Claimed by Her Billionaire Protector

by Donald Robyn

  Elana flinched, averting her face as he stopped the car outside the old homestead. The harsh glare of the headlights highlighted the amazing change huge amounts of money could produce in a few months. Evidence of years of neglect under the previous owner had been erased, and Mana homestead looked as pristine as it must have when it had first been built over a century ago.

  * * *

  Niko turned and inspected her. She was staring at the homestead, her features sharpened. ‘I’ve upset you. I’m sorry,’ he said, resisting the impulse to take her hands in his and offer what comfort he could.

  Years ago he’d learned a harsh lesson about giving in to a compassionate impulse. A friend’s daughter had suffered a setback, and he’d taken her on a short cruise on his yacht, only to realise that she was falling in love with him. He’d felt no more for her than a brotherly affection, and had told her so as gently as he could. For the rest of his life, he’d be grateful that her attempt at suicide had failed, and that she was now happily married.

  Since then, he’d been careful not to raise expectations he wasn’t able to satisfy, choosing sophisticated lovers who understood that he wasn’t interested in matrimony.

  Elana Grange shook her head, her tone flat when she answered. ‘I’m rather weary of telling people I’m all right. Thank you. You’re being very kind.’ She even attempted a smile as she straightened her shoulders and said in what she probably hoped was her normal voice, ‘It’s shocking what twenty years of neglect did to this place. Those pohutukawa trees on the edge of the beach are over three hundred years old. The previous owners were going to cut them down. They said they blocked the view.’

  ‘Why didn’t they fell them?’

  ‘There was a public outcry, and a threat to take it to the environment court. I don’t know why they wanted them removed. They almost never came to Mana.’ She paused. ‘And the oak tree we’ve just passed was planted by the wife of the very first settler here.’

  ‘I gather from your tone that you’re not sure whether or not I’m going to bulldoze trees down,’ Niko said dryly.

  * * *

  Elana hesitated, before telling him the truth. ‘It hadn’t occurred to me, but I hope you’re not.’

  ‘I prefer to plant trees rather than kill them.’

  Brief and to the point, and, because he’d decided to restore the homestead rather than demolish it, she believed him. ‘Except for pine trees, I believe.’

  ‘Except for wilding pines,’ he agreed.

  He switched off the engine and got out. On a ragged, deep breath, Elana fumbled with the clip of her seatbelt, then wrestled with the unfamiliar door catch. Before she’d fathomed it out, the door swung open.

  ‘Here, take my hand,’ Niko commanded.

  Scrambling out, she muttered, ‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’

  Although he said nothing, she realised he was watching her closely as they walked towards the house. A woman opened the door—the housekeeper, of course—probably in her forties, with a smile that held both a welcome and some interest.

  Niko said, ‘Elana, this is Mrs West. Patty, Elana Grange lives next door. She’s had a shock, so I’d suggest a cup of tea or coffee.’ He glanced down at Elana. ‘Or something a bit stronger.’

  ‘Tea will be fine, thank you,’ Elana said as crisply as she could, and added, ‘I’m sorry Mr Radcliffe felt obliged to put you to all this trouble.’

  The older woman’s smile widened. ‘It’s no trouble. I’ve made you up a bed in a room overlooking the beach.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Although it had to be very late Elana was no longer tired. Just strung on wires. Tea might help her to think clearly.

  Why on earth had she surrendered to Niko’s calm abduction?

  The answer stared her in the face. Jordan’s accident had flung her back into the shock of losing Steve and, later, her mother.

  It was too late now to regret her weakness. She was here at Mana, and, thanks to both Phil and Niko Radcliffe’s over-developed sense of responsibility, she had no way of getting home.

  * * *

  Five minutes later she was sitting on a comfortable sofa in a room that breathed sophisticated country style, fighting an aching weariness that clouded her mind. Barely able to prop her eyelids up, she covered a prodigious yawn.

