Bought By A Billionaire

Bought by a Billionaire

Kay Thorpe

Bedded by…

Blackmail

Forced to bed…then to wed?

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

AT LEAST he hadn’t refused outright to see her, although he must be aware of why she was here. Aware of curious glances from staff in the vicinity, Leonie kept her face blank of expression. Vidal’s arrival, along with her father’s absence, would have given rise to some speculation, but she doubted if the full facts were known as yet.

The man who emerged from what had been her father’s office looked far from happy. Leonie couldn’t blame him for avoiding her eyes. She only hoped he hadn’t lost his job as a result of not realising what was going on.

She waited on tenterhooks for the summons to the inner sanctum herself, dreading the moment of confrontation. It was two years since she had last seen the man she was about to beg for forbearance on her father’s behalf. Two years since she had told him he was the last man on earth she would ever consider marrying. If he still held a grudge against her for that put-down there was little chance of his complying with her plea, but she had to try.

The woman seated at the desk her father’s secretary normally occupied was new to her; she remembered him saying he’d had a change about a month ago. She looked across at Leonie as the intercom buzzed, curiosity written large in her eyes. ‘You can go through now,’ she said.

Leonie got to her feet, steeling herself for what was to come. It was on the cards that she would be emerging from the office again in a couple of minutes with Vidal’s boot—metaphorically if not physically—behind her. Not that he’d be anything but within his rights in telling her to go take a running jump, so to speak.

It was some time since she’d visited her father at work. Spacious and well-lit, his office overlooked the river. Leaning negligently against the windowsill, lean and lithe body clad in a silver-grey suit of impeccable cut, Vidal Parella Dos Santos regarded her in silence for a lengthy moment, his tautly sculpted features unrevealing.

‘You’ve changed little,’ he observed in excellent Cambridge-acquired English. ‘But then, looks such as yours are unlikely to deteriorate.’ He indicated the chair set her side of the wide desk. ‘Please be seated.’

‘I’d as soon stand,’ Leonie answered. She drew a steadying breath, meeting the dark eyes full-on. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how I feel about what my father’s done. He abused your trust in him, and deserves to pay the price for it.’

‘But?’ Vidal prompted as she hesitated.

‘But prison would kill him,’ she said.

One black eyebrow lifted sardonically. ‘So what are you suggesting? That I allow him to get away with embezzlement?’

Leonie put everything she knew into keeping a steady head. ‘I’m asking you to just give him time to put things right again. He can repay what he owes by remortgaging the house.’

‘And how would you propose that he even arranges a mortgage without a job?’ The smile that crossed the hard-boned face when she failed to answer immediately was almost humorous. ‘You expect me to reinstate him too?’

‘He’s unlikely to get another job at all if you prosecute,’ she pointed out. ‘Which means he’s never going to be in a position to pay back. Obviously it would have to be in a lesser capacity.’

‘One denying him any further opportunities to tamper with accounts, you mean?’

Leonie caught herself up, only too aware of being baited. ‘It makes more sense than putting him in a cell.’

Vidal studied her strikingly lovely face, framed by the heavy fall of Titian hair, lowering his gaze with deliberation down the shapely length of her body, then back again. She tilted her chin, green eyes sparking as they met his once more. It was still there: the covetousness that had so alienated her in the past. What this man wanted he was accustomed to getting. Her refusal to marry him had been met with total disbelief at first, followed by cold fury when she’d added insult to injury by saying what she had. There had been no need to go that far, she had to acknowledge now. It said something for him that he hadn’t taken it out on her father at the time.

More than could be said for her father for certain.

‘Did he send you to plead his case?’ Vidal asked.

She shook her head. ‘This is my idea. I don’t condone what he’s done, but I’d hate to see him in a prison cell myself. I’m sure it can be taken for granted that he won’t be doing any more big-time gambling.’

There was a lengthy pause. Leonie wished she could tell what was going on in the arrogant dark head. She was still here. That in itself gave her some hope.

