Captured by the Billionaire. Robyn Donald

glimpse into the private lives of the aristocracy. We don’t have one.’

      ‘Really?’ Serina didn’t try to repress her sarcasm. Was he being deliberately insulting? OK, so he had a point; on occasion she’d inserted innocuous information about the owners in her column, but she hoped that wasn’t the main reason for her readers’ loyalty.

      ‘Actually,’ she purred sweetly, ‘if you’d ever read my column you’d know that the gardens are the stars, not the people who own them. And to make sure I haven’t inadvertently invaded the owners’ privacy I show them the copy before it goes to the editor.’

      ‘So it’s a collaborative enterprise?’

      Repressing an unusual impulse to snap back, she returned, ‘Besides, if I relied on gossip to sell my work I’d soon find my choice of gardens drying up. I’ve done some research, and it seems that in Northland alone there are several magnificent places that I’m sure would interest my readers.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘How about yours?’

      ‘I like it,’ he said neutrally, his eyes hardening. ‘But I won’t allow anyone to write about it.’

      ‘Fine,’ she said, showing her teeth as she bit out the word.

      Arrogant man! She hoped very much he wasn’t going to be like this the whole time she was in New Zealand.

      However, for the rest of the trip he was thoughtful and pleasant—and extremely stimulating, she thought gloomily as she gazed through a window at the city of Auckland sprawled out across a narrow isthmus.

      She’d read, written, taken frequent walks around the cabin that eased the stiffness of the long journey, but refused to nap again in the luxurious sleeping cabin. Awash with industrial quantities of water, she was looking forward to fresh air, and a night in a bed that was firmly anchored to the ground.

      She risked a glance at Alex beside her. That now familiar slow burn of sensation in the pit of her stomach made her hesitate a half-second before she said, ‘It’s beautiful—a splendid setting. I hadn’t realised the city was so big.’

      He shrugged. ‘New Zealanders like living on their own land. And while we might have only four million inhabitants, a million of them live in Auckland. In area the country’s almost as big as Italy.’

      ‘How far away is Haruru?’ She pronounced the word carefully.

      ‘Well done,’ he said, his smile quickening her pulse. ‘It’s half an hour’s flight north. I’m afraid I have a function to attend in Auckland tonight, so we’ll spend the night at my apartment here, then head home tomorrow morning.’

      Serina thought she’d hidden her surprise, but a black brow lifted and he said dryly, ‘Perhaps I should have mentioned that before.’

      Chagrined, she shook her head and made a mental memo to watch her expression more closely. ‘Of course not,’ she said in her most practical tone.

      ‘I’m sorry to have to leave you alone for your first night in New Zealand.’

      She laughed. ‘Nonsense. The last thing I want to do is go out for the evening.’

      For most of the journey he’d worked solidly, except when he joined her for meals. She’d insisted he take the bed when he decided to sleep, pointing out that as she was shorter she’d be more comfortable in the reclining chair. He’d politely accepted.

      If he’d been trying to convey his total lack of interest in her, he’d succeeded.

      Serina despised the pang that thought produced.

      She was far too conscious of Alex to be comfortable in his presence. He made the world seem a larger, more intriguing place, stirring her senses into hyperdrive and awakening reactions—both physical and mental—that were not only inconvenient but scary.

      She must have been mad to agree to come, but four weeks wasn’t too long. She’d cope.

      She hoped…

      The plane eased down to a smooth landing at an airport near one of the city’s two harbours. Customs and immigration formalities quickly over, she walked beside Alex to a waiting car.

      The driver, a tall, solidly built man, olive-skinned and with finely chiselled features, greeted Alex with a smile. ‘Good trip?’ he asked.

      Alex’s return smile made him younger and more approachable than Serina had ever seen him.

      ‘Excellent, thanks, Craig. How’s the family?’

      Craig beamed. ‘Brilliant.’ He took Serina’s bag and manoeuvred it into the boot before announcing, ‘The boy’s walking.’

      Alex laughed. ‘So you don’t know what’s hit you?’

      ‘He’s a hell-child—into everything. It’s total mayhem,’ Craig told him, his proud smile contradicting his words.

      Alex introduced Craig Morehu to her. They shook hands and Serina asked, ‘How old is your son?’

      ‘Ten months,’ Craig said with even more pride, and grinned at her surprise. ‘Yes, apparently he’s advanced for his age.’

      Alex said, ‘Serina, if you don’t mind, Craig and I need to talk business so I’ll sit in the front seat with him.’

      ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said politely, and during the journey kept her gaze to either side of the car, ignoring the width of Alex’s shoulders and the incisive tone of his voice as he and the driver spoke together.

      Auckland was leafy and green and busy, the motorway bordered by shrubs and trees, many of which she didn’t recognise. Small volcanic cones, most covered in brilliantly green grass, seemed to pop into view wherever she looked, and the twin harbours wove in and out of the land so that each change of direction revealed a new vista.

      Alex’s apartment was richly welcoming, a big penthouse in a solid nineteenth-century building that had been turned into a hotel. Furnished in traditional style with huge timber-framed windows that took in magnificent views of the harbour and cityscape, the rooms were warmed by flowers.

      Serina didn’t know what she’d expected—something uncompromisingly minimalist to go with what she knew of Alex’s character?

      But the decor had probably been produced by a decorator. All Alex would have had to do was throw money at it.

      Then she saw the telescope aimed at the harbour. Her father had had one just like it; it still stood in the tiny back street apartment in Nice she shared with Doran when he was home.

      She repressed a swift pang of homesickness as Alex showed her into a large bedroom with its own bathroom. This was more feminine, the comfort factor still very evident.

      Alex said, ‘If you need anything let me know, or ring the bell. I’ll be with Craig for another half an hour, and after that we could fill in time by either swimming or playing tennis on the residents’ court. Which would you prefer?’

      ‘Tennis,’ she said instantly, repressing a forbidden image of him stripped down and glistening…

      She suspected he was surprised, but could read nothing in his angular face as he said, ‘Then tennis it will be.’

      After she’d unpacked she set up her laptop and sent an email to Doran to tell him she’d arrived; he’d already sent one to her, brief but enthusiastic. Clearly, he was enjoying himself.

      Spirits rising, she spent a long time in the shower, her dry skin luxuriating in the cool water. The shorts and T-shirt she changed into were neat and practical, although when Alex saw her she was suddenly—foolishly—too aware of her bare legs and arms.

      He was wearing shorts and a shirt too, and something very odd happened in the pit of Serina’s stomach. Lean and tanned, the lithe power of his body revealed without the sophisticated covering of his more formal clothes, Alex was—overwhelming.

      Serina