An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire (12 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

W
HEN
D
YLAN
PARKED
the car at the shopping centre Mia removed her seat belt and turned fully to face him. ‘We're not going to do the
Pretty Woman
thing in here, Dylan.'

He knew exactly what she meant and a secret fantasy—or not so secret, in this case—died a quick death.

He didn't argue with her. He'd already forced her into too many situations that she hadn't wanted this week.

He wanted to make her smile. Not frown.

He wanted to make her life a little bit easier. Not harder. And he had been making it harder. He couldn't deny that.

Then walk away now. Leave her be
.

The look on her face when Felipe had snapped that photograph of her... It burned through his soul now. He'd wanted to make it up to her. He'd wanted to make things right. Nothing before had ever stung him the way her rejection of his aid had done.

She heaved out a sigh. ‘Are we going to have to argue about this?'

He shook his head. ‘Tell me exactly what you want to have happen in there.' He nodded towards the shops.

‘I want to walk into a budget chain store, select a pair of board shorts and a swim-shirt, and pay for them with my own money. I then want to leave.'

Precise and exact.

‘Can I make one small suggestion?'

She stared at him as if she didn't trust him and it occurred to him that he didn't blame her. His heavy-handed attempts to come to her defence last Tuesday hadn't been entirely unselfish. He'd wanted that photo.

He'd taken one look at it and he'd wanted it for himself.

He couldn't even explain why!

It was pointless denying his attraction to her, but he had no intention of falling for Mia. It would be a replay of his relationship with Caitlin all over again, and he'd learned his lesson the first time around.

It was just... Mia had got under his skin. He hated the way Thierry treated her. He hated the way Gordon treated her. He chafed at how hard her life was—at the unfairness of it. He wanted her to feel free to laugh the way she had in Felipe's photograph.

It's not your job to make her laugh
.

Maybe not, but what harm would it do?

He shook himself, realising the pause in their conversation was in danger of becoming too charged.

‘It's just a small suggestion.'

She pursed her lips. He did his best not to focus on their lushness, or the need that surged into his blood, clenching hard and tight about his groin. If he stared at them too long she'd know exactly where his thoughts had strayed, and that would be a disaster. For whatever reason, she was determined to ignore the attraction between them. Today he didn't want to force her to face anything she didn't want to face or do anything she didn't want to do.

‘Okay.' She hitched up her chin. ‘What's this
small
suggestion?'

Her tone told him it had better be small. Or else. Her
‘or else'
might be interesting, but he resisted the temptation. Today was about making things easier for her.

‘I have it on pretty good authority that swim-shirts can chafe.'

She folded her arms, her lips twisting as if she thought he was spinning her a story.

‘So you might want to buy a one-piece suit to wear underneath. And, while shirts are great for avoiding sunburn, they don't protect your face, arms and legs, so you might consider adding sunscreen to your shopping list too. And a hat.'

She smiled, and the noose that had started to tighten about his neck eased. ‘I have sunscreen at home. I use it for work. But a new hat might be nice.'

He stared at that smile and then fumbled for the door handle. He needed to get out of the car now or he'd be in danger of kissing her.

‘Let's go shopping.'

* * *

Mia looked cute in her board shorts and swim-shirt—a combination of blue and pink that set off the warmth of her skin and provided a perfect foil for the dark lustre of her hair. She'd look cute in the modest one-piece that he knew she wore beneath too, and while he'd be lying if he said he didn't care about seeing her in a bikini, a large part of him simply didn't care what she wore. That large part of him just wanted her to relax and be happy.

He glanced across. She reclined on a banana lounger, staring at her toes and smiling.

He moved to the lounger beside hers. ‘What are you smiling at?'

Her cheeks went a delicious pink. ‘Oh, I...'

He leaned closer, intrigued. ‘'Fess up.'

Her eyes danced. Not long ago they'd all enjoyed a rousing game of water volleyball in the pool, and it had improved everyone's mood—even Thierry's.

