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Purchased By The Billionaire
HELEN BIANCHIN
Kayla removed Spanish billionaire Duardo Alvarez's wedding ring after just seventy-two hours of marriage. But now desperate circumstances have forced Kayla to beg her ex-husband for help. Duardo's price is high: marry him again, or he'll walk away.A trophy wife by day and Duardo's mistress by night, Kayla discovers her "duty" marriage is as passionate as ever…



Purchased by the Billionaire
Helen Bianchin



CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
‘YOU did…what?’
Kayla’s features paled as consternation meshed with disbelief, then magnified into a sense of dread.
‘You think it was easy for me to go to Duardo Alvarez and beg?’ Defensive anger rose to the surface, and something else…rage.
Jacob’s words fell with hammer-like pain, and for a few brief seconds she hovered between retaliatory anger and despair.
Duardo Alvarez.
The mention of his name was enough to send ice slithering down the length of her spine.
Bad boy made good, now billionaire entrepreneur with homes in several major cities around the world.
Her ex-husband…and the last person on earth likely to help her, or her brother.
‘Why in hell would you do that?’
‘I had no choice!’ Jacob’s expression revealed a torment that twisted her stomach muscles into a painful ball.
Oh, dear God.
The last time she’d seen her ex-husband had been at her father’s funeral. A deeply sorrowful occasion with few genuine mourners, several curiosity-seekers…and she’d been too stunned with shocked grief to do anything other than act on autopilot.
She hadn’t had contact with Duardo since. Didn’t want any.
‘Dammit, Jacob! How could you?’
He didn’t answer. But then he had no need.
And right now there was no time for further argument or castigation. In nine minutes she had to catch a train into the city. Or be late.
Kayla caught up her jacket, slung the strap of her bag over one shoulder and turned towards him. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later.’
Jacob offered a slip of paper. ‘Duardo’s number. Call him by midday.’
Hell would freeze over first.
‘Please.’ Jacob’s eyes were dark, desperate, and she pocketed the number.
‘You ask too much.’ Way too much. More than she could give.
Without a further word she left the small two-bedroom walk-up for the hard inner-city pavement in one of the city’s less salubrious suburbs. Old terraced houses lined the street, each in various stages of decay and neglect.
A far cry from her former life.
Five years ago the Enright-Smythe family had numbered high among Sydney’s rich and famous. Kayla, at twenty-two, held a degree in business management and had took out a handsome salary for a token position in the ‘firm’.
A member of the ‘young social-set’, she attended every party in town, spent an outrageous sum on clothes, travelled, and was seen on the arm of a different man every week.
Until Duardo Alvarez entered the field.
In his mid-thirties and cloaked in sophistication, on the rise within the city’s financial sector, his youthful past hinted at association with the shady underbelly of NewYork.
He was everything Kayla’s parents didn’t want for their only daughter.
All the more reason, in her year of tilting at windmills, coupled with boredom, for deliberately setting Duardo in her sights.
He excited her. So, too, did a sense of the forbidden. Winning him over became a game. Holding him off took enormous self-restraint. She succeeded, and in a moment of sheer madness she accepted his proposal to fly to Hawaii and marry him.
Seventy-two hours later the marriage was over.
Courtesy of Benjamin Enright-Smythe’s ultimatum and her mother’s death…a heart attack which put Blanche Enright-Smythe into Intensive Care and took her life.
A tragic loss for which Benjamin attributed the blame to his daughter, referring privately and publicly to the marriage as Kayla’s folly.
Her father’s denunciation speared a stake through Kayla’s heart and left her racked with guilt at the thought that her whirlwind marriage might have contributed to Blanche’s death. Confidante and friend, Blanche had always been there for her, frequently acting as a calming buffer between two clashing personalities…Benjamin’s arrogance and Kayla’s defiance.
In the devastating numbness that followed Blanche’s funeral, she stood at her father’s side, comforted Jacob and somehow managed to get through each day. Wanting, needing the comfort of the one man who could help ease her grief…her husband.
Medical results indicated Blanche had been dealing with heart disease for some time, evidence Benjamin refused to accept in his demented quest to wreak revenge on the man he blamed for Blanche’s death.
It proved a heart-wrenching time, with divided loyalties whittling away at Kayla’s emotional heart. She was painfully aware of Benjamin’s fragile mental state and Jacob’s need for comfort and stability.
How could she give her personal life priority at such a time?
Yet how long could she expect Duardo to be patient? Benjamin’s ultimatum—Leave this house, and you’ll never be welcome inside it again—almost tore her in two.
Family. Something her mother had considered to be sacrosanct.
Except Benjamin was hell-bent on denigration, dredging up written proof that acquisition of the Enright-Smythe empire was part of Duardo’s agenda. And that Kayla had merely been a pawn in his game plan.
That day something within her withered and died.
She refused Duardo’s calls, acceded to her father’s demands that Duardo be forbidden entry to the family home.
Then Duardo issued an ultimatum of his own.
Choose. Your husband or your family.
She didn’t utter so much as a word beneath Benjamin’s torrent of anger. Instead, she slid off her wedding band and handed it to the man whose name she’d taken as her own. And watched him turn and walk away.
Then she witnessed, in the ensuing months, Duardo Alvarez’s acquisition of the Enright-Smythe business empire, with Duardo now firmly labeled a predator with one goal in mind.
Absent was the desire to party, and Kayla’s friends gradually gave up issuing invitations as she refused each and every one of them. The association with frivolity and flirtatious fun seemed firmly embedded in pain. The kind of pain she never wanted to suffer again in her lifetime.
The only social occasions she attended were those instigated by her father: dull, boring business dinners where she was forced to watch Benjamin’s decline among his peers.
Within a year, the firm of Enright-Smythe held a list of unfulfilled contracts, union problems, and was the subject of a takeover bid by none other than Duardo Alvarez.
By then everything had been auctioned off…the family home, staff, the Bentley, her mother’s jewellery, works of art.
The media made much of it at the time.
Benjamin proceeded to gamble his way into bankruptcy, only to compound his fall from grace by committing suicide. This tragic act devastated Kayla and sent Jacob into a downward spiral of despair.
For the past three years she’d worked her day job, waitressing in a local restaurant five hours each night and on weekends in an effort to keep a roof over their heads and help pay off a mountain of debt.
Jacob put in similar hours, quitting university at nineteen and abandoning all hope of entering medical school.
Yet it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. And the money-lenders were closing in. No thanks to her brother, who in an act of desperation had played the casino, and lost.