  Sitting down had not been a good move. Right then she desired nothing more than the blessed oblivion of sleep—in her own bed. Her eyes were full of grit, and somehow her bones had crumbled. The thought of getting to her feet made her want to curl up and collapse, crash out on the sofa for what was left of the night.

  Niko’s black brows drew together. ‘You’re exhausted. Do you want to forego the tea?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice sounded oddly distant. She set her shoulders and tried for a smile, failing dismally.

  ‘You did well,’ he told her, his voice level.

  ‘So did you.’

  Always, until she died, she’d remember how he looked as he dragged Jordan free of the car, the sheer brute strength of the man, and the fierce determination in his face as he carried the youth to safety.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘I’m going to take the next first-aid course the St John’s people advertise.’

  ‘An excellent idea, although I hope you never have to deal with a situation like that again.’

  The urgent summons of a cell phone startled her. A mixture of adrenalin and concern forced her shakily upwards.

  After a moment she realised Niko was holding out a hand to her. A cold fist of dread closing around her heart, she staggered to her feet. His fingers closed around hers, summoning a tingle of primal awareness that sizzled through her, giving her enough energy to stay upright.

  He flicked his phone open, was silent a second or two, then said crisply, ‘Speaking. How is he?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  SWALLOWING, ELANA PREPARED herself for bad news.

  Time stretched unbearably in the silence before Niko Radcliffe said in a vastly different tone, ‘He’s regained consciousness? Great. And at his age bruised or cracked ribs should heal quickly. It doesn’t sound as though his other injuries will be any problem. He was lucky.’

  Elana sagged, grateful for the strength of his arm around her. Despising herself for her weakness, she tried to pull away, only to find she couldn’t.

  ‘Yes, I’ll make sure she knows,’ he finished. ‘Thanks very much.’

  And released her after he’d snapped the cell phone shut and tossed it onto the nearest chair. ‘That was your policeman friend. The ambulance people seem pretty convinced that young Jordan has nothing more than mild concussion, a shallow cut from flying glass, and what will probably be quite severe bruises caused by the seatbelt, but just might be cracked ribs.’

  The mixture of relief and her body’s fierce, involuntary response to his nearness set Elana’s pulses hammering. Startled, she tried to pull back.

  ‘Sit down,’ Niko ordered, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. ‘You’re just about out on your feet.’ He released her, frowning as she sat too quickly onto the sofa. ‘You need something stronger than tea.’

  She stiffened her backbone, resisting another debilitating wave of tiredness. ‘I don’t normally go to pieces. Thank heavens Jordan got off so lightly. I’m very glad he was wearing his seatbelt.’

  ‘Only an idiot would drive without one.’ His voice was coolly dismissive.

  That tone—so dispassionate as to border on contempt—summoned harsh, painful memories of her father. Catapulted back to childhood, she looked up into her host’s hard face, then glanced away.

  He went on curtly, ‘Especially a kid who doesn’t know how to drive safely on a back-country road.’

  Mrs West came in carrying a tray, and frowned as she set the tray down on a table. ‘Goodness, Ms Grange, you’re as white as a ghost. I think you could do with some brandy in that tea.’

  Bracing herself, Elana managed a smile. ‘No, really, the tea will work wonders. Actually, I’m reacting to goo
d news.’

  And a chilling flashback...

  ‘Young Jordan was very lucky,’ Niko explained, and briefly told the housekeeper the extent of Jordan’s injuries.

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Mrs West gave a wry smile. ‘Well, you know what I mean! Better bruised ribs than a broken back.’

  As she left the room her employer moved across to the tray and asked Elana how she drank tea.

  ‘As is,’ she said, ‘no milk, no sugar.’

  Niko poured a cup of tea and brought it across to her. Gratefully lifting it, Elana began to sip, using the action as a kind of shield against that intimidating ice-blue gaze.

  Pull yourself together, she told herself. Stop being so feeble! To fill the silence she said, ‘This has not been the most auspicious introduction to Waipuna for you. I hope any other visits will be much less dramatic.’

  ‘I hope so too, as I plan to visit frequently.’ At her surprised glance he added crisply, ‘At least until Mana Station is up and running again the way it should be.’