‘You think him ready to carry on here in the circumstances?’ Vidal asked at length. ‘So far only one other person knows the truth of the matter, but even if he were sworn to secrecy there would be speculation.’

Leonie had been holding her breath without realising it, letting it out now on a cautious sigh. ‘Something he’d just have to live with. Part of the price to be paid.’

Vidal straightened away from the windowsill, six feet of vital Portuguese masculinity. ‘I need time to consider,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you my answer tonight. My suite.’ He shook his head as she opened her mouth to protest, a hard glint in his eyes. ‘Eight o’clock. Unless you’d prefer to settle the matter here and now.’

She knew exactly what he meant: the same settlement she would be facing at eight, if she went. There was little point in pleading with him. If she wanted to succeed in her aim, then she paid the price too.

She made no effort to conceal her aversion as she looked at him. ‘I suppose I should have anticipated this.’

Broad shoulders lifted, his expression unrelenting. ‘I’m due some recompense, I believe, but the choice is entirely yours.’

Leonie turned without another word and left the office. She gained the lifts, looking neither right nor left, pressing to descend. Thankfully the cage was empty when it arrived. Facing a sea of faces would have tested her to the limit.

One thing was certain: there would be no renewal of the marriage proposal tonight. Vidal would be seeking to humiliate her as she had humiliated him two years ago. There was one very good way of doing that: by making her submit to him. The very thought of it made her cringe inside, but if it meant keeping her father out of prison she could live with it. She would have to live with it.

It was raining when she got outside. Lacking an umbrella, and unwilling to have the pale beige suede suit she was wearing ruined, she sought refuge in a nearby coffee shop. Others had done the same thing, limiting table space, but she found a seat at the window bar, gazing unseeingly out at the hurrying crowds as she thought about the man she had just left.

One of Europe’s leading industrialists, at the age of thirty-five Vidal Parella Dos Santos was regarded as something of a phenomenon. Born into Portuguese aristocracy, he could have idled his way through life any way he chose. Leonie had met him for the first time some weeks after her father had become chief accountant of the London company. She’d been drawn to him at first, she had to admit: few women could fail to find his looks alone an attraction. What she’d taken against was his arrogant assumption that he could have any woman he wanted for the mere asking. It had come as a shock when her refusal to sleep with him had resulted in a proposal of marriage, but she had been under no illusions. All he saw, all he coveted, was the outer shell. He knew nothing of the person she was inside, nor wanted to know. Once he’d tired of her she would have been discarded, like all his other women.

Her father knew nothing of the proposal. Since losing her mother four years ago, he had shown little interest in anything except work—or so she’d believed. Exactly when the gambling habit had started she wasn’t sure. Long enough to have gone through more than eighty thousand pounds of company money, at any rate. Like most gamblers, his losses had far outweighed his gains.

He wasn’t going to prison, she vowed. Vidal could have his pound of flesh, if that was what it was going to take. There was always the chance that he would renege on the deal, of course, but she somehow doubted it. Whatever else he might or might not be, his reputation as a man of his word once given was widely known.

It was gone four by the time she reached the Northwood Hills home she still shared with her father. At twenty-six, and earning a decent salary, she could afford a place of her own, even if only to rent, but he refused to move somewhere smaller, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave him to rattle around the house in solitude. Not that he might have any choice but to sell up if the worst did come to the worst.

Stuart Baxter was seated at his desk in the study, playing listlessly with the executive toy Leonie had bought him as a joke last Christmas. He looked up at her entry, eyes lacklustre, expression downcast. He’d looked much the same when he’d told her the truth last night.

‘I still haven’t heard anything,’ he said dully. ‘I keep expecting to find the police at the door any minute!’

‘It may not come to that.’ Leonie did her best to sound upbeat. ‘I’ve been to see Vidal. Obviously he’s not exactly over the moon about it all, but there’s a good chance that he won’t be prosecuting. Even a chance that he’ll keep you on, if you arrange to pay back the money you’ve taken.’