Forget the banks, she had no collateral. Everything she’d owned of any worth had been sold. And her working hours were at a maximum.
The entrance to the subway loomed, and she rode the escalator, saw the train and watched with a sense of fatalism as it pulled away from the station.
A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat.
How much worse could the day get?
It was unwise to tempt Fate, even in humour. Add cynicism, and it could turn round and bite you, Kayla reflected as she dealt with irate phone calls, negotiated a peaceful solution between two aggressive staff members and soothed a client who threatened to take his business elsewhere unless his demands were met.
Yoghurt and fruit eaten at her desk sufficed as lunch, and the afternoon involved a series of meetings, both in-house and via conference calls.
It was after five when she shut down the laptop, relieved this part of the day was over.
Not the night, Kayla reflected wearily as she collected her bag and slung the strap over one shoulder.
A forty-five-minute time-frame was all she had in which to catch a train and report for work at an Italian restaurant in her local shopping centre. Working there offered the bonus of supplying her with a meal, usually eaten on the run between serving customers, and it was within walking distance of home.
The phone on her desk rang, and she hesitated over answering it. Whoever it was, she decided as she picked up the handset, she’d give them two minutes, tops, then she was out the door.
‘Thank God I caught you,’ a familiar male voice breathed in relief.
‘Jacob?’ Something was wrong. She could sense it, almost feel it.
‘I won’t be home tonight.’ His voice was jerky. ‘Hospital. Smashed kneecap.’
‘Which hospital?’ She stifled an inaudible groan as he cited one on the other side of the city. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Call Duardo, Kayla. I don’t need to spell out why.’
Ice ran through her veins as he cut the connection.
A smashed kneecap as a warning? What next, broken ribs, damaged kidneys, wrecked spleen? How long would the thugs wait before they meted out another lesson? A few days? A week?
Her financial situation wasn’t going to change. Heaven knew how long it would take for Jacob to return to work. Without his wages to complement her own, together with a swathe of medical bills…it was hopeless.
Kayla closed her eyes, then opened them again.
The slip of paper Jacob had handed her this morning was in her jacket pocket. She retrieved it, punched in the series of digits and waited for Duardo to answer.
What if he knew where she worked, and recognized the number on caller ID? Worse, what if he chose not to pick up?
‘Alvarez.’
The sound of his voice curled round her nerve-ends, tugged a little and almost robbed her of the ability to speak.
‘It’s Kayla.’ Oh, dear heaven, how could she go through with this?
His silence seemed to reverberate down the line.
‘I need your help.’
Would he agree, or sever communication?
‘My office.’ He gave precise directions. ‘Ten minutes.’ And he ended the call.
She reconnected, only to have the call go to voicemail.
He was pulling her strings. It irked unbearably that he could. Dammit. She had the irresistible urge to throw something, preferably at him.
Given it was impossible for her to be in three different places at once, she rang the restaurant, relayed the reason why she’d be late, promised to be there as soon as she could and listened to a heated response.
It was all she needed right now to be in the firing line of rapidly spoken Italian ire, soothed only in conclusion by expressed sympathy for her brother’s accident.
Kayla emerged onto the pavement and cast an eye at the leaden sky. Rain, why don’t you? Make my day!
Almost in direct response, the first raindrops fell. Great big fat ones, increasing with a speed and intensity that showed no intention of abating any time soon.
Great. So now she’d face her ex-husband looking very much like a drowned rat.
The price of an evening newspaper helped ward off the worst of the downpour, and some ten minutes later she entered the impressive marble lobby of one of the city’s glass and steel architecturally designed office buildings, ditched the sodden paper and rode the lift to the top floor.
Alvarez Holdings occupied an executive suite, which at first sight appeared to cover the entire floor, Kayla perceived as she took in the thick tinted glass, luxurious fittings, furnishings and the latest technology.
A perfectly groomed young woman manned Reception. Moonlighting as a model for Vogue?
Stop with the cynicism.
Image, she reminded herself, was everything, and Duardo Alvarez could afford whatever image he chose to project on planet Earth.
‘Kayla Smythe.’ She’d left off the preceding hyphenated Enright some time ago. ‘I have an appointment with—’ she hesitated fractionally. This was business, not personal—‘Mr Alvarez.’
The answering smile held polite warmth…practised, and tuned up or down according to client importance. In this instance, down a notch.
‘Mr Alvarez is unavoidably detained in conference.’ She indicated the bay of comfortable chairs. ‘If you’d care to take a seat?’
Kayla felt her stomach tighten with nervous tension. Now that she was here, she wanted it over and done with.
Each passing minute seemed like ten, and she had to make a conscious effort not to constantly check her watch. She idly flipped the pages of a complimentary magazine, with no recollection of absorbing script or pictures.
How long would she have to wait?
Was Duardo Alvarez stretching out the time to deliberately unnerve her?
If she could walk out of here, she thought darkly…Yet doing so would achieve nothing. And this wasn’t about her, she reminded herself.
‘Kayla.’
She glanced up at the sound of her name and saw the receptionist move out from the console.
‘Mr Alvarez will see you now.’
Stand tall and project a semblance of aloof confidence. The latter was almost impossible, given the state of her nerves.
She’d seen his image on the television screen, in newspapers and photographs in glossy magazines. But it was years since she had come face-to-face with him.
Would he look the same?
The silent query arose in a moment of sheer hysteria, and she beat it down as she followed the receptionist along a wide passageway to a set of imposing double doors.
Calm. She had to remain calm and in control.
Who was she kidding? She was as nervous as a kitten about to walk on hot coals, and at that moment she hated him, herself…most of all she hated the situation which had brought her here.
The receptionist placed a discreet knock on one of the doors, turned the knob and pushed the door open, announced Kayla’s presence with smooth efficiency, then retreated.
She stood frozen, limbless, as she focused on the dark-suited figure standing silhouetted against the wide floor-to-ceiling plate glass.
From this distance, with the late-afternoon light behind him, it was difficult to define his expression.
Then he turned towards her, and the breath caught in her throat.
Tall, with an admirable breadth of shoulder, he projected an enviable aura of power most men coveted, but few possessed.
Well-defined facial bone structure, harshly chiselled, portrayed an elemental ruthlessness that visibly warned he was a force to be reckoned with in any arena.
‘Come in and shut the door.’ His drawl held a hint of cynicism, his appraisal ruthlessly unequivocal as he took in her petite stature, the blonde hair swept high and damp from the rain.
What happened to hello? But what did she expect…polite civility?