‘This is going to sound utterly frivolous, but... I'm admiring my toes.'

He glanced at her toes and she wiggled them at him.

‘I haven't had painted toenails since I was fifteen or sixteen...and the pedicurist has made them look so pretty.'

They were a shiny fairy-floss pink...and totally kissable.

‘I think I'll sit here and admire them too. They're too cute for words.'

She laughed, and something inside him soared.

‘I've had a really nice afternoon, Dylan. I just wanted to say thank you.'

‘You're welcome. I'm hoping the fun continues well into the evening.'

She glanced across at Carla and Thierry, sitting at a table on the other side of the pool, a giant umbrella casting them in shade. ‘Thierry seems a bit more relaxed today. Maybe pool volleyball is the secret to his soul.'

He found himself strangely reluctant to focus on the other couple's real or imagined issues at the moment. ‘Would you like to see the Jason Gilmore?' At her frown he added, ‘You remember. The photographer Felipe scoffed at?'

She hesitated, and then gestured out in front of her. ‘Can it compete with this?'

He stared out at the view spread before them and then rested his hands back behind his head. ‘Nothing can compete with this view.'

And it was all the better too for having Mia's toes in the foreground.

‘You have a pool that looks like it belongs in a resort.'

The pool was long enough for laps, curving at one end to form a lagoon, with an island in the middle—a handy spot for resting drinks and nibbles. There was an infinity edge that had utterly bewitched Mia when she'd first seen it.

He nodded. The pool
was
amazing. ‘But even better is the view beyond it.'

The Fairweather mansion sat on a headland, and the forest leading down the cliff obscured the beach below, but the Pacific Ocean was spread out before them in all its sapphire glory. Waves crashed against rocky outcrops and the spray lifted up into the air in a spectacular display of the ocean's power. It was elemental, primal and magnificent.

‘We're incredibly lucky to live here.'

‘You are,' she said, but her voice lacked any resentment. She glanced across at him. ‘I suspect you work very hard for your luck.'

He gestured to the pool and the house. ‘We inherited this from our parents.'

She gazed at him, her eyes moss-dark. ‘And yet I bet you'd give it all up to spend just one more day with them.'

Her words hit him squarely in the secret, private part of himself that he let no one but Carla see. If only he could see his father again and ask his advice about how best to deal with his uncle. If only he could sit down with his mother and ask her how he could best support Carla. To have the chance to simply hug them one more time...share a meal with them...laugh with them. His chest burned with the ache of their absence.

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad.'

He pushed himself out of his grief. ‘Not sad.'

She shot him a tiny smile. ‘You're a dreadful liar, Dylan.'

For some reason that made him laugh. ‘I miss them. I don't know what else to say.'

‘You don't have to say anything.'

With Mia he felt that might indeed be true.

‘Is this photograph of yours in your bedroom?'

He stared at her, and a grin built through him. ‘Did you think I was trying to whisk you away under false pretences?'

She pointed a finger at him, her lips twitching. ‘I'm on to your tricks. You are
not
to be trusted.'

‘Ah, but do you
want
me to be trustworthy?' He seized her finger and kissed it.

She sucked in a breath, her eyes widening, and it was all he could do not to lean across and kiss her for real.

If he kissed her now, she'd run.

And he was starting to realise that he'd do just about anything to make her stay. He had no idea what that meant.

‘However, in this instance, madam, I'm being eminently trustworthy. The photo hangs in the formal lounge.'

She glanced at her toes, the view, and then at him. ‘In that case I should like to see it.'

He rose, holding out his hand to her. She hesitated for a beat before putting her hand in his and letting him help her to her feet. He laced his fingers through hers, intent on holding on for as long as she'd let him.

‘Why do you keep it in the formal lounge rather than the living area?'

‘You'll understand when you see it.'

She left her hand in his and it felt like a victory.

