Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir (HQR Presents)

by Pippa Roscoe

  Caro stiffened. His tone hadn’t changed, hadn’t even sharpened, but his words were like harpoons piercing soft flesh.

  Fortunately it took more than words or dismissive stares to discomfit her these days.

  ‘I’m sure, Mr Maynard, you wouldn’t drag applicants out into the wilds of the Alps on a mere whim.’

  At least she hoped so. Surely this interview meant she had a chance?

  ‘Wilds?’ He shook his head. ‘You object to the location? The advertisement made it clear this is a live-in position.’

  If he was looking for an excuse to reject her it wouldn’t be that.

  ‘No, I’m quite content to live in the country. In fact it’s what I’m used to.’

  Silvery eyes bored into hers and Caro looked back calmly. Her heart might be hammering an out-of-kilter tempo and her palms might be damp with nerves, but she wouldn’t show it. Better to take the initiative.

  ‘I understand your niece is from St Ancilla—’

  ‘Who told you that?’ He leaned forward abruptly, hands planted on the desk, as if ready to vault across the polished wood. Now she registered what his chilly expression had concealed. Protectiveness.

  Maybe it was the innate caution of a wealthy, good-looking bachelor, a target for the paparazzi. Yet Caro sensed his protectiveness was for his niece. Caro warmed to him a little. She was glad the little girl had someone to stand up for her and keep her safe.

  Out of nowhere emotion swept in, blindsiding Caro. It rose, a choking ball of heat in her throat, making her swallow convulsively. It roiled in her belly and prickled the backs of her eyes. If only she’d been stronger—

  ‘Are you going to answer me?’

  Caro blinked and met that searing stare, hating that moment of weakness. ‘I did my research before applying for the position.’

  For the first time since she’d walked into this room, Jake Maynard didn’t look completely in control, despite his perfectly tailored clothes, his big desk and air of authority. ‘That’s not common knowledge.’

  Fear rippled through her. Had she slipped up already? Her mind raced, thinking through what she’d said.

  ‘It may not be common knowledge here, but in St Ancilla it’s no secret.’ She paused. ‘The accident that killed her parents was reported by the local press.’ When still he didn’t say anything Caro continued. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss. It must be a difficult time for you and your niece.’

  Caro’s heart squeezed. If her information was right, and she knew it was, little Ariane had been orphaned twice. Once as a newborn and then again a month ago when her adoptive parents died in a severe storm. The poor mite had had a rough start to life.

  Caro was determined that the child’s future would be brighter. In so many ways.

  ‘And you somehow linked that small news item to my advertisement? I don’t recall the St Ancillan press mentioning me.’

  He sounded sceptical and she couldn’t blame him. In fact he sounded downright suspicious.

  That was the last thing Caro needed.

  Jake Maynard was a self-made multibillionaire. You didn’t become a world-class financier without being clever and insightful, or by taking people at face value. Why had she ever thought this might be straightforward?

  The answer was simple. Because she needed it to be.

  She smoothed her hands over her skirt, buying time to conquer her emotions.

  ‘A friend lives in that part of St Ancilla and happened to mention that you were now Ariane’s guardian.’ Caro paused, hearing the slight wobble in her voice as she said the little girl’s name. Stupid to let emotion affect her now. She couldn’t afford any sign of weakness. This man would pounce on it mercilessly. She looked straight at Jake Maynard and spread her hands in an open gesture. ‘Later, when I saw your advertisement I put two and two together.’

  ‘I see.’ He leaned back again and she tried not to let her gaze drift to those imposing shoulders or that strong jaw. ‘You do get around, don’t you? First in St Ancilla, now in Switzerland.’

  Why couldn’t Jake Maynard be easy-going and friendly? Eager to employ a nanny from Ariane’s island homeland in the Mediterranean?

  Caro met his gaze with the polite smile she’d perfected as a child. The one her father had approved when she needed to look happy for the press.

  She had no intention of admitting she only knew of Jake Maynard’s search for a nanny because she’d been seeking a chance to meet Ariane. Let him think she was in Switzerland for some other reason.

  ‘Fortunately both air travel and the Internet are available to many of us now, Mr Maynard.’

  A hint of a smile turned up the corner of his mouth and for a second Caro saw a glimmer of appreciation in that hard gaze, making it look almost warm. The effect was startling.

  She sucked in a slow breath, to her consternation feeling her bra scratch flesh that suddenly felt oversensitive. Deep inside flared a kernel of heat that had nothing to do with nerves. It felt like feminine awareness.