‘You must know I don’t want to be here.’
‘Point taken.’ He indicated a button-backed leather chair. ‘Sit down.’
And have him tower over her? ‘I’d prefer to stand.’
His expression didn’t change, yet she gained the fleeting impression something deep within him uncoiled in readiness to strike.
‘I don’t have much time.’ Oh, hell, she didn’t want to sound defensive. Yet everything about him screamed out for her to turn and run as far and as fast as she could.
He crossed the room to stand within touching distance, and this close she saw the tiny lines fanning from each corner of those dark, almost black eyes. The grooves slashing each cheek seemed to etch a little deeper than she remembered, and that mouth…
Dear heaven, don’t even go there.
One dark eyebrow rose in silent query, and she found herself almost stumbling in speech. ‘Jacob is in hospital.’ Pride kept her chin high. ‘I’m sure you have no difficulty imagining why?’
Each passing second seemed to stretch until the silence became a palpable entity. ‘Your brother isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.’ He waited a beat. ‘Neither are you.’
Sapphire eyes flashed with brilliant blue fire. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Down, but not cowed, Duardo perceived. She didn’t disappoint.
‘Let’s dispense with the pretense, shall we?’ When it came to game-playing, he was a lifetime ahead of her. ‘You have a mountain of debt you can’t hope to clear in a lifetime. Thugs have served the first of a few painful lessons for late payment. And you have no one else but me to turn to.’
Her eyes hardened. ‘Does it give you pleasure to know that?’
‘You can choose to walk out that door now,’ he intoned with deceptive quiet.
‘And if I do?’
‘You’ll never walk through it again.’
His words held a frightening finality, leaving her in no doubt he meant every one of them.
She had a mental picture of Jacob lying in an open coffin, instead of a hospital bed, and she was unable to control the shiver of fear slithering down her spine.
‘Perhaps we can start over?’
Benjamin had done a number on her. His own daughter. At the time Duardo had wanted to haul her over his shoulder and take her away. Vilify her father, and sue for defamation of character. Instead, he’d worked behind the scenes, and achieved what Benjamin had falsely accused him of at the time.
Because he could.
Now he moved to lean one hip against the edge of his desk, and watched her struggle for composure.
‘Jacob told me you’re aware of our…situation.’
He wasn’t going to make it easy. But then, why should he?
What they’d shared…what once had been…was now long gone. Destroyed by complex circumstances.
‘You want my help,’ Duardo prompted with silky smoothness, and caught the glitter of helpless anger in those brilliant blue eyes. It gave him no pleasure to see it there.
‘Yes.’
Would he make her beg? Could she?
For Jacob. Survival. Because she had no choice.
‘We need money.’ Oh, hell, this was hard. ‘To pay some debts.’
‘Debts which will soon accumulate and escalate to a repeat of this situation within a very short space of time.’
He knew. He had to know. Jacob would have told him, and it wouldn’t take much to access the true state of their miserably dire state of affairs.
She wanted to weep, but strong women don’t succumb to emotional distress.
‘Please.’ Desperation fractured her voice.
‘There are conditions.’
She expected no less. ‘What do you propose?’ Inside she was a mess of jangling nerves.
‘I clear all debts, and fund Jacob through medical school.’
Millions of dollars.
Her brother’s discarded dream fulfilled.
A substantial financial package, for which payment in one form or another would have to be made.
She needed for him to spell it out. ‘In return for…what?’
‘I want what I once had.’ He watched the realization sink in, then hammered it home. ‘You. As my wife.’
Colour leeched from her face, and for a few seconds it seemed as if the room took a slight sideways tilt.
Wife?
She had a sudden need to sit down, yet to do so would betray her vulnerability. And she refused to give him the satisfaction.
Yet there was nothing she could do about the way her heart raced to an accelerated beat at the thought of that hard, muscular body entwined with her own in intimate possession, enticing, sharing…gifting the ultimate tactile pleasure, with his mouth, his hands.
As it had been during those brief few days of their marriage, when he’d introduced her to the sensual delights of the flesh, and she’d believed herself to be in love and loved.
Even now she experienced dreams so exquisitely sensual she woke bathed in sweat…and wanting.
Kayla could only look at him, aware to a frightening degree of his strength of will and the power he wielded.
‘Revenge, Duardo?’
He took his time in answering. ‘Everything has a price.’ Eyes as dark as sin seared her own. ‘My terms,’ he enforced with dangerous silkiness. ‘Accept or reject them.’
Commit herself to him, accept him into her body, play at being wife…
‘For how long?’ The query fell from her lips.
‘As long as it takes.’
Until he tired of her? Live on a knife-edge, waiting for the figurative axe to fall?
She couldn’t do it.
Yet what choice did she have?
None. Zilch. Nada.
A pulse hammered at the edge of her throat as she fought the temptation to turn and walk out the door, out of his office…his life.
It didn’t help that he knew. Or that he was intent on playing a deliberate game, pushing her buttons…simply because he could.
‘I hate you.’ Her voice was a vengeful whisper dredged up from the depths of her soul.
‘For reclaiming you as my wife?’
‘For using me as human collateral.’
‘Careful, querida.’ His warning held a dangerous silkiness that mocked the endearment.
She almost told him to go to hell.
Almost.
Only the vivid image of Jacob lying injured in a hospital bed, and the very real implication of what would inevitably follow without a large injection of cash stopped her wayward tongue.
There was only one way out of this mess. Only one man who could help.
‘You want me to write it in blood?’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Your acceptance?’
Her eyes flashed with brilliant blue fire. ‘Yes, damn you!’
Duardo pushed himself away from the edge of his desk in a single fluid movement and closed the space between them. ‘Your gratitude is underwhelming.’
‘What did you expect? For me to fall on my knees at your feet?’
‘Now, there’s an evocative thought.’ His drawl held a degree of cynical humour, and brought a rush of colour to her cheeks.
Dignity. She reined it in and with her head held high she moved back a pace. ‘Are you done? I need to go see Jacob, then get to work.’
She walked towards the door, pausing halfway to look back over her shoulder. ‘I imagine you’ll be in touch when the legalities are in place?’
He hadn’t moved, yet she had the impression his hard-muscled body was coiled, ready to spring.
‘There’s just one thing,’ Duardo declared with hateful ease. ‘The deal is effective immediately.’
‘Excuse me?’
He extracted his cellphone and extended it towards her. ‘Call the restaurant and terminate your employment.’
His eyes hardened as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘Do it, Kayla. Or I will.’