  * * *

  It would do no harm to spread the word that he intended to take a personal interest in the station. He was no micro-manager, and he trusted Dave West, the new manager, but he intended to make the important decisions for the station’s future.

  And, he thought grimly, make sure they were carried out.

  It should have been a pleasant extra that Elana Grange lived right next door. Even now, in spite of dark circles beneath her eyes and features sharpened by tiredness, her subtle magnetism stirred his blood. But independent though she clearly was, it was unlikely she’d be sophisticated enough to understand the sort of relationships he preferred.

  So he wouldn’t be giving in to that primal summons.

  ‘Why the startled look?’ he enquired.

  * * *

  ‘I suppose—well, I thought you’d be an absentee owner,’ she admitted. ‘Your life must keep you busy.’

  He shrugged. ‘For most of their history the people of San Mari had to produce all their own food or starve. Sometimes they starved. So tending their cattle and the land that supported them was hugely important. Things have changed now with the advent of communications and tourism, of course. However, vast areas of the world still need food, and along with my other responsibilities I do what I can to supply it.’

  Responsibilities? Elana allowed herself a small smile. That was an interesting way to describe the worldwide empire he’d built for himself. And although he might consider himself a farmer, very few men of the land wielded so much influence and power.

  His brows lifted. ‘I said something amusing?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated, met his narrowed gaze and expanded, ‘I made the mistake of assuming you’d be more like the previous owners, who used Mana as a cash cow so they could live the life they enjoyed.’

  His expression warned her he didn’t like what she’d said. ‘Stereotyping is lazy thinking,’ he told her coolly.

  ‘True,’ she admitted, and sipped more tea, welcoming its comfort and reassurance as a wave of intense weariness washed over her.

  Her host asked, ‘Is there anything else besides that tea that you need?’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s done the trick. You were right—I’m already feeling better.’ She smothered a yawn with a hand. ‘I’m sorry, I think it’s time I went to bed.’

  ‘Patty will be back in a minute or so to show you your room,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, ask her.’

  Sure enough, the housekeeper appeared almost immediately, and, after saying goodnight and being ordered to sleep well, Elana was ushered up the stairs into a bedroom that breathed luxury without being fussy or ostentatious.

  When she didn’t have to force her eyelids to stay up, Elana knew she’d appreciate it even more.

  Mrs West offered her a nightgown, saying with a smile, ‘It’s mine, so it won’t fit you, but it’ll cover you.’

  Exhaustion weighed Elana down, slowed her brain, dragged through every word. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  Drat Niko Radcliffe. Why couldn’t he have delivered her home?

  Her expression must have revealed her thoughts, because Mrs West said, ‘The en suite for this room isn’t functional yet, but there’s a bathroom two doors down the hall to the left. I’ve put toothpaste and some towels there for you.’

  Elana thanked her and set off. It took all the concentration she could muster to wash her face and clean her teeth.

  Back in the bedroom Mrs West said as she left, ‘The light in the hall will be on, so if you need to go to the bathroom later you’ll have no trouble finding your way here. Goodnight and sleep well.’

  Feeling as though she’d been beaten with cudgels, Elana climbed into a nightgown several sizes too big, and sank into the enormous bed, gratefully allowing unconsciousness to claim her.

  But with sleep came dreams—the same nightmares that had tortured her after the accident. Unable to prevent them, she relived again the horror of seeing the huge stock truck hurtle towards them, her mother’s scream cut off by the moment of impact, the pain mercifully shortened by a devouring darkness.

  And then thank all the gods, she woke up, whimpering, and stumbled up to her feet, her heart thudding so strongly she felt it might jump out of her breast. After switching on the lamp on the bedside table, she drew in several deep breaths before realising she needed to head for the bathroom.

  ‘Two doors down,’ she muttered, clutching the over-large gown around her. ‘On the left...’

  The hall light was dim, but she could see easily enough to make out the bathroom door. Tiptoeing, she got there, and was halfway back to her bedroom when she heard a noise behind her. Heart jumping, she increased her pace and prayed for it to be the housekeeper.

