Claimed By Her Billionaire Protector

‘So if I notice you fleeing from me, I’ll have to accept that I’ve done something that’s displeased you.’

* * *

Bemused, Elana looked up. Their eyes met, and another tantalising rush of adrenalin boosted her pulse rate into overdrive. A point in his favour was the dry amusement in his voice.

Not that it mattered what sort of person he was—or only so far as he was a neighbour.

‘Actually, I’m not into fleeing,’ she told him briskly. ‘And we like to believe we’re an egalitarian society. But—didn’t I read that you’re a New Zealander too?’

‘I have dual citizenship,’ he said levelly.

A swift change of direction startled Elana until she realised she was being skilfully steered around a jitterbugging pair in the centre of the floor.

‘Wrong period,’ Niko Radcliffe observed dryly. ‘They should be doing the Charleston.’

She said, ‘But they’re good.’ The words had barely been spoken when the young man missed a step and stumbled towards them.

* * *

Instantly her partner’s arm tightened, forcing Elana against his steely strength so that she was held firmly for a few seconds against the powerful muscles of his thighs. Sensation, so intense and sensuous it drove the breath from her lungs, scorched through her in a delicious, dangerous conflagration.

Concentrate on dancing, blast you, she commanded her wayward body fiercely, pushing a wilful erotic image into the furthest reaches of her brain and trying to lock the door on it.

Suddenly dry-mouthed, she breathed, ‘Thanks.’

‘It was nothing.’ His voice was cool and uninflected.

Clearly he wasn’t suffering the same potent response. Indeed, his arm had loosened swiftly as though he found her sudden closeness distasteful.

Chilled, she had to swallow before she could say, ‘Perhaps we should tell them that jitterbugging arrived some years after the Twenties.’

‘They’re enjoying themselves,’ he said dismissively, then surprised her by asking, ‘Are you the local florist?’

Elana hesitated. He sounded quite interested—which seemed unlikely. Perhaps faking interest when bored out of his mind was another talent developed in that princely court...

OK, concentrate on small talk now, she told herself. Ignore those pulsating seconds when you were plastered against him, and something weird happened to you.

Sedately she told him, ‘I work part-time in the florist’s shop in Waipuna.’

‘Was that always your ambition?’ he asked, almost as though he were interested.

‘No.’ After a second’s pause she added, ‘I’m a librarian and I used to work in Auckland, but a couple of years ago a family situation meant I had to come home to Waipuna.’

The family situation being the accident that had killed her stepfather and confined her mother to a wheelchair.

‘So you decided to stay here.’

Elana glanced up and met a narrowed blue gaze. Another of those unnerving shivers chased down her spine. In a tone she didn’t recognise, she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Is there no library in Waipuna?’

‘Yes, run by volunteers. There’s no need for a professional librarian.’

‘Ah, I see. Do you enjoy working in the florist’s shop?’

Surely he couldn’t be interested in a small-town woman in the wilds of northern New Zealand? He didn’t need to hear that, although she loved Waipuna, she missed the stimulation of her career in Auckland.

She evaded, ‘I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t fascinated by flowers. My mother was a fantastic gardener and apparently from the time I could toddle I drove her crazy by picking any blooms—’ She stopped abruptly. Any blooms her mother had been allowed to cultivate. ‘Often before they’d opened out,’ she finished.

He gave the big hall a quick survey. ‘You clearly have a talent for arranging them. Mrs Nixon also mentioned that you wrote the booklet—a short history—of the hall. I haven’t read it yet, but intend to.’

Elana flushed. ‘I hope you find it interesting.’

‘Are you a historian as well as a librarian?’

‘I did a history degree,’ she said.

And wasn’t surprised when he asked, ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m interested in history.’ She added, ‘After that my stepfather insisted I take a business course.’

‘Very sensible of your stepfather,’ Niko Radcliffe said dryly. ‘From your tone, I gather you didn’t want to do it. Was he right to insist?’

Elana didn’t like the way he emphasised the word stepfather. Steve had been as dear to her as any father could be—infinitely dearer than her own father. She said briskly, ‘Yes, he was right. It’s been very useful.’

Especially over the past couple of years, after a friend had asked her to tape her great-grandmother’s reminiscences and transcribe them so they could be bound into a book to mark her hundredth birthday. Elana found the task absorbing, enjoyed the whole experience and had been astounded when her friend’s family insisted on paying her for the time she’d spent.

