Bargaining with the Billionaire

‘I expect you to follow my lead in everything I do,’ he said softly, and when her eyes flashed he went on with grim emphasis, ‘Or else.’

Actually, he played it perfectly. Inherent sophistication meant he didn’t make a show of his supposed interest; he staked his claim far more subtly with glances and smiles, the occasional touch of his hand on her waist or arm, and his possessive air. In an odd way it made her feel protected and safe, and that, she thought warily, was even more dangerous than the flash-fire of sexual hunger she felt whenever he touched her.

If it hadn’t been for Ian and Gillian she might have enjoyed the evening, but in their presence she felt as though she were teetering on the edge of a perilous cliff, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for someone to push her over.

Born a hostess, Gillian had done an excellent job with the gardens; from the terrace around the swimming pool parents could sip and watch their children swim, and those who felt energetic worked it off at the tennis courts behind high, vine-covered walls. Any who demanded less strenuous activity tried their hand at petanque.

The Mathesons were gracious, as charming as they had ever been, yet an hour later Peta looked around the lovely grounds, the laughing people, and wondered why no one else sensed the strain between their hosts.

‘You’re doing well,’ Curt said, bending as though he were murmuring sweet nothings in her ear.

Painfully aware of Ian’s swift glance, she froze.

Curt directed a narrow smile at her. He lifted his hand to her chin and commanded, ‘Another smile, Peta.’

The sensual force of his masculinity hit her like a shock wave. She met his half-closed, intent stare with eyes grown dark and her breath barely coming through her lips.

‘On second thoughts, that’s even better,’ he said after a pause, his voice suddenly rough.

You’re giving too much away, some distant, despairing remnant of prudence warned. It took a real effort to blink and turn her head.

Across a group of people she met Ian’s eyes again, and felt her heart twist at the flash of pain in them. But sorry though she was for him, he had no right to fall in love with her, she thought raggedly.

‘I hate this,’ she said.

His expression didn’t change. ‘Then you shouldn’t have got yourself into this situation,’ he said smoothly, and smiled at her, a slow, sexy movement of his hard, beautiful mouth.

Stifled by his closeness, she glanced up to see him watching the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed. Butterflies tumbled about inside her in dazed confusion; her lips parted and she had to wrench her gaze away.

‘Dinner’s ready, everyone,’ someone—Ian?—called above the heavy thudding of her heart.

‘We’d better go and help serve.’ Curt took her elbow and steered her towards the table by the pool.

Ordinarily the delectably savoury scents would have coaxed Peta into hunger, but her stomach clenched as she gazed at succulent meat from the spit, fish wrapped in leaves and baked in the coals, and salads that were pictures in green and gold and scarlet.

And Gillian shooed them away. ‘Ian and Mrs Harkness and I know what we’re doing,’ she said, her gaze skimming Peta as she directed a smile at her brother. ‘Get something to eat then sit down and enjoy yourselves.’

After filling her plate, Peta allowed Curt to guide her to a table under an immense jacaranda tree. Four other people were already there; they looked up, a little startled when Curt first pulled out a chair for Peta then sat down himself.

Acutely aware of their interest—tomorrow the whole district would be buzzing with gossip, Peta thought mordantly— she tried to appear serenely confident while Curt charmed everyone’s initial reserve into open laughter and eager conversation.

A lilac-blue flower drifted down to land on her plate.

‘Messy things, jacarandas,’ one of the men, the machinery guru on the station, said cheerfully. ‘If they’re not dripping flowers, it’s seedpods or leaves. Don’t know why anyone would plant them.’

He grinned unrepentantly at the outcry from the women. His wife accused him of not seeing beauty in anything other than a well-tuned engine, laughing when he admitted it without a jot of shame.

‘As for wearing a flower in your buttonhole like Curt,’ she said teasingly, ‘you’d rather die.’

‘I’ll bet he didn’t pick it,’ her husband retorted, winking at his boss.

Curt gave a pirate’s grin. ‘Mind your own business.’

Without a lie he’d confirmed their suspicions that Peta had picked the gardenia and given it to him, thus clinching their relationship. To these men and their wives, only a man in the throes of desire would have worn it.

It was interesting to see how a master of innuendo worked, Peta thought with raw cynicism.

