The Billionaire's Marriage Mission. Helen Brooks

of a road in a cardboard box at five or six weeks old. A friend of mine saw the incident and something made him go back and look inside the box. The vet reckons there’s a number of breeds in there, but who’s counting?’

      Whatever their pedigree, Harvey seemed to find the two dogs attractive. Beth noticed he’d gone into macho man mode as he sauntered up to Travis and leered at the two females.

      As they entered the house Beth’s first impression was one of space and mellow wood. The large hall was oak floored, as was the wide curving staircase which led to a galleried first floor. The walls were light with several modern paintings providing vivid splashes of colour, and just a small oak table, either side of which stood two upholstered hardbacked chairs, broke the clean lines.

      ‘I’m sure you’d like to shower and change while I feed the dogs. Has Harvey been fed yet?’ Travis was walking to the staircase as he spoke and his dogs stopped at the foot of it. Presumably they weren’t allowed upstairs.

      ‘No, he hasn’t. I was just about to give him his food when we got locked out.’ Beth followed Travis up the stairs after telling Harvey to stay. He made no objection, plonking himself firmly in the middle of the two females, where he appeared quite content. So much for the guard dog routine.

      The oak floor continued along the galleried landing and, after leaning over to make sure Harvey was still behaving himself, Beth joined Travis where he was standing by an open bedroom door. ‘You’ll find some T-shirts and jogging bottoms in the wardrobe and a guest robe behind the bathroom door,’ he said easily. ‘Make yourself at home. There’s plenty of hot water. When you’re ready, come downstairs and find me in the kitchen. Do you like spaghetti Bolognese?’

      ‘What? Oh, yes. Yes, thank you.’ Terribly flustered, Beth stepped into the ankle-deep cream carpet of what was obviously a guest room and Travis shut the door behind her, leaving her alone. She gazed around her. The coffee and cream room had definitely been decorated and furnished by someone with minimalist taste, but it was beautiful. She suspected the whole house would be beautiful.

      Gingerly, as though she was going to leave a trail of dirt and destruction, she made her way over to the open door of the en suite bathroom, which reflected the colours of the bedroom, and peered into the huge mirror stretching over a pair of basins.

      She groaned out loud at the reflection staring back at her. Not only were her pyjamas and slippers the worse for wear, but a large smear of mud—at least she hoped it was merely mud and not what she’d slipped in—had deposited itself on the side of her face. Her hair had dried in a tangled riot in the wind and her make-up free face was shiny where it wasn’t filthy. She looked like something the cat wouldn’t deign to drag in. Not even if it was desperate.

      Ten minutes later she felt more like herself. She had found face and body lotion along with shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom cabinet, and once she was clean, moisturised and sweet-smelling everything didn’t seem so bad. After blow-drying her hair into its normal silky shoulder-length bob, she found some women’s T-shirts and jogging bottoms neatly folded in a drawer in the otherwise empty wardrobe. Fleetingly she wondered who they belonged to. His girlfriend, maybe? she thought as she put her own things in water.

      Right, time to face him again. She padded downstairs in bare feet, aware that her stomach was jumping with trepidation, which was daft, really daft, but she didn’t seem able to help it.

      Once in the hall, she stared about her. Travis had said she should join him in the kitchen but there were several doors leading off the expanse in front of her. Assuming the kitchen was probably at the back of the house, she made her way down the hall towards the furthest door and knocked nervously before she opened it. ‘Hello, it’s me,’ she said unnecessarily.

      ‘Hi.’ Travis was stirring something on the stove, the three dogs lying at his feet, apparently replete and content. Harvey wagged his tail at the sight of her but didn’t bother to get up. ‘Grab a seat,’ Travis continued, ‘and pour yourself a glass of wine.’

      She was conscious of one piercingly thorough glance before he turned back to the stove. That, and the sight of the big powerful body clothed in a black cotton shirt, open at the neck, and black denim jeans was enough to make her all fingers and thumbs as she sat down at the big farmhouse-style kitchen table and reached for the open bottle of wine.

      Large though the table was, it was swallowed by the roomy capaciousness of the kitchen. The stone-flagged floor, honey-coloured wooden cupboards and granite work surfaces looked like a blending of old with new but it was very pleasing to the eye. The wine was very pleasing to the tastebuds. Deep red and with aromas of blackcurrant and cherry, Beth found it steadied her nerves nicely.

      After several sips she was sufficiently calm to say evenly, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

      ‘Not a thing. It’s ready.’ Within a moment he had whisked two plates of spaghetti Bolognese over to the table along with a dish of lightly roasted vegetables. Beth’s mouth watered. As Travis sat down he said matter-of-factly, ‘You clean up nicely. More than nicely.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She knew she had turned an unflattering shade of red and it was annoying. It wasn’t as though she was a stranger to compliments from the male of the species; it was just that this particular male was altogether…disturbing. Which was the last thing in the world she needed right now. ‘And thanks for feeding us,’ she added, indicating Harvey with a wave of her hand. ‘I really didn’t intend to put you to so much trouble when I waved you down earlier,’ she finished primly.

      The grey eyes surveyed her expressionlessly. In the bright light of the kitchen his face was rugged and attractive, full of very sharply defined planes and angles which the scar down one cheek heightened. His nose was straight, his thick brows and eyelashes the same coal black as his hair, and his mouth was sexy. This last thought was unwelcome but it was true. Travis Black exuded a cynical kind of sexiness that was overwhelmingly magnetic and Beth felt her toes curl with the force of it.

      ‘We’re neighbours,’ he said lazily after a tense moment or two had crept by. ‘Albeit temporarily. It was the least I could do. I’d hope someone would behave the same if my sister found herself stranded.’

      He had a sister? Ridiculous, because probably mad axemen and all manner of ne’er-do-wells had sisters, but it was reassuring somehow. Beth hid behind a neutral social smile which could have meant anything as she studied him. ‘How old is your sister?’ she asked.

      ‘Sandra? She had her thirtieth a few weeks ago. She’s probably still celebrating, knowing Sandra. She’s a party animal, to put it mildly.’

      ‘You don’t approve?’ There had been something in his voice which had suggested this, although nothing she could put her finger on. But she could be wrong; he was as complete stranger after all.

      He shrugged muscled shoulders, expertly forking a mouthful of spaghetti into his mouth and swallowing before he said lazily, ‘She’s a grown woman with a life of her own.’

      It wasn’t really an answer. Beth tried the Bolognese. It was absolutely delicious. As cooking was one of her least favourite things, she’d always had enormous respect for someone who could take ordinary ingredients and turn them into something special. Her food varied between being overdone, underdone or just plain inedible.

      ‘This is lovely,’ she said a little grudgingly. Travis was clearly one of those men who would be good at anything he set his mind to. Like Keith. The thought brought her up sharp and she slammed shut that particular little door in her head and hung the ‘do not enter’ sign back in place.

      ‘Thank you.’

      There was a slightly quizzical note in his voice. Too late Beth realised her words probably didn’t add up with the expression on her face. She smoothed out the frown and forced a smile. ‘I can’t cook for toffee,’ she said lightly, ‘and I’m always madly jealous of anyone who can.’

      He nodded but said nothing. Beth got the distinct impression he hadn’t believed her. She opened her mouth to say more and then shut it again, conscious that