Purchased By The Billionaire

Almost.

Instead she walked at his side, slid into the passenger seat of his top-of-the-range Aston Martin, and maintained an icy silence as he drove across town.

CHAPTER TWO

JACOB was in a large ward, his leg strapped in protective padding, and receiving pain management via a drip.

He looked pale, dejected and almost fearful in the initial seconds before Kayla entered his line of vision, then his expression lightened and he smiled as he sighted the man at her side.

Duardo Alvarez. Their white knight in shining armor. Although dark angel was more appropriate, she acknowledged with wry cynicism.

‘Hi.’ Her greeting was warm with concern as she leaned in close to brush her lips to her brother’s cheek, and heard his barely audible ‘thank God’ seconds before she lifted her head.

In the space of what appeared to be a very short time Duardo organized for Jacob to be transferred to a private suite, engaged a team of orthopaedic surgeons and scheduled surgery.

Omnipotent power, Kayla perceived, backed by unlimited money.

She knew she should be grateful…and she assured herself she was, for Jacob’s sake. It didn’t mean she had to like the deal or the man who’d made it.

The Orderly arrived to effect Jacob’s transfer, and she bade her brother a reluctant ‘goodnight’.

‘I’ll be here in the morning before they take you into Theatre,’ Kayla promised as the Orderly wheeled Jacob down the corridor.

It was after seven when Duardo eased the Aston Martin from the hospital car park, and the evening light was beginning to fade, tinging the pale sky with streaks of pink that gradually changed to orange as he negotiated traffic.

Soon it would be dark, and she wanted nothing more than to return to her apartment, hit the shower and fall into bed.

Except that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, and the bed she’d sleep in wouldn’t be her own, but his.

The mere thought sent heat flooding her veins, and she consciously focused on the scene beyond the windscreen in an effort to divert attention from what the night would bring.

Streetlights sprang on, vying with brightly coloured neon signs, and traffic banked up as main arterial roads linked to traverse the Harbour Bridge.

A short while later Duardo brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine.

Nothing looked familiar—not the locale, the street. ‘Why did you stop here?’

‘Dinner.’ He freed his seat belt and climbed out from behind the wheel. ‘We both need to eat.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

He crossed round to her side and opened the door. ‘Get out, Kayla.’ When she made no effort to move he leant forward to release her seat belt.

The simple action had the breath lodging in her throat as his arm brushed her breast. He was close, much too close, and she froze, unwilling to so much as breathe for the few seconds it took him to complete the simple task.

Arguing with him would get her nowhere. And there was such a thing as sheer cussedness. It had been a while since lunch, and no way could the yoghurt and fruit she’d snacked on be termed a meal.

With that thought in mind she slid to her feet and crossed the street at his side, entering a small restaurant where the maître d’ greeted Duardo by name and personally ushered them to a secluded table.

Kayla refused wine, chose soup as a starter, an entrée as a main, followed by fresh fruit.

‘Would you prefer silence, or meaningless conversation?’

Duardo spared her a faintly mocking smile. ‘You could begin by filling me in on the last few years.’

‘Why, when you already know everything?’ She lifted her water glass and took a sip of the iced liquid. ‘Did you employ someone to watch my every move?’

Duardo leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. ‘Last time I heard, it wasn’t a crime for a man to retain interest in an ex-wife.’

The waiter served their soup, offered crusty bread then retreated as Kayla raked Duardo’s compelling features with something akin to scorn.

‘A wife you deliberately sought with an eye to the main chance.’

His expression hardened, and there was an almost frightening element evident in the depths of those dark eyes.

‘Perhaps you’d care to explain that comment?’

‘The Enright-Smythe consortium.’

‘Indeed?’

His voice was like ice slithering in a slow slide down the length of her spine.

‘Benjamin showed me written proof.’

‘Impossible, given there was none at the time.’

‘You’re lying. I saw the letters.’

‘Which you read?’

The scene flashed vividly to mind, ingrained in her mind as the moment love had died. Papers, Duardo’s name. Her father’s voice, loud and accusing in denunciation.

She’d skimmed the text, sightlessly, before Benjamin had flung the papers onto his study floor and stamped a foot on them.

‘You can’t deny you succeeded in a takeover bid for Benjamin’s company.’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘Did it give you pleasure to watch him sink into bankruptcy?’

His gaze didn’t waiver. ‘Your father’s financial decline provided me with an opportunity to add to my investment portfolio. I’m a businessman. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’

‘Of course,’ she acknowledged with facetious intent, only to lapse into strained silence as the waiter appeared at the table to remove their soup bowls; soup she hardly remembered tasting.

‘A deal brokered after the dissolution of our marriage.’

The tension escalated into a tangible entity. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Any more than you can accept your father might have fabricated a tissue of lies and manufactured supposed proof?’

Shocked anger widened her eyes. ‘He wouldn’t have done that.’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘I was his daughter!’