He leaned towards her. ‘Pudding? Gillian’s made her special chocolate mousse.’

His eyes were slightly hooded, and although his voice was quiet enough to indicate intimacy, there was a clear warning in his gaze.

Suddenly angry, Peta obeyed an instinct she’d never owned up to before. With slow, subtle deliberation, she held his gaze and let her tongue run the length of her lips. ‘I love her mousse,’ she said huskily.

His eyes darkened and his lashes drooped further. ‘Then you must have some.’

Serves you right, she thought furiously, only to flinch when he took her hand and drew her to her feet.

His fingers locking around hers like manacles, Curt said, ‘Who else wants chocolate mousse?’

In a flurry of feminine complaints that they didn’t dare eat such wicked indulgences so they’d have to stick to fruit salad, the group rose and went to collect their puddings.

On the way home, Peta broke into a charged silence by saying, ‘In the end they all had some of your sister’s mousse.’

‘It’s addictive,’ he agreed. He’d just informed her that tomorrow they’d go for a picnic at the beach.

Beneath the vehicle the bars of the cattle stop rattled and headlight beams blazed full onto the house, mercilessly highlighting the need for a new paint job. Laddie sat up and barked, subsiding into silence when Peta got out.

Curt escorted her to the door. Tension spiralled through her and the scent of the gardenia flowers tantalised her nostrils. Each blossom gleamed with a silvery sheen in the soft darkness. In spite of everything, she thought wearily, she’d enjoyed—well, no, that wasn’t the right word. Regret ached through her; if only they’d met like ordinary human beings, and this was the end of an ordinary date…

Common sense asserted itself briskly and brutally. He’d never have looked at you, it stated.

At the door when she turned to say good night, Curt said levelly, ‘I’ll come in.’

Anticipation simmered through her veins. ‘What?’

Did he sense it? If he did, his edged smile was calculated to deflate it. ‘No one is going to believe that I’ll come straight back.’

She clamped down on her instinctive rejection. Compared to the homestead her house was a shack. And if he once walked into it, she might never get rid of his presence.

‘No,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I’m not going to sit in the car. You can make me a cup of coffee and we’ll talk like ordinary neighbours over it.’

Ordinary neighbours? He had to be joking. ‘I only have instant,’ she said inanely.

He shrugged. ‘So?’ When she still hesitated he said on a note of derision, ‘It’s all right, Peta, you’ll be quite safe.’

‘Oh, come in if you must,’ she snapped, because she didn’t want to be safe.

The Peta who hadn’t kissed Curt was a different woman from the one who had; this new Peta had developed a reckless streak a mile wide.

Switching on the lights, she said, ‘Sit down, and I’ll put on the kettle,’ and escaped into the kitchen.

When she brought the coffee in, Curt was standing by the bookshelf examining a volume. She plonked the tray onto a coffee table. ‘Black or white?’

Other men almost as tall as he—stock agents, the occasional neighbour—had stood in that room, but none had dwarfed it as he did. And it wasn’t just his physical presence; something deeper, more potent than good genes gave him that formidable air of inner strength.

‘Black, thanks.’ He lowered himself into her father’s chair and made it his own.

Sipping her tea, Peta stayed obstinately silent, but when he asked her about the book he’d been looking at she had to answer.

Half an hour later she realised with shock that she was enjoying herself, albeit in a tense, disturbing way. His mind stimulated her and she liked the way he discussed things, with a sharp acuity that kept her on her toes.

And when she disagreed with him, he didn’t get angry— surely unusual for a dominant man? Her father’s rejection of anyone else’s opinions but his own had marred her childhood.

After a quick look at her watch she said, ‘I think you should go now.’

Lounging back in the big chair with its faded upholstery, he fixed her with a glinting glance. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to get a reputation for being easy,’ she said smartly. ‘I have to live here.’

There was a short silence while she recalled that she might not be living here for much longer if he decided to close down her access.

With a humourless smile he got to his feet. ‘That would never do. My mother drummed into me the importance of not stripping a woman of her good reputation,’ he drawled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Can you be ready by ten?’

‘No.’ But she wanted to be. She explained, ‘I’ve got calves to feed and move into a new paddock. About eleven-thirty would be better, and I’ll have to be back by two-thirty.’