Stuart gazed at her in silence for a lengthy moment, a variety of expressions chasing across his face. ‘How on earth did you manage that?’ he asked at last. ‘You hardly know the man!’

Leonie crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I appealed to his better nature.’

‘He didn’t give the impression of having one when I saw him yesterday.’ Stuart paused again, obviously at something of a loss. ‘What exactly did you say to him?’

‘I gave him my assurance that you’d chop your fingers off rather than risk gambling again,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’

The smile was wry. ‘I’ve learned my lesson on that score, believe me!’ He shook his head, still bemused. ‘It’s more than I could ever have hoped for. More than anyone could hope for!’ He hesitated before adding tentatively, ‘I suppose everyone knows by now?’

‘Only one, apparently, although there’ll no doubt be some talk among the staff. Anyway,’ Leonie added hardily, ‘facing gossip has to be better than going to prison, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course. Don’t think I’m not grateful!’ He shook his head again. ‘I can still hardly believe he’s even considering not prosecuting, much less keeping me on! Did he give any indication of when he might let me know his decision?’

‘You should know by tomorrow,’ she said, closing her mind to the possibility that it could still all go wrong.

She left him to think about it, heading upstairs to her bedroom. It was a relief to be alone for a while. By eight o’clock she had to be in complete possession of herself, focussed on one thing, and one thing only—getting her father off the hook he’d forged for himself. Easier said than done, when every instinct in her fought against what was to happen, but there was no other choice. Vidal’s pride must be satisfied.

Despise him though she did, there was no denying the physical pull he still exercised. She’d felt it the moment she set eyes in him again. There had been media reports linking him with various women over the past couple of years, but none of them had lasted long. If she’d been fool enough to marry him she would very likely have fallen by the wayside herself long before this, with the only difference being that she could, had she been so inclined, have taken him for enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Some would call her a fool for not seizing the opportunity.

The only foolish thing she’d done was to get involved with him at all, she reflected ruefully. It was hardly as if she’d been unaware of his reputation where women were concerned.

She made no effort when it came to choosing an outfit for the evening, opting for a plain grey skirt and white blouse over her least glamorous underwear. She was allowing herself no emotionalism at all over this affair. It was the only way she was going to get through it.

She had booked a taxi to take her back into town. Expensive, but she didn’t feel like facing another train journey. Allowing for all eventualities, she told her father she was meeting a girlfriend from work, and might spend the night at her flat.

Vidal kept permanent hotel suites in several cities. Drawing up outside the Mayfair edifice he graced with his presence when in London—knowing exactly what she faced in there—Leonie felt like some high-class prostitute. There wasn’t, she supposed, all that much difference when it all boiled down.

Already in possession of the suite number, she was at least able to avoid asking at reception. The suite itself was on the top floor. She steadied herself with hard purpose before knocking on the solid mahogany door.

Vidal opened it, regarding her with lifted brows as she stood there silently waiting. Dressed now in trousers and casual shirt, he looked no less formidable to her than earlier.

‘To the minute,’ he observed. ‘Come in.’

The doorway was wide. Even so, he was uncomfortably close as she stepped past him into the spacious living area. The place had been redecorated since her last visit—that was her first, totally irrelevant thought. The colour scheme was now a gracious symphony in mingled blues and greys, with touches of scarlet, the carpet underfoot stretching away like a silver-grey sea to the beautifully draped windows. An arrangement of fresh flowers on a side table gave off a delicate scent.

‘Nice,’ she commented, determined to appear on top of the situation. ‘They do you proud.’

‘For what it costs, so they should,’ came the dry response. ‘But you’re not here to discuss the décor.’

‘True.’ Leonie turned to look him in the eye, hating him for what he was forcing her to do; hating herself for doing it. ‘I want your assurance re my father before anything takes place between us.’

Vidal slanted a lip. ‘You’d take my word for it?’

‘Oddly enough, yes,’ she said, hoping her faith in at least that aspect of his character wasn’t misplaced.