When she refused to take the cellphone, he flipped it open and made two consecutive calls which effectively left her jobless.
The fact he knew where she worked and who to call made her want to hit him. ‘Bastard,’ she bit out in husky condemnation, watching as he pocketed the cellphone and moved towards her.
She was totally unprepared for the slide of his fingers through her hair as he held fast her nape and used the flat of his hand at the back of her waist to draw her in close.
Then his mouth was on hers, taking advantage of her shocked surprise to gain entry and begin wreaking havoc with her senses in a kiss that captured and staked a shameless claim.
For a few brief, heart-stopping moments she forgot who she was, or where…There was only the man, his sensual power, remembered desire and an instinctive need to meet it.
Recognition, in its most primal form.
Except a part of her brain, her heart, provided an intrusive force. That was then…not now.
Oh, dear God.
Realisation caused her to wrench free…an action that was all the more galling because he made no attempt to stop her.
Anger, unuttered rage, showed in the glittering depths of her eyes, the tinge of colour heating her cheeks and her heaving chest as she sought to regain a degree of control.
‘Now you have something to curse me for.’
She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged, and she closed it again. Wanting, needing to rail against him…physically, emotionally.
To what end?
Duardo took in her expressive features, defined each fleeting emotion and resisted the temptation to take that fine temper and tame it a little.
It helped to know that he could.
Kayla just looked at him. He wasn’t even breathing deeply. How could he appear so calm, when she was a total mess?
‘Shall we leave?’
Jacob, hospital…For a few seconds she felt stricken that both had temporarily fled her mind, and she stepped quickly into the passageway, aware Duardo easily matched her footsteps to Reception, where he bade the Vogue model lookalike ‘goodnight’, and summoned the lift.
There were words she wanted to fling at him, an inner rage threatening to eclipse rational thought. So much so, her body almost shook with it as she rode the lift down to ground level.
She told herself she should feel relieved the financial nightmare would soon be at an end. Instead, all her nerve-ends frayed into shreds as reality began to impact.
Life as she’d known it for the past few years was about to change dramatically.
The electronic cubicle came to a halt and the doors slid open to reveal the basement car park.
She needed the lobby, and she pressed the appropriate button, only to have Duardo reach forward and countermand her action.
‘You’re coming with me.’
‘The hell I am.’ Kayla’s eyes flashed brilliant blue fire. ‘Tomorrow is soon enough for me to be shackled to you.’
‘The hospital,’ he intoned with chilling softness. ‘After which we transfer everything from your apartment to my home.’
‘Dammit! I—’
‘Walk, or be carried. Choose.’
That he meant every word was evident in those harshly chiselled features, and she almost defied him…just for the sheer hell of it.
Almost.
Instead she walked at his side, slid into the passenger seat of his top-of-the-range Aston Martin, and maintained an icy silence as he drove across town.

CHAPTER TWO
JACOB was in a large ward, his leg strapped in protective padding, and receiving pain management via a drip.
He looked pale, dejected and almost fearful in the initial seconds before Kayla entered his line of vision, then his expression lightened and he smiled as he sighted the man at her side.
Duardo Alvarez. Their white knight in shining armor. Although dark angel was more appropriate, she acknowledged with wry cynicism.
‘Hi.’ Her greeting was warm with concern as she leaned in close to brush her lips to her brother’s cheek, and heard his barely audible ‘thank God’ seconds before she lifted her head.
In the space of what appeared to be a very short time Duardo organized for Jacob to be transferred to a private suite, engaged a team of orthopaedic surgeons and scheduled surgery.
Omnipotent power, Kayla perceived, backed by unlimited money.
She knew she should be grateful…and she assured herself she was, for Jacob’s sake. It didn’t mean she had to like the deal or the man who’d made it.
The Orderly arrived to effect Jacob’s transfer, and she bade her brother a reluctant ‘goodnight’.
‘I’ll be here in the morning before they take you into Theatre,’ Kayla promised as the Orderly wheeled Jacob down the corridor.
It was after seven when Duardo eased the Aston Martin from the hospital car park, and the evening light was beginning to fade, tinging the pale sky with streaks of pink that gradually changed to orange as he negotiated traffic.
Soon it would be dark, and she wanted nothing more than to return to her apartment, hit the shower and fall into bed.
Except that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, and the bed she’d sleep in wouldn’t be her own, but his.
The mere thought sent heat flooding her veins, and she consciously focused on the scene beyond the windscreen in an effort to divert attention from what the night would bring.
Streetlights sprang on, vying with brightly coloured neon signs, and traffic banked up as main arterial roads linked to traverse the Harbour Bridge.
A short while later Duardo brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine.
Nothing looked familiar—not the locale, the street. ‘Why did you stop here?’
‘Dinner.’ He freed his seat belt and climbed out from behind the wheel. ‘We both need to eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He crossed round to her side and opened the door. ‘Get out, Kayla.’ When she made no effort to move he leant forward to release her seat belt.
The simple action had the breath lodging in her throat as his arm brushed her breast. He was close, much too close, and she froze, unwilling to so much as breathe for the few seconds it took him to complete the simple task.
Arguing with him would get her nowhere. And there was such a thing as sheer cussedness. It had been a while since lunch, and no way could the yoghurt and fruit she’d snacked on be termed a meal.
With that thought in mind she slid to her feet and crossed the street at his side, entering a small restaurant where the maître d’ greeted Duardo by name and personally ushered them to a secluded table.
Kayla refused wine, chose soup as a starter, an entrée as a main, followed by fresh fruit.
‘Would you prefer silence, or meaningless conversation?’
Duardo spared her a faintly mocking smile. ‘You could begin by filling me in on the last few years.’
‘Why, when you already know everything?’ She lifted her water glass and took a sip of the iced liquid. ‘Did you employ someone to watch my every move?’
Duardo leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. ‘Last time I heard, it wasn’t a crime for a man to retain interest in an ex-wife.’
The waiter served their soup, offered crusty bread then retreated as Kayla raked Duardo’s compelling features with something akin to scorn.
‘A wife you deliberately sought with an eye to the main chance.’
His expression hardened, and there was an almost frightening element evident in the depths of those dark eyes.
‘Perhaps you’d care to explain that comment?’
‘The Enright-Smythe consortium.’
‘Indeed?’
His voice was like ice slithering in a slow slide down the length of her spine.
‘Benjamin showed me written proof.’
‘Impossible, given there was none at the time.’
‘You’re lying. I saw the letters.’
‘Which you read?’
