Claimed by Her Billionaire Protector

by Donald Robyn

  Fran reached out and squeezed Elana’s tightly clenched hand. ‘I think I understand. Coming to live here, and for the first time in your life being happy and feeling safe, must make Waipuna mean a lot to you.’

  Elana nodded. Selling the house would be like tearing her heart out, bidding an irrevocable farewell to almost everything that was good and worthwhile in her life.

  Fran released her hand. ‘Then that’s all that matters.’ She grinned. ‘You know, when you meet the next man who sets your heartbeat jumping, I think you need to trust yourself enough to at least get to know him.’

  ‘What if he’s fifty?’

  When she’d finished laughing, Fran told her, ‘I’m not ageist. Mind you, attached men are emphatically not on the menu.’

  ‘Of course.’ Elana hesitated, then shrugged. ‘OK, I’ll try it. Just don’t expect miracles.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Fran glanced at her watch. ‘And if I’m to buy the food Mum wants to cook for dinner tonight, I’d better go now.’

  After she’d waved goodbye, Elana looked around her house, the cottage that Steve and her mother had transformed from a basic shack to a home.

  She walked out onto the terrace, stopping to gaze across the estuary, its surface unruffled and gleaming, the ancient trees on the hills over the far side glowing in shades ranging from olive to a shimmering golden green in the spring sun.

  Did she unconsciously view all men as a threat? If so, no wonder she’d found the few times she’d had sex with Roland to be embarrassing and without pleasure. She’d thought her lack of passion was due to an inherent coldness.

  And she did understand that most men were like her stepfather—kind, practical, and capable of making the right woman as happy as her mother had been in her second marriage.

  So based on past experience—and once Niko Radcliffe was safely on the other side of the world—it wasn’t likely she’d have to monitor her heart rate anxiously for any betraying surges.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELANA WINCED AS the fire station alarm shrieked a summons to the local volunteers. She peered through the shop windows to the street outside. It had rained during the night so it probably wasn’t a scrub fire. A car accident? Pray heaven it wasn’t a house fire...

  Which reminded her that she had to contact her bank. After hearing a suspicious rattle in the roof a couple of days ago she’d called in the local expert, who’d fixed it, then warned her the whole place needed reroofing some time soon.

  ‘How much will that cost?’ she’d asked.

  The sum the roofer quoted still made her feel queasy. She’d have to borrow the money. Adding to her concern, only that morning Mrs Nixon had informed her with a worried face that she’d heard an out-of-towner was considering setting up another florist’s business in Waipuna.

  ‘They’ll be silly,’ she’d said. ‘Waipuna’s really not big enough for two florists.’

  No, indeed. Competition could mean that Rosalie, the owner of the shop, might have to downsize...which would almost certainly mean that Elana would lose her job.

  Frowning, she turned to check the order book.

  Yes, the customer had specified orange Peruvian lilies for her daughter-in-law’s bouquet. Fervently hoping that the recipient liked the colour, Elana went into the back room to assemble them, only to be immediately interrupted by the warning buzz of the shop bell. Summoning a welcoming smile, she went out.

  And suffered an explosion of heartbeats when her startled gaze met ice-blue eyes in a hard, handsome face. Her smile froze on her lips.

  Niko’s black brows lifted. ‘Hello, Elana,’ he said smoothly. ‘Don’t look so startled. If I remember correctly, I did mention that I intended to visit Mana reasonably often.’

  Mouth suddenly dry, she said, ‘I’m sure you remember correctly. How are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’ His tone was amused. ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, fine.’ She produced another smile and added, ‘Thank you,’ before turning. ‘I’ll just put these flowers back into water.’

  Which gave her a brief ten seconds to get away from that challenging gaze and control the jumble of impressions flashing through her brain. In the couple of weeks he’d been away Niko Radcliffe’s formidable, controlled authority seemed to have become even stronger and more uncompromising than she remembered.