He frowned. ‘You work too hard.’

‘That’s life,’ she said flippantly.

She waited until his rear lights had disappeared, then changed and went across to the shed to check the animals. The calf she’d rescued from the swamp was dead.

CHAPTER FOUR

FIGHTING back tears, Peta sat down on a hay bale and blew her nose. She’d believed she was inured to the many different ways animals could die, so why was she crying?

Because it had been a horrible day. Curt had revealed his true colours as a hard-dealing magnate, threatening her with the loss of her livelihood and everything else, and demolishing with brutal contempt her attempts to convince him she wasn’t a money-hungry home-wrecker.

She wiped her eyes. And for some reason she wasn’t ready to face, his refusal to accept the truth hurt.

That was scary enough, but even more frightening was the physical longing, hot and urgent and uncontrollable, that had engulfed her both times he’d kissed her.

Scariest of all, was the fact that he wanted her too.

The difference was that Curt was in full control of his passions. She wasn’t, and if she spent too much time with him desire might deepen into craving.

On the other hand, she thought wearily, surely she had more pride than to choose as her first lover a man who despised her because he thought she was greedy and amoral.

‘What else can go wrong?’ she said aloud, startled by the thin wobble of her voice in the warm, hay-scented air.

The next morning she was halfway through digging a hole behind the shed when she heard a car come up the drive. Barking importantly, Laddie disappeared, only to fall silent almost immediately.

Someone the dog knew, then. Please, not Ian.

She kept on spading dirt away until Curt asked brusquely, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Digging a hole.’ She concentrated on keeping up a steady rhythm.

‘I’ll do it.’

She straightened then and gave him a shadowed glance. As she had once before, she said, ‘You’re not dressed for it. And you might get blisters on your hands.’

He said evenly, ‘If you want an undignified wrestling match I’ll give you one, but it’s only fair to point out that I’m a lot bigger than you are and a lot stronger, and I’ll win.’

Peta didn’t move.

‘So if you make me take the spade off you by force I’ll have to conclude that you want to wrestle,’ he finished.

A note in his voice warned her that he’d take full advantage of any opportunities she gave him. Muttering something beneath her breath, she slammed the tool into the ground.

‘Wise woman,’ he said unforgivingly, and picked up the implement. ‘The calf, I presume?’

‘It was dead when I went to check it last night.’

He nodded and began to dig, his easy movements showing that hard physical labour wasn’t new to him. Sensation ambushed her as she watched the smooth flexion of muscles through the material of his shirt and trousers, the effortless power that meant he could do the work in half the time that she could.

Subliminal excitement dilated her eyes, sending exquisite little thrills through her. She had to swallow to ease a suddenly dry throat, and turned blindly towards the shed.

‘You look exhausted,’ he said abruptly, not even breathing faster. ‘Did you get any sleep last night?’

‘Not a lot,’ she admitted before realising how shaming a confession that was.

Fortunately he took her admission another way. ‘How on earth do you expect to farm successfully if the loss of one calf does this to you? Go inside and make yourself a cup of tea.’

She swung around to face him, planting her hands on her hips. ‘I’ve been farming on my own for five years,’ she said clearly, ‘and I’ve managed quite well without you. This is my farm and my loss. I’m not going to be sent off to the house to do housewifely things while some big, strong man does the work.’

Eyes half-closed and speculative, he scanned her face then began to move dirt again. ‘Fair enough.’

Astonished, she stared at him.

‘We’ll bury it together,’ he said.

So they did, although he made sure the heaviest work was left to him.

When it was done he helped her move a length of electric fence. Surveying the calves as they frolicked onto the new grass, he asked levelly, ‘Why didn’t you sell this place when your parents died?’

Peta set off for the house, tossing over her shoulder, ‘Why should I?’

‘For a better life?’ Two long strides caught her up.

‘I like farming. And I earn enough to live on.’

‘If you did, you wouldn’t be working at the local petrol station four hours a day.’

She said stiffly, ‘My finances are my concern. The only way you’re going to get me out of here is to force me out. But even if I wanted to sell, I have the calf contract to fulfil.’

‘A contract that wouldn’t stand up in court.’