The scene flashed vividly to mind, ingrained in her mind as the moment love had died. Papers, Duardo’s name. Her father’s voice, loud and accusing in denunciation.
She’d skimmed the text, sightlessly, before Benjamin had flung the papers onto his study floor and stamped a foot on them.
‘You can’t deny you succeeded in a takeover bid for Benjamin’s company.’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘Did it give you pleasure to watch him sink into bankruptcy?’
His gaze didn’t waiver. ‘Your father’s financial decline provided me with an opportunity to add to my investment portfolio. I’m a businessman. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’
‘Of course,’ she acknowledged with facetious intent, only to lapse into strained silence as the waiter appeared at the table to remove their soup bowls; soup she hardly remembered tasting.
‘A deal brokered after the dissolution of our marriage.’
The tension escalated into a tangible entity. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Any more than you can accept your father might have fabricated a tissue of lies and manufactured supposed proof?’
Shocked anger widened her eyes. ‘He wouldn’t have done that.’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘I was his daughter!’
Their main meal was delivered, and served with a polite flourish.
‘Benjamin’s most prized possession.’ Duardo waited a beat. ‘One he would have done anything to remove from my orbit.’
Kayla looked at the artistically displayed food on her plate, and felt suddenly ill. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘I, too, can produce documented proof.’ He picked up a fork, speared a morsel and held it suspended for a few seconds. ‘The comparison with Benjamin’s papers should prove—’ he paused almost perceptibly ‘—interesting, don’t you think?’
Except there were no papers. At least, not those. When she’d asked, Benjamin had insisted they were with his lawyers. Who, on enquiry, could find no record of them.
It seemed unconscionable that Benjamin would contrive to destroy her marriage. Had his personal grief over Blanche’s loss tipped him over the edge?
‘Eat,’ Durado commanded quietly.
‘I’m not hungry.’ For even a mouthful would choke her, and she pushed her plate to one side, her appetite gone.
It had been a doozy of a day. One that was far from over. She wanted to walk out of here, away from this inimical man, what he proposed…everything.
‘Don’t even consider it.’ His tone was a silky threat, and, without thinking, she picked up her glass and flung the contents in his face.
In seeming slow motion she watched Duardo collect his table napkin, glimpsed the startled attention of the waiter, who rushed to his aid, and she stood to her feet, collected her purse…and fled.
She made the pavement, lifted a hand to flag a passing cab, only to cry out as strong hands closed over her shoulders and swung her around.
Duardo’s features looked hard in the dim reflected streetlight, the structural bones etched in controlled anger.
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Believe me, I’m being extremely careful not to.’
For a moment the tension between them was electric, stretched so taut the slightest movement would result in an explosive shower of sparks.
‘I can’t do this.’ It was an agonized cry dredged from the depths of her soul.
His hands slid up to cup her face, tilting it so she had no recourse but to look at him.
‘I need time,’ she said.
‘Time won’t change a thing.’
‘Please.’
He traced the outline of her mouth with the edge of his thumb. ‘No.’
Kayla bit him…hard. Heard his muffled oath, tasted his blood and cried out as he hefted her over one shoulder.
‘Put me down!’
‘Soon.’
She curled her hands into fists and pummelled them against his back. To no avail, as he strode easily to his car, unlocked the passenger door and bundled her into the seat.
He was close, far too close as he caught the seat belt and clipped it in place. ‘Move, and I won’t answer for the consequences.’
She hated him…didn’t she? Hated him for placing her in this invidious position.
Yet…what if he was telling the truth?
Had her father lied and connived to his own ends?
She shook her head in disbelief. It was almost too much for her to take in.
She watched as Duardo walked around the car and slid in behind the wheel.
It was difficult to see his expression in the dim interior of the car, and she stared blankly at the night scene beyond the windscreen.
‘I want to see the paperwork detailing your takeover.’
She had to know.
‘I’ll instruct my lawyer to supply you with a copy.’
The Aston Martin purred to life, and she sat in strained silence as the car traversed the city streets. Duardo offered the opportunity for a life free from debt, the fulfillment of her brother’s dream.
Jacob was all she had, and he deserved this chance.
So, too, did she. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. For the love of God…didn’t she?
The alternative…
Don’t go there. It serves no purpose.
There was only now. And she’d deal with it. She had to.
The car drew to a halt in the narrow inner-city suburban street where she lived.
A late-model four-wheel-drive was parked nearby, and she stood still as Duardo paused to speak with the driver before indicating the entrance to her apartment.
Dim lighting didn’t disguise the dingy surroundings, or the well-trodden wooden stairs as she ascended them ahead of him. Chipped paint, and the faint but distinct smell of decay.
Double locks on the door protected a pitiful space with minimal furniture, worn furnishings and the lack of personal touches. It was simply a place to sleep, not to live.
‘Collect what you need.’
It didn’t take long to transfer her meagre belongings into one bag and place Jacob’s possessions into another. ‘The landlord—’
‘Spence has already dealt with it.’ He indicated the small foldaway table. ‘Leave the key.’
Kayla looked at him in silent askance as he caught hold of both bags.
‘I made a few calls from the hospital.’
To people who were paid to jump instantly to attention at his slightest command.
Wealth…extreme wealth, she mentally corrected, had its distinct advantages.
It took only minutes to descend the stairs and pass through the shabby entrance onto the pavement. Almost instantly, a dark figure moved forward to take both bags from Duardo’s grasp and deposit them in the rear of the four-wheel-drive.
‘Spence.’ Duardo clarified and completed the introduction before turning towards her. ‘Let’s go.’
Was it too late to change her mind? Could she?
Yes…and no.
She was barely aware of Spence sliding behind the wheel until she heard the engine engage and saw the four-wheel-drive ease away from the kerb.
There went all her worldly possessions.
Kayla spared Duardo a vengeful look that lost most of its effect in the dim evening light. ‘Mind-reading is one of your talents?’
‘You want to argue?’ His voice was deceptively mild, yet she sensed steel beneath the surface.
‘Not particularly.’
He crossed to the car, disarmed the alarm, opened the passenger door and stood waiting for her to get in.
Which she did, with considerable grace and no apparent reluctance. A lesson in the game of pretense, she accorded, aware it was the first of many she’d be required to play in the coming months.
Oh, tell it like it is, she chided silently as the car whispered through the busy streets.
Duardo had specified…wife.
A warm and willing body in his bed. A social hostess.
What if she fell pregnant?
A groan rose and died in her throat. Protection…she had none. Hadn’t used or needed it.
