An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire (15 page)

‘Don't even think about it!'

Her eyes flashed fire. So much for not showing his hand. He stared at the ground and pulled in a breath, nodding. ‘Sorry, I lost my head for a moment—let it drift to where it shouldn't have gone.'

He shoved his shoulders back and lifted his chin.

‘Though if I'm ever fortunate enough to make love with you, Mia, it'll be in place where I'll have the opportunity to show you in every way I know how just how beautiful and desirable I find you. There'll be no rush. And your comfort will be paramount.'

Her eyes grew round.

He leaned in close. ‘I've no inclination for a quick roll on spiky grass, where we'd be half eaten by ants and mosquitos or happened upon by unsuspecting hikers. When I make love to you, Mia, I mean for you to be fully focussed on me.'

She swallowed.

He brushed his lips across her ear. ‘And when it happens I promise that you will be.'

She leapt away from him, glancing at her watch. ‘My lunchbreak is almost up. I have to get back to work.'

He followed her to the main picnic area. It was awash with people enjoying the afternoon sun.

A question pressed against the back of his throat, but he held it in until they were fully surrounded by people. ‘Will you give me one more fake date?'

Her hands went to her hips. ‘Why?'

It would give him something to work towards. It would give him time to come up with a plan to overcome her objections to an affair.

‘I want a chance to grill Thierry in a non-confrontational way, in a place that's not intimidating...and you
did
invite us all to dinner.'

Her shoulders suddenly sagged. ‘I did, didn't I?'

She'd only done it to try and keep the peace, to try and head off his uncle's vitriol.

‘You can cry off if you want. I can make your excuses easily enough. Nobody will mind.' He didn't want her looking so careworn—not on his account. ‘Cooking for guests can be stressful if you haven't done it in a while.' He gave an exaggerated eye-roll. ‘And I suspect I've stressed you out enough already.'

Her lips twitched. ‘The cooking doesn't worry me. It's only for four—not fourteen.'

‘What
does
worry you, then?'

She hesitated. ‘My house.'

He couldn't gauge what she meant, but the way her hands twisted together caught at him. ‘What's wrong with your house? I know it's small, but none of us are going to care about that.'

‘It looks like a prison cell.'

He winced at her bluntness.

‘It's bare and uninviting and...and I'm ashamed of it.'

‘You've no reason to be ashamed of it. It's clean and functional. Neither Carla nor I care about things like that. And if Thierry does then he's an idiot.'

One slim shoulder lifted. ‘I know it shouldn't matter. It's just... I have no talent for making things look nice.' She stared at a copse of trees. ‘Maybe I could get a magazine or two, for tips on how to make it look a bit better.'

‘I can help you with that.'

She raised an eyebrow, but he waved her scepticism away. ‘You don't want a complete makeover. You just want it to look a little cheerier...a bit warmer, right?'

She nodded, but the wariness didn't leave her eyes.

‘Look, I'm not an interior designer, but I've had to consult on set designs for concerts and themes for parties. Seriously, we could spruce up your little cottage with nothing more than a few accessories. I swear you'll be amazed at how easy it is.'

She didn't say anything.

‘What's your budget?' he asked, so she'd know he wasn't offering to pay for anything, that he wasn't trying to bribe her.

She named a sum that, while small, would easily cover what she needed.

He rubbed his hands together. ‘We can work with that.'

Her eyes narrowed. She folded her arms, her fingers drumming against her upper arms. ‘What on earth do
you
know about budgets?'

It was a fair question. ‘I had a crash course when I started up my company. And I'm given a budget from my clients for every event I take on. If I want to make money I have to stick to it.'

She glanced down at her hands. ‘I'm sorry—that was ungracious. Of course you—'

‘I'm a trust fund baby, Mia. If I chose I could live in the lap of luxury for the rest of my life without having to lift a finger. You're not the first person to question my credentials.'

She stared up at him, a frown in her eyes. ‘You
haven't
chosen to live that way, though.'

He shrugged. ‘I wanted something more. I wanted to create something of my own. Besides, the family tradition is not to sit idly back and rest on one's laurels. And as neither law nor politics interested me...'

