Captured by the Billionaire

The ironic question brought a smile. ‘I’d love to meet them, and the launching of a new wine is a very special occasion…’

Her voice trailed away. How could she explain that she didn’t want to appear to his friends as his latest conquest, arm candy for a successful man?

Before she could go any further, he said, ‘New Zealanders are notoriously informal, and I can promise you the invitation is genuine. Aura suggested we come for lunch and look around their garden as that’s your interest.’ And, when she hesitated anew, he added, ‘She recognised your name and has read some of your columns.’

Somehow that appeased her uncertainty. ‘I’d love to go,’ she said quietly.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Then we’d better move. Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll be there,’ she promised and headed back into her bedroom.

Once inside, she stood still in the middle of the room and took several deep breaths, trying to clear the fog of confusion and frustrated desire from her brain.

The perfume from the rose drifted up, softly seductive, and she said beneath her breath, ‘That’s enough of that, thank you! I need a clear head right now.’

She filled a glass with water and popped the flower into it, ruefully examining a tiny bead of bright blood where a thorn had broken the skin on her thumb.

For some reason she didn’t want to analyse what had happened out there on the terrace. Tiny tantalising prickles of sensation ran across her skin as she remembered…

Stop it, she commanded her wayward mind. So she enjoyed Alex’s kisses—too much—and, judging by his initial reaction, he’d enjoyed her response.

And then he’d shut down. Again.

Why? And where—if anywhere—did they go from here?

She stared at the mirror, absently taking in the luxurious cream and gold opulence of the bathroom. Very feminine. And she’d better not forget that other women would have used this room.

The thought tarnished the residual excitement of his kisses, her pleasure in the day, in the rose.

Once she’d been the unwilling witness to a scene between her mother and her father, when her father had said impatiently, ‘It means nothing, my dear. You are and will always be the only woman I love—any others are mere entertainment.’

Her mother had asked wearily, ‘Do all men feel that way?’

And her father, probably made uncomfortable by his wife’s unspoken grief, had blustered a little before replying, ‘Yes. All the ones I have met, anyway. It is simply the way men are.’

Serina’s experience had backed up her father’s words. Many men—and women—didn’t need to love, or even like someone to want them.

Serina knew she wasn’t that sort of person. She’d promised herself that she’d wait for someone special, someone who would make her feel things she’d never felt before, someone she could respect…

And a year ago that imaginary someone became concrete when she’d met Alex. Now she understood that her wildfire physical response to him had made that decision, rather than anything she knew of his character. In danger of letting passion override everything else, she needed to be absolutely sure of her feelings. And to do that she’d have to learn more about him, respond to him intellectually and emotionally as well as with this consuming, elemental hunger.

Only then could she take the next step.

And by then, she thought with an inward quiver of excitement, she’d understand what that next step should be.

In the meantime, she’d better work out what she should wear to a lunch and reception to launch a new wine.

She chose a sleek, sophisticated suit of fine wool in a deep crimson.

When she emerged in it Alex looked at her and asked, ‘Did you choose that to match the colour of the wine?’

‘It never occurred to me,’ she said, half-laughing.

They drove to the vineyard, where his friends made her welcome. The Jansens were a few years older than Alex, and they lived with their four children in a magnificent house overlooking a wide valley braided with vines that ran down to an estuary. They were a striking couple, interesting and informative, and their garden was superb, a blend of native plants and subtropical exotica that transfixed Serina.

The guests at the launch were an equally international selection; Serina enjoyed chatting with the local residents, and was delighted to see an old friend, daughter of the royal house in a Mediterranean island, now living in a vineyard in the South Island with her handsome husband.

There were others she recognised too. As she sipped an exquisite champagne-style wine at the reception, she caught the eye of another old friend making his way towards them. The handsome scion of a famous French champagne house, Gilberte swooped on her, kissing her on both cheeks.

‘Dearest Serina,’ he said extravagantly, ‘what on earth are you doing here in the uttermost ends of the earth?’

‘She’s with me,’ Alex said from behind her.