The slant increased. ‘Then you have it, of course. A drink before we eat, perhaps?’

‘Eat?’ She was totally thrown for a moment. ‘I thought…’

‘You thought I had but the one thing in mind,’ he finished for her as she let the words peter out. There was derision now in the dark eyes. ‘My sins are many, but crude I have never been.’

‘What else would you call this whole…arrangement?’ she asked.

‘A mutual benefit,’ he returned imperturbably. ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours—isn’t that the saying here? Very appropriate in the circumstances, don’t you think?’ He didn’t wait for any response. ‘What will you have to drink?’

About to decline the offer, Leonie abruptly changed her mind. If Vidal was intent on drawing this out, she was going to need some extra stimulus. ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic.’

He waved a hand in the direction of the nearest sofa. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

That, she thought caustically, was a laugh in itself. She felt like a cat on hot bricks. Her eyes followed him almost involuntarily as he crossed to the drinks cabinet, registering the fluid movement of his body, the ripple of muscle beneath the fine cotton of his shirt, the firm male hemispheres. He must work out regularly to keep himself in such trim, she reflected, unable to keep her physical responses totally under control. Out of bed, and in it!

She had taken a seat by the time he had the drinks poured. He made no attempt to sit down beside her, but chose a chair set at right angles, crossing one leg comfortably over the other. The action pulled up his trouser leg enough to reveal a narrow area of bare, bronzed skin. He would be that colour all over, came the thought, hastily thrust aside.

‘So what do you suggest we talk about while we wait for our meal to arrive?’ he asked. ‘Or perhaps it should be my place, as host, to open the conversation?’

‘I really don’t care,’ she said, fighting to maintain a composure threatening to disintegrate any moment.

‘So tell me how you enjoyed your trip to Paris last month.’

Green eyes widened in startled question. ‘How do you know I was in Paris last month?’

‘I’ve made it my business to know all your movements over the past two years,’ he returned without turning a hair. ‘I know, for instance, that there isn’t now, and hasn’t been, any serious relationship with a man.’

‘You’ve been spying on me?’ She was too stunned at the moment for anger.

The dark head inclined. ‘I prefer to call it taking an interest. Had you become involved with anyone, it would have been a short-lived affair.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The anger was coming through now, bringing her to the edge of her seat, eyes stormy. ‘Having had the temerity to refuse you, there was no way I should be allowed to find anyone else!’

‘Correct.’ There was no note of apology in his tone. ‘Did you really think I was going to simply forget the things you said to me? Do I need to remind you of what you did say?’

Leonie bit her lip, the memory only too clear in her mind. She’d gone overboard in an effort to blot out any temptation to say yes—to burn all bridges in effect. Telling him he was the last man on earth she’d ever consider marrying had been the least of it. Even now, the invective she’d used to ram home the message made her curl up inside.

‘So I went a little too far,’ she said stiffly. ‘I admit that. But it’s no excuse for what you’ve been doing. People go to jail in this country for stalking someone.’

The shrug was dismissive. ‘Considering that you yourself never noticed you were under surveillance, I doubt if any such accusation would be taken seriously. Anyway, the question is of little importance now. I’ve found other means of achieving redress.’

‘The word you’re looking for is revenge,’ she retorted, taking a hold on herself. ‘Hardly an honourable aim!’

‘But satisfying.’ Vidal straightened as a knock came on the outer door. ‘Dinner, I believe.’

The waiter who wheeled in the loaded white-clothed trolley was unobtrusive in his movements, transferring the contents to the table in an off-set dining area without speaking. He looked happy enough, however, with the size of the tip Vidal handed over.

‘Come and eat,’ the latter invited when the door closed in the man’s wake. ‘You’re fond of seafood, if I recall.’

The last thing Leonie felt like at present was eating, but there was nothing to be gained by refusing. She got up, unsurprised by the unsteadiness in her lower limbs, and went to the table, passing by the door leading to the bedroom on the way. In an hour or so they would be in there doing what she was here to do. Whether Vidal would be prepared to let her leave immediately afterwards was open to question, but the ordeal had to be over some time. All she cared about—all she’d allow herself to care about—was getting her father back on track.