‘Nothing to say?’
Kayla spared his profile a steady glance. ‘I’m plotting your downfall.’
His soft chuckle curled round her nerve-ends.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I believe you’ll try.’
‘Count on it.’ She glanced idly at the changing scene as the Aston Martin entered the eastern suburbs, where the inner-city shabby abodes were replaced with classy apartment buildings, well-kept homes guarded by walls and ornate gates.
Duardo, according to the media, resided in a luxurious Point Piper mansion overlooking the inner harbour, bought at the time of his marriage, but never lived in by her.
It was purported he’d brought in a team of builders, gutted the interior and virtually redesigned the internal structure before spending a veritable fortune on fittings and furnishings.
A fortress, Kayla observed, guarded by hi-tech security, and accessible only to those authorised to enter.
Well-positioned lighting revealed beautifully tended lawns and gardens, a curving driveway leading to an elegant mansion, and it was impossible not to feel the acceleration of nervous tension as Duardo brought the car to a halt beneath the wide portico.
One of two large double doors opened to frame a slender middle-aged woman.
‘Maria,’ Duardo indicated quietly as he released his seat belt. ‘My housekeeper.’
Spence, Maria—
‘Her husband, Josef, takes care of the grounds and maintenance.’
And Josef comprised the complement of staff. Live-in?
‘There are two self-contained flats above the garages. Maria and Josef occupy one, Spence the other.’
Kayla slid out from the car, and, introductions complete, she entered the magnificent marble-tiled lobby.
Huge, with a curved double staircase leading to the upper floor, exquisite lighting, gleaming dark furniture and a number of beautifully carved wooden doors guarding various rooms.
There would, she determined, be panoramic views over the harbour during the day, with a fairyland of lights at night.
‘There is coffee, or tea if you’d prefer,’ the housekeeper relayed quietly and incurred Duardo’s thanks. ‘The bags have been taken up to the master suite.’
Kayla’s stomach took a backwards flip…at least, that was what it felt like! She didn’t want to think about the bedroom, much less go there.
‘Tea would be lovely.’ And a delaying tactic. ‘Perhaps I could freshen up, first?’
Duardo indicated the staircase. ‘Of course.’
Two different wings, one comprised of a few guest suites and an informal lounge, while the other held three bedrooms each with adjoining en suites, with the master suite in prominent position overlooking the harbour.
A large room, with a spacious alcove containing two comfortable chairs, an antique desk and a television cabinet. Two en suite bathrooms, two walk-in wardrobes.
She avoided looking at the bed…the very large bed.
‘You have a beautiful home.’
‘A compliment, Kayla?’
‘You doubt I can gift you one?’
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and spread it over a valet frame, then he tugged off his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt before moving to the door. ‘When you’re ready, take the second door on your left at the base of the stairs.’
There was a sense of relief in being free from his presence. But not for long…
It would be bliss, absolute bliss to take a leisurely shower and shampoo her hair with the high-end market products lined up in the en suite. To use the hair-drier, wrap her body in the luxurious towelling robe, then slip into that comfortable bed…and sleep.
The temptation was too great, and with quick, economical movements she discarded her clothes, then stepped into the large marbled-tiled shower stall to luxuriate in an endless supply of steaming hot water.
The delicately scented body-wash was heaven, so, too, the luxury shampoo…neither of which she’d been able to afford to use for years.
Had Maria been instructed to stock up the en suite? Or were the products a complimentary gesture to whichever female Duardo took to his bed?
A man of his calibre had women falling all over him. Attracted to his wealth, his social status…and tantalized by his former bad-boy reputation.
Kayla tilted her head and let the water’s needle-spray course over her face. Dammit, it felt so good not to have to consider a tiny heating system that permitted three-minute ablutions before the water ran cold.
It was a while before Kayla turned off the dial, then, towelled dry, she pulled on the robe before tending to her hair.
Bed had never looked so good, and she turned back the top cover, touched the feather pillow with something akin to reverence…
She should unpack—but who was she kidding? The contents of her bag were so basic it would take only minutes to stow them.
As to pulling on clothes…the idea had little appeal. Nor did returning downstairs.
The weight of the day and its outcome descended on her slim shoulders, and she slid between the fine percale sheets with care.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Duardo could come find her when he was ready.
Kayla slept, unaware of Duardo’s presence, more than an hour later, or that he stood looking down at her pale features in repose.
She didn’t register that he left the room and returned close to midnight, nor did she hear the shower or sense him slide into bed.
It was only when her hand came into contact with a solid, warm ribcage in the early hours of the morning that she freaked out, subconsciously unaware of where she was in those initial few seconds.
She knew only that it was dark, the bed wasn’t her own…and who in hell was controlling her frantic need to escape.
She heard her name…then movement, and the room became bathed in soft light.
Son-of-a-bitch. Duardo bit back the muffled curse as he took in the tumbled hair, the heated cheeks, her heaving body, the stark fear in those brilliant blue eyes…and witnessed the moment comprehension hit.
‘You forgot where you were.’
Oh, dear lord. ‘Yes.’ The simplicity of it seemed ludicrous.
He was close, much too close. The warmth of his skin covering hard muscle and sinew, the clean masculine scent of soap…the sensual heat that was his alone.
Physical awareness as strong as it had ever been. Riveting, hypnotic…pagan.
The need to put some space between them was imperative, and she moved a little, aware of the stillness apparent in the dark depths of his eyes.
He could easily reach for her, draw her in against him and cover her mouth with his own. Soothe, seduce…and have her go up in flames.
As he had, many times, during their magical time in Hawaii. An apt and willing pupil, she’d exulted beneath his skilled hands, his mouth, the feel of him deep inside her.
How many nights had she lain awake, cursing herself for allowing him to walk away? For not having the courage, the perspicacity to stand up against her father.
Now she was back in Duardo’s bed for all the wrong reasons, and she hated him for it.
‘Go to sleep.’
As if!
‘Unless you need some help?’ His drawled query was unmistakable, and she made no attempt to disguise the slight bitterness in her voice.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘For now.’
‘Thank heaven for small mercies.’
‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’
‘Pity.’ She paused as she speared his gaze with her own. ‘I’m not big on warm fuzzies at the moment.’
His soft chuckle was almost her undoing. ‘I seem to recall you being quite talkative at this hour of the morning.’
In the afterglow of exceptionally great sex. When she lay curled into him, her cheek nestled against his chest. A time of dreams, love, hope.
‘I’m surprised you remember.’ Kayla’s response was deliberately tart. ‘With all the women who followed me.’
