Marrying His Runaway Heiress

by Therese Beharrie

  ‘Yes, you are.’ When she looked up long enough to stick her tongue out at him, he laughed. ‘I like it, Elena. It’s...refreshing.’

  ‘Well, then, if it’s refreshing.’

  And she rolled her eyes. Damn if that wasn’t refreshing, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HAD SHE THOUGHT she was in a fairy tale before? She must have been confused. Standing in front of a beautiful fountain, seeing people throw coins into it and make wishes was magical, yes. But getting ready for a fancy event, a dress waiting for her in her room along with fairies who did hair and make-up? It was something from her past. So far in her past she found it surreal.

  She caught her breath at the elegant black gown. The material was soft and glossy, simple and sophisticated. Micah intended on her wearing it as it was, she was sure, but she had the perfect necklace to go with it. It was bright and African, the yellow, black, red and green of it mixing in a pattern perfectly representing her home. Her make-up and hair were flawless, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognised the woman looking back at her.

  It had been over a decade since she’d felt so luxurious.

  She took a deep breath, pushed back the memories that were still coated with pain. Looked in the mirror again. She wouldn’t be the woman missing a life where she had never been enough. Contemplating a life where the things that fulfilled her were gone, regardless of what she decided to do about marrying Jameson. She would be the woman looking back at her. The African princess from some fairy tale she’d created in her mind. For one night, she could forget the rest and be that woman.

  She felt like that woman when she walked into the passage of the hotel and found Micah waiting for her.

  His eyes widened, and his lips parted to such an extent that she wondered if it counted as his jaw dropping. Colour flooded his skin. She didn’t think he realised it, or knew that he was clenching and unclenching the hand that hung at his side. His other hand was in his pocket, and she would have bet everything she had that he was clenching his fist there, too.

  He wasn’t the only one stunned by the other’s looks, though she hoped she was controlling her response more than he was. She would forgive herself if she wasn’t. Every fairy-tale princess needed a dashing counterpart and damn if he didn’t provide the perfect one.

  He’d shaved since their lunch. Got his hair cut, too. It made his face look more angular, his cheekbones more visible, that jaw more defined. His tuxedo accentuated every line of his body—which was magnificent, the muscles and softness she thought he might be a combination of. She would never know without touching him, and suddenly she understood what Micah’s fingers curling and uncurling meant. He was fighting against reaching out and touching her. Now, she was doing the same.

  Her heart pumped a little harder, more erratically.

  ‘You look...’ He trailed off before looking at her. The intensity was there, and this time she knew it was admiration, and maybe desire. ‘I don’t even have the words for it, if I’m honest.’

  ‘I’d accept nice,’ she said, her fingers curling around the yellow clutch she’d stuffed her lipstick and phone into. The latter was for recording the evening’s events. And ignoring the calls from her father’s office. She hadn’t made her decision yet. He would have to wait.

  ‘You don’t look nice though.’

  She gave a surprised laugh. ‘I think you’re supposed to pretend, at the very least.’

  ‘No. No,’ he said again. ‘I meant you look...more than nice.’

  Her laugh was more genuine this time. ‘Thank you.’

  His smile was sheepish. ‘I told you I didn’t have the words.’

  ‘But you have the smile. And the general look of a man who likes what he sees. It’s enough.’

  Their gazes locked, lingered. She felt something intimate crawl up her spine. Her skin turned to gooseflesh in response.

  ‘I bought you a plain dress for a reason,’ he said softly, taking a step closer. ‘I should have known you would take something plain and turn it into something magnificent.’

  ‘You should have,’ she whispered. ‘It’s exactly what I intend on doing with the story I write about you.’

  He grinned. It was free, unrestrained. Sexy. She’d never seen him smile that way before. She felt as if she were seeing her dress for the first time again—that admiration, that longing—but more intense. As if she’d seen a million of those dresses at the same time. She had no idea what was happening to her, but she didn’t care. She only cared about this man. The way he looked at her. The way he made her feel.

  It wasn’t how Jameson and her father made her feel. Small, vulnerable. Coerced. She’d met Jameson the day her father had called her to his office, outlining his plans for her life as if she had no say in it. Jameson had simply sat there, giving her a smile that was self-satisfied, though she was sure he thought he offered comfort. Her lungs had tightened. Her head had swirled. And she’d had to summon every ounce of strength to say she’d think about it. A month later, she was still thinking about it. Her time was running out, as her father’s phone calls indicated.

  But now, with Micah, everything felt different. Time was endless. She didn’t feel small, and the vulnerability she was experiencing was powerful. She knew she had a choice here, standing in front of him. And that she’d made a mistake when she’d said he was just like her father.

  He was more dangerous than her father. He made her feel strong. Desirable. Like a woman who wouldn’t allow herself to be strong-armed into sacrificing her freedom for someone who wouldn’t do the same for her.

  ‘Micah,’ she whispered, stuck in his gaze.