Smile widening, Gilberte looked up. ‘Ah, Alex, I should have known you’d be with the most beautiful woman here—apart from our hostess, of course!’

Serina laughed. ‘Same old Gilberte—a compliment for every woman,’ she said affectionately, aware of a prickle of tension that had nothing to do with Gilberte. ‘What are you doing in the den of the opposition?’

‘Oh, Flint and I are old friends,’ he told her, ‘and I come often to New Zealand—just to keep a watch on what they are doing, you understand, but also because I love the place. And because we still sell a lot of champagne here.’

Later, she looked from the window of the small commercial aeroplane as they flew the length of the long, narrow spine of Northland.

Beside her, Alex said, ‘Admit it—you were surprised by the people you met at Flint and Aura’s launch.’

‘A little,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Because New Zealand is so far from anywhere—and looks so small on the map, lost in a waste of ocean—I suppose I’d expected a very insular group, although I’d heard that New Zealanders are extremely friendly.’

‘Well-travelled too,’ he drawled. ‘And accustomed to overseas visitors—we get a lot of them.’

She flashed him a rueful smile. ‘All right, I will admit that the very cosmopolitan guests at the launch surprised me. Apart from the lovely people, the whole occasion was like something out of a dream—the valley with vines braiding the hills and the lovely glimpse of sea, that beautiful house and the wonderful gardens, and some truly fabulous clothes.’

‘I’d have thought you were accustomed to occasions like that,’ Alex observed, his tone ambiguous.

‘It was—’ Serina stopped herself from finishing with special. Because, although she’d thoroughly enjoyed the occasion, it had been made special by Alex. She ended lamely, ‘—lovely. So friendly and warm and—well, just plain fun! The setting was exquisite. I liked your friends very much, and the wine they produce is an inspiration.’

Alex said, ‘I asked Aura and Flint if you could feature their garden.’

‘I—thank you so much,’ she said, more than a little surprised, and touched too. Because they were his friends, she hadn’t ventured anywhere near that subject. ‘That was very kind of you.’

He said, ‘They’re happy for you to do that, but not immediately—it’s holidays next week so they’re taking the children to the Maldives. When they come back they’ll get in touch and we’ll go down in the helicopter.’

‘You have a helicopter?’

‘I share one with Kelt, who lives not far away.’

Well, what had she expected? He shared a private jet with Kelt and Gerd, and as a businessman with worldwide interests he’d need to travel a lot.

She turned her head to scan the two separate seas that gleamed on either side of a green land folded into hills and valleys.

‘The Pacific Ocean on the right,’ Alex told her, pointing out an island-studded coast where beaches gleamed golden and white. He indicated the other side. ‘And the Tasman Sea on the left.’

The Tasman coast was wilder, more rugged, with no islands and long stretches of cliff-bound shore. Rows of breakers marched onto black glistening beaches that swept for miles. Between the seas were farmlands, small villages, the dark sombreness of vast tracts of pine plantations, and mountains covered in a dense cloak of trees.

‘It might look pristine and untouched, but most of it was milled for kauri during the nineteenth century,’ Alex said when she remarked on the huge areas of forest. ‘Originally this was a land of bush, insects and birds, many of them flightless. The only mammals here were three species of bats, plus the seals and sea lions and dolphins and orca and whales in the seas around the coast.’

She said wistfully, ‘It must have been breathtaking to be the first person to step on its shores.’

He regarded her with a slight smile. ‘An explorer at heart, Serina?’

‘Not until now,’ she said, wondering if he might read the underlying meaning in the words.

If he did, he didn’t respond. ‘The Maori colonised New Zealand from tropical islands. They brought kiore—Maori rats—and dogs that started the destruction of the native wildlife, and of course fire and stone axes travelled with them as well. Yet, even after eight hundred or more years of occupation, the birdlife was enough to make the first Europeans marvel at the dawn chorus. Apparently it was so loud they could hardly hear each other speak.’

He pointed out a swathe of silvery trees marching across hills by the sea. ‘Olives—a very successful crop here. And those darker trees are avocados.’ He settled back in his seat. ‘More predators arrived with the European colonists. Apart from a few visionaries well ahead of their time, people have only recently realised how much has been lost, and started working to bring back some of the glories of the past.’

