The Billionaire's Bride of Vengeance. Miranda Lee

and runaways were extremely wily. If he called the police now, he wouldn’t put it past this girl to concoct some story that he’d invited her here. She might even cry rape. And they just might believe her, given her looks.

      Russell did the only thing he could, under the circumstances. He backed out of the room, shutting the door very quietly behind him. There he waited till the shower was turned off and sufficient time had passed for her to have dried and dressed herself.

      Then he did the right thing.

      He knocked.

      ‘Who is it?’ the girl called out.

      ‘More to the point, who are you?’ he challenged.

      ‘Nicole Power,’ she called back.

      ‘Who?’ Had he heard right? Had she really said she was Nicole Power? Surely not!

      ‘Nicole Power,’ she repeated.

      Shock rendered Russell speechless.

      Nicole Power! Of all people! Of all women!

      He hadn’t recognised her. Not without her clothes on, and not without her eyes open.

      Even worse was the fact that he’d fancied her. No, that was an understatement. He’d lusted after her, with a force that was as blind as it was almost overpowering.

      For a moment back there in that bathroom, when he’d believed she was a penniless runaway, he’d imagined making her an offer that was as wrong as it was wickedly exciting.

      ‘You can stay,’ he’d envisaged himself saying, ‘but you’ll have to move into the master bedroom. And you’re never to cover that beautiful body of yours with clothes.’

      A quite irrational fury fuelled his tongue.

      ‘Aren’t you aware that your father no longer owns this house?’ he snapped. ‘You have no right to be here. No right at all.’ And no right to make me want to seduce you!

      ‘Look, I can explain,’ she said in a lilting voice which was as attractive as her singing, ‘but it’s rather difficult talking through the door.’

      ‘Then come out and explain,’ Russell commanded gruffly.

      ‘I can’t. I don’t have any clothes with me. And I’m not coming out wrapped in a towel!’

      Russell grimaced. Little did she know but he’d seen her in a lot less.

      It was no wonder he hadn’t recognised her, he supposed. He’d never seen Power’s daughter in the flesh before, so to speak, only a few times on the TV news, hosting one of her never-ending birthday parties. Her twenty-first a few years ago had been so obscenely expensive that it had received extensive coverage. Admittedly, she hadn’t been on the TV lately. He did recall seeing her on the news about six months ago, going to the première of a movie, sashaying up the red carpet, dressed up to the nines and with not a hair out of place as she’d flashed her pearly whites for photographers.

      He’d always thought her the ultimate rich bitch, groomed within an inch of her life. He’d also cynically believed that nothing about her skin-deep beauty was real, especially her long blonde hair. He’d imagined she was a product of a good plastic surgeon and an expert hairdresser.

      Now he knew that she was a natural beauty and a natural blonde, courtesy of that small triangle of fair curls he’d glimpsed between her legs.

      Damn! He had to stop thinking about things like that.

      ‘What say I meet you downstairs in ten minutes’ time?’ she suggested through the door.

      A sensible suggestion, but it irritated him all the same. This whole scenario irritated him.

      ‘Make it five,’ he countered sharply, before whirling on his heel and heading for the door.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      NICOLE gritted her teeth, any embarrassment she’d been suffering from swiftly replaced by annoyance. She might not have any right to be here, but he had no right to be rude, whoever he was. There certainly wasn’t any need to treat her like some criminal, not once he’d discovered who she was.

      Nicole wished she’d insisted on knowing who he was.

      A security guard perhaps?

      He’d sounded like a security guard. He certainly hadn’t been a gentleman.

      When a peek into her bedroom showed that he’d left, Nicole set about finding something to wear. Not the wrap-around skirt and top she’d worn on the plane. Or any of the crushed clothes in her backpack.

      She would have to select something from the wardrobe she’d left behind.

      There was a lot to choose from in the walk-in wardrobe. Nicole shook her head when she saw that some of the items still had their price tags on them. All of them carried designer labels too, and most of them were on the glamorous side. Not the kind of thing she wore these days.

      Jeans would have to do, she decided. Jeans and a simple black T-shirt.

      Both were designer pieces but at least they didn’t look it!

      The five-minute limit she’d been given was fast approaching by the time she found some clean underwear and got herself dressed. She would have to hurry, since it was imperative she not antagonise the man waiting for her downstairs. The last thing she needed was for him to demand she leave without giving her the opportunity to do what she’d flown back to Sydney to do.

      As Nicole quickly wound her damp hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, she regretted not having packed up everything she wanted the moment she’d arrived this morning. That way, she’d have been long gone by now. Unfortunately, when her flight had touched down at Mascot at six this morning, she’d been totally wrecked. She hadn’t slept a wink all night because of a crying baby in the seat behind her. So when she’d let herself into the deserted house—which didn’t even have a For Sale sign outside of it—sleep had beckoned. She’d stripped off and dived straight into the bed which had been hers since the age of nine. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone might come and find her here.

      Now she was in the awkward position of having to ask the grump downstairs for a favour. Her name—which had once opened doors to her—was not going to be an asset, either. The name of Power was probably mud around Sydney these days.

      With a sigh, Nicole slipped her bare feet into a pair of black mules and made her way reluctantly to the door.

      She heard him before she saw him, marching back and forth across the marble-floored foyer, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. As Nicole crossed the carpeted landing which led to the curving staircase, she began picturing an overweight fellow in his fifties with a power complex. So the sight of a tall, dark-haired, well-built man in his mid-to-late thirties came as a surprise, as did the clothes he was wearing.

      Nicole might have reached the stage when an expensive wardrobe had lost its appeal for her, but she still recognised top-quality clothes when she saw them. This man’s navy-blue suit was definitely not off-the-peg. Aside from the faint sheen on the material, which shouted a mohair blend, the single-breasted jacket was superbly tailored, with not a wrinkle where the sleeves met the presumably padded shoulders.

      For surely they couldn’t be his real shoulders, Nicole thought a touch cynically as she started walking down the stairs. Men who wore suits like that were rarely renowned for their physical fitness.

      David had looked extremely well built in all of his business suits. But he’d not been quite so impressive once he’d undressed.

      Nicole grimaced. She was always doing that nowadays, finding things to criticise about her ex-fiancé. Yet once she’d thought him fantastic. More fool her!

      Suddenly, the man downstairs stopped that infernal pacing and glanced up.

      For the first time during the last four months, Nicole was grateful for something