The Rich List Series: Contemporary Romance Box Set (Millionaire, Billionaire, CEO)

by Hunter, Talia

  It was the right question to ask, because his face brightened. “Local government has called for tenders, so it’ll need to fit within their specifications. But the design my team’s come up with is light years better than anyone else’s.” He pushed himself up. “I’ll grab my laptop and show you the plans.”

  She ate some more of her dinner while he fetched it and showed off schematics and drawings of the finished building. As he described it, the last of his darkness fell away and his voice and face lit with enthusiasm. She could see why it excited him. It was impressive, even to someone who knew nothing about construction. She drank in his passionate intensity for a while, enjoying the opportunity to admire the angles of his face and the heat in his eyes.

  “…Don’t you think?” He was looking at her, waiting for a response, but she hadn’t heard the question.

  “Absolutely.” She crossed her fingers, hoping that was the right answer.

  Satisfied, he went on. “This wall will lean outwards, supported by this row of buttresses.” With one finger he traced the line of it across the screen. “The fountain gives you a sense of the scale. Can you see what a beautiful structure this is going to be? If you’re going to see a show, being in this building will make it even more special. And see, this exit here leads to the train station, so if it’s raining you won’t get wet. If you’re driving, the underground car park comes out here.” He pointed. “And as a bonus, it’s big enough to solve the annoying inner-city parking problems.”

  “Do you ever drive into the city and look for your own car park?” she wondered aloud. “Do you go to plays or musicals? Or to the movies?”

  “Not musicals.” He made such a typical male face of disdain that she had to laugh. “And I don’t go out to see movies. My media room’s better than a public theater.”

  “Plays?”

  He shook his head. “Not for years.”

  “So you’d never use your own entertainment center?”

  He considered it. “I could start going to plays. Or rock concerts.”

  She snorted. “I’d like to see you in a mosh pit.”

  “I prefer to watch from backstage.”

  Of course he’d expect nothing less. She nodded to his plate which still held some food. “Aren’t you going to finish your dinner?” She’d eaten the last morsel of hers earlier, while he talked about capacity, and environmental ratings, and the importance of considering ergonomic design on a grand scale.

  He put down his laptop and picked up his fork. “I get a little carried away. How about I stop talking while I eat, and you tell me more about yourself?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about your tattoo.” He stroked her arm. “Why a mermaid?”

  “That was my first ink. I didn’t know what to get and a friend suggested a mermaid as a joke.” She looked down fondly at it. It might have been an impulsive act, but she’d decided on a pretty, stylized mermaid on the spur of the moment and after all these years she still liked it. “I thought it was funny and ironic.”

  He swallowed a mouthful of chicken. “How old were you?”

  “Young enough that I had to use a fake ID.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “A rebel?”

  “I tried not to be for the longest time. My sister Ally was the good one in the family, and I used to envy the way she got along with our mother. But I have a serious rules and regulations allergy. It’s a medical thing, I can’t help it. And when I was seventeen, I realized I could never be the daughter my mother wanted and the only way we’d ever stop fighting about it is if I left.”

  Geena kept her tone light, but there was a hard lump in her throat. Surely after all this time she should be over it? Maybe the confidence blow Justin had dealt her was dragging back the feelings from that terrible time. When he’d walked out on her, she’d felt worthless. But catching a bus to Sydney as a teenager, with just a backpack of clothes and the holiday money she’d saved, still ranked as the hardest – and lowest – moment of her life.

  “That must have been a difficult decision.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice to be steady if she answered.

  “I’m even more impressed by how well you’ve done, now I know you started with nothing.” He flashed her his killer smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  Could he be any more gorgeous? How unfair that she should finally meet the perfect guy, and he was totally off limits for anything but sex. Not only had he made it crystal clear he didn’t want a relationship, but they lived such utterly different lives, she couldn’t imagine how they could ever fit together. And after they way Justin had made her feel, she wasn’t even sure she’d be willing to try.

  No, there was no point dreaming about what might have been, so she’d just have to enjoy the time they had.

