Billionaire's Bride For Revenge. Susan Stephens

jutted outwards, dressed in three-quarter-length white jeans and a dusky pink shirt, her glorious hair scraped back in another tight bun.

      The simplicity of her clothing, all selected by his sister, did not detract in the least from her graceful bearing, and Benjamin found himself straightening and his heart accelerating as she glided towards him.

      She allowed Christabel, who had followed her in, to usher her into the seat opposite his own and made the simple act of sitting down look like an art form.

      ‘Coffee?’ his housekeeper asked as she fussed over her.

      ‘Just orange juice, thank you,’ she answered quietly.

      Only when they were alone did Freya look at him.

      He’d thought he’d become accustomed to the dense blackness of her eyes but right then the weight of her stare seemed to pierce through him. He shifted in his seat, unsettled but momentarily trapped in a gaze that seemed to have the ability to reach inside him and touch his soul...

      He blinked the unexpected and wholly ridiculous thought away and flashed his teeth at her. ‘Did you get any sleep?’

      She smiled tightly but made no verbal response.

      ‘You look tired.’

      She shrugged and reached for her juice.

      ‘Have some coffee. It will help you wake up.’

      ‘I rarely drink caffeine.’

      ‘More for me then.’ He poured himself another cup as the maid brought Freya’s breakfast tray in and placed it in front of her.

      His houseguest gazed at the bowls before her in surprise then smiled at the maid. It was a smile that made her eyes shine and for a moment Benjamin wished he were the one on the receiving end of it.

      ‘Please thank the chef for me,’ she said. ‘This is perfect. She must have gone to a great deal of trouble.’

      As the maid didn’t speak English, Benjamin translated.

      The moment they were alone again, Freya said, ‘Has Javier been in touch?’

      ‘Not yet.’ He’d turned his phone’s settings so only Javier, Luis and Chloe could reach him. He didn’t want any other distractions.

      She closed her eyes and took a long breath. He could see her centring herself in that incredible way he had never seen anyone else do, as if she were swallowing all her emotions down and locking them away. If he hadn’t seen those bursts of anger-fuelled adrenaline when she had run away at his airfield and then when she had sent his supper flying before fleeing into the night, he could believe this woman never lost her composure.

      And yet for all her stillness there was something about her that made her more vivid than any other woman he had ever met, a glow that drew the eye like a breathing, walking, talking sculpture.

      What kind of a lover she would be? Did she burn under the sheets or keep that cloak of composure?

      Had her exotic, intoxicating presence turned his old friend’s heart as well as his loins? Had he lost himself in her...?

      Benjamin shoved the thought away and swallowed back the rancid taste forming in his mouth.

      He should be hoping Javier had lost himself in her arms as that would make it more likely for him to pay to get her back. He should not feel nauseous at the thought of them together.

      That sick feeling only became more violent to think of Freya losing herself in Javier’s arms.

      How deeply did her feelings for Javier run?

      If they had any depth then why did her eyes pulse whenever she looked at him?

      He inhaled deeply, trying to clear his mind. He needed to concentrate on the forthcoming hours until Javier made his move. Only then could he decide what his own move would be.

      In that spirit, he looked pointedly at the varying bowls of food his chef had prepared for her. He’d sent Christabel to check on his unwilling houseguest earlier and see what, if anything, she required for breakfast. He did not deny his relief to learn she’d abandoned her short hunger strike.

      ‘What are you having?’ he asked. ‘It looks like animal feed.’

      ‘Granola. Your chef has kindly made it fresh for me.’

      ‘Granola?’

      ‘Rolled oats.’

      ‘Animal feed.’

      She pulled a face at him and placed a heaped spoonful of berries on her animal feed, following them with a spoonful of almonds. Then she spooned some natural yogurt onto it and stirred it all together. As she raised the spoon to her mouth she paused. ‘Do you have to watch?’

      The colour staining her cheeks intrigued him. ‘It bothers you?’

      ‘You staring at me? Yes.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because...’ Freya put the spoon back in the bowl. She could hardly believe how self-conscious she felt sitting before him like this. She spent hours every day with her every move scrutinised by choreographers, fellow dancers, audiences and had long ago learned to tune out the weight of their stares.

      Yet sitting here with Benjamin’s swirling green eyes fixed upon her she was aware of her body in ways she had never been before, could feel the blood pumping through her, heating with each cycle.

      It wasn’t merely herself and the components of her own body that she was freshly aware of, it was Benjamin too, this Lucifer in disguise. The vibrating hairs on her nape and arms strained towards him as if seeking his scent and the heat of his skin, her senses more alert than they had ever been before.

      ‘It just does,’ she said tightly. ‘Why don’t you get yourself something to eat and leave me in peace?’

      ‘I rarely eat in the morning,’ he informed her.

      ‘Cheese late at night then no breakfast...all the ingredients for health problems when you reach middle age.’

      A glimmer came into his eyes. ‘I can assure you I am in peak physical health.’

      She could see that for herself though she would never admit it to him and felt a pang of envy at a life where you could eat any morsel you liked without scrutiny and without having to weigh up its nutritional value or energy-boosting properties.

      Oh, to have the freedom to eat whatever you liked—or not—whenever you liked...

      Benjamin’s phone suddenly buzzed loudly.

      She met his narrowed green eyes the moment before he reached for it.

      ‘It’s an email from Javier,’ he said matter-of-factly.

      Her stomach dropped. ‘Already?’

      He nodded. ‘He has sent a copy to your email too.’

      ‘What does it say?’

      He studied it for a long time before sliding the phone to her.

      The email contained no text. Javier had sent an attachment of two adjoining photos.

      She blinked a number of times before the pictures she was staring at came into focus and their significance made itself clear.

      They had been taken by one of the photographers at the gala who had spotted something intriguing about them leaving together and decided to capture it. The first shot caught the moment when they had paused in the hotel lobby for Benjamin to briefly explain the situation, the other had them walking out of the hotel hand in hand.

      It was the first picture she found herself unable to look away from and, she knew in the pit of her stomach, it was the reason Javier had sent the pictures to her too.

      Benjamin’s face had been mostly obscured but her own features were there for all to see, and all could