‘You decided to forge your own path?'

‘And—as you so succinctly reminded me last Saturday night—I should be proud of that. And I am.'

She nodded.

‘So, in return, will you let me help you decorate your cottage? We might not be dating for real, but there's no rule that says we can't be friends, is there?'

She chewed her lip.

Dylan's heart dipped. ‘
Is
there?'

‘I...'

She moistened her lips and a sudden thirst welled inside him.

‘I've largely kept to myself since...over the last eleven months.'

Would she
ever
confide the hows and the whys that had landed her in prison? He could search out police reports, court records—and he had no doubt that Thierry had done exactly that—but he didn't want to. He wanted Mia to tell him herself. It was obvious she regretted her crime. And she'd paid her debt to society. But her past still haunted her.

His heart surged against his ribs. ‘Do you resent my and Carla's intrusion into your life?'

‘No. I... I'd forgotten how nice it is to have friends.'

As those words sank in his mouth dried. ‘I'm honoured to be your friend, Mia.' He swallowed. ‘Carla would say the same if she were here. Neither of us take our friends for granted.'

‘I know. It seems strange, when we're from such different backgrounds, that we can have so much in common.'

He rolled his shoulders in an effort to loosen the tension in them. ‘Shall we go shopping, then? On Saturday? To spruce up your cottage?'

‘I'm working till midday.'

‘I'll call for you at one.'

‘Um...'

She hesitated, and he knew it was a big step for her.

‘Okay.'

He gave in to the temptation of kissing her cheek. ‘I'll see you on Saturday.'

When he reached the end of the path he looked back to find her still watching him. He lifted his hand in farewell. With a visible start she waved back, before disappearing along a path between the office and a picnic table.

His hands clenched. Had anyone ever put her first? Fought for her? Put everything on the line for her?

He knew the answer in his bones—no, they hadn't.

Do you want to be the next person to let her down
?

He
wasn't
going to let her down! He was going to show her how to live. When they parted company, she'd be glad they'd met.
That
was his objective.

* * *

Mia gazed around her tiny living room and could barely credit the difference a few knick-knacks made. She'd never had a chance to try her hand at decorating before. Her father had maintained a rigid view on what was and wasn't respectable—a line her mother had never crossed—and Mia hadn't even been allowed to put up posters in her room. She'd learned early on that it was easier to submit and keep the peace than to rebel.

When she'd met Johnnie his home had already been beautifully furnished. She'd been in awe of his taste. And in the two years between leaving home and moving in with Johnnie she'd lived such a hand-to-mouth existence there'd been no money left over for decorating the mean little rooms she'd rented.

And then there'd been prison. She'd learned to make do with as little as possible there. She'd left the place with the same attitude, but for the first time she questioned that wisdom. It was true that she didn't want to get too attached to material things—like Johnnie had. But it wasn't a crime to make her living space comfortable. It wasn't a crime to make it welcoming for visitors.

‘Earth to Mia?'

She snapped back when a hand was waved in front of her face.

‘You were miles away,' Dylan teased. He gestured to the room. ‘Do you like it?'

‘I love it.'

Shopping with Dylan today had been...
fun
. It had also been a revelation. She'd thought he'd walk through the shops and select the things she needed—like her father and Johnnie would have done. He hadn't, though. He'd asked her opinion every step of the way.

‘I love the colour scheme you've chosen.' He planted his hands on his hips and glanced around. ‘It makes everything so much lighter in here.'

‘The colour scheme was a joint effort. I'd never have known where to start.'

He'd taken her shopping and asked her what colours she liked. She'd eventually settled on a china-blue and a sandy taupe. She now had scatter cushions and throw rugs in those colours on the couch, as well as a tablecloth on the table. New jars in a jaunty blue lined the kitchen counter, a vase and some knick-knacks sat on the mantel, and two beach prints in funky faded frames hung on the walls. A jute rug with a chocolate-coloured border rested beneath the coffee table and a welcome mat sat at the door.

Mia turned a full circle. ‘It's made such a difference.' She clasped her hands beneath her chin and let out a long pent-up breath. A breath she felt she'd been holding ever since she'd proffered the dinner invitation. ‘I no longer need to feel embarrassed.'

