Seduction: The Billionaire's Bride of Vengeance

It was another bedroom, very pretty and very feminine.

The queen-sized bed had obviously been slept in, the gold satin quilt thrown back, the pillows crumpled.

The sound of water running was definitely louder in there, though the singing had suddenly stopped. Slipping inside, Russell made his way silently across the room, noting the bundle of cheap-looking clothes thrown carelessly on the floor next to the bed.

He shook his head at the sight. The hide of this woman!

When he reached what he presumed was the bathroom door he considered knocking first, but decided against giving this bold interloper any warning.

Too bad if she was stark naked, he decided angrily as he reached for the door knob. Squatters didn’t deserve any consideration or respect.

Without thinking of the possible consequences of his actions, Russell turned the knob and pushed open the door.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was naked, with the kind of body which took a man’s breath away: tall and slender, with long legs, perfect breasts and a pert but curvy little bottom.

She didn’t notice him standing there, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she vigorously shampooed her long, fair hair.

Russell made no move to make his presence known to her. He was way too busy admiring the view. Yet he’d never been the kind of man to openly ogle women, or to salivate over centrefolds.

But he was on the verge of salivating now, not to mention succumbing to an increasingly forbidden fantasy.

Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman …

On the whole, Russell didn’t find his mainly celibate lifestyle too much of a hardship. Working twenty-four-seven absorbed his energies to a large degree. But at least once a month his male hormones would rebel.

Despite not being traditionally handsome, Russell never had any trouble attracting women, especially when he put himself in an environment conducive to seduction. Sydney nightclubs always had a plethora of beautiful young things who were only too willing and eager to accommodate him, first on the dance floor and then in his bed.

Possibly, some of these girls had hoped things would progress beyond the kind of brief, strictly sexual liaisons Russell indulged in, despite his always having made it clear right from the start that it wouldn’t.

And it never did. Relationships were definitely not on Russell’s agenda. Never had been, never would be. Something had happened to his heart after his father’s death: it had lost the capacity to love and to trust. His heart had become hard, he knew.

However, another part of Russell’s body was hard at this precise moment.

Frustration raged as he continued to look at the naked nymph in the shower. Frustration, plus the wickedest of temptations.

When her hands lifted to smooth her soapy hair back from her forehead, she tipped her face up into the spray, turning it this way and that.

Russell’s fascinated gaze fastened on her face. She was beautiful, with delicate features and clear skin. Of course, he couldn’t see her eyes, which remained tightly shut. But it seemed impossible that Mother Nature could have fashioned a creature so lovely, then given her ugly eyes.

No, they would be beautiful, like the rest of her.

Once she opened them, however, and saw him standing there, staring at her, all hell would break loose. She would probably scream the place down.

I should have called the police and not burst in here, Russell realised with hindsight.

Experience had taught him that squatters and runaways were extremely wily. If he called the police now, he wouldn’t put it past this girl to concoct some story that he’d invited her here. She might even cry rape. And they just might believe her, given her looks.

Russell did the only thing he could, under the circumstances. He backed out of the room, shutting the door very quietly behind him. There he waited till the shower was turned off and sufficient time had passed for her to have dried and dressed herself.

Then he did the right thing.

He knocked.

‘Who is it?’ the girl called out.

‘More to the point, who are you?’ he challenged.

‘Nicole Power,’ she called back.

‘Who?’ Had he heard right? Had she really said she was Nicole Power? Surely not!

‘Nicole Power,’ she repeated.

Shock rendered Russell speechless.

Nicole Power! Of all people! Of all women!

He hadn’t recognised her. Not without her clothes on, and not without her eyes open.

Even worse was the fact that he’d fancied her. No, that was an understatement. He’d lusted after her, with a force that was as blind as it was almost overpowering.

For a moment back there in that bathroom, when he’d believed she was a penniless runaway, he’d imagined making her an offer that was as wrong as it was wickedly exciting.

‘You can stay,’ he’d envisaged himself saying, ‘but you’ll have to move into the master bedroom. And you’re never to cover that beautiful body of yours with clothes.’

A quite irrational fury fuelled his tongue.

‘Aren’t you aware that your father no longer owns this house?’ he snapped. ‘You have no right to be here. No right at all.’ And no right to make me want to seduce you!

‘Look, I can explain,’ she said in a lilting voice which was as attractive as her singing, ‘but it’s rather difficult talking through the door.’

‘Then come out and explain,’ Russell commanded gruffly.

‘I can’t. I don’t have any clothes with me. And I’m not coming out wrapped in a towel!’

Russell grimaced. Little did she know but he’d seen her in a lot less.

It was no wonder he hadn’t recognised her, he supposed. He’d never seen Power’s daughter in the flesh before, so to speak, only a few times on the TV news, hosting one of her never-ending birthday parties. Her twenty-first a few years ago had been so obscenely expensive that it had received extensive coverage. Admittedly, she hadn’t been on the TV lately. He did recall seeing her on the news about six months ago, going to the première of a movie, sashaying up the red carpet, dressed up to the nines and with not a hair out of place as she’d flashed her pearly whites for photographers.

He’d always thought her the ultimate rich bitch, groomed within an inch of her life. He’d also cynically believed that nothing about her skin-deep beauty was real, especially her long blonde hair. He’d imagined she was a product of a good plastic surgeon and an expert hairdresser.

Now he knew that she was a natural beauty and a natural blonde, courtesy of that small triangle of fair curls he’d glimpsed between her legs.

Damn! He had to stop thinking about things like that.

‘What say I meet you downstairs in ten minutes’ time?’ she suggested through the door.