. She knew there would be a long list for him to choose from.

  He sensed her concealed agitation. “Is that what you really want, Sonya?” The force of his gaze pinned her in place.

  “What I want is perhaps something I will never get,” she said enigmatically. “Now would you excuse me for a moment? I want to get out of this tracksuit.” From the moment she had met him, every instinct had warned her not to allow him to come close. She knew she couldn’t deal with emotions that could not be contained.

  “Take your time,” he called after her as she started to move down the narrow passageway. “I’m going to take a look at your books.” He crossed to the large timber bookcase that stood against the end wall. It was jammed with books. “German, French, Russian, Hungarian, how weird is that?” he called after her. “No need to be in a rush to tell me.”

  “See how much you can work out on your own,” she threw ironically over her shoulder.

  When she returned she was wearing a long turquoise and lime-green dress that hung from shoestring straps over her bare shoulders. The bodice clung lovingly to her breasts, then fell in a fluid drop to her ankles. She wore little silver ballet shoes on her feet. Obviously she had run a brush through her hair, but the great thing was she had left it loose. “What languages do you speak?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes from her. She looked so beautiful, so strangely innocent, he had to suck in his breath.

  “A few.” She moved quickly into the kitchen. There would now be a high barrier between them.

  “You read Goethe and Schiller in the original? I saw that wonderful monument to them both when I was last in Germany. Then you have the French collection. A well-thumbed Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Victor Hugo, Dumas, Gautier among others. A lot of Hungarian literature, Janos Arany, Kazinczy, Molnar, a very old chronical of Magyar affairs.”

  “You know perfectly well I have Hungarian blood.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” he lightly jeered. “Hungarian accent according to Rowena. Norwegian surname. Norwegian ancestry? What’s the big secret anyway? What is it you’re frightened of giving up? There has to be a better way, Sonya. Your manner, the extreme reserve, only adds fuel to the fire. It’s as if you didn’t exist up until five years ago.”

  “Maybe I’m on the run from villains,” she suggested, preparing the coffee.

  He shot her an impatient look. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t trust me one bit.”

  “How can I when you make yourself one-hundred-percent inaccessible? What sort of life have you had?”

  He sounded as though it really mattered to him. That shook her. Her body was filling with shivery sensations.

  “You must have had lovers?” How had they ever let her go?

  She looked up very quickly from what she was doing, green eyes frosted. “Why make it sound as if I had a brigade of them? The truth is, I don’t like men all that much.”

  “So you keep the ones you consider dangerous at a distance. It’s the why I want to know. There’s got to be an answer.”

  “Distance is effective,” she said, pressing the button on the coffee machine.

  “Generally speaking women who want distance don’t give off high-octane sparks,” he said dryly. “Not to men anyway. You do, Sonya. You know it. I know it.”

  She felt the heat that rushed into her cheeks. “How do you know I don’t already hate you?”

  “Okay, tell me,” he invited. “Do you?”

  She kept her eyes down. “Black or with cream?”

  “All right, don’t answer me,” he said as though it was just what he expected. “Black, two sugars.”

  “Something with it?”

  “No, thank you, Sonya. For God’s sake come from behind that counter. There’s not a lot of danger out here.” How could he claim that, when the atmosphere was potentially explosive?

  She gave him a cool look. “This is where I make the coffee.”

  “Looks more like you’re barricading yourself in.”

  “I definitely am not.”

  “You definitely are,” he contradicted.

  “Well, we’re enemies, aren’t we? In a manner of speaking, of course.”

  He considered. “It might surprise you, Sonya, but I’m not gunning for you.”

  “What else would you call it?” She came around the counter, carrying the tray set with coffee things.

  He stood up to take it from her, the brief touch of his hands on hers enough to soak her in warmth.

  “On the coffee table, please,” she said, trying to regain her habitual cool. “I hope it’s the way you like it.”

  “What I’d like is for you to sit and talk to me,” he said very seriously.

  “I fancy our talk would turn into an interrogation.” She shrugged. “You know my name, age, occupation, my address. What else do you need?”

  “I have to say—plenty.” His tone hardened somewhat. “You’re getting yourself into something here, Sonya, as I’ve already warned you. You should be prepared. You told Marcus you’d ring him this evening.”

  “I will. No need to make it sound like a duty.” She sat down on the opposite sofa, leaving her coffee on the table.

  “Do you fully understand how much he cares for you?” he asked.

  “Well, I care for him,” she replied with a touch of aggression. “His humour, his gentle nature, his generosity, the brilliance of his mind. There aren’t many men as gentle and courtly as Marcus. I feel safe with him.”

  “Will you marry him if he asks you?” He put it to her bluntly.

  Her emerald eyes flashed fire. “Are you really entitled to an answer?”

  “Please don’t be cute.”

