Billion dollar baby bargain.txt

by Неизвестный

  home. They gasped together as the blow pushed pleasure into every cell, and lay for a moment of

  surprise, looking into each other’s wide eyes.

  In the moonlight she was both mysterious and known, both his and the other, the unknowable. He

  realized he must make her his, all his, and his body instinctively rose and pressed home again, to repeat

  that burst of joy, for this, he knew, was the way to own the lady. Her weakness for pleasure would

  always make her his.

  He drew away and then home again, over and over, listening to the rhythm of her cries, guided by her

  hands, her mouth, her eyes, the hiss of breath between her teeth.

  His own pleasure was his at any time, such power she had over him. But it was his delight to withhold it

  while he pushed her closer and closer to the source of the lady’s mysterious power.

  Melting pleasure flooded through her with each thrust of his body, and stored itself up in her cells,

  waiting for release. She lifted her body in response to the rhythm that had been created before the world.

  This was the rhythm of the birth of worlds, she thought dimly, this was how it happened—this endlessly

  repeated, endlessly building heat and joy, the sending of light into her heart, her muscles, her cells, her

  atoms. The pushing and pushing against the barrier that divided body from spirit, soul from soul, the

  barrier that only joy could defeat.

  The pleasure built up in her till there was no room for any more, and still it built, overflowing from her

  cells into the world, till they were surrounded by an aura of sweetness and light and warmth that was all

  and everything, a warmed honey that glowed with its own light, an all-embracing delight-in-waiting.

  And still he pushed, and pushed more, till she was sobbing with her inability to contain the pleasure, and

  then, suddenly, there was an explosion of heat and light, of love and joy, of delight and honey, and the

  wild need to be both self and other.

  Pleasure blasted its way through them, and then what they hungered for was within their grasp, and they

  reached for it together, clasped it and brought it down to their bed, and held it for that brief, endless

  moment that is all that is allowed to mortals.

  Afterwards they lay in each other’s embrace, talking and silent, loving and still.

  “Prince Omar has asked you to go and live abroad?” she asked. “Why?”

  “He wants me to set up as an unscrupulous collector, and let it be known I’m interested in Barakati

  antiquities, whatever their provenance.”

  “With the goal of?”

  “We hope it will allow us to trace the lines of supply right back to source. With luck we might bring

  down the whole chain.”

  “And what happens when you’ve finished the job? Salah, you won’t expect me to live in Barakat full

  time?” she asked.

  His arm tightened around her.

  “I know your career means you have to be in Paris and London. We’ll find a way, Desi.”

  “Only a few more years,” she admitted. “I’m very tired of the life. But I’ve been thinking for a while

  that I’d like to get a place on one of the islands and spend a few months of the year there. Not too far

  from my parents. Would you go for that?”

  “I always liked the island,” he said. “Summers there were always more pleasant than here in the desert.”

  She grinned. “I don’t think I ever understood quite how much until these past few days.”

  “And what about your work with my father?”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to that! I’m definitely going to see if I can fit in some part time study this

  year. Sami says everything gets taped now and you can download lectures. So it should be doable.”

  “I’m glad you have found a new career with my father, Desi. And I have another apology to make. How

  many times did I accuse you of lying? I was so sure I knew you!”

  “Yes,” she said curiously, tilting her head to look up at him. “What made you so sure?”

  He smiled and lifted a strand of her hair to tickle his mouth.

  “Even when we were children and you came in to tell the rest of us stories, or when you said something

  to challenge me—I always knew when you’d made it up, remember?”

  “Oh!” Desi cried, remembering. “Yes, how infuriating that was! Harry would have swallowed anything,

  but for you! How did you always know?”

  “Well, I will tell you, though perhaps it sounds impossible in the cold light of reason. The colour of your

  eyes changed. When you had something to hide, your eyes were grey.

  “I was already suspicious of your motives before you came. I told my father so, and he agreed it was

  suspicious. But when you were telling me your reasons for coming here, and your eyes went grey…then

  I was sure you were lying.”

  “Ahhh,” Desi said. “No one’s ever told me that before.”

  “I could think of only two reasons for you to be here. I told my father you were the tool of thieves—I

  told myself that that was why I had to be your guide. But I couldn’t suppress the hope—not that I saw

  the feeling as hope then!—that you had really come here for…”

  “For you? You secretly wanted me to say, you can’t marry Sami because I still love you?”

  “Things might have proceeded more quickly if you had.”

  “Sami made me swear a terrible oath that I wouldn’t tell you the truth. Otherwise I’d have cracked a

  dozen different times.”

  It took a moment for that to filter in. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her. In the

  lamplight clear turquoise eyes smiled up at him.

  “What? What truth?”

  “You were right, Salah. I was lying to you. Not for my own ends, though—well, not consciously. I came

  here because of Sami.”

  She felt his surprise. “Sami?”