  “Were you a rebellious teenager?” she asked.

  He finished his last mouthful of dinner, then pushed his plate away and sat back. “Not at all. I was focused on the future, and what I could do to shape it.”

  “You always wanted to go into construction? Or was that just a way to make money?”

  “Both, I suppose. I enjoy creating beautiful buildings. And at the same time, I discovered that I understand business. I’m good at planning, taking advantage of opportunities and mitigating risks.”

  “I don’t think about any of that stuff.” She wrinkled her nose. “Guess that must be why I’m poor.”

  “You’re a naturally talented business woman. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  She blinked at him, absurdly touched. She’d got to know him well enough to realize he usually meant what he said, so it wasn’t an empty compliment.

  “You know,” she said slowly. “There may be one thing I know more than you about.”

  “What’s that?”

  She put a finger to her chin and pretended to think about it, wanting to see that gorgeous smile of his again. “Well, I have a whole bag of sex toys. Maybe there’s something in there you’re not sure about. I take my role as an educator very seriously, you know.”

  “A strong work ethic is an admirable quality. One that should be encouraged.” He reached over to pull her onto his lap. “And I think you’ll find I can be very encouraging indeed.”

  12

  Geena woke to find herself alone in Damien’s big bed. She looked around the room, stretching. In spite of having spent most of last night making love, she felt rested. If she could look at herself in the mirror right now, she’d no doubt see a warm glow of contentment. Although she wouldn’t have said no to a repeat session this morning, Damien was gone. Where was he anyway? And what time was it?

  “Good morning, beautiful.” Damien walked in with a steaming mug and Rocky at his heels. The delicious smell of coffee filled the room. “You ready to wake up?”

  “Only if that coffee’s for me.” She struggled up to sitting, arranged both pillows behind her back, and held her hand out for the mug. Fresh coffee in bed after the best sex of her life? Mmm. She’d even forgive the fact that Damien was shaved, showered, and fully dressed. The only way the morning could get any better was if he ripped off his suit and jumped back into bed.

  “How come you’re up?” she asked between sips.

  “I’m usually up much earlier than this.” He sat on her side of the bed and she moved her legs for him. “Somehow I managed to sleep later than I have in years. It’s a good thing I woke when I did, because I have a couple of meetings this morning, then an interview.” His gaze lingered over the tops of her breasts, and she let the bed covers sag to improve the view.

  “You don’t have time for even a little—?”

  He shook his head. “Afraid not. But feel free to lie in for as long as you like. Isobelle will make you whatever you want for breakfast.”

  He was going to leave her to her own devices in his apartment? No naughty secrets here then, she supposed. No hidden door leading to a BDSM dungeon, or cupboards filled with double penetration dolls. Sham
e, really. But on the other hand, it was flattering and a little touching that he trusted her not to snoop around and rifle through his dirty underwear. Although maybe he’d asked his housekeeper to keep an eye on her.

  “I also spoke to Rosalind. She’s arranging for some men to move your excess shelves and stock into storage. It’ll be less convenient than having it upstairs, but it’ll do until you’ve got your own apartment again.”

  She let out a long dreamy sigh. “I wish I had an assistant. Seriously, it would make my life so much easier.”

  “One day you will.” He leaned in and kissed her. Smooth shaven and minty fresh. Yum. She drank in the smell of his cologne while she surrendered to his mouth. It wasn’t just a kiss, but a liquid bath of pure sensation.

  When he finally pulled away, she let the bed covers drop completely so she was naked from the waist up. “Do you have to go? Can’t you stay a few minutes longer?”

  “I wish I could.”

  How could he get up and leave her after a kiss like that? But sure enough, he got to his feet and adjusted his pants over a large bulge. Damn. She could find a good use for that bulge, if only he wasn’t in such a hurry.

  She sighed. “I’ll see you at the store later?”

  “I’ll bring in the web designer to talk through your new website after lunch. Let’s assume you’re going to get the loan, and get it started.”

