Claimed by Her Billionaire Protector

by Donald Robyn

  Rounding the back of the vehicle, he got an excellent view of Elana’s long, elegant legs as she climbed out. A swift, savage hunger bit into him, speeding his heart rate, sending an instant message to every cell in his body.

  Damn, damn, he thought, angered by his lack of control. He hadn’t had such a fierce, predatory response like this since adolescence...

  He bent to close the door behind her while she took a few steps towards the house. When he straightened she turned to face him and held out her hand.

  Gold-flecked green gaze meeting his directly, her skin stained slightly pink, she said in a level stiff voice, ‘Thank you very much for your help and support.’

  Very formal, he thought sardonically.

  ‘It was little enough,’ he said as they shook hands, and added, ‘Patty West did any looking after that was necessary. I hope the accident hasn’t affected you too much.’

  Her gaze didn’t waver, but he thought some of the colour faded from her skin. A kind of regret made him moderate his tone. ‘If you need anything, let me know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said politely, her tone making it clear she had no intention of doing any such thing.

  For some futile and unnecessary reason her unspoken refusal exasperated him as much as the cool smile she bestowed on him before turning away to walk towards the house.

  Niko waited until she’d unlocked the front door and swivelled around to lift her hand in farewell, before inclining his head, getting back into the car and starting the engine.

  He put off any speculation about his unexpected, disturbing reaction to her until he reached Mana Station. Once there, instead of going into the homestead he walked over the untended lawn, stopping at the top of the low bank that bordered the beach. Elana Grange was exactly the sort of woman he’d vowed never to become involved with again—young and unsophisticated.

  Frowning, he told himself he’d long since got past the stage of bedding—or wanting to bed—every woman he found sexy. Until he’d seen Elana at the ball he’d been coolly in control of his emotions.

  This unwanted, reckless response to her had to be more of a chemical reaction than an emotional one, he decided wryly, one that both surprised and exasperated him. And it would pass.

  While he was at Mana he’d be a good neighbour to Elana, and that was all.

  Turning, he inspected the homestead. The original architect had combined elements of Georgian serenity with the lighter, more informal verandas and terraces of a tropical plantation home. However, over the years clumsy alterations had been made, cluttering the clean, simple lines.

  According to the architect who’d surveyed it after he’d bought the station, it would take as much money and time to restore it to its original state as it would to knock it down completely and erect a new building in its place.

  Common sense had told Niko to do just that. Although he planned to keep a close eye on Mana Station he wasn’t planning to live there permanently, and even if he were, the last thing he needed was a big, old-fashioned mansion built for a Victorian family. A modern beach house would have been a sensible replacement.

  Yet growing up in a palace over three hundred years old, in a country where tradition was an important part of life, meant he’d had the homestead restored and renovated.

  Now to do the same to the garden.

  Elana had described it as once beautiful.

  Given time, it would be again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘HAVE YOU ANY idea of what Niko Radcliffe plans to do with Mana homestead now that it’s as good as new?’ Mrs Nixon asked.

  Hiding a smile, Elana looked up from tying a ribbon around a posy. She’d been expecting this. Mrs Nixon couldn’t be called an inveterate gossip, but she did like to know what was happening in the district.

  Unfortunately for her, one night spent at Mana homestead a week ago didn’t give Elana a hot line to the Radcliffe man’s plans. ‘No idea at all,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘So it’s just the way it used to look, like that old print in the library?’

  “That old print” was a charming sketch reputed to be drawn by the first woman to live at Mana homestead. ‘From what I remember, exactly the same,’ Elana told her, ringing up the sale.

  ‘Perhaps he’s planning to sell it. Or turn it into a lodge?’

  ‘I suppose that’s a possibility,’ Elana returned, suppressing an odd reluctance to speculate. She added, ‘It would make a fabulous lodge.’

  ‘It would, wouldn’t it? And it’s not as though he’s likely to spend much time—if any—there.’