Fascinated, Serina asked, ‘How are they doing that?’

He lifted a brow. ‘If you’re really interested, I’ll take you to see something I’m connected with.’

His sceptical tone irritated her. Did he think she was foolish enough to pretend an interest just to match his?

Probably, she thought realistically.

And why not? He was rich, well-connected and handsome—and, even more than that potent package deal, he possessed a charismatic presence, his combination of effortless male sexuality and compelling authority making him stand out in any company. He probably had gorgeous women flinging themselves at him all the time, wide-eyed with anticipation.

Like several at the launch that afternoon…

The smile she gave him was cool with an edge. ‘Oh, I couldn’t think of taking up your valuable time,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you give me a map, I’ll check it out.’

‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s on my land. I’ll take you. We’ve predator-fenced an area of bush, and when we’ve trapped the rats and weasels and possums and feral cats inside, we’ll return some of the birds that no longer live there.’

Her mother had always said the way to interest a man was to let him talk about himself. Deliberately ignoring the maternal instructions, Serina said, ‘I’d love to see it. What’s the name of that town beneath us?’

‘Whangarei,’ he said. ‘Northland’s only city.’

She looked down. ‘It has a glorious setting—those amazing mountains reaching out into the coast, and the harbour curling up into the heart of the town. But then, everything I’ve seen so far is breathtaking.’

‘There are ugly parts too, of course,’ he said judicially. ‘Some of our towns are old and tired, and some have been built with no regard for the countryside that surrounds them.’

Clearly he loved this part of New Zealand. She said, ‘I’ve read and heard quite a bit about the South Island, but not very much at all about the north.’

‘The South Island is magnificent; we’ll see whether we can get you there before you go back. But I was born and bred in the north—it’s always been home, so to me it’s the most beautiful place in the world.’

Without thinking, she said, ‘It must be wonderful to feel that way about a place.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No,’she said, wishing she’d stayed silent. ‘My parents were Montevellan, and they continually longed to go back. Nice—the Riviera—was only ever a temporary base for them. I think I was born homesick for a place I’ve never known. I’ve always felt alien.’ She shook her head, meeting hooded blue eyes with a tingle of sensation. ‘No, alien is too strong a word; dislocated would be better.’

‘You speak English like a native,’ he commented idly.

She shrugged. ‘Doran and I shared an English nanny and then a governess from Scotland until I went away to school.’

He didn’t seem overly interested—and why should he be? But he asked, ‘You’ve not been to Montevel?’

‘We can’t go. The government banned any member of the royal family from returning.’

‘Ever felt like taking another identity and slipping in to find out what it’s like? Seeing it might wipe out that inborn nostalgia; few places live up to the praise of the people who love them.’

‘I’ve got the same face as my grandmother,’ she said dryly. ‘I don’t think I’d get in. Anyway, I don’t have the courage—or feel the need so badly that I’d break the law to do it.’

‘Does your brother feel the same way?’

Alex watched the expression flee from her face; not a muscle moved, but he felt her resistance as palpably as though she’d shouted it at him.

‘I think so,’ she said remotely, turning her head so that he couldn’t see her face.

He settled back into his seat. Whether or not she knew about Doran’s plotting, she was worried about him. Which probably—no, possibly, Alex corrected himself—meant she did know. Perhaps, in spite of her apparent resignation to her fate, she did crave being a princess of Montevel, in fact as well as in title. He toyed with the idea of asking her directly, but decided against it.

She turned back, and his gut tightened in spontaneous homage. However hard he tried to rationalise his reaction to Serina—and he’d tried damned hard for a fair amount of the previous night—the moment her fingertips had caressed his cheek, such hunger had clamoured through him that he’d forgotten all those excellent reasons for not getting too emotionally involved with her.

Kissing her had been a revelation.

And watching young Gilberte kiss her cheeks had been like a call to arms, a primitive response that negated his understanding that it was nothing more than a greeting between friends. For a moment he’d had to rein in an urge to knock the man away from Serina.

