by Margaret Way
“I’m ready now,” Brant said. He gave Alena a parting kiss on the cheek.
Nyree had to admit it was with a faint air of melancholy that she moved through the farmhouse. Great-Uncle Howard’s paintings had already been packed up and put into storage. Brant had said it was a precaution in case Cyclone Callie hit their part of the coast. She even shed a few tears. How unhappy poor Howie must have been. It sounded as if there had been plenty of women for him to pick from, only he’d settled on the Contessa. A love that was truly taboo. Even then her great-uncle hadn’t been able to let go. Now he was dead. She was greatly saddened by his loss of direction. It couldn’t be allowed to happen to her.
Surely she could take Brant’s kiss at Laguna’s town hall as a clear message? Lord knew it had been a clear enough message for a lot of people. Rumour had spread like wildfire. When she had all but run into Lana Bennett outside the town pharmacy Lana hadn’t uttered a word, her dark head held high, but the expression in her eyes had been so malignant it had made her shudder. Lana Bennett hated her—which was a clear indicator that Lana held real fears. But no matter Lana’s feelings—and Nyree could see they were extremely intense—Lana was a civilised woman. She had a name, a reputation.
Somewhere in the house a board creaked. That was odd. She stood perfectly still while the house settled around her into a listening silence. Nothing! She drew a long breath. For the very first time she felt the farm’s isolation. She could have done with Juno and Jupiter right now. Her heart was beating so hard she could scarcely breathe.
The creak came again. There was someone in the house. She didn’t want to believe it but her senses told her it was so. The last thing she could do was allow her strength to drain out of her. She moved a few feet to pick up a solid brass candlestick, taking long, deep breaths to steady herself.
“Is anyone there?” she called, ashamed when her voice sounded shaky and near desolate.
That wouldn’t do. She had to summon her courage, her spirit.
“Show yourself!” She tried again, forcing not her grandmother’s but Miss Em’s indomitable tones.
To her horror, the intruder did. He was tall and thin, his head covered by a black balaclava except for his eyes—a washed-out blue—and a thin-lipped mouth. His voice was coarse, lowered to a mere whisper.
“Hi there, little lady! Give you a fright, did I? No wonder…way out here on your own.”
Nyree heard the gloating satisfaction. “Don’t come a step closer,” she said. It was as though Miss Em had really stepped in. “You need to get out of here. And fast. Or you could finish up in jail.”
“You’re the one who needs to get out, girlie,” he grunted. “You’re not wanted here.”
Nyree gripped the candlestick tighter. “Who sent you?” she demanded, seizing on a hunch. “Someone did. I bet you’d rather not say. How much did she pay you?”
The intruder made a sharp dismissive gesture, as though he didn’t want her to continue. “I bet you’re scared when you’re all tucked up at night,” he muttered. “I bet you’re scared now.”
He moved closer, wanting to come into physical contact with her despite the fact he’d been warned not to. He’d never seen such a beautiful woman. What harm would there be in touching her? Her skin was so flawless he would love to stroke it. She was completely at his mercy. The hand that held the candlestick was trembling, though he didn’t doubt she fully intended to use it.
Plucky little thing! He had to admire it. Full of fight. He’d really love to—
Wow! He moved forward a pace, then paused abruptly, seeing her whole expression change. It had gone from ready-for-anything valiant to thrilled within seconds. It was as though her guardian angel had suddenly materialised, great wings spread, gloriously male and all-powerful. It didn’t make sense.
It did to Nyree. “The man I love is right behind you,” she said.
The intruder tried to run and was blocked.
“Hell, man, I meant no harm,” he wailed. “Back off.”
Brant did no such thing. His turquoise eyes flashed in a killing rage. He ripped off the balaclava, grateful when he didn’t recognise the face. He wasn’t anyone from the town. Putting his considerable strength behind it, Brant unleashed a punch that connected with the man’s jaw. The brutal contact gave him enormous satisfaction.