  Scrunching her nose, she pulled the bed covers back up to her chin. “Just so you know, I’m not that comfortable with computers. I mean, I’m fine when it comes to checking my email and looking up funny cat videos. But I’m hopeless with spreadsheets, and I don’t know the first thing about making websites.”

  He blinked. “How can someone your age not be comfortable with computers?”

  “For some reason they hate me. They can smell my fear and it turns them hostile.”

  He shook his head, a little smile quirking his lips. “See you after lunch.”

  Geena lay in bed for a while after he’d left, then got up, showered and dressed, and went to the kitchen. The woman she’d been introduced to last night was humming as she cleaned surfaces that already looked spotless. Her back was to Geena. She was about to clear her throat and announce herself, but she found herself hesitating, running suddenly-sweaty hands down her dress.

  Silly to be nervous. This was Damien’s housekeeper, for heaven’s sake, not his mother. But she still felt oddly like a young girl caught where she didn’t belong. Why couldn’t Damien be a normal guy without a staff of people to take care of him? Nothing like a billionaire to trigger all a girl’s insecurities.

  She lifted her chin. “Ah, hello?”

  Isobelle turned and gave her a friendly, totally non-judgmental smile. “Good morning. Would you like some eggs and bacon, or something else? I can do an omelet if you prefer. Or a continental breakfast if you’re after something light?”

  “Um, I guess an omelet sounds good, if that’s okay?”

  “Cheese? Ham? Tomato?”

  “Everything, please.” She’d been exercising most of the night after all.

  “And coffee? Or would you prefer a juice?”

  This felt so weird. But pretty cool. “Juice would be nice. Thanks.”

  “I left some newspapers laid out in the dining room. Why don’t you make yourself at home and I’ll bring it through once it’s ready?”

  Sure enough, in the dining room there were newspapers and magazines, and a TV recessed into one wall. The best thing about the room was the view. She could sit there all day without getting bored, watching the boats coming in and out of the harbor.

  She stared out at them while she called Ally. “How are the wedding preparations going?”

  Her sister sighed. “Remind me never to get married again, will you? This isn’t a wedding, it’s an all-out war between the Wedding Planner and you-know-who. After this, I’ll be qualified for a job negotiating peace treaties in the Middle East.”

  “Did you know she wants to set me up with one of Max’s friends?”

  “I knew you’d hate the idea, but there’s no stopping her. Remember how she and Dad refused to take us to the movies? How books were so much better, and too much TV would rot your brain? Well, now she’s found out how much money Max has, movie stars are her favorite people.” Ally sucked in a deep breath and let it out again. “So are you bringing someone?”

  “No.” Geena scrunched her nose. “Can’t you convince her it would ruin your big day to push me onto a stranger?”

  “I’ll try, but she’s already chosen a guy for you. One of Max’s friends. Don’t worry, he’s nice. You’ll like him.”

  Geena blew a raspberry.

  Her sister laughed. “Anyway, how was your day with Damien Courtney? Did you get some notes written for the article?”

  “Lots.”

  Isobelle came in carrying a tray with a plate of steaming food, and a tall glass of juice. Geena smiled her thanks as the woman laid it out in front of her, arranging her napkin and cutlery as though this were a fancy restaurant.

  “Good,” said Ally. “Because Lacey’s dad has taken a nasty turn. Apparently he might not have much longer.”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t know he was that bad. I’ll call her.”

  “Give her a day or two. When I spoke to her, she was pretty broken up. I think she needs a little space.”

  “Poor Lace.” Geena hesitated. “Do you want me to write the article?”

  “Would you? I mean, I can edit it, but it would make it much easier if you’d handle it.”

  “Okay.” Geena tried to sound confident, but she wasn’t a writer and she’d promised Damien the article would help turn things around for him. How on earth was she going to manage that?

  She said goodbye, then finished her delicious omelet and thanked Isobelle before she left. The train station wasn’t far from Damien’s apartment, so she caught a train to Kings Cross Station.

  Walking out of the station carrying her overnight bag, and with her handbag slung over the other shoulder, she noticed a few guys hanging around. Just the normal loiterers. For some people who got hooked on booze or drugs, King’s Cross wasn’t a place for all-hours partying, but to score what they needed to make it through each day and night. She always felt bad for them. Living with addiction wasn’t a fate she’d wish on her worst enemy.