His body clenched. Ruthlessly, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. Gerd needed information—information he wouldn’t get if Alex let his rampant hormones fog his usually logical mind.

Had Serina decided to deflect his interest by pretending to be interested in him?

Two, he thought succinctly, could play at that game.

And if he hurt her?

She might be hurt, he conceded, hardening his resolve, but if her brother went ahead with his plans she’d grieve infinitely more, because it was highly unlikely Doran would survive a foray into Montevel.

Alex made up his mind.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE plane began to descend. Serina swallowed, looking down at a large valley with two small rivers winding through it. They joined to make a lake-like estuary separated from the sea by a gold and amber sandbank. Green and lush, the valley looked remote, like some enchanted place cut off from the rest of the world.

Intrigued, she leaned forward and watched the ground rush to meet them as they banked over another range of hills towards a small airfield. Several private planes were lined up outside a hangar, and she noted two helicopters to one side, as well as a quite large parking area outside another building.

Not exactly the back of beyond, as her nanny used to say.

From beside her, Alex said, ‘Ohinga,’ pointing to a coastal village tucked away beside another, much bigger river, its banks lined with trees. ‘Our nearest shopping centre.’

Catching the shimmer of water beneath foliage, Serina said in surprise, ‘Those trees seem to be growing in the water.’

‘They’re mangroves. They prefer brackish water like tidal rivers and estuaries.’

Mangroves? Serina digested this as the engines changed pitch and they slanted down towards the runway. The excitement she’d been controlling ever since she arrived in New Zealand began to bubble, mixed with a trace of apprehension.

It was sheer overheated fantasy to feel that Alex’s searing kisses had pushed her into unknown territory and changed her life for ever. She wasn’t the sort of person such dramatic, unlikely experiences happened to—and they were only kisses, for heaven’s sake. Not exactly a novelty!

But if his kisses could do that, what would she feel if he touched her even more intimately?

Heat suffused her as her body reacted to that highly subversive thought with brazen excitement.

Even with her eyes fixed onto the scene below, she could sense him beside her—as though he’d imprinted on her at some cellular level, made an indelible impression she’d never be rid of, for ever a part of her…

Oh, calm down and stop being an idiot, she told herself trenchantly. He’s very sexy, very sure of himself, very experienced and he kisses like a god, but he’s just a man.

Once they were safely down she swallowed hard, cast a glance his way and managed to say staidly, ‘I thought mangroves were tropical trees.’

‘They are, but New Zealand has the furthermost south of all mangroves. They grow along estuaries in the northern half of the North Island.’

‘I wonder how they got here?’ Mangroves were safe. If she concentrated on them she wouldn’t be tempted to allow her eyes to linger on his formidably masculine features. ‘I know the seeds float, but there’s a lot of sea between here and the tropics.’

He smiled. Serina’s treacherous heart somersaulted.

‘One suggestion is that seeds could have drifted across from Australia, but I believe the latest theory is that New Zealand and New Caledonia were once connected by a ridge of land or possibly a chain of islands, so the mangroves could have island-hopped south.’

Serina wrinkled her brow, feverishly trying to recollect where New Caledonia was.

‘A large island well to the north and west of us,’Alex provided helpfully.

She nodded as the mental image of the map clicked into place. ‘Colonised by France?’

‘Yes, and still proudly French.’

Don’t look at him—think trees. ‘So the mangroves would have had to adapt to a colder climate here?’

‘Unless they came south during a warmer era and adapted as it slowly got cooler.’

‘Fascinating.’ But she couldn’t think of anything further to say about mangroves. Now what? she thought desperately.

His expression revealed a certain wry amusement. ‘I doubt if many people other than botanists would agree.’

That made her sound like some nerd.

Fortunately, the pilot announced their arrival and everyone stood, the bustle of disembarking saving her the necessity of having to reply.

OK, so nerd she was. That had to be an advance on considering her just another effete aristocrat trading on a title to earn a living.

Anyway, she thought stoutly, I don’t care what he thinks. And knew she lied.