  She all but felt him touching her. Her imagination made her shiver at the contact. She could only guess what would happen if he really did touch her.

  ‘I know.’

  He moved closer to her. Then swiftly, suddenly, she was pinned against the wall between his arms.

  * * *

  Micah was well aware that he was seducing Elena. He was as aware that it was a mistake. He had asked Serena to resend him Elena’s personal information. In it had been plenty of clues to the state of her relationship with her father. Where she lived, how she lived. None of it came as a surprise after their conversations. What did come as a surprise was that she was about to announce her engagement. In a lavish party the day after they returned to South Africa.

  As soon as he read it, he wanted to speak with her. Demand to know if it was the truth. But a cursory Internet search told him it was. It was the talk of every gossip site in South Africa. The elite of the elite had been invited. It soured his mood. Clung to his body as he got ready for a banquet he didn’t feel like going to. Got heavier when he realised he shouldn’t feel this way at all. He hardly knew the woman.

  Then he saw her in her dress, and all rational thought flew from his mind, leaving only emotion. A possessiveness he only now recognised as the cause of his dark mood demanded he make her see that there was something between them. He fought against it, had managed enough to give her some harmless compliments. To tease. But something changed in her gaze, in her body, and fighting was no longer working.

  Now they were pressed together against a wall.

  There had been space between their bodies when he’d moved her there; there was none now. She arched against him, aligning their bodies so that he could feel how her breath was leaving her lungs in short, quick puffs. So she could feel how having her delightful, curvaceous body against his made him feel.

  He didn’t give a single damn.

  ‘Elena,’ he whispered, tracing the lips that she had painted red again. It made her lipstick smudge, and he had to resist the urge to press his mouth against the shadows of red. ‘What are you doing to me?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her hand touched his hip tentatively. Then her fingers sank into his flesh. It didn’t matter that there were two
layers of clothing between his skin and her hand. He felt the contact. Worried that he’d always feel the contact. ‘I can’t do anything to you, Micah.’

  He stiffened, but didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He would despise himself for it later—for seducing her, for touching her, when she was someone else’s—but he was caught in a spell. A curse. A curse that made the first woman he’d ever felt this way about be unavailable.

  ‘Do you love him?’

  She frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘The man you’re getting engaged to. St Clair.’

  Her lashes fluttered seconds before the vulnerability that had been in her eyes when he’d first touched her disappeared. The heiress was back. He was a hundred per cent certain that the heiress wasn’t who she was any more, but she was there nevertheless. She was there when she’d first boarded that plane, and she was here now.

  It wouldn’t have bothered him so much if he didn’t know she wasn’t the heiress. If he didn’t know the heiress only came out when she felt threatened. He made her feel threatened.

  He took a step back.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...’ He shook his head.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I just...’ Her voice faded. She lifted a hand to her forehead, obscuring her gaze. ‘You caught me off guard.’

  ‘Because you’re getting engaged.’

  ‘Yes. No. I... I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘You haven’t—’ He broke off. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  When she looked at him, her gaze was dangerously blank. ‘It means your background check didn’t tell you everything.’

  ‘I didn’t need a background check. It’s all over the Internet.’

  Colour seeped from her face. ‘What?’

  She fumbled with her clutch purse, took out her phone, typed in hard, quick movements. He hadn’t thought it possible, but she went paler as she read. Having just experienced the shock himself—though heaven only knew why she was shocked—he took a step forward. Her head snapped up, and the fire there kept him from moving any closer.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘That I’m announcing an engagement I haven’t decided on when I get back? No,’ she said in a cold voice. ‘I didn’t.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE WAS ON EDGE. He shouldn’t have drunk all that coffee before his big speech. Then he remembered that he hadn’t drunk any coffee that day. It wasn’t caffeine making him jittery, but the entire incident with Elena. Her reaction had been...disturbing. Or maybe it was just nerves about his upcoming speech.

  Yes, nerves. Not Elena.

  He ordered a bottle of water at the bar and, when it arrived, guzzled it down like a man dying of thirst. It would make him need the bathroom, and was likely not a good idea, but he had to do something. He hadn’t been this nervous since he’d...

  Since he’d pitched his business to his mother.

  Oh, great. This was exactly what he needed. A reminder of the woman who never thought he was good enough for anything, let alone a speech. He blew out a breath. That was a tad melodramatic. His mother thought he was a perfectly okay human being. She treated him as she would anyone else.

  That had been a big part of his problem as a kid. He was her kid; he didn’t want her to treat him as she would anyone else. But he hadn’t realised that until one day, when he’d been nine or so, and she’d dragged him along to some benefit. It had only happened once in his life—she had no one to babysit him and even she wouldn’t leave a nine-year-old alone—probably because she’d learnt her lesson and had back-up babysitters for her back-up babysitters. In any case, he’d gone with her, sat quietly at her table because he was so damn glad to spend time with her that he wouldn’t do anything else, and watched her.