Even more astonishing, word had got around the district, and soon she was repeating the process. Then the editor of the local weekly newspaper commissioned her to write articles on the history of the district. As she was working for only three days a week at the florist’s shop, the money came in handy, and she loved the research.

To her relief the music drew to a close. Niko Radcliffe released her and offered an arm. Forcing herself to relax, she took it, trying to ignore the sudden chill aching through her—a bewildering sense of abandonment.

How could a man she’d only just met have that effect on her?

Be sensible, she told herself robustly as they walked across the hall towards Mr and Mrs Nixon. So you’re attracted to him? So what? You’re probably not the only one here tonight to be so aware of him...

Over the centuries women had learned to recognise an alpha male. For probably most of humankind’s existence, a strong capable father to one’s children gave them a much better chance of survival.

And, tall and good-looking, with that indefinable magnetism—not to mention the fact that he was rich, she thought sardonically—everything about him proclaimed Count Niko Radcliffe a member of that exclusive group.

Which was no reason to fantasise about feeling strangely at home in his arms. When the next dance was announced he’d choose a different woman to partner him, and that woman might well feel the same subliminal excitement, a reckless tug of sexuality both dangerous and compelling.

Together they walked to where the Nixons had just finished chatting to another couple. Acutely aware of sideways glances, Elana was surprised by an odd regret when they arrived.

Mrs Nixon observed, ‘Good evasive action, Niko. For a second I thought we might need to call on my first-aid skills, but you saved the day with that sidestep. Young Hamish and his partner are going to have to practise jiving a bit longer before they’re safe enough to do it in public.’

His smile held a tinge of irony. ‘Fortunately I had an excellent partner.’

The older woman sighed. ‘My grandmother was a great dancer—she could still do a mean Charleston when she was eighty, and her tales of balls and parties used to make me deeply envious. Then rock and roll came onto the scene when my parents were young. I always felt I missed out on being wild and rebellious.’

‘Surely punk must have been wild and rebellious enough,’ Elana teased.

Mrs Nixon chuckled. ‘A bit too much for me, I’m afraid,’ she confessed. ‘And now I find I’ve turned into my father—when I hear the hit songs today I mutter about their lack of tune and how they don’t sing clearly enough for me to understand the words.’

‘Possibly a good thing,’ Niko observed coolly. ‘Tell me, why did the committee choose the Twenties as a theme for tonight? I believe the hall was built in the early twentieth century, so you should have been celebrating its centennial some years ago?’

Mrs Nixon smiled. ‘Nobody was interested in running a ball to celebrate the centennial then, but a year ago a group of us decided Waipuna deserved a Centennial Ball. So we called it that. It meant that people who’d give an ordinary dance a miss came for it—some from overseas,’ she finished proudly. ‘It’s been a lovely reunion.’

He laughed, and Elana’s heart missed a beat. ‘Good thinking. So why the Twenties theme?’

‘Comfort.’

Brows lifting, he echoed, ‘Comfort?’

‘Comfort,’ Mrs Nixon repeated firmly. ‘In the early twentieth century women were still confined to elaborate clothes and corsets. We decided unanimously that comfort is more sensible than historical accuracy.’

‘To every woman’s relief,’ Elana observed. ‘As well, it’s a lot easier to sew a Twenties shift than the gowns they wore twenty years previously.’

* * *

Niko glanced down, struck by the way the lights shimmered on her gleaming hair. Freed from the neat knot at the back of her neck it would look like silk. Into his mind sprang an image of the soft swathe spread out across a pillow—of her lithe, ivory-skinned body against white sheets, green-gold eyes heavy-lidded and beckoning...

Strange how exotic eyes and a fall of bright hair could lend spice to an occasion...

Irritated by a fierce surge of desire, he suppressed the tantalising thought and concentrated on the conversation.

He’d expected little entertainment from this evening. If his presence at the ball went some way to convincing the district that he intended to return Mana Station to full production again—which would mean jobs for local people—it would make the new manager’s position easier.

Above the babble of conversation and laughter he discerned a rapidly approaching roar as some idiot drove past the hall, achieving as much noise as he could from a badly maintained engine.