‘A vase of fresh flowers here.' Dylan touched a spot on the kitchen counter. ‘Maybe a plant on the coffee table or the hall table there, and the room will be perfect.'

Yellow-headed daisies in the kitchen and an African violet on the coffee table. ‘I'll get them through the week.'

He grinned at her. ‘Even better—it all came in under-budget!'

His delight with himself made her laugh. She watched his face light up with pleasure as he studied the room he'd helped her to transform and her heart started to thud against her ribs.

Friends? She didn't believe in promises and words, but Dylan's actions today had spoken volumes. He'd given her his friendship willingly and generously. He'd treated her like a friend.

Now it was her turn.

CHAPTER NINE

‘W
ITH
US
COMING
in under-budget and all...' Mia's mouth started to dry. ‘Well, I was thinking...how about I buy you dinner as a thank-you?'

Dylan swung to her, his eyes alert and watchful...hopeful.

‘As a friend,' she added. She didn't want him getting the wrong impression.

‘When?'

She strove for a shrug. ‘This evening, if you're free.'

‘I'm free.' He glanced down at himself. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a button-down cotton shirt. So did she. ‘Can we go somewhere casual?'

‘Casual sounds good.' Casual sounded perfect!

‘I know—gorgeous evening...end of summer and all that... There's this great pizza place down near the beach. It does takeaway.'

His face lit up and all she could do was stare. When—how?—had he learned to milk enjoyment from every moment?

‘When was the last time you had pizza on the beach?'

‘I... Never.'

‘C'mon, then.' He took her hand and led her to the front door. ‘That's an oversight that should be corrected immediately.'

* * *

‘See? Didn't I tell you this was an inspired idea?' Dylan claimed a patch of pristine white sand and grinned at her.

Mia bit back a laugh and spread out a towel so he could place the pizza boxes onto it. ‘I'll reserve judgement until I've tried the pizza.' She dropped two bottles of water to the towel too, and then turned to survey the view spread out in front of them.

They had another half an hour of light—possibly longer. The water reflected the last of the sun's brilliance in tones of pink, gold and mauve. Barely a breath of breeze ruffled her hair, and the only sounds were the whoosh of the waves rushing up onshore, the cries of the seagulls wheeling overhead and the laughter of a family group picnicking further along the sand. To her left, Newcastle's famous Nobby's Lighthouse sat atop the headland. Straight out in front of her was the Pacific Ocean.

So much space. So much room to breathe.

She pulled in a deep breath before turning to find Dylan watching her. With a self-conscious shrug she sat beside him. But not too close. She kept the pizza boxes between them. ‘You couldn't have chosen a better spot. It's wonderful down here.'

‘A perfect night for a picnic. Now, try a piece of this pizza.''

She took a piece from the proffered box and bit into it. The flavours melted on her tongue and it was all she could do not to groan in appreciation. ‘Good...' she murmured. ‘Seriously good.'

They munched pizza in silence for a bit. The longer they sat there, the lighter Mia started to feel. Dylan reminded her of all the pleasures—big and small—that the world held. Even after almost eleven months she was still afraid of giving herself over to enjoyment.

‘A penny for them.'

His voice broke into her thoughts.

‘One moment you were enjoying all of this and the next moment you weren't.'

‘Oh!' She swung to him. ‘I'm having a lovely time. Truly.'

Her stomach clenched. She'd come here to tell him the truth.

So tell him the truth
.

She finished off her piece of pizza and reached for a paper napkin. ‘If you want to know the truth, I'm afraid of enjoying it too much.'

‘Why?'

She couldn't look at him. ‘In case I do something stupid and it's taken away from me again.'

He was silent for a couple of beats. ‘You're talking about prison?'

She nodded.

‘Is there any reason to believe you'll end up back there?'

Not if she remained vigilant.

‘I find it hard to take my liberty for granted.' She grimaced. ‘You don't understand how much you take it for granted until it's taken away. Prison is a punishment—it's supposed to be unpleasant. The thought of messing up and ending up back in there...' She shivered. ‘So sometimes I find myself lost in a moment of enjoyment and then I remember jail and I wonder... I wonder how I could cope if I found myself back there again.'