‘You imagine there were so many?’
Thinking about just how many was like being stabbed in the heart. ‘They would have stood in line for the privilege.’
‘A back-handed compliment, Kayla?’
‘A statement of fact.’
‘Derived from experience?’
‘A trick question, Duardo?’ She was damned if she’d reveal she’d taken no one to her bed…since, or before him.
A silent laugh bubbled up in her throat, almost choking her. The original virgin…a one-man woman. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be hysterical.
‘Which you’d prefer not to answer.’
‘Got it in one.’
His mouth curved into a slight smile. ‘Are you done?’
She borrowed his words without compunction. ‘For now.’
‘Let’s make the most of the few hours before dawn, hmm?’
For a brief few seconds her eyes held uncertainty, followed by a degree of wariness.
‘To sleep,’ he added with a tinge of amusement before settling onto his back, and he proceeded to do just that within a very short period of time.
Much to her relief.
Or, so she told herself as she deliberately banished the slow-curling desire insidiously invading her body.

CHAPTER THREE
KAYLA came awake to morning sunshine filtering through the curtains and the knowledge that she was alone in the vast bed.
A quick glance at the time, and she hit the floor running.
The hospital…She’d promised Jacob she’d be there before he went in for surgery. Forget breakfast, she decided as she took care of bathroom necessities…she’d grab something later.
Clothes…jeans, a singlet top, jacket. Hair caught into a practised knot and secured with a large clip, minimal make-up, lipstick…and she emerged into the bedroom to see Duardo in the process of adjusting his tie.
Well-groomed, attired in impeccable tailoring, he looked every inch the executive entrepreneur. And far too ruggedly attractive for any woman’s peace of mind.
Especially hers.
‘You should have woken me.’ The words were almost an accusation.
‘What happened to good morning?’ His New-York-accented drawl held indolent amusement, and she threw him a heated glance.
‘Thanks to you, I’m going to be late.’
‘Maria has breakfast ready for you.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I’ve already phoned the hospital. Jacob won’t be transferred down to Theatre until nine.’
‘—have time to eat,’ she concluded.
‘Yes, you will.’ He subjected her to a raking appraisal, noting the fine bone structure, a slenderness that was almost too lean. How many meals had she missed in the past? ‘Spence will drive you there.’
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again.
His expression remained unchanged. ‘It’s his job description.’ Only part of it. He extracted a cellphone from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. ‘Yours. The essential numbers are already programmed in on speed-dial.’
Kayla thrust it into her shoulder bag, and looked in silent askance as he withdrew a sheaf of papers.
‘Your signature is required on the marriage-licence application.’
Duardo handed her a pen, indicated where she should sign, then handed her a legal document. ‘A copy of the pre-nuptial agreement for you to read. You have an appointment with my lawyer at midday to sign the original.’
Oh, my. She felt her stomach twist into a painful knot. All legalities taken care of. Somehow she didn’t feel inclined to thank him.
Calm, she had to remain calm. ‘I imagine you’ve arranged a date for this marriage?’
‘Tomorrow. A Celebrant will conduct the ceremony here at the house.’
‘Tomorrow.’ She swallowed the sudden lump that had formed in her throat.
He withdrew his wallet, extracted several notes and handed them to her. ‘I’ll organize a bank account and charge-card in your name this morning. Spence will ensure you tend to the necessary paperwork.’
‘You’re not afraid I might abscond?’ The query emerged with more flippancy than she intended, and his gaze narrowed fractionally.
‘Be warned, you wouldn’t get far.’
A chill settled deep in her bones. ‘I made a deal,’ she voiced quietly. ‘There’s too much at stake for me not to honour it.’
Duardo collected his briefcase in one hand and picked up his laptop. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Late,’ Kayla qualified, and at his raised eyebrow she added in explanation, ‘Jacob. Hospital.’
‘Spence will drop you there this afternoon.’
‘I can use public transport.’
‘But you won’t.’ There was an underlying hint of steel apparent, which she chose to ignore.
‘Why not?’ Besides, she wanted some degree of independence.
His eyes seared hers. ‘You want to draw battle lines?’
Her head tilted a little as she held his gaze. ‘Yes.’
‘We’ll discuss issues over dinner.’
‘Let’s do that.’ Without a further word she made her way downstairs, aware he descended them at her side, and she didn’t so much as spare him a glance as they reached the foyer and went in different directions.
Kayla found the informal dining room, and greeted the hovering Maria with a smile.
Orange juice, coffee, cereal, fruit, eggs benedict…it was a veritable feast. Her appetite, which had taken a dive, was sufficiently tempted to have a little of each.
For years, breakfast had been a gulp-and-go affair as she inevitably raced to meet the train. To sit down and savour food without the immediate need to rush proved something of a rarity.
Spence appeared as she drained the last of her coffee, and she grabbed her bag and followed him out to the four-wheel-drive.
They struck peak-hour traffic, which slowed their progress down, and although she had a host of questions, she asked only one. ‘Did you know Duardo in New York?’
An easy smile parted his mouth. ‘For a number of years. When I expressed a desire to move to Australia, he suggested I take care of security for him.’
Had they worked the streets together and kept one step ahead of the law? Moved on and up by the skin of their teeth and sheer luck before exchanging the shady deals for legitimate ones? Taking risks no sensible person would touch, gambling both life and limb in the driven desire to succeed?
That Duardo Alvarez had reached the pinnacle of success was no mean feat.
‘Ensuring his life runs smoothly.’ It was a statement, not a query, and Spence chuckled.
‘I guess you could say that.’
Security covered a whole range of possibilities, of which bodyguard and driver were only two.
It was almost eight-thirty when Spence drew the four-wheel-drive into the hospital’s main entrance. ‘Meet me here in three quarters of an hour. Duardo suggested we undertake a shopping expedition until your midday appointment with the lawyer.’
Shopping? We? ‘You’re joking, right?’
His gaze remained steady. ‘You have a problem with me accompanying you?’
Oh, my. ‘Not if you’re authorised to use Duardo’s credit card.’ Kayla checked her watch, then offered a dazzling smile. ‘Nine-fifteen.’
It took only minutes to reach the upper floor and locate Jacob’s room, a single suite with a view from the window.
‘Hi.’ Kayla crossed to the bed and brushed her lips to his forehead.
‘Right back at you.’
His voice was drowsy with the faint huskiness of sedation, and her heart ached for him.
He was all she had. The one person who’d been there for her, unconditionally, since their mother’s death.