When the noise had faded Mr Nixon told him laconically, ‘One of the local hoons. Like all young kids with an attitude, they like to stir up the district periodically. No harm to them, by and large.’

Niko nodded. The band struck up for the next dance, and some young guy in evening clothes slightly too big for him came up and asked Elana Grange for it. Smiling up at him, she accepted.

Watching them dance, Niko resisted a swift emotion that veered dangerously close towards possessiveness. Startled by its intensity, he secured one of the matrons Mrs Nixon introduced him to, and guided her onto the floor. But although his partner was a brilliant dancer, and had a sharp, somewhat acerbic wit, he had to force himself to concentrate on her and not allow his gaze to follow Elana Grange around the room.

As the evening wore on he noted she was a popular dance partner, but seemed to favour no particular man, apparently enjoying her turns with middle-aged farmers as well as with younger men.

* * *

Keeping her eyes firmly away from Niko Radcliffe, Elana chatted with old friends and acquaintances, grateful that he didn’t approach her for any more dances.

By the time midnight arrived she was strangely tired, but she managed to hide any yawns until she slid into her car, pulling out to follow his car. It suited him—big enough to be comfortable for a tall man, super-sophisticated yet tough...

Stop this right now, she told herself grimly. You’re being an idiot. OK, so he looks like some romantic fantasy, all strength and good looks and seething with charisma, but that’s no reason for you to feel as though you’ve overdosed on champagne.

Frowning ferociously, she stifled another yawn and concentrated on the road as it narrowed ahead. Some time during the ball it had rained and the tarseal shone slickly in the headlights. After a few kilometres the road swung towards the coast and the surface turned to gravel as it dived into the darkness of the tall kanuka scrub crowding the verges.

About halfway home, scarlet tail-lights ahead warned her of trouble. Slamming on her own brakes, she gasped as the seatbelt cut across her breasts.

When her stunned gaze discerned the cause of the sudden stop, she gulped, ‘Oh, no—’

CHAPTER TWO

SHOCKINGLY, THE GLARE of the headlights revealed a stationary vehicle on its side. The driver had failed to take the corner and the car had skidded into the ditch before sliding along the clay bank that bordered the road on the passenger’s side.

Hideous memories of another accident, the one that had killed her stepfather, and ultimately her mother, flashed through Elana’s mind. Sick apprehension tightened her stomach and froze her thoughts into incoherence until she realised that Niko Radcliffe was already out of his vehicle and running towards the wreck.

Fingers shaking, she released her seatbelt and opened the door. Her first instinct was to join him, but second thoughts saw her haul the first-aid kit from the glove box.

Clutching it, she ran, heartbeats thudding in her ears as Niko wrenched open the driver’s door and leaned inside.

‘Oh, dear God, please...’ Elana breathed a silent prayer that jerked to a sudden stop when she realised he was half inside the car, presumably undoing the driver’s seatbelt.

Over his shoulder he commanded harshly, ‘Get back. Quickly—I can smell petrol.’

So could she now, the acrid stench cutting through the minty perfume from the kanuka trees. At least the force of the collision had stopped the engine.

‘Go,’ Niko Radcliffe ordered, dragging the driver free of the car in one ferociously powerful movement.

‘I’ll help you—’

He broke in, ‘Have you got a cell phone?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then get back to your car and use it to call for help.’

Torn between summoning the emergency services and helping him, Elana wavered.

‘Move! And stay there!’

The peremptory command raised her hackles, but sent her running back. Snatching up her cell phone, she tapped out the emergency number, eyes fixed on Niko and his limp burden as he strode past his own vehicle towards her.

‘Ambulance, fire engine and police,’ she told the emergency operator, and answered the subsequent questions as clearly and concisely as she could, finishing by saying, ‘The smell of petrol seems to be getting much stronger. I have to go now.’

She dropped the phone onto the driver’s seat and ran towards Niko and his burden.

He had to be immensely strong, because, although the hard angles of his face were slick with sweat, he’d carried the driver of the wrecked car past their vehicles to what she fervently hoped was a safe distance.

Breathing heavily, he laid the unconscious man on the narrow, stony verge before straightening. ‘How long will it take them to get here?’