He leaned towards her, drenching the air with a hint of smoky nutmeg. It mingled with the scents of ocean and pizza and she couldn't recall relishing anything more in her life. She wanted to close her eyes and memorise that scent, so she could pull it out and appreciate it whenever she needed to.

‘Mia, you're a different person now. You won't make the same mistakes again.'

She wasn't convinced—especially on that last point. ‘I think you need to know my story.'

‘I'd like to know it very much.'

‘It's sordid,' she warned.

She couldn't make this pretty for him, no matter how much she might want to. He just shrugged, his eyes not leaving her face. It made her mouth dry.

‘Have you really not looked me up?' There'd be newspaper articles and court reports he could access.

‘I wanted to hear the story from you—not from some so-called factual report that leaves out the truly relevant facts.'

She had a feeling that should have surprised her, but it didn't. She glanced down at her hands. ‘I think I mentioned that my father was a...a difficult man.'

‘Emotionally abusive to your mother?'

She nodded, fighting the weariness that wanted to claim her. ‘When I was sixteen I finally stood up to him.'

‘What happened?'

‘He gave me a black eye and kicked me out.'

Dylan's hands fisted.

‘I found temporary shelter in a homeless refuge and got work waitressing.'

‘School?'

‘I couldn't manage school
and
work.' She blew out a breath. ‘That's something prison
did
give me—the opportunity to finish my high school education. It's my high school diploma that made me eligible for the traineeship at Plum Pines.'

‘Right.'

She couldn't tell what he was thinking so she simply pushed on. ‘When I was eighteen I met a man—Johnnie Peters. He was twenty-five and I thought him so worldly. I'd had a couple of boyfriends, you understand, but nothing serious.'

‘Until Johnnie?'

‘Until Johnnie...' She swallowed the lump that threatened her throat. It settled in her chest to ache with a dull throb. ‘He swept me off my feet. I fell hopelessly in love with him.'

A muscle in Dylan's jaw worked. ‘Would I be right in suspecting he didn't deserve you?'

She could feel her lips twist. It took all her strength to maintain eye contact with Dylan. ‘The key word in my previous sentence was
hopelessly
.' She stared back out to sea. ‘I had a lot of counselling when I was in jail. I understand now that there are men out there who target foolish, naïve girls. Which is exactly what I was.'

He reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘You were young.'

She pulled her hand from his. ‘When something looks too good to be true, it usually is. I knew that then, but I ignored it. He made me feel special, and I wanted to be special.' She gripped her hands together. ‘He organised a new job for me—nine to five—where I was trained in office administration. It seemed like a step up. I was ridiculously grateful not to be on my feet all day, like I had been when waitressing.'

When she'd been in prison she'd longed for that waitressing job—aching legs and all. She should have been grateful for what she'd had. Content.

‘He moved me into his lovely house and bought me beautiful clothes. He was a stockbroker, and I thought he could have his pick of women. I felt I was the luckiest girl alive.'

‘He cut you off from your family and friends...controlled your finances?'

‘My family had already cut me off, but...yes.' That was something she'd come to realise during sessions with her counsellor. ‘Things seemed perfect for a couple of years. What I didn't realise was that he had a gambling problem.'

‘What happened?' he prompted when she remained silent.

‘He started asking me to deposit cheques into accounts that weren't in my name and then to withdraw the funds.'

‘You gave all the money to him?'

‘I gave him everything.' She'd been an idiot. ‘Of course it was only a matter of time before I was traced on CCTV.'

‘And Johnnie?'

‘He was cleverer than I. He was never seen in the vicinity of any of the banks at the time, and he denied all knowledge.'

His mouth grew taut. ‘The scumbag fed you to the wolves.'

She turned to him, the ache in her chest growing fierce. ‘He was even smarter than that, Dylan. He convinced me to feed
myself
to the wolves. I told the police he was innocent.'

Anger flared in his eyes. ‘How long did it take you to realise what he was?'