The intruder went down for the count, slumping heavily to the floor. Brant stood over him, knowing he was perilously close to giving the intruder the beating of his life.
“No, Brant. No!” Nyree ran to him, afraid of what might happen. “Someone sent him. He was supposed to frighten me off.”
Brant’s daunting expression didn’t alter. “I couldn’t care less who sent him right at the moment.” His tone lashed. “First things first.”
“No!” She put herself between Brant and the moaning man on the floor, pressing her hands against Brant’s chest. Rage was coming off his body in heat waves. “He didn’t touch me. I’m begging you to stop. It’s you I care about. Not him.”
It was a highly precarious situation. And no one was more conscious of it than the groaning intruder. This was Hollister. He was supposed to be out of town. That bitch had her information wrong. He stayed put, nursing his jaw and his broken nose. He needed an emergency medical department. Would that be before or after he was taken in by the police? The operation—supposed to be an easy in-and-out—had gone terribly wrong. And he wasn’t finished with.
It was taking time for Brant to wind down his rage. Nyree still clung fast. “You’re in a bit of pain, my friend,” Brant said, a twisted smile on his mouth.
“You’ve broken me nose,” the man whimpered pathetically.
“Ah—my sympathies. Who sent you?” The demand came, gut-low. “Who gave you the job?”
“I want to explain.” The intruder started to sob. “It was that bitch in town—the Bennett woman. Lana. She put me up to it. ‘Just frighten her’, she said.”
“But you couldn’t stop there, could you?” Brant couldn’t control what he did next. He sank his boot in the man’s ribs.
“It was just a job,” the man groaned. “I’m broke. Your little lady would have killed me before she let me touch her. I wasn’t going to. Swear.”
“Was it your old car I saw pulled off at the side of the road?” Brant rasped.
“After I’d done it and got paid I was heading off,” the man said. “I’m gonna try for a job at Mount Isa.” God knew he felt the urgency. Mount Isa was well over six hundred miles away.
“Well, then, you’d better get going.” Brant’s voice was very cold. “It will be quite a drive. And I’ll be checking on your arrival.”
“Ya goin’ to let me go?” There was relief and astonishment in the man’s tone.
“Get out of Hollister or pay the price,” Brant told him grimly, still exerting massive control. “Now, get up off the floor and get the hell out of here. Don’t attempt to go near the town. Don’t try to contact Lana Bennett. I’ll deal with her.”
“She put me up to it,” the man repeated, as though that was a point in his favour. “Nothin’ worse than a jealous woman.”
“Don’t go back for any worldly possessions either,” Brant warned. “Though I guess they’re already in your car.”
“I’m on my way, mate!” The man staggered to his feet, mopping at his bloody nose with a filthy rag from his trouser pocket. The sheer exhilarating relief! For a moment there he’d thought he wouldn’t get out of the house alive.
Some time later Brant came in from the verandah, having watched the intruder make off down the drive. He had wanted to call the police, have the deadbeat slung in jail, but the story would have come out and there would have been a scandal. There was to be no scandal attached to Nyree. He would deal with Lana, and with her family. He had known Lana all his life but he hadn’t seen this coming. He felt as if he had failed Nyree when he knew with every fibre of his being she was the love of his life.
“You’d better put some antisepti
c on your hand,” Nyree suggested, very quietly, going towards him with a swab and a bottle of antiseptic. “The skin is broken.”
“I’d like to have killed him!” There was anguish on Brant’s striking face. “He might have been sent only to frighten you, but the sight of you was too much for him. It was all there in his body language. God knows what would have happened if I hadn’t arrived.”
“I’d have thumped him over the head with the candlestick,” Nyree maintained stoutly, gently taking his uninjured hand and leading him to the kitchen.
“You mean you would have tried.”
