Bargaining with the Billionaire

She took another mouthful of water, letting it slip down her throat. ‘I thought the idea was to show ourselves off.’

‘Not tonight,’ he said.

She stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘Think, Peta,’ he drawled in the tone she had come to hate. ‘We haven’t seen each other for three days. Why would we want to go out when we can spend the evening alone together?’ He invested the final sentence with a mocking tone that didn’t hide the underlying purr of sensuality.

‘Oh,’ she said numbly. Something twisted in the pit of her stomach, a sharp urgency that played havoc with her concentration. She took another sip and swallowed it too quickly.

Curt said, ‘I thought you might want to ring and make sure that everything’s all right at home.’

‘Yes, I’ll do that.’ She began to stand up.

‘Finish your drink first. Joe won’t be in yet.’

Slowly she drank down the rest of the water while he spoke of the latest entertainment scandal. From there they moved on to books, discovering that although they liked different authors, they had enough in common to fuel a lively discussion.

Then Curt poured a glass of cool, pale gold wine for her, and somehow they drifted into the perilous field of politics. To Peta’s astonishment he listened to her, and even when he disagreed with what she said he didn’t resort to ridicule.

It was powerfully stimulating.

Laughing over his caustic summation of one particularly media-hungry member of parliament, she realised incredulously that she was fascinated by more than his male charisma. And this attraction of the mind, she thought warily, was far more dangerous than lust.

He was watching her, his eyes sharply analytical, waiting for her to answer. Dry-mouthed, she said, ‘I suppose you have to deal with people like that all the time.’

His brows drew together in a faint frown. ‘Most of them are reasonably decent people struggling to juggle a hunger for power with a desire to do some good for the country,’ he said, and glanced at his watch. ‘Do you want to ring Joe now?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ The sun was already setting behind the high, forested hills on the western horizon.

He took a sleek mobile phone from his pocket and handed it over. Their fingers touched, and the awareness that had merely smouldered for the past half-hour burst into flames again.

‘You need to put the number in,’ Curt said softly.

‘Yes.’ Start thinking, she told herself, and clumsily punched in her number, staring at the harbour through the screen of the trees.

Five minutes later she handed back the telephone, taking care to keep her fingers away from his. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said lightly, addressing his top shirt button. ‘Laddie’s decided that as Joe is feeding him, he’d better obey Joe’s calls. Which is good going on Joe’s part, because a lot of the time Laddie doesn’t take any notice of me.’

He asked her about training a cattle dog. Later she thought that he couldn’t have any interest in the trials of coaxing an adolescent dog to deal sensibly with calves, but he seemed interested, laughing when she confessed some of the mistakes she and the dog had made.

They ate dinner out on the veranda while the summer evening faded swiftly into a night filled with the sibilant whisper of waves on the beach below, and the fragrance of flowers in the gathering darkness. Fat white candles gleamed in glass cylinders, their steady flames catching the velvety petals of roses in the centre of the table, winking on the silver and the wineglasses.

And picking out with loving fidelity the strong bones and dramatically sensual impact of the man opposite.

The whole scene was straight out of House and Garden, Peta thought cynically, trying to protect herself from succumbing to the seductive promise of romantic fantasy.

She managed it, but only just. And only, she admitted once safe in her room, because he didn’t touch her at all.

That night she didn’t sleep well, waking bleary-eyed and disoriented to a knock on the door and the shocked realisation that it was almost nine o’clock.

‘Coming,’ she croaked, and scrambled out of bed.

The housekeeper said with a smile, ‘Mr McIntosh suggested I wake you now. He asked me to remind you that Ms Shaw is collecting you at ten, and that he’s meeting you for lunch at twelve-thirty.’

‘I’ll be down in twenty minutes,’ Peta told her.

Liz took her to a salon, where a woman gave her a facial, then checked out the cosmetics she used. ‘Good choices, but I think I’ve got better. Try this lipstick.’

Peta opened her mouth to say she didn’t need any more cosmetics, then closed it again. Being groomed like a prize cow for showing revolted her, but she’d agreed to it.

And when she left Auckland, once Ian was utterly convinced that she and Curt had had a blazing affair, she’d leave this whole deal behind and never, ever think of Curt McIntosh again.

If she could…

Liz dropped her off outside the restaurant. ‘Curt’s always on time,’ she said with her ready smile. ‘He’ll be waiting for you.’

