Captured by the Billionaire. Robyn Donald

that she both photographed well and possessed the body to display his clothes superbly had helped him make the decision. It had always been a problematic relationship; although Rassel referred to her as his muse he’d expected her to behave like a model, and had only reluctantly accepted any input from her. Now that he’d made his reputation he didn’t need her any more.

      And she didn’t miss his monstrous ego or his insecurity.

      Alex asked, ‘So what are you going to study? Horticulture?’

      Did he know she wrote a column on gardens?

      ‘Landscape architecture.’

      She was so looking forward to it. She’d just come into a small inheritance from her grandfather, the last King of Montevel. Added to the money she earned for the column, the bequest would provide enough money for Doran to finish university as well as pay her tuition fees and living expenses.

      It would mean an even more rigorous routine of scrimping, but she was accustomed to that.

      ‘I suppose that figures. Will you continue writing your garden column for that celebrity magazine?’Alex’s dismissive tone made it quite clear what he thought of the publication.

      ‘Of course.’ Loyalty to the editor made her enlarge on her first stiff response. ‘They took a chance on me and I’ve always done my best to live up to their expectations.’

      Why on earth was she justifying herself to this man? She tried to ignore a turbulent flutter beneath her ribs when she parried his enigmatic gaze.

      ‘Why landscape architecture? It’s a far cry from writing about pretty flowers and people who never get their hands dirty.’

      Allowing a hint of frost to chill her words, she said, ‘Apart from admiring the beauty of what they achieve, I respect the hopeless, impossible ambition of gardeners, their desire to create a perfect, idealised landscape—to return to Eden.’ Crisply she finished, ‘And I’ll be good at it.’

      ‘Your title and social cachet will see that you succeed.’

      The comment, delivered in a negligent voice, hurt her. Especially since she knew there was an element of truth to it.

      Serina hid her stormy gaze with long lashes. ‘It will help. But to succeed I’ll need more than that.’

      ‘And you think you have whatever it takes?’

      ‘I know I have,’ she said calmly.

      For answer he pulled her hand into a suitable position for inspection. ‘Perfect skin,’ he murmured on a sardonic note. ‘Not a scratch or stain anywhere. Immaculately manicured nails. I’ll bet you’ve never got your hands dirty.’

      The corners of her mouth curved upwards and her eyes glittered. ‘How much will you wager?’

      Alex’s laugh smashed through defences already weakened by the feel of his arms around her and the subtle connection with his body, the brush of his thighs against her, the barely discernible scent that seemed to be a mixture of soap and his own inherent male essence.

      ‘Nothing,’ he said promptly, returning her hand to its normal position. ‘If you want to gamble you shouldn’t show your hand so obviously. Did you have a flower garden as a child?’

      ‘I did, and a very productive vegetable plot. My mother believed gardening was good for children.’

      His expression gave nothing away. Hard-featured, magnetic, he was far too handsome—and Serina was far too aware of his dangerous charisma.

      He said, ‘Of course, I should have remembered that your parents’ garden on the Riviera was famous for its beauty.’

      ‘Yes.’ Her mother had been the guiding light behind that. Working in her garden had helped soothe her heart whenever her husband’s affairs figured in the gossip columns.

      The property had been sold after her parents’ deaths, gone like everything else to pay the debts they’d left behind.

      The music drew to an end, and Alex loosened his strong arm about her, looking down with a smile that was pure male challenge. ‘You should come to New Zealand. It has fascinating plants, superb scenery and some of the best gardens in the world.’

      ‘So I believe. Perhaps one of these days I’ll get there.’

      ‘I’m going back tomorrow. Why not come with me?’

      Startled, she flashed him a glance, wondering at his unexpectedly keen scrutiny. Why on earth had he suggested such a crazy thing? Yet she had to resist a fierce desire to take him up on his offer—and on whatever else he was offering.

       Just pack a small bag and go…

      But of course she couldn’t. Reluctantly she said, ‘Thank you very much but no, I can’t just head off like that, however much I might want to.’

      ‘Is there anything keeping you on this side of the world? An occasion you don’t dare miss?’ He paused before drawling, ‘A lover?’

      Colour flared briefly in her cheeks. A lover? No such thing in her life—ever.

      ‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But I can’t just disappear.’

      ‘Why not? Haruru—the place I own in Northland—is on the coast, and if you’re interested in flora there’s a lot of bush on it.’ When she looked at him enquiringly he expanded, ‘In New Zealand all forest is called bush. And in Northland, my home, botanists are still discovering new species of plants.’

      He smiled down at her with such charm that for a charged moment she forgot everything but a highly suspicious desire to go with him.

      It was high summer, and the small, cheap apartment in the back street of Nice was stuffy and hot, the streets crowded with tourists…Photographs she’d seen of New Zealand had shown a green country, lush and cool and mysterious.

      But it was impossible. ‘It sounds wonderful, but I don’t do impulse,’ she returned lightly.

      ‘Then perhaps it’s time you did. Bring your brother, if you want to.’

      If only! Temptation wooed her, fogging her brain and reducing her willpower to a pale imitation of its normal robust self.

      A trip to New Zealand might divert Doran from his increasingly worrying preoccupation with that wretched video game he and his friends were concocting. Prone to violent enthusiasms, he usually lost interest as quickly as he’d found it, but his fascination with this latest pursuit seemed to be coming worryingly close to an addiction. Serina had barely seen him during the past few months.

      A holiday could wean him away from it.

      It suggested a way for her to avoid the frustration of these past months, too. The sly innuendoes and unspoken sympathy, the rudeness of media people demanding to know how she felt now that her heart was supposedly shattered, the downright lies written about her in the tabloids—it had all been getting to her, she admitted bleakly.

      If she went to New Zealand with Alex Matthews her world would assume they were lovers. How she’d enjoy hurling a supposed affair in every smug, avid face! A sharp, clamouring excitement almost persuaded her to agree.

      For a moment she wavered, only to rally at the return of common sense. Just how would that prove she wasn’t hiding a broken heart or shattered hopes?

      It wouldn’t. The gossips would accurately peg it as bravado, and therefore further confirmation of their suspicions.

      ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said carefully, ‘and I’m sure Doran would love to visit New Zealand.’

      ‘But?’ Alex said ironically.

      ‘We can’t afford a holiday right now.’

      Broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, but his gaze didn’t waver. ‘I share a jet with Kelt and Gerd, so transport won’t be a problem. And