  Elana handed over the posy she’d just assembled. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ While Elana dealt with her credit card Mrs Nixon leaned forward. In a lowered voice, she said, ‘I had a call from Margot Percy yesterday. Greg’s not ready to retire yet but apparently all his years of managing Mana don’t cut any ice when he applies for a position. Margot said he’s getting depressed, saying that all the employers seemed to want someone young and active.’

  Surprised, Elana said, ‘Really? I know he resigned when Niko Radcliffe bought the place, but I assumed he must have had another place to go to.’

  ‘I thought so too.’ In an even lower voice Mrs Nixon confided, ‘But Margot told me—and I know I don’t have to ask you to keep this confidential—that the Count actually sacked Greg.’

  Elana’s mild curiosity turned into shock. ‘Sacked him? Why?’

  ‘He doesn’t know. Just a curt interview, apparently, then, Pow!—you’re sacked.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I really feel for them. Greg’s in his late fifties now, and it doesn’t look good for them at all.’

  Elana felt sick. Somehow she’d allowed herself to be lulled into believing that Niko Radcliffe had a softer side, and some human feelings. ‘Where are the Percys now?’

  ‘Oh, they’ve got a rather nice bach over on the West Coast, quite near Dargaville, apparently. Margot plans to see if she can find work there.’ She sighed, then said, ‘Oh, I almost forgot! Fran’s on her way back from that American conference and will be spending next weekend with us. You’ll have to come around and have dinner with us on Saturday.’

  ‘That will be lovely.’

  But once she’d left Elana found herself wondering why she was so appalled by Niko Radcliffe’s careless destruction of a man’s—no, a couple’s—life. Why?

  She retired to the flower room behind the counter and informed a bucket filled with roses, ‘Because that’s the sort of man Niko Radcliffe is. Hard, arrogant, inflexible—and obviously ruthless.’

  But he’d been kind to her—albeit in a very dictatorial way.

  Surely he knew that the situation at Mana hadn’t been Mr Percy’s fault? ‘Obviously not,’ she said aloud, then grimaced. Anyone coming into the shop and hearing her muttering to herself would think she was crazy.

  So she’d stop thinking about Count Niko Radcliffe and get on with her life.

  He meant nothing to her. Nothing... Although to her shame she’d dreamed of him several times since he’d delivered her home, waking after each turbulent dream with a strange sensation of loss.

  Common sense warned her to be sensible. He might look like some romantic adolescent’s idea of a heroic figure, and it was completely unfair that he also had charisma enough to melt an iceberg, but, unfortunately, his impact wasn’t just based on physical appeal. Clearly he possessed the intelligence and determination to carve a fortune for himself in the cut-throat world of international commerce, so he must always have possessed that compelling—and disturbing—presence.

  Allowing herself to drift into romantic fantasies about him would be more than stupid—it would be idiocy. She’d vowed to never again let a man like her father into her life. Although she might not be able to discipline her dreams, she could banish Niko from her mind while she was awake.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon Fran called in to catch up before Elana’s dinner engagement with the Nixons that
evening. ‘Because of course I can’t ask you all the questions I want to with the parents listening,’ she informed Elana as they sat outside with coffee.

  Sunlight warmed the bricks of the terrace Steve had built to catch the afternoon light, shimmered across the estuary below. For once there was no breeze to toss the blooms in the flowerbeds Elana’s mother had planted.

  Fran sighed. ‘Sometimes I dream of this when I’m away, and I wonder why I ever left Waipuna. Now, tell me all about the Count, as Mum insists on calling him.’

  She listened intently while Elana sketchily told her of the accident, and said, ‘So you spent the night at Mana homestead with him?’

  ‘And the housekeeper,’ Elana pointed out crisply.

  ‘I bet she went off to her own quarters as soon as you turned out the lights. What do you think of the man?’

  Elana hesitated. But Fran was one of the few people who knew of the abuse she and her mother had suffered until they’d escaped. ‘He’s an alpha male, so naturally I’m not at all keen on him.’

  ‘Not all alphas are violent like your father.’

