Billionaires: The Tycoon. Julia James

soon realise that nothing intimidated her.

      Nothing.

      She didn’t rush to get ready—although she took the precaution of locking the bathroom door first. A power shower woke her into life and after she’d dressed, she carefully applied her make-up. A quick blast of the hairdryer and she was done. Twenty minutes later she emerged in a pair of skinny jeans and a clingy white T-shirt to find him still there. Just not where she’d left him—dominating the large reception room with that faintly hostile glint in his midnight-blue eyes. Instead, he was sitting on one of the sofas, busy tapping something into a laptop, as if he had every right to make himself at home. He glanced up as she walked in and she saw a look in his eyes which made her feel faintly uncomfortable, before he closed the laptop and surveyed her coolly.

      ‘Sit down,’ he said.

      ‘This is my home, not yours and therefore you don’t start telling me what to do. I don’t want to sit down.’

      ‘I think it’s better you do.’

      ‘I don’t care what you think.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t care about very much at all, do you, Amber?’

      Amber stiffened. He said her name as if he had every right to. As if it were something he’d been rehearsing. And now she could make out the faint Irish burr in his deep voice. Her heart lurched because suddenly this had stopped feeling like a whacky alternative to a normal Sunday morning—whatever normal was—and had begun to feel rather...disturbing.

      But she sat down on the sofa opposite his, because standing in front of him was making her feel like a naughty schoolgirl who had been summoned in front of the headmaster. And something about the way he was looking at her was making her knees wobble in a way which had nothing to do with anger.

      She stared at him. ‘Just who are you?’

      ‘I told you. Conall Devlin.’ He smiled. ‘Name still not ringing any bells?’

      She shrugged, as something drifted faintly into the distant recesses of her mind and then drifted out again. ‘Maybe.’

      ‘I know your brother, Rafe—’

      ‘Half-brother,’ she corrected with cold emphasis. ‘I haven’t seen Rafe in years. He lives in Australia.’ She gave a brittle smile. ‘We’re a very fragmented family.’

      ‘So I believe. I also used to work for your father.’

      ‘My father?’ She frowned. ‘Oh, dear. Poor you.’

      The look which greeted this remark showed that she’d irritated him and for some reason this pleased her. Amber reminded herself that he had no right to storm in and sit on one of her sofas, uninvited. Or to sit there barking out questions. The trouble was that he was exuding a disturbing air of confidence and certainty—like a magician who was saving his show-stopping trick right for the end of his act...

      ‘Anyway,’ she said, with an entirely unnecessary glance at the diamond watch which was glittering furiously at her wrist. ‘I really don’t have time for all this. I’ll admit it was a novel way to be woken up but I’m getting bored now and I’m meeting friends for lunch. So cut to the chase and tell me why you’re here, Mr Conall. Is my dear daddy having one of his occasional bouts of remorse and wondering how his children are getting on? Are you one of his heavies who he’s sent to find out how I am? In which case, you can tell him I’m doing just fine.’ She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Or has he grown bored with wife number...let me see, which number is he on now? Is it six? Or has he reached double figures? It’s so-o-o difficult to keep up with his hectic love life.’

      Conall listened as she spat out her spiky observations, telling himself that of course she was likely to be mixed up and angry and combative. That anyone with her troubled background was never going to end up taking the conventional path in life. Except he knew that adversity didn’t necessarily have to make you spoilt and petulant. He thought about what his own mother had been forced to endure—the kind of hardship which would probably be beyond Amber Carter’s wilful understanding.

      His mouth tightened. He wouldn’t be doing her any favours by patting her on her pretty, glossy head and telling her it was all going to be okay. Hadn’t people been doing that all her life—with predictable results? Quite frankly, he was itching to lay her across his lap and spank a little sense into her. He felt an unwanted jerk of lust. Though maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

      ‘I have just concluded a business deal with your father,’ he said.

      ‘Bully for you,’ she said flippantly. ‘No doubt he drove a hard bargain.’

      ‘Indeed he did,’ he agreed steadily, wondering if she had any idea of the irony of her words—and how much he secretly agreed with them. Because if anyone else had attempted to negotiate the kind of terms Ambrose Carter had demanded, then Conall would have given an emphatic no and walked away from the deal without looking back. But the acquisition of this imposing tower block in this part of London wasn’t just something he’d set his heart on—a lifetime dream he’d never thought he’d achieve just shy of his thirty-fifth birthday. It was more than that. He owed the old man. He owed him big time. Because despite Ambrose’s own car crash of an emotional life, he had shown Conall kindness at a time when his life had been short of kindness. He had given him the break he’d needed. Had believed in him when nobody else had.

      ‘You owe me, Conall,’ he’d said as he had outlined his outrageous demand. ‘Do this one thing for me and we’re quits.’

      And even though Conall had inwardly objected to the blatant emotional blackmail, how could he possibly have refused? If it weren’t for Ambrose he could have ended up serving time in prison. His life could have been very different. Surely it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he could teach his mixed-up daughter a few fundamental lessons in manners and survival.

      He stared into her emerald eyes and tried to ignore the sensual curve of her mouth, which was sending subliminal messages to his body and making a pulse at his temple begin to hammer. ‘Yesterday, I made a significant purchase from your father.’

      She wasn’t really paying attention. She was too busy casting longing looks in the direction of her cigarettes. ‘And your point is?’

      ‘My point is that I now own this apartment block,’ he said.

      He had her attention now. All of it. Her green eyes were shocked—she looked like a cat which had had a bucket of icy water thrown over it. But it didn’t take longer than a couple of seconds for her natural arrogance to assert itself. For her to narrow those amazing eyes and look down her haughty little nose at him.

      ‘You? But...but it’s been in his property portfolio for years. It’s one of his key investments. Why would he sell it without telling me?’ She wrinkled her brow in confusion. ‘And to you?’

      Conall gave a short laugh. The inference was as clear as the blue spring sky outside the penthouse windows. He wondered if she would have found the news less shocking if the purchase had been made by some rich aristocrat—someone who presumably she would have less trouble twisting around her little finger.

      ‘Presumably because he likes doing business with me,’ he said. ‘And he wants to free up some of his money and commitments in order to enjoy his retirement.’

      Another frown pleated her perfect brow. ‘I had no idea he was thinking about retirement.’

      Conall was tempted to suggest that if she communicated with her father a little more often, then she might know what was going on in his life, but he wasn’t here to judge her. He was here to offer her a solution to her current appalling lifestyle, even if it went against his every instinct.

      ‘Well, he is. He’s winding down and as of now I am the new owner of this development.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘Which means, of course, that there are going to be a number of changes. The main one being that you can no longer continue to live here rent-free as you have been doing.’

      ‘Excuse