  That wasn’t to say she didn’t keep a cautious eye out as she strode up the street towards her store. After once having had her purse snatched out of her hand, she’d developed an acute awareness of the space around her. Her ears were always alert for footfalls, and she watched for the reflections in windows that would let her see anyone walking behind her.

  It was in a store window reflection that she noticed the man with his hoodie pulled up over his head. He was walking fast, coming up behind her. Walking quietly too, almost on tiptoe. Her heart lurched. She spun around, dropping the overnight bag and instinctively bringing her handbag up to grab it with both hands and hug it to her chest.

  He stopped in front of her, his hand lifted, as though he’d been going for her handbag. His arm dropped, and his top lip tugged up into a snarl. Across his cheek was an ugly scar.

  He considered her for the space of a few long, pounding heartbeats, his eyes flicking from her face to the overnight bag, to her handbag. He was considering whether to go for the overnight bag or to try and wrench her handbag away from her, she realized. A second later, she remembered her self-defense training. Don’t hesitate, Geena. And don’t be a victim.

  Instead of backing away, she leapt towards him and screamed as loudly as she could, directly into his face. Turned out she could scream pretty damn loudly. He flinched at the sound and lifted his fist, ready to punch. But she wasn’t done. Her instructor’s voice rang in her head, telling her she couldn’t afford even a second’s uncertainty. Don’t wait to see what he’ll do. Strike hard. Put him down.

  The man’s face was close enough to be a target, so she struck out with her palm, aiming for hi
s nose. He swung his head away so the blow glanced off his cheek. He staggered back a little and she ducked his wild punch. She brought her fists up as she’d been taught, searching for one of his vulnerable places. Eyes, nose, ears, throat, groin, knee. A direct hit would hurt him enough that she could make a run for it.

  His eyes widened as she feinted towards him. He stepped backwards, his expression uncertain. She screamed again, as loud as she possibly could. So loud it felt like she was screaming her throat raw.

  It was enough. She wasn’t the easy target he’d been expecting, and he turned and ran.

  She watched him go, her breath coming hard and fast. In spite of her screams, nobody was rushing to her rescue. Oh no, wait. There was a guy watching curiously from the doorway of a store a little way down the street. Thanks a bunch, buddy. Not much of a hero, are you?

  A woman appeared out of one of the other stores. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I think so.” Except her heart was pounding so furiously it was hurting Geena’s chest, and her legs were suddenly weak. Reaction was starting to set in.

  “What happened?” asked the woman.

  Geena tried to calm her breathing. Her attacker had rounded a corner and was long gone. “He went for my bag, but didn’t hurt me.”

  She brushed off the woman’s offer to come in and sit down a while. Picking up the overnight bag, she walked unsteadily to her shop. Her hands were shaking as she let herself in, deactivated the alarm, and locked the door behind her. She sagged against the door, fighting sudden tears. I’m in shock. I need a hot drink. With sugar, isn’t that good for shock?

  Leaving the store again was out of the question, even to grab something from Ralph’s Coffee Shop next door, so she’d have to make an instant coffee in her tiny kitchenette upstairs.

  Once she had a steaming mug cradled in her hands, she felt better. She sat on the bed to sip it and made a face at its sweetness. Too much sugar. But her heart had stopped racing and her legs felt stronger.

  It could have been a lot worse. The man might have been planning to rob her, but in the end he hadn’t actually touched her, and her hand had barely grazed his face before he’d jumped backwards. Thank goodness for those self-defense lessons that had surprised her by being less about how to break the hold of someone who’s grabbed you, and more about how to not get grabbed in the first place. Her instructor, a short, almost grandmotherly woman, had explained how easy it was to be overpowered if you hesitated, waiting for an attack to come. She’d been right. The man with the scar hadn’t expected her to strike first. Actually, from the look on his face as he’d leaped backwards, she must have shocked the hell out of him.