  “Cute? Cute? You must be crazy!” Tempestuously she leapt to her feet, her hair flying. “I am not like that. Why don’t you answer my questions.”

  “I might if you sit down again.” He was having difficulty keeping his own emotional balance. He felt desire coiled deep within him like a tempting serpent. It was imperative he keep his distance, adjust his moral compass in the right direction.

  “So don’t make me angry.” Sonya sank down again, reaching for a silk cushion as if she might throw it at any moment. “My question: are you serious about your Paula or are you just stringing her along?”

  That rankled. “Paula and I go back a long way.”

  “No doubt to the cradle.” She gave a tiny mocking yawn. “Only it’s you who should be paying attention. You’re not behind the door handing out unsolicited advice, so I tell you as a favour, she’s madly in love with you.”

  He gave her a long, intense look. “Does this mean I’m under some sort of
obligation to return her love? I’ve never told her I was. I am not stringing her along as you’re suggesting. In my experience one only has to press a woman’s hand for her to start hearing wedding bells. I’ve dated a lot of attractive women. Not so many of late, I’m afraid. I’m too damned busy.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be, as your father’s heir?” she commented. “Why does Paula Rowlands want to hurt me? Why would she say such words? I very much resent I’m ‘after’ you. One would think it was a hunt.”

  “In a way it is.” He gave a brief laugh. “We’re all out there looking, searching, hunting for a soul mate.”

  “And you’ve rejected everyone so far?”

  He levelled an intense stare at her. “Haven’t you?”

  She looked down, a glow in her cheeks. “I admit I have kept to myself as much as possible.”

  “A woman as tantalizing as you, Sonya, would pretty much have to keep up her guard. Is that the attraction with Marcus? You feel with Marcus you can control the relationship? Is that how you feel?”

  She gave a sad little smile. “I’ve never been able to control anything in my life.” Some of the old bitterness and frustration began to surface. She regretted it, but family ghosts were slipping by her. “Drink your coffee,” she urged. “It’s going cold.” She picked up her own cup, trying to shake off her nerves. The best way to protect herself was to stay perfectly cool. Even detached. “When do your parents return?” she asked politely.

  “They’re enjoying themselves so much they’ll probably take another month. We have many good friends in the US.”

  “Have you told them about me?” Her tone was now so cool it almost snapped.

  He shook his dark head. “But someone is bound to have let them know, Sonya. My parents know everybody. Most of them were at the gala. Women love to pass on gossip. You made quite an impact. But you would have known that. In fact you invited it. Which is a bit of a paradox, given your extreme reserve. Then if that weren’t enough you were wearing Lucy’s emeralds.”

  “As lovely as they are, they are not the most beautiful emeralds in the world,” she said with one of her elegant shoulder shrugs.

  More role playing! He wondered. At times when her composure threatened to fail her, her slight accent became more pronounced.

  “You’ve worn better?” he asked, his expression frankly sardonic.

  She had the foolish impulse to run down to her bedroom and take the Madonna from its hiding place. She would show it to him: diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, extravagantly beautiful, extravagantly precious. The Wainwrights, for all their wealth, had nothing like that.

  “Hard for you to believe but maybe I have seen better.”

  “In the display windows of leading European jewellers, no doubt. The problem is, Sonya, they belonged to Lucy. My mother loved Lucy. They were great friends. It was an extraordinary thing for Marcus to offer them to you to wear.”

  “I’d never contemplated he would do such a thing.” She was driven to defend herself. “He made it almost impossible for me to refuse. He was intent on my wearing them. More to the point, he would have known what effect that would have on all of you.”

  His chiselled mouth tightened. “It’s time they never looked better,” he added ironically.

  “I wish now I’d offered a strong refusal. So I must expect your parents will be predisposed to dislike me?”

  “I’m afraid so, Sonya.” He couldn’t deny it. “And dislike is the least of it. We’re all very protective of Marcus. My father, extremely so.”

  “So, it’s a catastrophe if Marcus falls in love with me?” She issued the challenge.

  “The perceived catastrophe would be you don’t love him,” he retorted. “He’s thirty years your senior. We’ve been over this, Sonya.”

  “I very much dislike the way you treat me.” Her green eyes turned stormy. “Is a big age difference all that important? Surely what is important is that Marcus finds happiness. All this emphasis on sex—a sex life surely isn’t the be-all and end-all of a marriage?”

  “Of course it isn’t, but it’s a great help to be hungry for each other.” His vibrant voice deepened. “You don’t get it, do you? A lot of people are going to hate you, Sonya.”

  “Well, I think you and they are very very stupid!” She spoke with sudden fire, rising to her feet again, her willowy back ramrod straight.