  ‘Intellectually I know that,’ Elana admitted. ‘Has your mother told you he actually sacked Greg Percy?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran shrugged. ‘Tough. But nowadays you don’t—and can’t—just dump workers for no reason. Possibly Mr Percy’s not capable of carrying out the plans Niko Radcliffe has for Mana. If the interesting paragraphs Mum’s been reading in the dentist’s waiting room have any basis at all in truth—’

  ‘Which is highly unlikely,’ Elana interjected dryly.

  Fran grinned. ‘But possible! Whatever, I can’t see Radcliffe living here, it’s just too isolated. Right now his company’s building a new heliport at Auckland for those who can afford to pay a lot of money to get somewhere fast. Like flying up to Mana for a secluded holiday at the homestead.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I read the papers,’ Fran told her cheerfully. ‘He’s spent megabucks restoring the homestead, so turning it into a lodge makes sense.’ She finished her coffee and grinned. ‘Of course, you’ll be in charge of decorating the house with flowers.’

  Laughing, Elana said, ‘I’ll believe the lodge story when I see hard evidence for it.’ She sobered quickly. ‘I hope the new manager Niko Radcliffe’s chosen doesn’t get the same treatment as poor Mr Percy. His wife—Mrs West—is the housekeeper and she’s lovely.’

  Fran shrugged. ‘Surely plutocrats have minions who deal with hiring and firing? Actually, he’s got a good reputation as an employer. No migrant workers in slums are slaving away to add to his billions.’

  Oddly relieved, Elana drained her coffee mug and set it down. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, he’s gone up a bit in my estimation.’

  ‘You don’t think much of men, do you? Not that I blame you.’ She directed a sympathetic glance at Elana. ‘Your father was a horrible man, and then you had the bad luck to fall for Roland Whatsisname. At least you got away from that affair comparatively unscathed.’

  ‘And learnt my lesson,’ Elana told her crisply.

  ‘Do you remember your father much?’

  Remember him?

  Oh, yes, she remembered—a harsh voice, shouting, followed by the dreadful anguish of her mother’s sobbing. He’d never struck her mother while she was present, but, child though she was, she’d known what he was doing, and she was terrified of him. Even their escape had been marred by fear that her father might find them.

  Which he had.

  ‘Yes, I remember him,’ Elana said quietly.

  Fran reached over and gripped her hand for a moment. ‘I think that deep inside you there’s still that child who’s terrified of your father. Understandable, of course. You never had counselling, did you?’

  ‘No. But I saw how Steve was with Mum. She used to groan periodically about his slapdash approach to life, but he made her—and me—really happy. He taught me to trust him.’

  Her friend said, ‘Good for him. But did he teach you to trust any other man?’

  Elana stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘You might have learned to trust Steve, but has that trust extended to any other man? Your father was not normal; most men aren’t brutal tyrants like him.’

  ‘I know that—’

  ‘Yes, but have you ever wondered whether perhaps you won’t let yourself become attached to anyone because you’re terrified they might turn into a monster like your father?’

  Elana opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Was there any chance she might be right? Her mother had once told her that her father seemed perfectly normal before they’d married—indeed, she’d been flattered by his concern for her...

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ she said crisply.

  Her friend said cheerfully, ‘Well, perhaps you should think abut it. Anyway, what do you think of Niko Radcliffe? At first Mum thought he was straight out of a fairy tale—he’s practically a prince! Prince Niko—it sounds good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Why isn’t he a prince? Why is he just a Count?’

  Fran sighed. ‘In San Mari they stick to keeping the power in male hands. His mother was a princess, but she married a commoner so he’s a Count—and in San Mari that’s the equivalent of a royal duke. What do you think of him?’

  Elana shrugged. ‘He responds to an emergency with a cool head and plenty of orders, and he’s also very strong. He dragged Jordan out of the car and carried him to safety, and Jordan’s no light weight.’ She stopped before adding, ‘Also, he’s arrogant.’

  Fran’s brows shot up. ‘How?’

  ‘Well, after interfering Phil Jacobs told him about Mum and Steve and the accident, he practically kidnapped me.’