‘About fifteen minutes,’ Elana told him unevenly, adding, ‘I hope that not too many of the volunteers were drinking champagne at the ball.’ She dropped to her knees beside the still—dangerously still—driver. ‘Jordan,’ she said urgently, groping for his wrist. ‘Jordan, can you hear me? It’s Elana Grange. Open your eyes if you can.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Jordan Cooper.’ Tears clogged her eyes. ‘He’s only a kid—about eighteen.’

‘Any pulse?’

Steady, she told herself when her probing fingers found nothing. Concentrate. ‘No.’

Inwardly shaking, she explored a little further, and to her intense relief recognised the faint flutter of heartbeats against her fingers. ‘Yes. He’s alive.’ Barely...

She laid a gentle hand on the driver’s chest, some of her panic fading when she felt it rise and fall beneath her palm. ‘He’s breathing.’

‘Keep checking. Tell me at once if his pulse stops or he stops breathing.’

Vowing to take the next first-aid course available, she infused her tone with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘Jordan, hang on in there. You’re going to be all right. Help is coming and will be here soon. Keep breathing.’

Did he hear her? Probably not, but that faint flutter steadied a little and his breathing became slightly less harsh.

* * *

Niko surveyed her, crouched on the stones, her long fingers clasping the unconscious man’s wrist.

As though sheer willpower could keep him alive, she urged again, ‘Keep breathing, Jordan, keep breathing. It won’t be long now before the ambulance gets here.’

Never had time dragged so slowly. Niko hoped to heaven he hadn’t made Jordan’s injuries—whatever they were—worse by hauling him from the car. The boy had worn a seatbelt so he’d almost certainly have escaped severe injury, although to knock him out the car must have hit the bank heavily.

And the stench of spilt petrol hung in the cool air, a constant threat.

At last the silence, broken only by the regular mournful morepork call of a nearby owl and Elana’s commands to Jordan to keep breathing, was interrupted by the sound of engines labouring up the hill.

Her head jerked up. Voice trembling with relief, she said, ‘Jordan, the ambulance is almost here. I can see its lights flashing through the bush. Keep breathing. You’re going to be all right.’

She fell silent as the ambulance arrived, followed closely by a fire engine and a police car.

Gladly handing over to those who knew what they were doing, Niko gave silent thanks for volunteers, and decided to double the donation he gave to each organisation.

Reaching down, he pulled Elana gently to her feet. Although she valiantly straightened her shoulders, she couldn’t hide the shivers that wracked her slender body.

He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across her shoulders. ‘All right?’

‘Yes.’

The quaver in her voice and the shiver that accompanied it told him she was in mild shock. Understandable, especially as she knew the kid.

He looped an arm around her shoulder. When she flinched he demanded, ‘What’s the matter? Did your seatbelt hurt you?’

‘No.’ She held herself stiffly while he urged her onto the side of the road out of the way of the vehicles. ‘I’m all right.’

And presumably to prove it, she moved away from him, putting distance between them. For some reason that exasperated him. Eyes narrowed, he kept a close watch on her while the ambulance personnel got to work and what at first seemed chaos soon resolved itself into a well-oiled routine that swiftly transferred the still-unconscious youth to the ambulance.

‘Elana?’ A young policeman stopped in front of them, frowning. ‘You all right?’

‘Don’t worry, Phil, I’m fine,’ she said, and summoned a shaky smile.

‘Rotten thing to happen to you—’ He stopped, looking profoundly uncomfortable, then asked hastily, ‘You sure you’re OK?’

Niko glanced down at her. What was going on? Had she been involved in an accident recently?

‘I’m fine,’ she repeated, her voice a little firmer, and added, ‘Truly, Phil, I’m all right.’

The young cop kept his gaze on her face. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘Neither of us saw it,’ Niko informed him. ‘It looks as though he took the corner too fast, over-corrected, then hit the bank at speed. I think we got here almost immediately after that.’

Questions had to be asked and answered, Niko knew, but surely not now. The woman beside him was no longer shaking, but she was still in shock. No wonder, if she had been involved in an accident.

Apparently the constable agreed, because he said, ‘Thanks for being so quick off the mark—the fire chaps say that it must have been touch and go that the engine didn’t explode. They’ll deal with it until it’s no longer a danger and the guys can tow it away.’ He looked at the silent woman. ‘Elana, I’m sorry—it must be bringing back really bad memories. Right now, you need something hot to drink and someone to look after you. I’d take you home myself—’

‘Phil, don’t be silly,’ she said weakly. Phil’s wife was very pregnant. The last thing she’d need would be him arriving home with someone to look after.