Nyree looked up quickly into his face. She could see he was suffering. All because of her. After her life of emotional deprivation and unresolved grief the knowledge that he loved her—really loved her—made up for the pain. Love had the power to heal all wounds.
“It’s over, Brant,” she said gently, though her face was radiant. “You came. You were here when I desperately needed you. Let’s just dump all thoughts of Lana Bennett and that pathetic character. You broke his nose, you know,” she concluded, with a little wry laugh.
“Pity that’s all!” Brant went to the sink, washed his hands, dried them, allowing Nyree to apply antiseptic to his bruised and scraped knuckles.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice and face alive with emotion. “So glad I cou—”
He hauled her to him, his longing such that he had no use for words. He wanted her crushed against him. He wanted her safe. Safe for ever. His mouth came down hard, stayed like that, devouring her, until she gave an involuntary little whimper. It wasn’t his mouth—she adored the passionate pressure—it was his strong hands, clenched around her lightweight body.
“I’m sorry!” Immediately he relaxed his hold. “You make me so afraid.” His voice vibrated with niggling worry.
She was so young, and she’d had little time to experience life. No experience of sex. He couldn’t help it, but that made him furiously glad. She hadn’t even finished her education. Of course she could. He would help in every way possible. But was she ready to marry? Was she ready to marry him?
Unknowingly, she would be taking on a huge load. One day he would succeed his billionaire father, with all that entailed. It was a lifestyle greatly to be desired, but with it came lots of hazards ordinary people would never know or wish to contend with. His parents’ marriage had been destroyed along the way. It couldn’t happen to him. He needed Nyree. He would never let her run away.
Nyree rose on her tiptoes to stare into his blazing eyes. “How can I make you afraid? I love you!” It came out in a breathless rush. “I’ll always love you. You’ve changed my life. You’ve changed me. Do you not want me in the same way?”
Brant shook his head dazedly. He wanted her so much he was in pain. “Nyree, my love, I want you more. I want all of you. Body, soul and mind. I’m prepared to do anything to keep you. I want to love and protect you. Alena has told me to lighten up. She knows the strength of my feelings for you. I guess my grandad was the same about her. But we’re one-woman men. Even Dad hasn’t got over my mother. He lost her. I could never lose you. I want to marry you. I want to marry you the moment you’re ready. But I beg of you—put me out of my misery and make it soon. You can have your own life. You must finish your degree. You can become a child psycholo—”
No doubts crippled Nyree. The past was history. Brant was her future. This time she took the initiative. She pulled his dark head down to her and began covering his face in burning little kisses, casting off every last little inhibition along the way. This man was her life, her love, her soon-to-be husband. This was her homecoming. She knew she possessed powers only he could unleash. They would forge a wonderful marriage—a wonderful partnership.
Brant responded by lifting her up onto the counter to make their lovemaking easier. She was a creature of air and fire. His woman. Core of his heart.
“I’ll only ask one thing.” Nyree broke off their hungered kissing, her beautiful face flushed and enormously excited. “One of our girls must be called Emilia, okay?”
If a man was allowed to weep, he would. Weep with gratitude and triumph. One of our girls! Their children. “Emilia it is!” he declared, in a deep, exultant tone. “After all, Miss Em sent you to me.”
JENNIE ADAMS
Inherited by the Billionaire
Dear Reader,
Do you remember being young and in love for the first time ever? The ecstasy and agony, the deep, deep feelings and hopes and dreams, uncertainties and insecurities. Does he love me the same way? What will happen if I tell him? I want his kisses and to be with him, spend time with him…. Can I trust my feelings? Can I trust his?
Sometimes in real life that first love is all too quickly gone and forgotten. For Callie Humbold, Gideon Deveraux has been hard to forget, even if he did push her away the moment she tried to confess her feelings. But she was young, and it was just a crush.
Wasn’t it?