Although her stride faltered, she walked doggedly on. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I don’t lie.’ When she said nothing he added in a coolly dispassionate tone, ‘When Ian drew it up he must have had his mind somewhere else.’

Colour flicked her skin, but she met his hard scrutiny with desperate composure. Her lack of sleep was showing; she couldn’t process what he was telling her. ‘If that’s true—and I’m not accepting it until my lawyer tells me so—what do you plan to do about it?’

His lashes drooped. ‘That depends on how co-operative you are,’ he drawled.

Assailed by a violent mixture of need and disdain, she sent him a fiery stare.

‘What a commonplace mind you’ve got,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You’re quite safe. I’ve never had to blackmail a woman into my bed, and I don’t plan to start with you.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ She hoped the scorn in her voice hid her sudden humiliating disappointment.

His eyes gleamed. ‘I wonder if you’d allow yourself to be blackmailed.’

Goaded, she snapped, ‘As you’ve just told me you won’t do it, the question is irrelevant.’

He gave her a grin that sizzled through her like honey into pancakes. ‘And you’ve just told me you don’t know which way you’d jump.’ His amusement died and he was all business. ‘I came to tell you that a business call to Japan will probably take most of this afternoon, so the trip to the beach is off. Also, we’ll be going to Auckland at the end of this week.’

‘We?’

‘You and me both.’

How could she dislike him intensely, yet be violently attracted to him at the same time? Automatically she said, ‘I can’t just up and leave the farm.’

‘I’ll send up someone from the station to take care of things.’

Her chin tilted. ‘It takes more than a written list of instructions—’

‘He can start tomorrow. I’m sure that in three days you can teach him enough to keep the place going.’

Suspicion stirred inside her. She frowned at Laddie, who sat back and regarded her with intelligent interest. ‘Why?’

‘Why do I want you to go to Auckland? Because it makes the whole scenario much more likely.’

What about Anna Lee? Peta almost blurted the words out, but another glance at Curt’s hard, handsome face stopped them before they could escape.

Instead, she evaded the issue. ‘I can cope with any social occasion here, but unless you plan to stash me in some motel and ignore me, I haven’t got the right clothes to carry off a masquerade in Auckland. And I won’t accept them from you.’

When he smiled her heart leapt into her throat. That smile had probably charmed the clothes off more women—worldly women, sophisticated and confident—than she’d reared calves. Its blatant charisma was doing an excellent job of scrambling her brain and melting her willpower and softening her heart, and the fact that he knew exactly what effect it was having on her didn’t lessen its impact one bit.

But there was nothing humorous in his tone when he told her, ‘You’ll accept whatever I decide you need.’

Stubbornly she persisted, ‘And even if I did have the right clothes, I don’t have the right attitude.’

‘I don’t plan to hide you away,’ he said easily, ‘and you have exactly the right attitude. As for clothes—that’s easily enough fixed.’

Peta stopped and glared at him. ‘I told you, I’m not going to accept anything from you.’

‘What a sweetly old-fashioned view,’ he drawled.

‘It might be, but it’s non-negotiable.’

‘All right, we’ll hire them,’ he said with insulting negligence. ‘I’ll want you to attend a gala evening with me, and neither jeans and a T-shirt nor the fetching outfit you wore to Gillian’s barbecue will do the trick. And that is non-negotiable, you prickly little wildcat.’

Little? Undecided whether to be furious or charmed, she set off for the house. He hadn’t threatened her openly, but if the contract to rear calves for his dairy operation wouldn’t stand up in court Curt could pull the plug on her any time.

He had her exactly where he wanted her—on toast. Helped, of course, by the wistful part of her that would like to go to Auckland, to be with him, to hear him talk and make him laugh…

Taking her silence for assent, he said, ‘I’ll send a helicopter to pick you up on Friday morning. A farmhand will d be here at three this afternoon when you come back from your stint manning the petrol pumps.’

Peta saw salvation. ‘I forgot—there’s no way I can come. I work at the service station over the weekend.’

‘He’s already found someone to take your place.’

Outraged, she hid a thread of panicky fear with aggression. ‘What did you do—threaten Sandy with the loss of the station account?’

