Claimed By Her Billionaire Protector. Robyn Donald

judged his handshake perfectly—strong enough to be masterful without causing pain. Once he’d released her hand she’d had to stop herself from rubbing her tingling palm surreptitiously against her side.

      Her first glance at the arrogant jut of his jaw had set every warning instinct on full alert. And the unsparing assessment of his ice-blue gaze had reinforced her surge of defensiveness. It was highly unlikely she’d ever become friends with the new owner of Mana Station.

      However, her foolish body was buzzing with sensual excitement. His lean, charismatic muscularity emphasised by wide shoulders and his height, Count Niko Radcliffe wore his formal evening clothes with an intimidating confidence that was like nothing she’d seen before.

      Cool it, Elana commanded her jumping heartbeat. Handsome men were not that uncommon, and she’d seen enough photographs of him in the media to know what to expect.

      But photographs failed to convey his effortless air of authority or the powerful aura that was more than physical, backed by a disturbing smile. According to the media he ran his numerous interests with a formidable combination of intelligence, determination and ruthlessness.

      An image formed in her mind of some warrior king of long ago, one who ruled by sheer force of character.

      Chemistry, she decided, trying to dampen her foolish reaction with irony. Some men had it in spades. And dangerously attractive though he seemed, Niko Radcliffe’s magnetism owed nothing to honesty or kindness or—well, any of the virtues.

      But then, royal billionaires probably didn’t need honesty or kindness to attract some women.

      Immediately ashamed of the snide thought, she banished it. According to Mrs Nixon, an avid reader of gossip magazines, he chose lovers noted for their beauty and intelligence, the latest one a gorgeous English aristocrat.

      And in farming circles he had a good reputation. Only a few weeks ago she’d read an article about his rescue of the sheep and cattle station he’d inherited from his father. He’d spent much money killing the wilding pines that threatened to turn the land into forest, and clearing the station of goats. Apparently he was determined to clear it of rabbits too, although he’d admitted he might need a miracle for that.

      She risked a swift upwards glance, her pulse speeding as her eyes clashed with his. Somehow she just couldn’t see this man, completely assured in his perfectly tailored evening clothes, shooting goats or hauling out pine seedlings.

      Ah well, no doubt he had minions to do the heavy work.

      Fixing a noncommittal smile to her lips, she said lightly, ‘Welcome to Northland, Mr Radcliffe.’

      Black brows lifted. ‘Niko,’ he repeated with a crisp intonation that came close to curtness. But then he smiled.

      Elana was shocked by a fierce awareness that tightened her nerves and sinews. That smile was something!

      And no doubt he was aware of its impact.

      He added, ‘Congratulations on the decorations. They are superb.’

      Striving to control a swift surge of adrenalin, she forced herself to concentrate on his accent. He sounded almost English, but his faint foreign intonation no doubt came from his upbringing in a European palace.

      Elana steadied her voice enough to say, ‘Thank you—we had an excellent committee to work with.’

      The band struck an imperative chord, and once the chatter faded the MC—a local farmer—spoke into the microphone, welcoming the crowd. Something far too close to relief gripped Elana when the man beside her turned to listen.

      Stop being an idiot, she told herself robustly. OK, so the new owner of Mana had the kind of presence that attracted eyes and attention.

      Definitely an alpha male—uncompromising and intolerant and intimidating.

      Like her father. Just the sort of man she despised.

      And feared...

      The MC announced the next dance, and the Count turned to Mrs Nixon with a request that summoned a slight flush to her cheeks. ‘Dear man, that’s lovely of you, but I’m not dancing tonight. I managed to twist my ankle yesterday,’ she said.

      Horrified, Elana realised that Niko had no polite way out of asking her to dance.

      Sure enough, he turned to her, hard eyes veiled by lashes too long for any man. ‘May I have the pleasure?’

      Say no.

      But that would be ludicrous. After all, it was only one dance...

      Her smile hiding, she fervently hoped, her abrupt and unwarranted reaction, she placed her fingers gingerly on his outstretched arm.

      ‘So you live above Anchor Bay,’ he said as the band struck up a tune. His tone indicated that he wasn’t particularly interested.

      Matching it, she answered, ‘Yes.’

      ‘You must be able to see quite a bit of Mana Station from there.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You’ll notice quite a few changes soon.’

      Strangely, the purposeful note in his voice chilled her. She looked up, and for a couple of seconds their eyes locked. Blinking, she lowered her lashes against the ironic challenge in his cold blue gaze.

      Suavely he asked, ‘You’re surprised?’

      He saw too much. Elana struggled for something banal and conventional to say, but only managed, ‘No.’ When his brows drew together she added, ‘I’m pleased. It’s time someone gave Mana back some pride.’

      He nodded. ‘Exactly what I intend to do. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with farming talk. Let’s dance.’

      A shiver ghosted the length of her spine as she stepped closer. For a foolish moment she felt she’d taken a forbidden step into an alternative world.

      A dangerous world, she realised as they began to move together—a world where the rules no longer applied. Jumping heartbeats took her by surprise and her nostrils flared at the faint, exciting, potently male scent of him and the hard strength in the arms that imprisoned her.

      Imprisoned her?

      What a ridiculous thought!

      Yet the heat of Niko Radcliffe’s hand at her waist was stirring a blatant response. Her dress seemed suddenly far too revealing, the violet silk slithering over acutely sensitised skin in a sensuous massage.

      Of course he danced superbly; she was ready to bet that lean, splendidly physical body would do anything well, from dancing to making love.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      His voice startled her. She had to swallow before she could speak and even then, she sounded hesitant. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ A swift defiance made her glance up to meet hooded, glinting eyes. ‘Why?’

      ‘You seem a little tense,’ he responded coolly, blue gaze unreadable. ‘I rarely bite, and when I do, it’s not to hurt.’

      Heat zinged from her scalp to her toes, lighting fires all the way. That instinctive awareness strengthened into a sensation much more intense, so fiercely tantalising it shocked her.

      Was he coming on to her?

      No sooner had the thought flashed across her mind than she dismissed it. Of course he wasn’t flirting! It was impossible to imagine Count Niko Radcliffe doing anything so frivolous. So was he testing her?

      If so, it was unkind. He was as out of place in Waipuna as she’d be in the rarefied social circles that were his natural habitat. According to Mrs Nixon, gorgeous film stars fell in love with him...

      And probably the occasional princess. Gorgeous too, no doubt.

      She couldn’t care less, she thought sturdily, trying to corral her rampaging senses.

      ‘So