  And her stupid heart was going berserk in her chest. It took an effort of will to quell the urge to press her clenched fist there in a futile attempt to rein in that remorseless thudding.

  Everything—the sunshine on the street outside, the fresh perfume of mingled greenery and flowers inside the shop, the cold blue of Niko Radcliffe’s gaze, the ironic curve to his sinfully sculpted mouth—suddenly sang to her, the colours more vivid, their impact physical, a joyous assault on her senses. Something sweet and wild burst into life within her, every muscle tensing in a sharp pang of anticipation as she stuffed the lilies back into the vase, took a deep breath, and returned to the shop.

  ‘There, that’s done,’ she said inanely, hoping her voice sounded prosaic and very normal.

  His brows shot up. ‘Not a subtle colour, those flowers. Presumably they’re for a colour-blind recipient.’

  ‘They’re popular because in a hospital ward they glow like sunlight.’

  And immediately regretted her crisp tone. She sounded like a schoolmistress cautioning a child. Stop this right now. Breathe slowly.

  His brows lifted, but he returned calmly, ‘I suppose they do. I want to send flowers to England.’

  Elana picked up the pen, found the right form, and looked up enquiringly, but before she could ask for details he handed her a piece of paper. ‘Everything you need is there.’

  It was. No gorgeous film star or princess—these flowers would go to Lady Sophia Double-Barrelled-Name who lived in a manor house somewhere in England.

  So calm down, she warned her jumping heart. That heavy thudding—it’s just overreaction. Not only is he way, way out of your league, but he’s already committed.

  ‘Any specific date for them to arrive?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  * * *

  Niko knew that, sophisticated and experienced as she was, Sophia would recognise the flowers for what they were—a civilised farewell after he’d ended their affair.

  Elana looked up, her expression guarded. ‘I’ll get that off straight away.’

  For some reason her tone exasperated him. The only time he’d seen her without that armour of self-possession was when they’d met in the hall at Mana after the accident.

  Inconveniently, an image of sultry, shadowed eyes of green-gold and sinuous curves clad in an over-sized nightgown that revealed too much silken skin played across his mind.

  As it had far too often since he’d last seen Elana Grange...

  Ignoring the memory, he handed her his credit card, forcing himself to concentrate on her hands as she processed it. They were slender and deft, the nails clipped and clean. Ignoring a stray and extremely suggestive thought, he asked, ‘Before I left Waipuna Mrs Nixon informed me you wrote the centennial publication on Waipuna’s history.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said as though admitting a minor crime.

  ‘And that you write articles for an historical magazine.’

  After a surprised glance she nodded.

  ‘Then you’ll probably be interested in the discovery of boxes and crates of what seem to be discarded documents and old newspapers in the attic, and more in what was once the stables at Mana.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Really? I wish I’d known that when I took on the centennial book.’

  ‘I’ve had a quick look at some of the accessible stuff, mostly from the late nineteenth century. There are diaries written by various members of the family who owned it then. It looks as though they never threw anything away.’

  ‘Oh, that’s amazing,’ she breathed, sounding like someone discovering buried treasure. ‘I’m surprised—and so glad—the previous owner didn’t burn
everything, or dump it. I wonder what else has been abandoned there?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Niko told her dryly. ‘Why didn’t the family who sold the place to them remove their own belongings?’

  ‘The family died out—there was no one to inherit. The station was sold as is, and the money went to charity.’ Elana gave him a quick smile, not quite meeting his eyes. ‘What are you planning to do with the records?’

  ‘Not burn everything in sight,’ he said dryly, and watched her relax. ‘I’m going to employ someone to go through it and catalogue the lot. I don’t know what’s important and what’s not. I believe you’ve done quite a bit of that sort of thing.’

  ‘I—yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’m offering you the job.’

  Her eyes widened, their exotic radiance emphasised by the gold speckles lighting the dark green depths.