  From where did this woman get her class, her style, her apparently natural air of superiority? Her previous life couldn’t have been one of tranquillity. She was forever on her guard. “I wish you to go.” She gave an imperious flourish of her hand towards the door.

  “Certainly.” He rose to his splendid height, torn between anger and amusement. “You can show me out.”

  “I will!” There was an extraordinary intensity in her green eyes. Her head was spinning. Her body was alive with excitements, hungers. She moved swiftly ahead of him, so swiftly the tiny bow on one of her silver ballet shoes hooked on the fringe of the rug. She pitched forward, cursing her haste, only he caught her up from behind.

  His strong arms encircled her for the second time that day. Surrounded her like a force field. Her heart leapt into her throat as he pulled her back against him, both of them facing the door.

  “Tell me again you hate me,” he murmured in a dark velvety voice.

  The polished skin of his cheek rasped thrillingly against hers. Every ounce of strength, physical and mental, seemed to be draining out of her body. “You are hateful!” He was reading her reactions, she knew it. He was taking her to a place she had never gone before. Man, the traditional manipulator of women!

  “Don’t lie to me,” he whispered against her ear.

  The very air was spitting, crackling, with tension. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing?” Her mind was crashing. Her heart was crashing. For these brief moments she was beset by intolerable yearnings, abruptly made aware of the passionate red blood in her.

  “David?” She tried to wrest away from him, but he held firm.

  A certain contempt he felt for himself was no match for his desire for her. The heady incense of sex was an inciting vapour that hung in the air. There had to be countless instances of overwhelming temptation but he had never felt anything remotely like this before. There were only two possible options available to him. Let her go. Or give into this furious passion. She was bent forward over his arm. His arms had effectively locked her in. The tips of his fingers were pressing into the undersides of her beautiful high breasts. Still he didn’t release her. It was almost as though he were under a spell with all his senses inflamed.

  Sonya was frantic to settle on a course of action. Her knees were buckling under the onslaught. Heat had turned to scorch. The delta between her legs had turned moist. “David, you mustn’t do this.”

  True. True. True.

  The two of them were locked into an impossible attraction. He could feel her trembling. “I know,” he said harshly, turning her to face him. It was a mistake. He had her exactly where he wanted her, only he knew he had to let her go. The pity was he couldn’t find the time or space to regain control. With a half-maddened exclamation, he brought his dark head down low over hers, furious with himself that he wanted her so badly. The voice of reason had quietened into nothingness …

  His kiss was fierce. He had her beautiful body in his arms, their two bodies, male and female, connecting in an extravagantly erotic way. His strong male drive was urging him on, fuelling him with energy. At some point he realized she was having difficulty coping with such an onslaught. He lifted his mouth fractionally from hers, allowing her to take breath … only he was back to kissing her. He had never kissed a woman so passionately. He hadn’t even known he could reach such a level of wanting, needing. He was desperate for her response. His fingers twined in a handful of her hair, holding her face up to him. Her mouth was so sweetly, so silkily lush he couldn’t drag his own away.

  Stop. You’ve got to stop. Or be damned.

  The vo
ice in his head had increased to a warning blast.

  This is the woman Marcus has come to love.

  Madness to continue to hold her, but he was losing the battling against this wild rage of emotion. He wanted to sweep her up and carry her down the corridor to her bedroom. He wanted to strip her dress from her, ablaze with the desire to feel skin on skin. He wanted to kiss and caress her all over her naked body with its satiny white skin. For minutes there it had felt so completely right.

  But it was hopelessly wrong. The verdict cold and hard.

  How could he see people hurt? The future of the three of them was in jeopardy. The eternal triangle. Marcus, himself and Sonya, the woman they both wanted. Yet hadn’t it been inevitable from the first moment their eyes met?

  With a monumental effort he forced himself to let her go, aware he was breathing as heavily as if he had run the four-minute mile. Her beautiful hair was in total disarray, fanning out like a halo around her emotion charged face. She looked so vulnerable, so young, his heart smote him.

  “Sonya, forgive me. I hadn’t meant that to happen.” They were like a pair of conspiratorial lovers filled with as much agony as ecstasy.

  Her voice shook so badly, it betrayed her. Could it be possible he had deliberately engineered this, seeking her reaction? “You rich people are so ruthless!” Her distressed mind turned to tactics. “Who are you to drag me into your arms? What is your agenda? We both know you have one.” She had lost sight of her own.

  “Agenda? Don’t talk rubbish.” His response was curt. “You know damned well I’m attracted to you.” He could have laughed at the sheer inadequacy of the word. Magnetized? Mesmerized? Spellbound?

  “Now this is very interesting.” She was transformed into a state of the utmost hostility. “You’re attracted to me!” The entrenched defence mechanisms were back in place.

  “Neither of us sought it,” he said. “Neither of us wanted it. It just happened.”