  “I guess your father never had the chance to tell you. Sami has a fiancé already. She doesn’t want to

  marry you. Please don’t break your heart. She asked me to—well, to try and…sidetrack you. And to try

  to get your father’s permission for her to marry Farid instead of you.”

  “But this is crazy! It was they who made—”

  “It wasn’t Sam’s doing, though. Her brothers have forced her into a lot of observant practice over the

  past few years.”

  He wouldn’t rest till he had the whole story out of her. Then he lay back laughing.

  “You were supposed to compromise my bid by seducing me?”

  “I know it sounds crazy…”

  “Sounds? What if I obliged you, and then denied it afterwards? Were you going to the media to expose

  me? Think of the headlines!”

  “I was never very happy about it,” she said meekly. “But Sami was so desperate.”

  “But why not speak to me directly? She could have phoned me!”

  “Because she was convinced you had reasons of your own for wanting the marriage. She wasn’t sure

  how you’d take it, or if you’d tell Walid. As soon as I saw you, I understood her fears. Let’s face it,

  you’re a bit intimidating these days, Salah.”

  She kissed his shoulder to soften the words.

  He lay in silence for a moment. “And she was right. I did have reasons, not that I understood that then. I

  think now that I felt it was a way to bring you back into my life. And it did.”

  “But only because Sami begged me. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. What would have happened if I

  hadn’t?”

  �
�I would have found a way, Desi. I know it now. Something had begun to speak in me, and it would not

  have been silenced until I saw you again.

  “But still, I think, we will be grateful to Sami all the rest of our lives. And I am very glad to know that I

  was not mistaken. I do know you, my heart.”

  She said thoughtfully, brushing his cheek with a curl of her hair, “It could be a problem, though, never

  being able to lie to you.”

  “You foresee that you will want to tell me lies, Deezee? When? Why?”

  “Well, for instance…when I’m trying to throw a surprise party for your eightieth birthday,” she said.

  “It’s going to be a bit of an anti-climax, isn’t it, if you know all about it right from the get-go?”

  PAULA ROE

  THE MAGNATE’S BABY PROMISE

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  One

  I t’s my company. Mine.

  The mantra throbbed in Cal Prescott’s brain until, with a growl of frustration, he slammed his palms on

  the desk and shot to his feet.

  Victor had really done it this time—not only pitting his sons against each other for the ultimate prize of

  VP Tech but demanding an heir in the bargain. With a sharp breath Cal whirled to study the panoramic

  view of Sydney’s Circular Quay and Botany Bay below, the gun-metal arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge

  nestled comfortably in the foreground. The unusually sunny June morning did nothing to smooth his

  anger; Victor’s trademark directness still smouldered away in his gut.

  You must both marry and produce an heir. The first one to do so gets the company.

  Zac, his stepbrother, didn’t deserve VP Tech. He was Victor’s real flesh and blood, yes, but the younger

  man had turned his back on them years ago. It was Cal who’d stuck with family, who had put in the long

  hours, steadily growing the business until his One-Click office software package had finally cracked the

  biggest seller spot in Australia last year.

  Cal Prescott didn’t walk away. Ever. He’d put every waking hour, every drop of sweat into his

  stepfather’s company. Damned if he’d let it slip through his fingers now.

  With long-legged strides he stalked over to a discreet wall panel and jabbed a button to reveal a wellstocked

  bar. He smoothly poured himself a glass of whiskey, neat.

  Making money, proving himself, had been an all-consuming desire for so long he barely remembered a

  time he hadn’t lived and breathed it. And with every million he’d made, every deal he’d brokered, he

  could’ve sworn he’d seen pride on Victor’s craggy face, felt the rush of approval when the gruff,

  emotionally spare man imparted brief praise. Obviously he was good enough to bring in millions but not

  good enough to be a Prescott, to be automatically entrusted with the legacy of VP Tech.

  Unfamiliar bitterness knotted his insides, curled his lip. Victor hadn’t even given him the courtesy of an

  explanation; he’d simply issued the ultimatum then left on some business trip, leaving Cal to sort

  through the bombshell’s wreckage.

  The phone rang then and Cal sat, grabbing the receiver.

  “There’s a woman I’d like you to meet,” Victor said by way of greeting.

  Speak of the devil. “You’re back.”

  “Yes. You remember Miles Jasper, the Melbourne heart surgeon?”

  The sour taste of futility burnt the back of his throat. “No.”

  Victor ignored him and continued. “He has a daughter. She’s twenty-seven, blond, attractive and—”

  “I don’t give a damn if she’s Miss Universe,” Cal ground out. “I’m not some prize stallion at auction. I

  may have agreed to this ludicrous arrangement, but I will pick my own wife.” He slammed the phone

  down with a satisfying crack.

  After a long, drawn-out moment he dragged in a controlled breath, slid a sealed envelope from his desk

  drawer and slowly centred it on the desk with meticulous care.