His suspicions confirmed, Niko looked down at her white face. Without thinking, he took her arm and said firmly, ‘She can stay at Mana. The homestead’s not completely repaired yet, but it’s liveable.’

He expected some resistance, and it was in a muted voice she said, ‘No, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.’ But it took an obvious effort for her to stiffen her shoulders as she added, ‘I just hope Jordan will be too.’

‘The ambos think he’s been lucky,’ the constable reassured her. ‘Not too much damage beyond a bad graze and possible cracked ribs. I hope so too, for his parents’ sake. They’ll be at the hospital to meet him.’ He transferred his gaze to Niko. ‘I don’t think Elana should be driving. If you can drop her off at home I’ll make sure her car gets back to her place.’

‘Phil, it’s not necessary.’ Elana’s tight voice made it obvious she didn’t like being discussed as though she weren’t there.

Niko intervened, ‘You’re mildly shocked. I’ll take you home.’

She pulled away from him. ‘I’m all right.’ But her voice wavered on the final word.

‘Be sensible.’ He added crisply, ‘Let the professionals take over.’

Her chin lifted. ‘You’re a professional?’

‘No, but this man is. Come on, give him your keys.’

The cop was hiding a smile, one that almost escaped him when Elana stared indignantly at Niko for a few seconds, then shrugged. ‘The keys are still in my car,’ she said bleakly. ‘OK, Phil, I won’t drive if you think I shouldn’t. I’ll just collect my bag.’

Niko found himself admiring both her spirit and her common sense. He said, ‘I could do with something hot and soothing right now. I’m pretty good at making coffee, but I’m thinking a tot of whisky should go into it.’

The lights of the remaining vehicles revealed both her disbelieving expression and a swift, narrowed glance. ‘I hate whisky.’

Amused by her intransigence, Niko watched her head for her vehicle, and found himself wondering what had given her that sturdy spirit.

Once she was out of earshot the cop turned to him. ‘Rotten thing to happen to her,’ he said, frowning.

‘To anyone,’ Niko returned. Especially to the kid behind the wheel...

The young policeman went on, ‘But tougher on Elana than most.’ He hesitated, watching her as she opened her car door and bent inside it. ‘She lost her parents—well, her stepfather—a couple of years or so ago in an accident. He was killed instantly, and her mother was so badly hurt she never walked again.’

Niko said harshly, ‘Damn.’

‘Yes. Elana was with them—they were hit head-on by an out-of-control truck.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘She was lucky—not too much in the way of injuries, but she had to leave a good job in Auckland to come home and look after Mrs Simmons—her mother. She died after a stroke about six months ago.’ He paused. ‘Hell of a shame for Elana to come across young Jordan like that.’

Niko looked towards her car. Elana was still groping around in the front seat, presumably searching the bag she’d carried—a little satin thing that didn’t look big enough to hold the keys to any house. Frowning, he watched her straighten up and step back, bag in hand.

He turned to the constable and extended his hand. ‘I’m Niko Radcliffe from Mana Station.’

‘Yeah, I recognised you from the photos in the local newspaper.’

They shook hands and turned to watch Elana walk back, clutching her bag, her face drawn and taut.

Niko opened the passenger door of his car. When she hesitated he said, ‘Get in.’

Lips parting, she gave him a dark look, but clearly thought better of whatever she’d been going to say and obeyed, after thanking Phil Whoever-He-Was.

‘I’ll go and have a word with the fire brigade,’ Niko told her, and closed the car door on her.

Turning away so she couldn’t hear, he said quietly to the cop, ‘I’ll also ring my housekeeper; she’ll stay the night and will keep an eye on her.’

The constable nodded. ‘Great. She shouldn’t be on her own. I’ll get in touch with you when I know young Jordan’s condition.’ He paused, and gave a brief smile. ‘But watch out for fireworks. Elana’s pretty independent.’

However, when Niko returned to his car after being reassured that the leaking petrol was no longer a danger, Elana Grange looked far from independent. Eyes closed, she was leaning back in the seat, and even in the semi-darkness he could see that the colour hadn’t returned to her face, and that her hands were clenched on her bag as though reliving the impact of a crash. A pang of compassion shook him.