The Billionaire's Bride of Vengeance

Both were designer pieces but at least they didn’t look it!

The five-minute limit she’d been given was fast approaching by the time she found some clean underwear and got herself dressed. She would have to hurry, since it was imperative she not antagonise the man waiting for her downstairs. The last thing she needed was for him to demand she leave without giving her the opportunity to do what she’d flown back to Sydney to do.

As Nicole quickly wound her damp hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, she regretted not having packed up everything she wanted the moment she’d arrived this morning. That way, she’d have been long gone by now. Unfortunately, when her flight had touched down at Mascot at six this morning, she’d been totally wrecked. She hadn’t slept a wink all night because of a crying baby in the seat behind her. So when she’d let herself into the deserted house—which didn’t even have a For Sale sign outside of it—sleep had beckoned. She’d stripped off and dived straight into the bed which had been hers since the age of nine. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone might come and find her here.

Now she was in the awkward position of having to ask the grump downstairs for a favour. Her name—which had once opened doors to her—was not going to be an asset, either. The name of Power was probably mud around Sydney these days.

With a sigh, Nicole slipped her bare feet into a pair of black mules and made her way reluctantly to the door.

She heard him before she saw him, marching back and forth across the marble-floored foyer, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. As Nicole crossed the carpeted landing which led to the curving staircase, she began picturing an overweight fellow in his fifties with a power complex. So the sight of a tall, dark-haired, well-built man in his mid-to-late thirties came as a surprise, as did the clothes he was wearing.

Nicole might have reached the stage when an expensive wardrobe had lost its appeal for her, but she still recognised top-quality clothes when she saw them. This man’s navy-blue suit was definitely not off-the-peg. Aside from the faint sheen on the material, which shouted a mohair blend, the single-breasted jacket was superbly tailored, with not a wrinkle where the sleeves met the presumably padded shoulders.

For surely they couldn’t be his real shoulders, Nicole thought a touch cynically as she started walking down the stairs. Men who wore suits like that were rarely renowned for their physical fitness.

David had looked extremely well built in all of his business suits. But he’d not been quite so impressive once he’d undressed.

Nicole grimaced. She was always doing that nowadays, finding things to criticise about her ex-fiancé. Yet once she’d thought him fantastic. More fool her!

Suddenly, the man downstairs stopped that infernal pacing and glanced up.

For the first time during the last four months, Nicole was grateful for something her stepfather had once given her—a modelling and deportment course which had also concentrated on self-control and discipline.

She’d never needed both of those things more than at the moment when this man’s eyes met hers.

Blue, they were. Not a bright or a brilliant blue, but an icy blue, about the same colour as his shirt.

It wasn’t the colour of his eyes which rattled her, however, but the intense dislike she glimpsed in their chilly depths.

For a split second her step faltered, but then she continued on down the stairs, smiling at him and pretending he wasn’t looking at her as if she was his worst enemy.

All the while she was wondering why he was so antagonistic towards her, as well as who he might be.

She’d presumed, when she’d first seen his expensive business suit, that he’d been sent from the bank that had repossessed the house. Now that she could see him better, however, she changed her mind on that score.

He didn’t look like a banker. His thick, wavy black hair was worn too long for that career, just reaching his collar at the back. There was also something decidedly unconservative about his roughly hewn features. If she wasn’t mistaken his nose had been broken at some stage. And there was the hint of a five-o’clock shadow around his strongly squared jaw line.

Put him in less elegant clothes, and one would have thought he did something physical for a living. Physical and dangerous.

A prize fighter, maybe. Or a pirate.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she apologised politely as she reached the bottom step.

Russell almost laughed. She wasn’t sorry about anything.

Females like her thought the world was their oyster. Of course, being rich and beautiful was a powerful combination. Though possibly, now that her doting father’s financial situation had changed, she would have to rely more on her beauty.

It irked Russell that he found her just as attractive with her clothes on, though that image of her in the nude wasn’t far from his mind. It also irked him that she looked fantastic without any of the artifices that were rich bitches’ stock-in-trade.

Not a single scrap of make-up adorned her lovely face, not to mention her even more lovely green eyes.

Hadn’t he known they’d be beautiful?

Of course, they were her mother’s eyes.

He stared hard at her and tried to see what she’d inherited from her father, beside her natural air of self-containment.

‘And you are?’ she asked coolly as she stretched out her right hand towards him.

‘McClain,’ he ground out, steeling himself as he shook her hand. Touching her in any way, shape or form could be hazardous, so he kept any contact as brief as possible. ‘Russell McClain.’

‘That name rings a bell,’ she said, a delicate frown creasing her forehead. ‘Have we met before?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so,’ she mused aloud. ‘But…’ The frown abruptly disappeared, replaced by a smile which twisted Russell’s gut into a terrible knot. ‘I know who you are now,’ she said with a flash of recognition. ‘You’re the McClain on all those For Sale signs around Sydney. You’re McClain Real Estate.’

‘That’s me,’ he admitted.

‘So you’ve been hired to sell the house.’

‘No.’

She looked taken aback. ‘I don’t understand. If you’re not here as a real-estate agent, then why are you here?’

‘I’m here, Ms Power,’ he said, his mouth curving in anticipation of his moment of triumph, ‘not to sell this house, but to take possession of it. As of an hour ago, it’s mine, along with all its contents.’

Once again, he was denied satisfaction. Because she didn’t look devastated. Just surprised.

‘Goodness! That was quick. Did you get a bargain?’

‘I paid the market price,’ he said somewhat stiffly. Why wasn’t she more upset?

The answer was obvious: because she already knew about the bank’s repossession and probable fire-sale. Why? Because she was still in touch with her doting father.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘I would have thought the bank might have auctioned it. But no matter. My only concern is removing my personal things.’

‘Why didn’t you remove them before this?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I would have if I’d known the situation. But I didn’t. I’ve been overseas for the last few months. Although once Mum contacted me and told me what had happened, I flew back straight away. My plane got in first thing this morning. I honestly didn’t think it would cause any trouble if I came here to collect my things. I didn’t mean to stay long, but I was so wrecked after the flight that I couldn’t resist a sleep.’

‘I see,’ he bit out. Now he knew why she hadn’t been in the news lately. She’d been overseas. Probably staying in various playgrounds of the rich and famous: St Moritz, the French Riviera, maybe the Greek islands? Her skin had that warm, honey colour which indicated a life of leisure in the sun.

‘Look, it won’t take me too long to pack what I want,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘I promise I won’t take anything I shouldn’t. The household silver is safe, I can assure you,’ she finished with another of those gut-twisting smiles.

Damn it all, what was it about this creature which entranced him so?

He wanted to hate her, but he was finding it darned difficult.