‘I didn’t have to. No one is indispensable. Of course I’ll reimburse you for the loss of your wages.’ He waited while she digested this and then finished in a level voice that warned her she’d reached some uncrossable barrier, ‘If it makes you feel better, think of yourself as someone on my payroll.’

‘Technically, I suppose I already am.’ Nevertheless, she felt sleazy and oddly compromised as she finished shortly, ‘All right.’

‘Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

By then they’d reached the gravel turning area outside her house. Peta gazed resentfully at the Range Rover and asked, ‘Tomorrow? Why?’

He opened the vehicle door and surveyed her with cool intimidation. ‘Because I’m supposed to want to.’ The cynical note in his voice deepened. ‘I’m intrigued by you, remember? Fascinated, in fact; so much so that I can’t wait to get you into bed.’

Reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms and bent to kiss her startled gasp from her lips.

It didn’t last long, that kiss, but it did a complete demolition job on the few remaining shreds of her composure. When he stepped back she was awash with dizzying and highly suspect pleasure, her mouth slightly parted, lashes drooping over sultry eyes.

The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive scarcely impinged until it stopped a few feet behind the Rover. She turned a dazed, flushed face towards it, barely able to focus on the sign on the door of the utility.

‘Tanekaha Station’, she read, and the man looking out from it was Ian.

So Curt must have recognised the engine and kissed her to make a point.

Acutely aware that Curt’s hand had come to rest on her shoulder, she tried to produce a smile. Her effort was wasted; Ian wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Curt’s face, and instead of his usual expression there was a set weariness in the blunt features.

Curt didn’t move; she sensed a waiting, cold patience, the concentrated intensity of a predator watching its prey. And something else, a primitive possessiveness that said bluntly, My woman. Keep away.

‘Hello, Ian,’ Peta said, nerves quivering at the tension smoking around them.

He glanced at her. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Yes, although the calf we got out of the swamp died last night.’ The words sounded unnaturally stiff, almost formal.

He shrugged. ‘It happens. I suppose you’ve buried it?’

‘Curt did,’ she said. ‘He didn’t seem to think I was capable.’

Ian’s face eased into a wry half-smile that vanished when Curt said urbanely, ‘I’m sure you can do anything you put your mind to. It’s just that when I was too young to realise I was being brainwashed, my mother drummed into me that because men are stronger than women they do the heavy work.’

A subtle challenge underpinned the teasing words, and the pressure of his long fingers on her shoulder warned her to follow suit.

Pinning what she hoped was a carefree smile to her lips, she said, ‘Whereas my father believed women should be able to look after themselves.’

Ian nodded. ‘OK, then, I’ll see you around,’ he said and put the ute into reverse.

The wheels spun at the weight of a foot incautiously heavy on the accelerator, then gripped and spat out a small spray of stones. When Peta stepped back, Curt’s arm settled around her shoulders. She stiffened, but he turned her towards the house and urged her with him.

‘That should give him some idea of what’s going on,’ he said bluntly. ‘If he wasn’t trying to break my sister’s heart I could almost feel sorry for him.’

Peta tried to shrug free of his arm, but he turned her towards him, examining her face with hooded eyes.

‘Get used to my touch,’ he told her, his survey as dispassionately relentless as the tone of his voice. ‘He’s still not sure that this is for real; he knows damned well that I’d do anything to save Gillian pain.’

‘You’re a very noble brother.’ She lifted her chin against a betraying surge of painful need.

He dropped his arm and nodded at the door. ‘Invite me inside. I deserve a cup of coffee for my exertions on your behalf.’

‘Unwanted exertions,’ she flashed back, but she opened the door.

Watching her move gracefully about the bleak kitchen, Curt wondered exactly what was going on behind those green, gold-rayed eyes with their dark lashes.

His body stirring in primitive recognition, he thought grimly that keeping a safe distance from her was going to test his willpower. He was no stud, but he was accustomed to having the women he wanted.

What he wasn’t accustomed to—and resented—was that with this woman he barely had control over his reactions.

Deciding to use her to cut Ian’s little idyll short had been foolhardy, but irresistible. His mouth curved satirically as he acknowledged that if he hadn’t wanted her he’d probably have simply made an offer too good for her to resist and bought the farm, making sure she moved as far away from Ian and Gillian as possible.