  Seductive as hell. Deep inside Niko something feral tightened into intense hunger.

  In a far from seductive tone, she said, ‘It would take me quite a while—I can’t give up my job here.’

  ‘I believe it’s part-time only.’

  ‘Full-time at the moment—Rosalie, who owns the shop, is in Australia.’

  ‘I presume she’s not planning to settle there?’

  That drew a reluctant smile. ‘No, she’s there for the birth of her first grandchild.’

  ‘When will she be back?’

  ‘In a fortnight if the baby arrives on time.’

  Niko had expected her swift agreement. According to Mrs Nixon, the fount of all knowledge, Elana’s parents had left her with nothing but the house, and her part-time position in the shop couldn’t pay very well.

  So why was she unwilling? He said, ‘Mrs Nixon assures me you’re very competent, and after reading the history you wrote, I agree with her. I also like your writing.’

  This drew a startled glance. ‘I enjoyed doing it. It’s just—it did take up a lot of time. And the documents I used were already catalogued.’

  ‘You are a librarian, so I presume you know how to catalogue.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she returned, her reluctance obvious.

  ‘I will, of course, pay you.’

  She hesitated, her expression freezing a moment as though something had just occurred to her. Whatever it was, it decided her. ‘No, I’m afraid it’s just not convenient right now.’ Again she paused, before saying, ‘I can give you the name of a friend who does this sort of thing for a living—he’s very good, and much more experienced than I am.’

  How good a friend? Startled by the intensity of that primitive reaction, Niko reined in an instant, angry speculation and said, ‘But you’re right here, and you have background knowledge that will help.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she agreed, frowning. ‘But—’

  ‘Also, you have a fervent advocate in Mrs Nixon.’ He added dryly, ‘She told me all about your skill at interviewing.’

  Elana’s smile held wry humour. ‘That’s not really a recommendation. Mrs Nixon has a wide knowledge of the district as well as an excellent memory.’

  Her lips tightened momentarily before easing into their normal ripe contours. Memories of her mouth had bothered him...so seductively feminine, a mouth made for sensuous kisses and softly passionate words, lips that contrasted intriguingly with the inner strength he sensed in her, the way she kept her emotions under strict control. In a way, he could blame those lips for sending him back to England to tell Sophia that their affair was over.

  Hunger stirred his body, a fierce need that was becoming familiar. He was long past the wilful, almost uncontrollable desire of adolescence, so although Elana’s rejection of his offer was irritating, it should be no big deal.

  Yet even now, he found himself wondering what it would take to breach the barriers he sensed within her.

  Smooth words? Luxury? The promise of passion?

  Or money?

  Fighting a silent battle, Elana wished he’d go away. Why didn’t she agree, just thank fate for sending her this opportunity? She needed money to repair the roof.

  Apart from that, it would be a fascinating project.

  She was a coward.

  No, darn it, she was being sensible!

  She deeply mistrusted the heady rush of sensation that had raced through every cell in her body when Niko walked into the shop. Everything about him was vividly, thrillingly familiar, as though she’d carried him in her heart since she’d last seen him.

  Seeing too much—no, anything—of him was going to cause chaos to her peace of mind.

  But then he wasn’t likely to be in New Zealand often, or for any length of time. After a few taut moments, and as warily as though she was taking a huge step into unknown danger, she said quietly, ‘I can’t give you a decision so quickly. I am working full-time here until Rosalie gets back.’

  Bracing herself, she met his narrowed gaze steadily, trying to suppress a sudden twist of tantalising, sharp sensation deep inside her.

  Niko wasn’t a man who’d suffer second best; he’d expect perfection. Could she deliver?

  ‘Think it over,’ he said calmly. ‘I’ll call you when I get back from Auckland in a couple of days and you can give me your answer.’

  She watched him stride out of the shop, a formidable figure in jeans and a checked shirt. No doubt, she decided cynically as she turned towards the back room, it helped that those casual clothes had probably been created by some brilliant tailor who knew exactly how to make the most of broad shoulders, lean hips and long, strongly muscled legs.