  She’d smiled. At so many of her clients. She’d chatted and laughed and had turned into a person he hadn’t recognised. And he realised what was wrong with their relationship: he hadn’t given her an incentive to care about him. He was just her kid. She didn’t love his father, or want a kid, so no wonder she didn’t want him. But if he made her care? If he was important enough to make her care? Yeah, that would change things.

  It had taken him two and a half decades to do it, but he finally had. Tonight was merely the beginning. One part of his plan to get his mother to notice him. Though the memories were painful, he needed them, and he was glad to have them.

  So why was it Elena’s face he sought in the crowd? Why did he feel confident and at ease because he looked at her? His mother was supposed to be his inspiration. Hell, he’d even take his father. What did it mean that Elena had burrowed her way into that plan?

  Why did he feel guilty about the plans that involved her? And torn by the emotions he felt about her?

  He set it aside and focused on his speech, which garnered him a rousing applause. He worked the crowd as he’d learnt to do over the years, before he realised Elena had disappeared. He gestured to Serena, told her to find Elena and bring her to him, and minutes later, she was at his side.

  ‘Have you met Elena John, Lucca?’ he said to the man he was speaking to from the executive committee for Vittoria. ‘She’s the reason I could deliver that speech this evening.’

  Lucca exclaimed in delight. There were a few seconds of rapid conversation in Italian that he could barely follow, and then they were both laughing.

  ‘Lucca says I should have let you make a fool of yourself,’ Elena told him with a smile that didn’t quite touch her eyes. ‘He says I took away an opportunity for you to learn humility.’

  ‘And you think I need it?’ Micah asked in Italian. The bark of laughter he got in return told him all he needed to know. ‘Well, now you have it,’ he said good-naturedly.

  Another quick sprint of Italian.

  ‘You’ve endeared yourself to him,’ Elena said.

  ‘And it only took humiliation.’

  ‘Do not worry,’ Lucca said, patting him on the back. ‘It happens to all of us at some time.’

  ‘I sincerely hope to find it happening to you some time soon.’

  Their laughter attracted a few more people, and before he knew it he was socialising with the executive committee of the company he’d just partnered with.

  He had, of course, expected to chat with everyone. He hadn’t expected socialising, with wine and laughter and teasing. He’d never experienced any of it before, at any of the galas he’d been to. He could have said it was the Italians, who had a greater desire for joviality than his other business partners. It would have been a lie though. The real difference was Elena.

  She switched between Italian and English effortlessly, charmed easily, and ensured she spoke with everyone at least once. This wasn’t her party—it wasn’t even his—and he knew she was still distracted by what happened earlier. But she’d claimed the role of hostess as if it had been designed solely for her. He wanted to speak with her, to thank her, to give her a chance to breathe, but he couldn’t get a second alone with her, she was so popular. In the end, he gestured to her with his head, and left the group under the guise of getting another drink. She joined him in the foyer.

  ‘Your business parties are exhausting.’

  ‘They are for the life of the party.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not a role I want, nor deserve.’

  ‘You might not want it, but you deserve it.’ He offered her his arm before she could reply. ‘Can we go somewhere private to talk?’

  Elena hesitated, her expression tightening. But she placed her hand on his. They walked over the soft blue carpet of the hotel’s foyer to the elevator. Elena didn’t say a word when he pressed the button for the roof. When they got up there, she gasped.

  ‘Why didn’t they have the banquet up here?’

  He looked around. Glass gave them the perfect view of a night sky that was, in his opinion, showing off. Star
s twinkled brightly above them, enticing people to stay outside, to pay attention to their beauty. Beneath them, Rome showed off as audaciously, lights sparkling, people moving, music thumping. It seemed that Rome’s night life was more active than its day life, which he understood. It was summer, the night was slightly cooler, though by no means cool. It was the perfect weather for parties or dinners on a terrace.

  It was the perfect weather for seduction, temptation. For making mistakes. Even the prospect had him shivering. He set the desire aside.

  ‘Thank you. For what you did down there.’

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said. ‘You’re the reason those executives are looking forward to working with me. I seem like a great guy.’

  ‘You don’t think you are?’

  He opened his mouth, but discovered he had no answer.

  When she realised it, she gave a small nod, then walked across the stone-coloured tiles that lined the pathways between the rooftop garden the hotel had created on one side of the room. The garden was mostly made of potted plants and flowers, though large trees full of green leaves peeked over those pots. The side of the room he was standing on had tables and chairs, and he wondered why they’d chosen not to integrate the two so it didn’t feel so disjointed.

  ‘I can’t quite figure you out,’ she said, facing him.

  His breath did something odd—tightened, caught, gushed out of his lungs. He knew it was because she made a picture in her black dress, her necklace gleaming bright against her almost gold skin with the backdrop of greenery behind her.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ He would tell her anything.

  ‘Is it always about business for you?’

  The question was more serious than she let on, he knew.

  ‘It has been for the last decade or so. Since I went to university.’ He walked to the edge of the room, leaned his back against the glass. ‘It’s given me purpose.’