Bargaining with the Billionaire. Robyn Donald

breathed, her face lighting up when the baby looked back at her and lifted a chubby, starfish hand to pat her cheek.

      Lucia looked past them to the door, her lovely face breaking into a smile. ‘Curt, come in. Look, Natalia, here’s Curt to see you!’

      The baby certainly knew him. Smile turning into a beam, she leaped in Peta’s arms, little hands working in excitement.

      Curt’s gaze rested on Peta’s face with a kind of surprise. ‘Here,’ she said awkwardly, ‘you’d better take her.’

      He handled the baby with the competence he showed in everything else, his expression softening as he looked down at her. Peta’s heart gave an odd wistful jolt; it was the first time she’d seen him lower his defences.

      ‘She is a born coquette,’ Lucia said fondly. ‘She even flirts with her father.’

      Peta watched the tall man laughing at the baby, and for a couple of heartbeats she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Occasionally she’d fantasised about life with a kind, gentle man who respected her and listened to her, and in that shadowy dream there were children.

      Now, with the impact of a bullet out of darkness, she realised that the only child she wanted was Curt’s.

      Natalia began to wriggle, and Curt kissed the satiny cheek and handed the baby over to her mother.

      Lucia said, ‘That’s probably the limit of her patience.’

      ‘You and your husband are right—she is adorable,’ Peta said, her voice uneven as she headed for the door.

      Outside in the hall, something about Curt’s steady regard, watchful and deliberate, lifted every tiny hair on her skin.

      But when he spoke it was to say, ‘You didn’t comment on which parent she most resembles.’

      Peta steadied her voice before answering, ‘She looks like herself, and judging by the set of her chin she’s inherited both her father’s and mother’s share of determination.’

      Laughing quietly, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. The warmth of his body sent hot shivers roiling across her skin. I’m in real trouble, she thought confusedly. What am I going to do?

      Stop fantasising about babies, to start with!

      ‘Lucia can wax eloquent about her strong will,’ he said, and sent an enigmatic glance down at her as they walked towards the door of the sitting room. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

      ‘Mostly,’ she admitted honestly.

      He nodded. ‘Just remember the whole purpose of this exercise.’

      Not exactly a threat, yet his words reminded her brutally that to him she was a pawn, someone to be used for a particular purpose and then discarded. OK, so he liked babies; big deal. Tyrants and dictators liked babies too.

      The pain that accompanied her thoughts was bitter medicine, but if it cured her of this feverish desire she’d endure it.

      Just outside the door he stopped her with a light touch on her arm, and bent his head. Heart hammering, she looked up—and read cold calculation in his eyes.

      He didn’t kiss her on the mouth. Instead his lips touched the angle of her jaw, and then his teeth closed for a second on the lobe of her ear, firing a bolt of delicious sensation into the centre of her being.

      It was over almost instantly, but the aftermath stayed in her eyes and the delicate colour of her skin. When he opened the door for her and ushered her back into the room, a possessive hand in the small of her back, she saw Ian’s face clamp into rigidity.

      A needle of pain worked its way through her. It hurt to see Ian suffer, even though she could never return his feelings. Why did things—people—have to change?

      When the evening was over she thanked Gillian and Ian civilly and said goodbye to the Radcliffes.

      ‘I hope it’s not goodbye,’ Lucia said promptly. ‘We don’t live that far away.’

      Not in distance perhaps…

      Peta smiled and said something casual and inoffensive.

      Halfway home Curt asked, ‘Why did you brush off Lucia’s invitation?’ In spite of his matter-of-fact tone he wanted an answer.

      Her face set. ‘Because I was there on false pretences,’ she returned on a hard note. ‘Besides, the princess was only being polite—we won’t meet again.’

      ‘Her manners are exquisite,’ he agreed, ‘but she’s learned to protect herself from people she doesn’t like. If she hadn’t wanted to get to know you better she wouldn’t have suggested it.’

      ‘We have nothing in common. Once this charade is over I’ll never see her again.’

      ‘You’re an inverted snob,’ he said coolly.

      ‘I am not.’ Furious, she flared, ‘Except for a relationship with you—a relationship based on blackmail!—what common ground could there possibly be between me and a princess who’s married to a millionaire?’

      ‘You seemed to have enough to talk about,’ he said neutrally. ‘You certainly didn’t hold back when it came to discussing the state of the world. And you share a certain forthrightness. Because she spent years having to watch every word she said, Lucia rather enjoys stating her opinions.’

      Peta shrugged, but his words echoed in her mind after she’d given him a cup of coffee and tensely waited out the forty-five minutes he insisted on staying.

      ‘More camouflage,’ he said laconically.

      By the time he finally left her nerves had shredded to rags, but this time he didn’t kiss her, although the glitter in his eyes told her that he too felt the swift uprush of hunger, hot and sweet and fiery.

      Whenever she smelt the scent of gardenia, she thought wearily as she closed the door behind him, she’d remember his addictive kisses. And wondered if he was deliberately holding back, making her more hungry with each fugitive caress.

      No. He might be trying to manipulate her, but not into his bed; he wanted her flushed and eager so that Ian was convinced.

      She went back into the sitting room, looking around it with clouded eyes. The contrast between its elderly furnishings, chosen for economy and hard wear, and Gillian’s house couldn’t have been greater.

      About as much contrast as there was between her life and Curt’s.

      ‘So stop the sneaky little wish-fulfilment fantasies,’ she told herself harshly. ‘Curt’s baby indeed! You must be mad.’

      ‘First ride in a chopper?’ the helicopter pilot enquired, stowing her pack away.

      ‘Yes.’

      He grinned and said confidently, ‘You’ll love it. It’s a great day and all Northland’s going to be spread out like a map under us.’ He took an envelope from his pocket. ‘A note from the boss,’ he explained, handing it over.

      Peta opened it with trembling fingers. It was the first time she’d seen Curt’s writing, and for some reason the occasion assumed ridiculous importance.

      Like him, his writing breathed bold, aggressive power. He wasn’t able to meet her in Auckland; his personal assistant would pick her up.

      He signed it simply, ‘C’.

      Curt by name and curt by nature, she thought, chilled. He was probably making sure he didn’t sign any documentation she might be able to use against him.

      Well, he didn’t need to worry. She knew exactly why she was there. She’d keep her side of the bargain.

      The pilot was right; the trip down was fantastic. Peta exclaimed with pleasure as Northland’s long peninsula, barely a hundred miles across at its widest part, unrolled beneath them in a glory of gold and green, hemmed