  And clearly he was totally confident that he’d persuade her.

  Stop obsessing about the man! Her traitor heart might still be jumping, but she was afraid. Niko Radcliffe affected her in so many ways, he could be disaster central.

  * * *

  The next evening after a day of showers and her discovery of another ominous stain in the ceiling, she checked her computer and to her dismay found that disaster central actually looked to be the combination of a dodgy roof and a cautious bank that didn’t feel it could lend her the money to fix the roof.

  Trying to calm her nerves by watching the news, she discovered that she’d been wrong about that too. Disaster could well be lurking in a storm forming far to the north in heated equatorial waters.

  Gaze fixed on the ominous whirlpool symbol on the screen, Elana found herself holding her breath, hoping that it wouldn’t go near any of the islands that scattered the tropical sea.

  And cravenly, that it would stay well away from New Zealand.

  She switched off the television and walked across to the window, narrowing her eyes against the westering sun that shone from an almost cloudless sky, sheening the water with silver.

  Actually, she had no option. She had to take on the job of organising all those documents. As soon as she’d confirmed that with Niko Radcliffe, she’d ring the roofer.

  Her gaze ranged over the opulent amber curves of the beaches on the estuary. Beyond the river mouth a small yacht headed for safe anchorage in the Bay of Islands, and silhouetted on the horizon was a container ship making its way down the coast to Auckland. It was almost impossible to imagine something as dangerous as a tropical storm whipping those calm waters into destructive waves.

  However, they happened. Cyclones were rare, but they could cause chaos and devastation even as far south as Northland.

  ‘What next?’ she asked forlornly, then frowned at her foolishness. Why was she whimpering because fate was forcing her in a direction she didn’t want to go? Niko’s offer couldn’t have come at a better time.

  It seemed unlikely she’d earn enough to entirely reroof the house, but she hoped she could convince the bank she’d be able to repay the loan.

  ‘And if they don’t agree?’ she said aloud, hating the sound of the words.

  If that happened, she’d have to sell the house. She turned and looked around the room, its furniture shabby but still gracious. Here she’d learned what love between a man and woman could be, lear
ned that a man could be tender with children. She’d discovered what it was like to feel safe.

  A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She swallowed it, and pulled the curtains. If it happened, she’d survive. She turned back into the room, her gaze lingering lovingly on the pictures her mother had painted of the estuary, and made up her mind. When Niko contacted her she’d tell him that she’d catalogue the documents. After all, she’d enjoy doing it.

  So why on earth had she been behaving like a drama queen?

  Self-preservation, she thought starkly. Every female instinct she possessed was shouting that the more she saw of Niko, the more dangerously he affected her.

  She said aloud, ‘All I have to do is remind myself that his life and mine might as well be on different planets.’

  Immediately, before she could change her mind, she rang the roofer. Ten minutes later she got off the phone, sighing with relief. At last something was going right—he’d be able to do the job within days, airily dismissing her concern about not paying him immediately. ‘No problem, Elana. I know you’ll get there. You were always a conscientious kid.’

  In her fourth year at Waipuna School his wife had been her teacher. Life in a small community might occasionally seem stifling, but it had good points too, she thought wryly.

  That night she wooed slumber with a singular lack of success.

  Fortunately the morning sun radiated a summery promise from a cloudless sky. Her spirits lifted as she inhaled the fresh, herbal scent of the costal forest on the road into Waipuna. She had quite a busy day ahead, but no customers disturbed her for just over an hour until the buzz of the shop bell summoned her from the chiller room.

  So of course the person who waited for her had to be Niko Radcliffe, and her idiotic heart had to lose control again.

  ‘Oh—hello,’ she said inanely.

  Blue eyes scanned her with far too much intimidating speculation. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she returned, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin.

  ‘You look tired.’