  Thanks to a local investigator and a helpful cabbie, his obsession with the elusive Ava Reilly could now

  be put to rest.

  For the past nine weeks he’d refused to think about her, about that one amazing night, shoving it from

  his mind with the decisive efficiency he was renowned for. But now, as he let his thoughts wander back

  to their chance encounter, the walls began to crack.

  Long limbs, soft black hair and a pair of bright blue eyes teased his memory. Ava. A movie-star name,

  one that evoked a woman with poise, elegance. Presence.

  She’d gotten under his skin and stayed there, disrupting his thoughts at awkward times—in meetings,

  with clients. The worst were the early mornings, before the sun rose. Time and again he’d hauled

  himself from the depths of a hot erotic dream where her mouth had been on his, her lips trailing over his

  chest, her skin hot and silky beneath his hands. It had left him frustrated and aching with need way too

  many times.

  He’d been determined to forget her, forget what had just been a one-night stand. Ironically, he’d gotten

  his wish three days ago. Three days since his stepfather had issued his ultimatum, seventy-two hours in

  which VP Tech had dominated his thoughts and he’d seesawed between dull, throbbing rage and

  aggravated tension.

  With a flick of his wrist, he ripped open the envelope and scanned the report.

  After too many broken nights and unfocused days, he’d taken action. Now he steeled himself for reality

  to shatter the fantasy. She could be married, or engaged. His thoughts darkened. He could’ve been her

  last fling before she’d settled down to marry her childhood sweetheart—

  As his eyes flipped over the paragraphs, his brows took a dive. Ava Reilly owned a bed-and-breakfast in

  rural western New South Wales.

  He reached for his computer mouse, clicked on the Internet connection and typed “Jindalee retreat” in

  the search engine. Seconds later he was looking at Jindalee’s basic Web page. No wonder she was up to

  her eyeballs in debt with the bank about to foreclose next month. The place was under-promoted and

  unremarkable for a simple outback town with less than five hundred people.

  He went back to the report, skimming over her financials until he got to the summary of her weekly

  errands. Cal snorted. That PI was thorough, he’d give him that.

  Approximately eight weeks pregnant.

  “What the hell?”

  Office walls suddenly closed in on him, tight and airless, forcing Cal to take a deep gulp.

  In one sharp movement, he crushed the offending paper and hurled it across his office, where it hit the

  wall with a soft thud. No. No way. Not again.

  A shuddering breath wracked through him as shock stiffened every muscle. He’d had that, once. A baby.

  His baby. A child to follow in his footsteps, to nurture and love. To shower with his wealth and

  experience and to ensure the past was never repeated. He’d been ecstatic when Melissa had told him.

  Vulnerable.

  Stupid.

  She’d faked everything and he’d vowed never to repeat that failure again.

  But this…this changed everything.

  He tightened his jaw, teeth grinding together. After making mad, passionate love, Ava had run
like a

  thief in the night. If not for those black bikini knickers he’d found tangled in the sheets, it could have all

  been just a delicious, erotic dream.

  His thoughts spun out of control, fed by heated memories. And as he recalled every sigh, every touch,

  his shock morphed into something more sinister. Swiftly his mind clicked through options. Chance

  encounter or deliberate? Perhaps part of a calculated blackmail plan?

  His harsh laugh exploded in the quiet office. If the child was his, it provided a neat solution to all his

  problems.

  He slammed down his glass then picked up the phone. “Jenny—arrange for a car and inform the airstrip

  I’ll be flying within the hour.”

  Replacing the receiver with deliberate slowness he stood, a low curse softly rumbling across his lips.

  His baby.

  Shards of intense possessiveness stabbed, threatening to choke off his air. If Ava thought he’d pay up

  and stay out of her life, she was very much mistaken. Every single day, in the midst of everything he’d

  attained, who he was and where he’d come from were never far from his mind. And no long-legged,

  dark-haired seductress with wide blue eyes would compromise his beliefs.

  With gnawing apprehension, Ava realized she had to face facts—Jindalee was spiralling into a money

  pit and she had no way of stopping it.

  She sighed, eyeing the final notices spread before her on the kitchen table. Absently she ran a frustrated

  hand over the tangle of hair that had slipped from its ponytail. She’d been certain people would jump at

  the chance to spend time at a real get-away-from-it-all rural retreat, so certain she’d sunk all her parents’

  insurance money into the venture. She’d converted the homestead into a reception and dining area, built

  a five-cabin extension and refurbished the kitchen.

  All to emphasise her spectacular downfall.

  Her rooms were empty most weekends and she didn’t have the money or experience to keep on

  advertising. Despite her fierce determination to ignore the town gossips, she knew they’d feed on this

  until her belly started to grow, and then the Gum Tree Falls grapevine would be buzzing anew with

  “have you heard the latest on Ava Reilly?”