As anticipated, the meal was excellent, though so far as Leonie was concerned she might as well have been chewing on sawdust. Vidal allowed her just one glass of wine, declaring his wish to have her compos mentis, not falling asleep on him.

‘You’re actually admitting that a woman could fall asleep on you?’ Leonie asked with deliberation, drawing a brief smile.

‘Only under the influence of too much alcohol.’

‘It must be great,’ she murmured, ‘to have so much confidence in one’s abilities!’

For the first time there was a genuine amusement in his eyes. ‘Unlike a woman, any man lacking confidence in that particular ability could find himself devoid of it altogether. An unfair difference in physiology.’

‘Meaning a woman can pretend to be aroused?’

‘Precisely.’ Dark eyes glinted. ‘Not that I anticipate any problem in that direction.’

‘Being the expert you are.’

The sarcasm left him unmoved. ‘If you think to annoy me, forget it. I intend enjoying every moment of our time together. That means that you enjoy it too. And you will.’

Leonie bit back a caustic retort. She could vow to remain physically unresponsive to him, but the way her body reacted to his very presence made it unlikely. All she could do was keep those responses to the barest minimum.

The meal ended with a chocolate mousse that melted in the mouth and was nigh on impossible not to get pleasure from. Leonie took her time eating it, savouring every mouthful. Vidal watched her without comment, though with no sign of impatience, his whole attitude one of a man totally at ease with himself. She longed to disrupt that equanimity, but could think of nothing short of another burst of invective that might do the trick. With her father’s fate still in the balance, she couldn’t afford to take any risks.

Finished at last, she laid down her spoon, eyeing him across the width of the table with conflicting emotions, both hating the thought of what was to come, and yet undeniably stirred by it too: mind not strong enough to exercise full control over matter, she concluded ruefully.

‘So, let’s get it over with, then,’ she said. ‘The sooner I’m out of here, the better!’

Vidal linked both hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair to view her with irony. ‘Time is of no importance. We have the whole night ahead of us.’

Leonie had been more than half expecting it, but that didn’t mean she had to accept it without question. ‘If my humiliation is all you’re after, you don’t have to go to such lengths,’ she said. ‘In fact, you’ve already succeeded.’

‘Suggesting that I should be content to let it go at that?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve waited too long for this moment. I should mention, too, that if you hoped to deter me by dressing like some secretary, you were sadly mistaken. I find the severity of your clothing a tantalising contrast with what I know lies beneath.’

‘You have no idea what lies beneath!’ Her indignation was ridiculous in the circumstances, Leonie knew, but she was too incensed to care. ‘I didn’t allow things to get that far between us!’

His smile was slow, his enjoyment at her discomfiture obvious. ‘I don’t need my eyes to tell me what my hands have already discovered. Your skin is smooth as silk, your breasts firm and full, your waist slender above the curve of hip that so excites a man, your—’

‘Stop it!’ Leonie’s cheeks were burning, her whole body tingling. ‘I don’t want to hear any more!’

‘You’ll be hearing a lot more than that before the night is over,’ he said. ‘Speech can be as much a part of lovemaking as action.’

‘You call what you’ve got in mind making love?’ she retorted scathingly.

His lips slanted again. ‘Had I been capable of what you apparently have in mind, I would have taken you that way two years ago. As I already told you, I intend you to enjoy our time together as much as I will myself. But not quite yet,’ he added. ‘First a brandy, I think, and a little music to set the mood. Perhaps we may even dance.’

Leonie held her tongue, unwilling to set herself up for any further ridicule. Whatever Vidal’s intentions, she had no choice but to go along.

He saw her seated on the same sofa she had occupied earlier, switching on some hidden player on his way to get the drinks. Soft music filled the room. Nothing Leonie recognised, but soothing, she had to admit.