  ‘I’d call that a strong protective instinct.’ Fran grinned at the expression on Elana’s face. ‘I like that in a man. And I like that he organised a chaperone for you.’

  Elana snorted. ‘I don’t like that he sacked poor Greg Percy.’

  Fran sobered. ‘You don’t know the reason. Niko Radcliffe’s known to be a tough negotiator, but he’s well-respected. He must have a good reason for sacking Mr Percy.’

  ‘The only reason I can think of is that he blamed him for the state of Mana Station.’ Elana shrugged. ‘Which is totally unfair—Mr Percy did his best even though the owners drained it of money.’

  ‘I wonder why he stayed there, then? Surely he could have got a better job managing a farm somewhere else?’

  Surprised, Elana paused. ‘Perhaps he just liked living here?’

  ‘Perhaps it was an easy option. And you’re very willing to believe the worst of Radcliffe,’ Fran pointed out. ‘Your mother’s experience with your father was dreadful, and your affair with Roland must have only reinforced your fears. But your mother got over it and married Steve. I truly don’t think you have.’

  ‘Of course I’ve got over it,’ Elana told her trenchantly.

  ‘Then why are you so wary about any sort of relationship? Apart from Roland Pearson, has any other man made your heart go pitter-patter?’

  ‘Well, there was Craig Brown in high school—’

  Fran grinned. ‘He revved up everybody’s heartbeat, that one.’ Then she assumed a prim face. ‘I meant, of course, since you became an adult.’

  Actually, yes. Two. One narrow escape, and the other—well, Niko Radcliffe not only set her heart racing, but alerted every cell in her body, a reaction compounded of fiery awareness and a dangerously disturbing adrenalin rush.

  Fortunately her experience with Roland had taught her not to fall for macho charisma. Both touched and exasperated, she said quietly, ‘A pitter-pattering heart means nothing more than that—for some purely physical reason—you find someone attractive.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll ever trust a man enough to allow him to get close to you?’

  ‘Fran, I’m all right.’ She eyed her best friend with mingled exasperation and affection. ‘OK, so physical attract
ion is an important part of falling in love, but it’s not the most important thing. I’m not over the hill yet—I’m twenty-four, the same age as you! And it’s not as though I’m a blushing virgin.’

  ‘I agree with you, marriage is a serious business.’ Fran leaned forward, and touched Elana’s arm. ‘I know you can have a good life without marrying or falling in love, but it’s—well, it’s cowardly to let your mother’s experience darken your own life.’ She paused. ‘You’re intelligent and sensible—intellectually you must know that most men are not abusers. You just need to give the terrified kid that’s still hiding deep inside you a chance to act on that knowledge.’

  Elana opened her mouth, only to close it as Fran went on, ‘OK, OK, I know when I’ve said enough. Tell me, how’s your work going?’ Before Elana could answer she said sternly, ‘I don’t mean the florist’s shop. You did a brilliant job with the book the museum put out for the centenary of the hall. It must have taken ages—I hope they paid you for your work.’

  ‘I got expenses,’ Elana said a little defensively.

  Fran’s brows shot up. ‘I should jolly well think so!’

  ‘I’m hoping to be able to give up working in the shop soon. After the first article I did for the local newspaper I was contacted by a couple of people who wanted me to interview their relatives. I really enjoyed it, and they paid well, and I’m getting more requests now, some even from the South Island. I’ve turned those down because I can’t get away for long enough to do it, but it’s fascinating to interview people.’

  Fran leaned forward. ‘If you were based somewhere central—Auckland, Hamilton, perhaps—it would be a lot more convenient for you.’

  ‘So far I’m finding plenty to write about in Northland. Anyway, with Auckland’s property market going berserk, I couldn’t afford to buy or even rent there now. And I know Mum hoped I’d stay here for a while.’

  ‘Why?’

  Elana hesitated, pain gripping her. Steadying her voice, she went on, ‘She wanted me to keep the place where she and Steve had been so happy, but—I don’t want to leave. Not yet, anyway.’