Australian Millionaires: The Millionaire's Seductive Revenge. Maxine Sullivan

Phillip have no right to tell me what to do or what to put in my own house. And as soon as he gets here, I’ll be making that quite clear.”

      “Then you’re going to have a bit of a wait,” he said, his gaze seeming to watch her reaction. “He’s not coming. He rang and asked me to take you to the exhibition instead. He said he wasn’t feeling up to it today.”

      Her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to go to the exhibition with Brant. Damn Phillip for being selfish enough not to turn up. She was beginning to think taking the easy way out was a weakness he couldn’t control.

      “Why didn’t he phone me himself?”

      “He said he’d tried a couple of times but kept getting the busy signal.”

      She bristled with indignation. “Because the alarm was being connected to the phone line, that’s why.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going without Phillip.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Phil said one of our clients invited him to the exhibition.”

      “Er … yes …” She licked her lips. “But it just wouldn’t be the same without Phillip. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

      “They may, but I won’t. This is a work assignment, Kia. Think of it as payment for the security alarm.”

      Her mouth tightened. So there was a catch to his free and easy statement of “the company will pay for it.”

      “Perhaps I should go by myself … on behalf of the company, that is. There’s no need for you to waste your Saturday afternoon.” She didn’t want to deprive some poor besotted female of his company either.

      “I wouldn’t think of it as a waste. I’d like to see the exhibition, too. Early Australian art fascinates me.”

      It fascinated her, too, but she didn’t want to say so. Yet could she spend hours with him and survive the draw of his attraction? She swallowed. It looked as though she wasn’t getting a choice. But after she put in an appearance for their client, she’d make sure it was the quickest walk around the gallery on record.

      An hour later she and Brant strolled through the art gallery by themselves after they’d shared an afternoon tea of pineapple scones, finger sandwiches and a delicious tropical fruit platter. Brant had been his charming self with their client and the others. A couple of times she’d even let her guard down and surprised herself by actually laughing at some of his witty remarks.

      Of course, being witty and a womanizer was what he was about. That’s how men like him got women into bed, and if the looks some of the other women were giving him were anything to go by, he’d have had plenty of offers today if she hadn’t been around. Yes, he knew exactly how to charm the panties right off a woman. She stiffened. Not this woman.

      “I like this painting of the early settlers,” he said now, his deep voice bringing her out of her thoughts. “I saw a print of it years ago, but the brushstrokes and paint textures are nothing compared to the original.” He turned to look at her. “It’s very evocative, don’t you agree?”

      She fumbled for words when she saw the piece of work he was referring to. “Um … yes.”

      He arched a brow. “You sound surprised?”

      A thrill raced through her, but she managed to shrug as if it were no big deal. “It’s my favorite painting.”

      “And you didn’t expect us to have the same tastes, right?” He paused, his blue eyes darkening. “I think we’d have a lot in common if we looked closely.”

      She moistened suddenly dry lips. “Yes. Phillip, for one thing.”

      He gave a slightly bitter smile. “Ah, Phillip. We’ll always have him in common, won’t we?” He turned back to the painting. “Tell me. Why is this your favorite?”

      Obviously he wanted to keep things on an even keel, and she was only too happy to oblige. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a burst of excitement that he found the imagery of the painting as touching as she did. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.

      She turned to the painting and let her gaze wander over the picture of their pioneer ancestors, losing herself in its sheer vibrancy and color. “I’d say it’s because it personifies the Outback spirit. That it’s possible to overcome any obstacle, no matter how big or daunting.”

      “So you like challenges?” he pounced.

      She drew in a shaky breath. Always the predator. He just couldn’t help himself. “Some challenges,” she admitted.

      “I like certain challenges, too,” he drawled, his eyes intense. “If somebody tells me I can’t have something, then that’s when I want it.”

      And he wanted her. He had no need to say it out loud. The wanting poured from him like a familiar scent.

      She plastered a smile on her lips. “Then you’d better get used to disappointment,” she quipped, knowing her first instincts about him were correct. She hadn’t misjudged him. Not in the slightest.

      A few hours later the two of them sat at an outdoor café not far from the exhibition, sipping at fruit daiquiris. The pre-Christmas festivities were still continuing, and people were out in force and in holiday mode, enjoying a stroll along the sail-shaded Smith Street Mall, listening to a busker play her guitar, watching a mime artist perform.

      Brant couldn’t have cared less where they were or who was nearby. His concentration was solely and fully on one person. Kia looked as beautiful as always, with her blond hair pulled back in a French knot, and wearing a lemon-colored dress that displayed the elegant line of her neck and showed off her tanned shoulders and arms.

      But something else about her today set his pulse spinning like a top. Watching her talk to the others at the gallery, he’d glimpsed an innocence in her lovely eyes that had been at odds with the knowing look in them, as if she couldn’t quite hide the sweet beneath the spice. Yet sweet was hardly a word he’d expect to use about Kia Benton.

      He swallowed some of his drink, then decided he didn’t need any more intoxication right now. Apart from a brief time last night and again this morning, he’d never really been alone with her like this before. It had gone to his head—no, his body. His state of constant arousal was killing him.

      And she knew it. That’s why she wasn’t quite facing him as she sat sipping her daiquiri, her body turned slightly toward the crowd.

      But she was only fooling herself. There could be a brick wall between them and the attraction would still seep through. Didn’t she know there was no stopping it? Not unless they made love and got it out of their systems, and then he had the feeling it would probably only intensify.

      “Tell me more about your father,” he said, suddenly interested in what made her tick.

      She raised a wry eyebrow. “Why?”

      He gave a smile. “Are you this suspicious of everyone or is it just me?”

      “Just you,” she said, her lips curving into a sexy smile that was as unexpected as was her words. God. She was lovely, with her smooth cheekbones, perfect nose, eyes that could dazzle a man with just one look and a deliciously tempting mouth.

      She put her glass down, and when she looked up again her face had sobered. “There’s nothing much to tell. My father thinks he’s one of the beautiful people. He can’t stand being around someone who isn’t.”

      Brant frowned. “You’re still his daughter.”

      Her slim shoulders tensed. “The only reason he wants me around is because he thinks it’s good for his image.”

      All at once something occurred to him. “Good Lord. Your father isn’t Lloyd Benton, is he?”

      If it were possible, she tensed even more. “The one and only.”