Just how well did she know him? Peta mulled the question over as she walked up the steps, but inside the foyer she forgot everything else. At the sight of Curt a smile broke through, soft and tremulous and entirely involuntary.

His brows drew together, accentuating the powerful framework of his lean face, and then he smiled, and when she came up to him he took her hand and kissed it.

The unexpected caress jolted her heart until she remembered he’d done the same to Granny Wai.

Eyes fixed on her face, he tucked her hand into his arm and said in a voice pitched only for her, ‘That was brilliant. Keep it up.’

His observation slashed through her composure with its cynical reminder of the reason she was there. ‘I hope I’m not late,’ she said, pronouncing each word with care.

‘Dead on time.’ His smile held a predatory gleam. ‘And smelling delicious.’

‘The perfume was horribly expensive,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m glad you think it’s worth it.’

He walked her towards the doors of the restaurant. The head waiter appeared as if by magic, frowning at the hostess who’d come forward to deal with them. ‘Mr McIntosh, this way, please.’

Walking through the restaurant was purgatory; eyes that gleamed with curiosity scrutinised her, and unknown faces hastily extinguished an avid interest. Several people nodded at Curt. Although he acknowledged them, he didn’t stop until the waiter delivered them to a table partially shielded from the rest of the room by a tree in a majestic pot.

With a flourish the waiter produced two menus and recited a list of specials, asked if they wanted drinks, and left them to consider their orders.

‘If you want wine with your meal their list is particularly good,’ Curt told her.

She shook her head. ‘Wine in the middle of the day makes me sleepy. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have some.’

‘I don’t drink in the middle of the day either.’

It was a tiny link between them, one she found herself cherishing for a foolish moment before common sense banished such weakness.

Peta opened the menu and scanned its contents with a sinking heart. ‘You’re going to have to translate,’ she said evenly. ‘I can understand some of this, but not much.’

No doubt Anna Lee was able to read any menu, whatever the language.

He shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. I know you like seafood, so why not try the fish of the day, which is always superb, and a salad? If you feel like something else after that we can look at the dessert list.’

‘I’m not particularly hungry; I’ve done nothing but be pampered all morning,’ she said, closing the menu with relief.

When he didn’t say anything she looked across the table. His expression hadn’t changed, but in some indiscernible way he’d closed her out.

Tersely she said, ‘Isn’t it a little pretentious to have a menu in French?’

Her comment called him back from whatever mental region he’d been in, and she felt the impact of his keen attention.

‘Possibly,’ he said indolently. ‘But as the owner is French, we can forgive her for the quirk.’

‘Well, yes, of course.’ Feeling foolish, she glanced at the tree in its elegant pot, hiding them from most of the restaurant. He’d wanted to show her off as his latest lover, so she was surprised he hadn’t chosen a more public table.

As though the question had been written on her face, Curt said, ‘This is the table I always have; any other would have looked too obvious. At least two tables have a pretty good view of us, and sitting at one of them is the biggest gossip in New Zealand, who hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we came in the door.’ He settled back into his chair and surveyed her with a look of pure male authority. ‘I think another of those tremulous smiles is in order.’

Peta tried, she really did, but the smile he’d ordered emerged glittering and swift, throwing down a gauntlet that narrowed Curt’s eyes.

‘On the other hand,’ he said levelly, ‘perhaps you’re right—a dare is much more intriguing.’

He knew what it was about him that attracted women; the genes that had blessed him with a handsome face and eye-catching height. Well-earned cynicism told him that his first million had boosted his appeal, and each subsequent appearance in the Rich List had only added to his standing amongst a certain sort of woman. Although he enjoyed their company, he’d chosen his lovers with discrimination, always being faithful but always making sure they understood the limitations of the affair.

One or two had wanted more; sorry though he’d been to hurt them, he’d cut the connection immediately. He didn’t want to leave a trail of broken hearts. The rest had gracefully accepted what he was prepared to give, and when the time came for the affair to die they’d accepted that too.

Until he’d seen Peta covered in mud cradling a terrified calf he’d been arrogantly certain he understood women well enough.

He couldn’t understand why she was such a mystery to him. Green, yet not shy, she held her own, challenging him in ways that almost lifted the lid on a streak of recklessness he’d conquered in his high-school years. She was no pushover—except in his arms.

Then she seemed bewildered by her own response. Was she a virgin? Curt moved slightly in his chair, astonished at the sudden clamour in his blood.

Peta said, ‘Which one’s the gossip?’