  ‘Elana.’

  No such luck. The deep hard voice belonged to Niko Radcliffe. Hand groping to pull the wide neck of the nightdress up, she swivelled around. He loomed in the semi-darkness, big and tall and far too close, and showing far too much skin.

  At first she thought he was naked and took a short step backwards as her stunned gaze took in wide, tanned shoulders and a muscled chest with a scroll of dark hair across it. A swift relief eased some of her shock when she realised he was wearing pyjama trousers.

  ‘What...?’ she breathed.

  He took two strides towards her, stopping as she backed away. Frowning, he asked, ‘Are you properly awake?’

  She ran her tongue over dry lips. ‘Of course I am,’ she said huskily. ‘I needed to use the bathroom.’

  ‘You’re shaking. I hope you’re not afraid of me.’

  Something in his tone made her stiffen. ‘No, of course not.’ Despairingly, she realised her voice was thin and almost wavering. She had to steady it to continue, ‘I’m all right. I—I’m—’

  She stopped and shook her head, dragging in more air in a quick gasp. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  He waited a few seconds before saying in a milder tone, ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  But when she took a step her legs crumpled beneath her. Mortified, she leant against the wall and clamped her eyes shut to stop the walls—and her host—from suddenly spinning.

  ‘I’ll carry you,’ he said harshly, and before she could protest she was enveloped in his warmth and strength, the faint, potent male scent of him somehow comforting as well as stimulating, so that she had to fight a craving to rest her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m too heavy,’ she managed as he lifted her.

  ‘You’re not. Just keep still and I’ll get you back to your bed.’

  Wordlessly, her thoughts and emotions a tangled jumble, she obeyed.

  When he straightened after lowering her into the bed she shivered again, suddenly cold and bereft. The light of the lamp picked out the strong bone structure of Niko’s face, and a sudden, unexpected sensation gripped her, a kind of urgency, of hunger...

  Something in the Count’s gaze made her realise that the nightdress neckline h
ad dragged down, revealing far too much of her breasts. Scarlet-faced, she hauled the material up, grateful that he’d immediately turned to pull the duvet over her.

  Stone-faced, he said, ‘I’ll get you something to drink.’

  ‘Not whisky,’ she managed with a weak smile.

  His answering smile heated every cell in her body. ‘No, not whisky.’

  She watched him stride from the room, his lithe strength quickening her pulse rate. Body tight with a dangerous tension, she dragged in a deep, shuddering breath and hauled herself up against the pillows, pulling up the duvet to cover her breasts.

  How stupid—how idiotic—to practically faint, like some Victorian debutante confronted by a man in night attire...

  * * *

  Niko returned almost immediately, a glass of water in his hand. Elana was lying back against the pillows, her hair falling in a cloud of rose-gold silk across her shoulders. He dragged in a sharp breath at the memory of ivory breasts cupped by fabric that hugged every curve, of a faint, elusive perfume, of the feel of her warm body against his.

  She tantalised every sense. All compassion momentarily swamped by a dangerous hunger, Niko stiffened. Then he noticed the tears glittering beneath her lashes. She was in no fit state for anything other than sexless comfort.

  ‘Here,’ he said, hoping she wasn’t aware of the rough note beneath the words, ‘drink this.’

  Elana reached out, only to have the duvet fall down. Colour staining her skin, she grabbed the material and hauled it up to her shoulders.

  Niko put the glass of water—flavoured by about a teaspoonful of brandy—into her hand. It was still shaking, he noted. Controlling his expression, he said austerely, ‘This is why your policeman friend was convinced you shouldn’t be alone tonight.’

  * * *

  She stiffened. Alone, she’d have dealt with the aftermath of her nightmare. She wouldn’t be fighting this—this weird response.

  Hastily she lowered her face and began to drink, praying the heat and colour would fade from her face and shoulders. The liquid caught her breath, but she gulped it down, intent on banishing the aftermath of her nightmare.