Again, a car was waiting for them on the ground but, instead of a well-dressed businessman, this driver was a woman a few years older than Serina, clad in jeans and a woollen jersey that didn’t hide any of her admirable assets.

‘Hi, Alex,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘Good trip?’

To Serina’s surprise, Alex bent his head and dropped a swift kiss on her cheek before saying, ‘Serina, this is Lindy Harcourt, who manages Haruru’s finances for me. Lindy, Princess Serina of Montevel.’

‘Just Serina, thank you,’ Serina emphasised, and held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Lindy.’

Lindy’s grip was strong. ‘Oh, good, I was wondering if I’d have to call you Your Highness.’

‘Not if you want me to answer,’ Serina said forthrightly.

The other woman bestowed a smile on Serina that held no more than a hint of speculation. ‘That’s all right, then.’ She glanced down at Serina’s suitcase. Clearly she’d expected more because she commented, ‘I needn’t have brought the Land Rover, after all.’

Which made a foolishly sensitive Serina wonder if Alex’s female visitors usually arrived with a vast wardrobe. Assuming she’d have no need for them, she’d sent most of her formal clothes back to Nice.

Too late now, she decided pragmatically, shrugging off the thought.

Alex picked up his and Serina’s bag and headed through the small arrivals area. She was intrigued when various people there nodded to him; clearly he was liked, but an element of respect in their attitudes impressed her. These people, like the guests at the wine launch, instinctively recognised his formidable strength.

Out in the car park, Alex said to Lindy, ‘The keys, please.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She handed them over and once the vehicle was unlocked slipped into the back seat.

Alex swung the bags into the boot, then held open the door to the front passenger seat and Serina got in, wondering about Lindy Harcourt. There was an easy camaraderie about her interaction with Alex that spoke of something more than simple friendship.

To her shock, Serina realised she was prickly as a cat, tense and smouldering with a completely unrealistic jealousy. The kisses they’d exchanged didn’t give her any claim on Alex.

As he set the Land Rover into motion Lindy leaned forward and asked, ‘So how did Rosie’s wedding go?’

‘Very well,’ Alex said briefly.

Lindy’s laugh held a note of amused resignation that should have soothed Serina’s feelings. ‘And that’s all you’re going to say about it, I suppose. Serina, you’ll have to tell me everything.’

‘I’d be glad to,’ Serina said. She added, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so completely happy.’

‘Rosie does radiance very well,’ Lindy said.

Serina bristled. It seemed an odd thing to say in front of Rosie’s brother. ‘She looked utterly exquisite and yes, very happy, but I was actually referring to Gerd. They made a magnificent couple.’

Surely that would put an end to any conjecture about whether or not her heart was broken. Almost certainly she was being absurdly—and uncharacteristically—oversensitive; nobody here could possibly be interested in gossip from half the world away!

Her eyes drifted to Alex’s hands, lean and competent on the wheel as he manoeuvred the Land Rover onto the road. Adrenalin tore through her, clouding her brain and fuelling a nerve-racking increase in heart rate.

She twisted to look out of the side window. How could a glimpse of his hands do that? It was almost indecent.

Valiantly, she kept her eyes fixed on the countryside sliding past them—lush green pastures backed by ranges tinged a soft silver-blue as they disappeared into the distance.

Trees, she thought, remembering the mangroves.

She swallowed and said briskly, ‘What are those trees? The ones so shamelessly flaunting their autumn leaves? I didn’t expect autumn colour here—I had the impression the climate was almost subtropical.’

‘Not quite—warm temperate is the official classification,’ Alex told her, turning off the bitumen onto a narrow road that immediately began to twist its way up into the hills. ‘Which means we can ripen certain sorts of bananas here. The liquid ambers you noticed are some of the few that do colour up in the north, along with persimmons and Japanese maples.’

From the back Lindy asked, ‘Are you interested in gardening, Serina?’

‘Very,’ Serina told her.

‘The Princess writes a column for one of the European glossies,’Alex said. He sent a sideways glance at Serina. ‘Although it’s more about gardens than gardening, I assume.’