Of course it was! Now Callie is all grown-up and in charge of a successful guesthouse on an island off Australia’s Victoria coast. She has an unconventional marriage to organize for Gideon’s equally unconventional aunt, and Gideon is here to try to put a stop to the marriage—and Callie’s plans to go on running the guesthouse after his aunt moves off the island. Men and their hearts keep all of us dreaming, don’t they? We find one who is guarded, or doesn’t believe he knows how to give and receive deep love, yet we can see the potential in him. Well, maybe that’s a story best told by our Callie, herself. I’ll let you be the judge of Gideon’s potential.
I hope you enjoy this story. Maybe it will bring back some memories of your first love, too.
Love and hugs from Australia,
Jennie
For a very special “you.” Deeper than the ocean, wider than the sky, more enduring than forever. But you know that…
CHAPTER ONE
‘ONCE I’ve touched base with my aunt and with my…’
Ward? Inherited package of trouble? The first term was outdated, and not accurate; the second was more to the point. Callie Humbold was a pert, opinionated, spunky, sweet-natured, gorgeous, annoying bundle of uncontrollable youthful femininity. She had given Gideon Deveraux more than his share of headaches in the time he’d known her and ultimately felt responsible for her.
Gideon had sent Callie to his aunt seven years ago, to give himself distance from those headaches. And for other reasons that had to do with one night out of time and a lack of control and judgement on his part. But that was old news now. He didn’t know why the thought had even come to him.
Because Callie was on his mind right now, he supposed. But his focus was on the obligation he felt towards her.
He’d played an almost big-brother role to her during the time her uncle had worked as the groundskeeper on his family’s outer Melbourne estate. Reid had asked him to keep an eye on the boisterous girl during her childhood.
Then Gideon had saved Reid’s life, when Callie was twelve years old, and the older man had put his own unique twist on ‘a life for a life’ and put Callie even further into Gideon’s safekeeping.
It had come as no surprise, really, when Reid had died a few years later and willed the responsibility for Callie in Gideon’s direction—a moral obligation more than a legally based one.
But Gideon wouldn’t have been able to leave her to her own devices when Reid Humbold died anyway. She’d barely turned eighteen, and Gideon’s parents hadn’t exactly been going to care about or even notice her needs.
Gideon had made promises of his own at that time. To Dianna. He’d been about to get married and thus fulfil his family’s nice, tidy, unemotional expectations for carrying on the Deveraux standing in society with a wife of equally acceptable status.
‘Once you’ve touched base with your…?’ The woman at his side raised her brows with just the right amount of polite, businesslike interest.
Thirty years old, career-focused, whipcord-thin and oozing determ
ination from her pores, Heather Stiller would be the perfect new manager at the island guest house.
‘With my aunt and my ward,’ Gideon finally finished. He braced his feet on the jetty and lifted his and Heather’s travel bags into one hand. His yacht’s skipper had already turned around the small boat Gideon had purchased to get him here and left them to it.
‘Nothing much to see, Mr Deveraux. Wish I could have brought you in your usual style, in one of your real seagoing craft…’
Those had been the man’s parting comments. And there wasn’t a whole lot to see.
One tiny windswept island off Australia’s Victoria coast. One guest house being run on that tiny island by Gideon’s hippy aunt Mary—the scandal of the Deveraux family, as far as his parents were concerned, because she’d been born on ‘the wrong side of the blanket’. Not a socially acceptable thing for the Deveraux family!
His family had refused to officially acknowledge Mary, in any way. Years ago Gideon had tried to address that fact with Mary on one of her rare visits to the family estate to see ‘her favourite nephew’. Actually he was her only nephew, and she had pushed her way past his parents for those visits.
That day she’d patted his hand and told him she had the guest house to run on her wild little island. If he wanted to make her happy, she’d said, he could take it over so she was renting it from him and not his parents.
Gideon’s business dealings had taken him from the status of inherited millionaire to self-made billionaire. So he’d bought the island and everything on it, set things in place to make sure Mary was safe and secure there, and then he’d got on with his own interests.