  Caro told herself she was imagining things. She was immune to men.

  ‘You think I should give you the job because you come from the same country as my niece?’

  She brushed her sleeve, giving herself a moment’s respite from that searching gaze.

  ‘I think it’s useful that I speak the language and understand the culture. Such things are comforting, especially at a time of loss.’ She paused. ‘Even if she’s not going to live there, there’s a strong argument for her keeping her native language.’

  Slowly he inclined his head, as if reluctant to agree. ‘Frankly that’s the only reason you’re here, Ms Rivage. Because Ariane needs someone who can speak Ancillan as well as English. She’s lost her parents but I don’t want her to lose her heritage too.’

  His voice hit a gravel note and something shifted inside her. For the first time since Caro entered this imposing library she felt real sympathy for the man before her. His expression hadn’t altered yet that tiny crack in his voice hinted at deep-buried grief.

  He might remind her of a sexy fallen angel with that blatantly raw masculinity and a simmering impatience that bordered on arrogance, but he’d recently lost his sister and brother-in-law. Plus inherited responsibility for his niece.

  He probably wasn’t at his best.

  ‘I have some experience of dealing with loss, Mr Maynard. If you give me the chance I’ll do everything I can to support your niece and help her thrive.’

  His eyes held hers and for the first time she sensed he wasn’t quite so negative. Was it wishful thinking?

  She didn’t have a chance to find out for there was a tap on the door and it swung open.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Jake, Ms Rivage.’ It was the secretary, Neil Tompkins, who’d escorted her upstairs. ‘There’s a call I really think you need to take. The Geneva consortium.’

  Jake Maynard pushed his chair back. ‘My apologies, Ms Rivage. This is bad timing but it’s crucial I take this.’

  Even so, Caro gave him credit, he didn’t simply march out, but waited for her response.

  ‘Of course, Mr Maynard.’

  ‘I won’t keep you long.’ Then the pair disappeared, the studded oak door closing behind them.

  Caro shot to her feet as if from a catapult. Sitting under that icy scrutiny had taken its toll. Leaving her bag beside her chair, she paced the room, drawn to the incredible vista of snowy mountains, so different from her Mediterranean home.

  Her mind raced through what he’d said and how she’d responded. What she could have said better. What she could say to sway him on his return.

  If the other applicants were so much more experienced it was unlikely he’d entrust his precious niece to her. On the other hand, Ancillan wasn’t a common language. Its origins were ancient, with roots in classical Greek and even, the linguists thought, Phoenician, bu
t influenced over the centuries by trade and conquest so it had traces of Italian, Arabic and even Viking borrowings. If she was the only applicant who could speak it she had a chance.

  The door banged open and Caro swung around. But it wasn’t Jake Maynard who entered, nor was it the door to his secretary’s office that stood open. It was a door on the other side of the room.

  In front of it, poised as if in mid-flight, was a small, dishevelled figure. Her frilly dress was rumpled and her plaits were half undone so her head was surrounded by a bright bronze nimbus of curls.

  Caro’s heart stopped.

  She breathed. She must have, for she didn’t black out. But she couldn’t move.

  Memory swamped her as the little girl turned a tear-stained face and drowned violet eyes met hers.

  Caro felt a trembling begin in the soles of her feet and work its way up her legs to her hands and belly. She swallowed then swallowed again, unable to moisten her suddenly arid mouth.

  She’d struggled, hoped and prayed for this moment. But nothing had prepared her for the raw shock of reality.

  Those eyes. That hair.

  She was thrown back in time to her own childhood. To the only person in the world who’d ever loved her. To gentle hands, tender words and a thick mass of curls of the same distinctive burnished bronze.

  ‘Where’s Uncle Jake?’

  The little girl’s words dragged Caro back to the present. She tried to smile but her mouth trembled too much. Her knees gave way and she sank onto the padded window seat, her hand pressed to her middle as if to still the tumult inside.

  ‘He’ll be back in a minute.’ Her voice was barely audible, rough with emotion.

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You speak like me!’

  Caro hadn’t realised she’d spoken Ancillan.

  Then the girl she’d come all this way to find, the girl she hadn’t known about till a few weeks ago, slowly crossed the room towards her.

  Caro went hot then cold as relief, disbelief and wonder hit. She was torn between the urge to grin and the need to sob.

  Or to gather Ariane close and never let her go.

  Copyright © 2020 by Annie West

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  ISBN: 9781488059285

  Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir

  Copyright © 2020 by Pippa Roscoe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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