Her stomach churned. She'd told herself it would be better for Dylan to despise her than it would be for him to love her. A part of her died inside anyway.

‘About four months into my sentence...when he hadn't been to see me...when he stopped answering my letters.'

‘Then you turned him in to the authorities?'

She shook her head.

‘You continued to let him walk all over you?'

She stiffened at the censure in his voice. ‘Three things, Dylan. One—I had no proof. Especially not after the testimony I'd given in his favour. Any testimony to the contrary would've simply been written off as the ravings of a disaffected lover. Two—I needed to draw a line under that part of my life and move forward. And three—I deserved my punishment. Nothing was ever going to change that.'

‘He
manipulated
you!'

‘And I let him. I
knew
what I was doing was wrong. The first time I cashed a cheque he told me it was for his elderly aunt. The second time he said it was a favour for a work colleague. The third time he just asked me to do it for him, said that he was in trouble. I knew then that I was breaking the law, but I did it anyway. He never physically threatened me. I just did it.'

‘But I bet the emotional threat of him breaking up with you hung over every request?'

It had. And she hadn't been able to face the thought of losing him. Talk about pathetic! ‘I told you it was sordid.'

‘Three years seems a long sentence for a first offender.'

She moistened her lips. ‘I stole a
lot
of money.'

He stared out to sea and her heart burned at the conflict reflected in his face. ‘You made a bad choice and you've paid for it.' He turned, spearing her with his gaze. ‘Would you make the same decision again, given what you know now?'

‘Of course not. But we don't get the chance to live our lives over. We just have to find ways to live with our mistakes.'

‘Shunning the simple pleasures in life won't help you do that.'

He had a point.

His brows drew down low over his eyes. ‘Don't you worry about other young women he might have targeted?'

Her heart started to thump. Trust Dylan to worry about vulnerable women he didn't even know. She glanced down at her hands. ‘Fourteen months into my sentence Johnnie attempted an armed hold-up on a security van. He wasn't successful. He was sentenced to fifteen years. I think the foolish young women of the world are safe from him for the moment.'

‘Good.'

Neither one of them went back to eating pizza.

‘Is that why you let men walk all over you?'

She stiffened. ‘I don't let
you
walk all over me.'

His lips twisted, though his eyes remained hard. ‘There's hope for me yet, then.'

‘No, there's not! I—'

‘You've let Gordon, Thierry and Felipe all treat you like you're worthless. Your father and Johnnie both treated you badly. Do you
really
hold yourself so cheaply?'

Her heart surged against her ribs. ‘Neither my father nor Johnnie are in my life any more. Thierry doesn't matter to me one jot! Felipe
didn't
take advantage of me. And as for Gordon...'

Dylan folded his arms and raised his eyebrows.

‘He has the power to fire me. Keeping my head beneath the parapet where he's concerned is the smartest course of action. It won't be forever.'

‘There'll always be Gordons in your life in one form or another. Are you going to turn yourself into a doormat for all of them?'

‘If I do it'll be none of your business!'

‘Why tell me all of this, then?'

‘Because if we're going to be
friends
—' she ground the word out ‘—eventually the press will find out who I am and my story will come out. And it wouldn't be fair to have the press spring something like that on you without preparing you first.'

He dragged a hand down his face.

‘And...'

He stilled. ‘And...?'

She didn't want to continue, but she had to. It was the reason she'd started this conversation. ‘And I wanted you to understand why I have no intention of ever pursuing another romantic relationship.'

He stared at her, but she couldn't read the expression in his eyes.

‘Because you were burned once?'

‘Because I don't like who I am when I'm in love. I refuse to become that person again.'

He shot to his feet. ‘Are you likening me to this Johnnie Peters?'

She shot to her feet too. ‘Of course not!'

He stabbed a finger at her. ‘That's
exactly
what you're doing. You're saying that if you let yourself be vulnerable to me, I'll take advantage of you.'

She could feel herself start to shake. ‘This is about me, not you!'

‘Garbage. I—'

He broke off when a bright flash momentarily blinded both of them. Mia realised two things then—night had fallen...and someone had just snapped their photo.

Without another word, Dylan charged off into the darkness.