Purchased By The Billionaire. HELEN BIANCHIN

flooding her veins, and she consciously focused on the scene beyond the windscreen in an effort to divert attention from what the night would bring.

      Streetlights sprang on, vying with brightly coloured neon signs, and traffic banked up as main arterial roads linked to traverse the Harbour Bridge.

      A short while later Duardo brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine.

      Nothing looked familiar—not the locale, the street. ‘Why did you stop here?’

      ‘Dinner.’ He freed his seat belt and climbed out from behind the wheel. ‘We both need to eat.’

      ‘I’m not hungry.’

      He crossed round to her side and opened the door. ‘Get out, Kayla.’ When she made no effort to move he leant forward to release her seat belt.

      The simple action had the breath lodging in her throat as his arm brushed her breast. He was close, much too close, and she froze, unwilling to so much as breathe for the few seconds it took him to complete the simple task.

      Arguing with him would get her nowhere. And there was such a thing as sheer cussedness. It had been a while since lunch, and no way could the yoghurt and fruit she’d snacked on be termed a meal.

      With that thought in mind she slid to her feet and crossed the street at his side, entering a small restaurant where the maître d’ greeted Duardo by name and personally ushered them to a secluded table.

      Kayla refused wine, chose soup as a starter, an entrée as a main, followed by fresh fruit.

      ‘Would you prefer silence, or meaningless conversation?’

      Duardo spared her a faintly mocking smile. ‘You could begin by filling me in on the last few years.’

      ‘Why, when you already know everything?’ She lifted her water glass and took a sip of the iced liquid. ‘Did you employ someone to watch my every move?’

      Duardo leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. ‘Last time I heard, it wasn’t a crime for a man to retain interest in an ex-wife.’

      The waiter served their soup, offered crusty bread then retreated as Kayla raked Duardo’s compelling features with something akin to scorn.

      ‘A wife you deliberately sought with an eye to the main chance.’

      His expression hardened, and there was an almost frightening element evident in the depths of those dark eyes.

      ‘Perhaps you’d care to explain that comment?’

      ‘The Enright-Smythe consortium.’

      ‘Indeed?’

      His voice was like ice slithering in a slow slide down the length of her spine.

      ‘Benjamin showed me written proof.’

      ‘Impossible, given there was none at the time.’

      ‘You’re lying. I saw the letters.’

      ‘Which you read?’

      The scene flashed vividly to mind, ingrained in her mind as the moment love had died. Papers, Duardo’s name. Her father’s voice, loud and accusing in denunciation.

      She’d skimmed the text, sightlessly, before Benjamin had flung the papers onto his study floor and stamped a foot on them.

      ‘You can’t deny you succeeded in a takeover bid for Benjamin’s company.’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘Did it give you pleasure to watch him sink into bankruptcy?’

      His gaze didn’t waiver. ‘Your father’s financial decline provided me with an opportunity to add to my investment portfolio. I’m a businessman. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’

      ‘Of course,’ she acknowledged with facetious intent, only to lapse into strained silence as the waiter appeared at the table to remove their soup bowls; soup she hardly remembered tasting.

      ‘A deal brokered after the dissolution of our marriage.’

      The tension escalated into a tangible entity. ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘Any more than you can accept your father might have fabricated a tissue of lies and manufactured supposed proof?’

      Shocked anger widened her eyes. ‘He wouldn’t have done that.’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘I was his daughter!’

      Their main meal was delivered, and served with a polite flourish.

      ‘Benjamin’s most prized possession.’ Duardo waited a beat. ‘One he would have done anything to remove from my orbit.’

      Kayla looked at the artistically displayed food on her plate, and felt suddenly ill. ‘You’re wrong.’

      ‘I, too, can produce documented proof.’ He picked up a fork, speared a morsel and held it suspended for a few seconds. ‘The comparison with Benjamin’s papers should prove—’ he paused almost perceptibly ‘—interesting, don’t you think?’

      Except there were no papers. At least, not those. When she’d asked, Benjamin had insisted they were with his lawyers. Who, on enquiry, could find no record of them.

      It seemed unconscionable that Benjamin would contrive to destroy her marriage. Had his personal grief over Blanche’s loss tipped him over the edge?

      ‘Eat,’ Durado commanded quietly.

      ‘I’m not hungry.’ For even a mouthful would choke her, and she pushed her plate to one side, her appetite gone.

      It had been a doozy of a day. One that was far from over. She wanted to walk out of here, away from this inimical man, what he proposed…everything.

      ‘Don’t even consider it.’ His tone was a silky threat, and, without thinking, she picked up her glass and flung the contents in his face.

      In seeming slow motion she watched Duardo collect his table napkin, glimpsed the startled attention of the waiter, who rushed to his aid, and she stood to her feet, collected her purse…and fled.

      She made the pavement, lifted a hand to flag a passing cab, only to cry out as strong hands closed over her shoulders and swung her around.

      Duardo’s features looked hard in the dim reflected streetlight, the structural bones etched in controlled anger.

      ‘You’re hurting me.’

      ‘Believe me, I’m being extremely careful not to.’

      For a moment the tension between them was electric, stretched so taut the slightest movement would result in an explosive shower of sparks.

      ‘I can’t do this.’ It was an agonized cry dredged from the depths of her soul.

      His hands slid up to cup her face, tilting it so she had no recourse but to look at him.

      ‘I need time,’ she said.

      ‘Time won’t change a thing.’

      ‘Please.’

      He traced the outline of her mouth with the edge of his thumb. ‘No.’

      Kayla bit him…hard. Heard his muffled oath, tasted his blood and cried out as he hefted her over one shoulder.

      ‘Put me down!’

      ‘Soon.’

      She curled her hands into fists and pummelled them against his back. To no avail, as he strode easily to his car, unlocked the passenger door and bundled her into the seat.

      He was close, far too close as he caught the seat belt and clipped it in place. ‘Move, and I won’t answer for the consequences.’

      She hated him…didn’t she? Hated him for placing her in this invidious position.

      Yet…what if he was telling the truth?