* * *

The moment Mia clapped eyes on the photograph she understood why Dylan didn't keep it in the more informal living areas. Even distracted as she was by Dylan's touch, his fingers laced casually through hers as if he was used to holding hands with a woman, the power of the photograph beat at her.

In her entire life she'd only ever held hands with three men—her father, when she'd been very small, Johnnie, when she'd been very stupid, and now Dylan.

You're no longer either very young or very stupid
.

She wasn't convinced about the latter.

She tugged her hand from his to take a step closer to the picture and he let her go—easily and smoothly.

‘It's...awe-inspiring.'

She wasn't sure she'd be able to live with it every day. It was so powerful. She wasn't even sure where the power came from...

On the surface it seemed a simple landscape—a preternaturally still ocean with not a single wave ruffling its surface. In the foreground crouched a grassy headland, with every blade of grass as still as the water—unruffled by even the tiniest of breezes. But storm clouds hung low over the ocean, turning the water a menacing monochrome. Behind the photographer, though, the sun shone fierce, piercing the picture with a powerful light, making each blade of grass stand out in brilliant green relief. The contrast—so odd and so true—held her captive.

‘What do you think?'

She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘Your Mr Gilmore has caught that exact moment before a storm hits—before the wind rushes through and the clouds cover the sun. It's...it's the deep breath. It's like a duel between light and dark, good and evil.'

He moved to stand beside her. ‘I feel that too.'

‘And you know that in this instance the dark is going to win...'

‘But?'

‘But I can't help feeling it's not going to prevail—the dark is only temporary. Once the storm has worn itself out the sun will reign supreme again.'

They stood in silence and stared at it. Mia stiffened.

‘It's about grief and hope,' she blurted out, unable to stop herself. ‘It makes me feel sad and hopeful, and happy...and incredibly grateful, all at the same time.'

She turned to him and found all her emotions reflected in his face.

He nodded. ‘I know.'

‘It's the most amazing picture I've ever seen.'

‘It's the second most amazing one
I've
seen.'

She'd started to turn towards the photo again, but at his words she turned back with a raised eyebrow. ‘You've seen something to top this?'

‘That photo Felipe took of you—it made me feel all of that and more.'

It was as if a hand reached out to squeeze her chest, making breathing all but impossible. ‘Oh, I...'

She didn't know what to say, and the spell was broken when Carla burst into the room.

‘Oh, Dylan!'

It seemed to her that he turned reluctantly. ‘What's wrong?'

Carla wrung her hands, making odd noises in her throat, and Dylan's gaze sharpened.

Mia stepped forward to take her hand. ‘What is it, Carla?'

Carla grasped her hand in a death grip. ‘Oh, Mia, there aren't enough apologies in the world.' Turning to Dylan, she said, ‘Uncle Andrew has just arrived.'

Her words seemed to age Dylan by ten years. It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that there was no love lost between them and their uncle. He must be an utter ogre if his arrival could cause such an expression to darken Carla's eyes. As if...as if she might be
afraid
of the man.

Mia glanced at the photograph that dominated the wall and then pushed her shoulders back, aching to see Carla and Dylan smiling and laughing again.

‘So...your uncle is a storm?'

Dylan's gaze speared hers. She sent him a small smile.

‘I have a relative like that. I guess we'll just have to weather him.' She winked at Carla. ‘Who knows? Maybe Thierry will charm him.'

Carla choked back a laugh.

Dylan glanced at the photo and something in his shoulders unhitched. He reached out and gave Mia a one-armed hug, pressing his lips to her hair. It was friendly and affectionate, not seductive, but it heated her blood all the same.

‘Come on, then,' he said. ‘Let's go and face the dragon.'

* * *

Over dinner Mia discovered that the elder Fairweather was everything she most feared—an intimidating authoritarian with views that were as narrow as they were strong. He was the kind of man who took his privilege for granted, but considered it his God-given duty to ensure that no one else in his family did.