‘The magnificently primped middle-aged man with the elderly woman.’

Brows climbing, she gave him a swift, mischievous smile that transformed her face for a second. ‘Is he a gigolo?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I’ve never seen one before.’

He laughed. ‘No, he’s not; the woman with him is his mother. An hour after he leaves here, it will be all around town that you and I had lunch together, and by tomorrow the North Island will know you’re staying with me.’

Snidely she returned, ‘Well, those parts of Auckland and the North Island that are interested!’

‘True.’

‘I’m glad no one knows who I am.’

‘They will soon.’

She said in a low voice, ‘Then it’s no use me trying to appear sophisticated and upmarket. Aren’t you worried that once they find out I’m a nothing, nobody’s going to believe that you’re interested in me?’

‘You’re considerably more than a nonentity,’ he said, his ironic tone at startling variance with the slow appraisal he gave her with half-closed eyes. ‘The way you look is what makes this whole thing entirely credible.’

‘You’re telling me that only tall women need to apply to be your lovers? I hope that’s not the only criterion!’

The moment she said it Peta knew she should have bitten her tongue.

Eyes darkening, he leaned forward and said, ‘Not at all. I’m surprised you’re interested.’

‘I’m not,’ she returned smartly, lying valiantly.

He picked up her hand and his touch—so light it skimmed her skin—registered in every nerve in her body with shattering impact. ‘Look at me, Peta.’

Reluctantly, she obeyed.

‘Now smile,’ he commanded quietly.

So she did, shivers of bitter pleasure running through her.

Fortunately the waiter returned then, stopping a few steps away from the table and pretending to straighten the silver on a sideboard until Curt let her hand go. Pink-cheeked and breathing fast, Peta held her head high while Curt gave their orders.

Then he set about convincing the entire restaurant—or those who could see them—that he and Peta were at the start of a red-hot affair.

He did it very well, Peta thought bleakly, smiling like an automaton, trying hard to behave as though she was falling in love with a powerful, incredibly sexy tycoon. Not that he flirted; what was happening was altogether more potent than that light-hearted activity. He simply ignored everyone else in the room, bending his whole attention on her, and it was hugely, headily seductive.

‘You were right,’ she said, putting her napkin down when she’d eaten all she could. ‘That fish was utterly delicious, and so was the salad.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No, thank you.’ She gave a small sigh and forced herself to look at him.

And froze. He was watching her mouth with such absorbed attention that everything around her dimmed and diffused while sensation spun wildly through her body. Stop it, she thought distractedly. Oh, stop it right now!

The pleasant tenor voice from behind her burst into that stillness like a bucket of icy water. ‘Curt, dear boy, how are you?’

It was the gossip, beaming benevolently at them both; his mother was nowhere in sight.

Of course Curt recovered—because he’d been faking it, she thought dismally. He got to his feet and the two men shook hands, after which he introduced the intruder. She recovered her composure enough to smile and say his name and then he and Curt exchanged a few pleasantries. Peta was very aware of the keen, not-quite-malicious interest in the eyes of the older man.

‘I must go,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Are we seeing you tonight at the gallery opening?’

Curt nodded. ‘We’ll be there.’

‘Good, good.’ He said his goodbyes fussily, and left them.

Would Anna Lee be at the gallery opening? Peta’s stomach tightened but she had no right to say no, to turn tail and run.

Outside in the busy street she said, ‘You’ll have to tell me if the clothes I choose will suit the occasion.’

A large car with tinted windows slid to a halt beside them. Curt nodded to the uniformed driver and opened the back door for her. As she lowered herself into the spacious back seat, he said smoothly, ‘I’m sure you’ll look stunning—Liz is good at her job.’

‘I don’t know much about art,’ Peta said flatly. Her mother had spoken to her of the great artists, even showing her books that she’d brought home from the library, but only when her father wasn’t there.

A sardonic smile curved Curt’s mouth. ‘Most people there would probably recognise a Monet, and they might know a Colin McCahon because it’s got writing on it, but that would be about all.’ He looked down at her, and said quietly, ‘You’ll be fine; I’ll be there for you. Moore will take you home now, and I’ll be there around six. Put on your safety belt.’

He waited until it was clipped before closing the door. Peta watched him stride down the street as the big car edged out into the traffic, and hugged his words to her heart. I’ll be there for you, he’d said.

If only, she thought and swift, hard tears ached in her throat.

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