Bought By A Billionaire

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.