Together they’d shared the grief, weathered the despair and fought to regain a modicum of dignity through Benjamin’s fall from grace.
And afterwards, when the grim reality of poverty made itself felt, Jacob had given up everything…as she had…to work every waking hour in an effort to survive.
She noted the bruises to his jaw, his cheek…much more noticeable than they had been last night. How many more were there, marring his young body?
His leg…his shattered knee. It sickened her to think of the surgery he had to undergo, and she worried if it would be totally successful. If he’d be left with a limp…not be able to run or play sport.
His welfare brought vividly to mind just what Duardo’s proposition meant in real terms. And why she’d accepted it.
‘How are you feeling?’
A faint smile parted his lips. ‘Almost out of it.’
‘You’re going to be fine.’ Words, sincerely meant in reassurance.
He squeezed her hand. ‘Thanks.’
Tears momentarily blurred her vision, and she blinked rapidly to dispel them.
Within minutes a nurse appeared, took his vital signs, then signalled for an Orderly to take the patient to Theatre.
‘There’s a visitors’ lounge at the end of the corridor where you can wait. A cafeteria on the next level.’ She checked her watch. ‘Given surgery, recovery, he won’t be back in his room much under five hours.’
Jacob managed a slow smile as the Orderly trundled the bed from the suite, and Kayla walked at his side until they reached the lift.
She left her cellphone number with the sister-in-charge, together with a request to call should Jacob recover from the anaesthetic sooner than anticipated.
Spence was waiting when she emerged from the main entrance, and his choice of venues soon became apparent when he entered Double Bay.
Exclusive expensive boutiques, and once, in another life, her preferred shopping mecca. An area where serious money could be spent on designer originals…apparel, shoes, bags, jewellery.
‘Wedding attire is a priority,’ Spence informed as they hit the pavement.
Was she supposed to display joyous anticipation? Enthusiasm? Just how much did Spence know of her connection with his boss?
Enough. It couldn’t be any other way.
‘You’ll need to enlighten me.’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘A small, intimate ceremony, with myself and Duardo’s lawyer as witnesses.’
No guests. Well, that narrowed it down. ‘Classy, but not over-the-top.’ And not bridal. She could do that.
Elegant boho-chic, white or cream, stilettos, a single, long-stemmed red rose held in one hand? Too fashionable-of-the-moment?
Maybe she should go for formal black, or deep scarlet. Although she doubted Duardo would appreciate or approve of the irony.
She found the perfect outfit in the first boutique she entered. In pale cream, it was a nineteen-twenties-style dress with a delicate crystal-beaded skirt overlay reaching just below her knees, and a sleeveless beaded top. It was elegant, outlined her slender curves, and felt right.
Different, so very different from the long white fitted gown she’d packed to take to Hawaii for her first wedding.
Then she’d married for love, and had melted into Duardo’s bed with willing fervour.
Now…now it seemed as if a hundred butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach at the mere thought.
Could she slip easily into intimacy? Close her eyes and pretend? Enjoy what they’d once shared together?
The vivid memory of how it had been heated her blood and caused sensation to pool deep inside.
Don’t think, a silent voice bade. Just…deal with it.
Kayla took a deep breath and spared her mirrored image another critical look. Yes. The dress more than met the required criteria for a quiet civil ceremony.
The price tag sent her into a momentary state of shock. So, too, did the matching stilettos.
How times had changed. Five years ago she wouldn’t have given the cost a second thought. Now she stood to one side while Spence presented Duardo’s credit card and the boutique vendeuse packaged the purchases.
She spared the lingerie boutique a quick glance and walked on by…only to pause when Spence redirected her inside.
It was akin to being shown Aladdin’s cave. Exquisite silk and lace in abundance. She could have had a field-day. Instead she selected a matching bra and brief set, and ignored Spence’s encouragement to add more to a steadily growing collection of glossy carrier-bags.
There was time for a restorative coffee before dealing with the bank, the lawyer to sign the pre-nuptial agreement…whereupon she was handed a manila envelope.
‘Duardo instructed me to give you these copies.’
For a moment she looked startled, then realisation hit. Documented proof of Duardo’s takeover bid of Benjamin’s company.
It was after two when Spence drew the four-wheel-drive to a halt outside the hospital entrance.
‘I’ll take the shopping home and have Maria put it in your room.’
‘Thanks.’ Kayla reached for the door clasp. ‘And thanks for today. I appreciated your help.’
His smile held genuine warmth. ‘You’re welcome.’
Jacob’s suite was empty when she reached it, and she sought out the sister-in-charge, who, on enquiry, relayed the reconstructive surgery had taken longer than anticipated and it could be another hour before Jacob was returned to the ward.
The cafeteria seemed a good choice, and she filled in time with a cool drink whilst leafing through a few complimentary magazines.
Although her mind kept wandering as she reflected on the day…and wondered what the night would bring.
Get a grip. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been to bed with him before. Dammit, she’d lain at his side through last night…and woken with the knowledge he only had to make the slightest move for her to go into meltdown.
It didn’t make sense. The mind and body should be in sync…yet hers seemed to be two separate entities with different agendas.
Speaking of which, there was one glaring error in her purchases, and she went in search of the medical centre, secured a prescription for the contraceptive pill then sought out the pharmacy dispensary.
Jacob had just been trundled into his suite when she entered it, and she stood to one side as the Orderly and nurse tended to routine.
‘Your brother is heavily sedated and on pain relief,’ the nurse informed. ‘He’ll be very drowsy for some time.’
An understatement, for over the next few hours he stirred momentarily, acknowledged where he was, smiled at her then he lapsed back to sleep.
A nurse checked him on the hour. ‘I think it would be wise for you to go home and visit tomorrow,’ she advised kindly.
‘An excellent idea,’ a familiar male voice drawled from the doorway.
Duardo, Kayla perceived, aware of the forceful image he presented as he entered the suite. His eyes were dark and faintly hooded as they met her own.
‘I’ve spoken with the surgeon. The reconstruction has been successful. He endorsed the level of Jacob’s sedation and pain control.’
She was reluctant to leave, and said so. ‘Visiting hours aren’t over yet.’
‘It’s doubtful Jacob will do more than stir through the night.’
Two against one. Common sense won out, and she addressed the nurse as she stood. ‘Please make sure he knows I was here.’
‘Of course.’
Kayla exited the ward at Duardo’s side, and rode the lift down to ground level in silence, waiting until they reached his Aston Martin before offering, ‘There was no need for you to come collect me.’

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