An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire (8 page)

What kind of person did he think she was?

A thief!

She dragged in a breath. ‘I went to jail for fraud. Do you think I'd accept money under dubious circumstances again?'

He swore at whatever he saw in her face. ‘I'm sorry—that was incredibly insensitive. I didn't mean I thought you could be bought. I just meant it's perfectly reasonable for you to be financially compensated for your time.'

‘No.'

‘It doesn't have to be dubious. I'd have a contract drawn up so there wasn't a hint of illegality about it.'

His earnestness made the earlier sting fade, but... ‘Tell that to the judge.'

He looked stricken for a moment—until he realised she was joking.

‘No money changes hands between us,' she said.

He looked as if he wanted to keep arguing with her, but finally he nodded. ‘Okay.'

She let out a pent-up breath.

‘So, Mia, what I need to know is...what do
you
want? You help me. I help you.'

He'd already saved her job. She hated to admit it, but that made her beholden to him. She rubbed her forehead. Besides, if Carla was in danger of being controlled, dominated, bullied... She swallowed, remembering Johnnie Peters and all he'd convinced her to do. She remembered how she'd sold her soul to a man who'd used her for his own ends and then thrown her away. If Carla were in danger, this would be a way for Mia to start making amends—finding redemption—for the mistakes of the past.

The thought made her stomach churn. She didn't want to do this.

What? You think redemption is easy? You think it's supposed to be a picnic? It should be hard. You should suffer.

She brushed a hand across her eyes, utterly weary with herself.

‘What do you want, Mia.'

She wanted to keep her job. Yesterday she'd have trusted him with that piece of information. Today— She glanced across at him. Today she wasn't convinced that he wouldn't use it against her as a weapon to force her co-operation.

Who are you kidding? You already know you're going to help him. No force necessary
.

But it would be unwise of her to forget that beneath the smiling charm Dylan had a warrior's heart. And warriors could be utterly ruthless.

She forced her mind off Dylan and to her own situation. He'd ensured her job was safe for the moment...and for the next nine months until Carla's wedding took place. She'd have less than six months left on her traineeship then. Surely she could avoid Gordon's notice in that time? Hopefully he'd be busy with council elections.

If Carla's wedding takes place
.

‘There has to be something you want,' Dylan persisted, pushing a chocolate bar across to her.

What
did
she want? One thing came immediately to mind.

She picked up the bar of chocolate and twirled it around. ‘Carla's wedding is going to be a big deal, right?'

‘A huge deal. If it goes ahead.'

She glanced at him. ‘If Thierry does turn out to be your worst nightmare, but Carla still insists on marrying him, will you still go ahead and give her the wedding she's always dreamed of?'

A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Yes.'

She couldn't explain why, but that eased some of the tightness in her shoulders. She stared down at the chocolate bar. ‘So—considering this low profile of mine—when you and your people start distributing press releases and giving media interviews about the wedding, I'd like you to give the credit to Plum Pines and Nora and FWE without mentioning my name at all.'

His brows drew down over his eyes. ‘But that's unfair! Credit should go where it's due. Being associated with Carla's wedding could open doors for you.'

Or it could bring her past and the scandal to the front pages of the gossip rags. ‘You asked me what I wanted. I'm simply telling you.'

He swung back to scowl at the lily pond. ‘I don't like it. It goes against the grain. But if it's what you really want, then consider it done.'

She closed her eyes. ‘Thank you.'

‘But now you have to tell me something else that you want, because I
truly
feel as if I'm taking utter advantage of you.'

She glanced up to find him glaring at her. For some reason his outrage made her want to smile.

‘What do I want?' she shrugged. ‘I want to be out on the eastern boundary, helping with the weed eradication programme.'

* * *

Dylan stared at Mia and his heart thumped at the wistful expression that flitted across her face. He had a feeling that she didn't have a whole lot of fun in her life. Not if weed extermination topped the list of her wants.

If she agreed to his fake dating plan he resolved to make sure she had fun too. It would be the least he could do. There might be a lot of things he wasn't good at, but when it came to fun he was a grandmaster.

He rose. ‘Okay, let's go and do that, then.'

‘We?' She choked on her surprise.

He sat again, suddenly unsure. ‘You'd prefer to go on your own?'

‘Oh, it's not that. I... It's just...'

He could almost see the thoughts racing across her face.
It's hard work, dirty work, menial work.
‘You don't think I'm up to it, do you?'

‘It's not that either—although it
is
hard work.' She leaned towards him, a frown in her eyes. ‘Dylan, you run a world-class entertainment company. I'm quite sure you have better things to do with your time. I expect you're a very busy man.'

He shook his head. ‘I'm on leave.' He'd taken it the moment Carla had announced her engagement. ‘I have capable staff.'

And he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do at the moment than lighten Mia's load.

Inspiration hit him. ‘Listen to this for a plan. If I become a volunteer here that might encourage Carla to become a volunteer too. If you get to work with her and build up a friendship then the fake dating stuff will be easier.'

Her frown cleared. ‘There might even be no need for fake dating stuff.'

Maybe. Maybe not. He couldn't explain it, but the thought of fake dating Mia fired him to life in a way nothing else had in a long time. He'd relish the chance to find out what really make her tick.

‘We need a cover story.' He rubbed his hands together. ‘I can tell Carla that you piqued my interest—hence the reason I became a volunteer—and then we worked together, discovered we liked each other...and things have gone on from there.'

She screwed up her nose. ‘I guess that
could
work...'

He grinned at her. ‘Of course it'll work.'

She suddenly thrust out her jaw. ‘I'm not going to spy on Carla for you.'

‘I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to become her friend.'

‘If this works—if Carla decides she wants to be friends—then I mean to be a proper friend to her. And if that clashes with your agenda—'

He reached over and seized her hand, brought her wrist to his lips. Her eyes widened and her pulse jumped beneath his touch. A growing hunger roared through him. He wanted to put his tongue against that pulse point and kiss his way along her arm until he reached her mouth.

As if she'd read that thought in his face she reclaimed her hand. He forced himself to focus on the conversation, rather than her intriguing scent.

‘I'm asking nothing more than that you be Carla's friend.'

The way her gaze darted away betrayed her assumed composure. ‘That's okay, then. As long as we're on the same page.'

‘The same page' meant no fling, no relationship...no kissing. He had to keep things simple between them. There was too much at stake.

‘Definitely on the same page,' he assured her.

Starting something with Mia was out of the question. She wouldn't last the distance any more than Caitlin had. His whole way of life was anathema to her.

A fist reached inside his gut and squeezed. Caitlin had left him at the absolute lowest point in his life. The devastation of losing his parents
and
her had... It had almost annihilated him. The shock of it still rebounded in his soul. The only thing that had kept him going was Carla, and the knowledge that she'd needed him. He'd found his feet. Eventually. He wasn't going to have them cut out from under him again by repeating the same mistakes.

He turned to find Mia halfway through a sentence.

‘... I mean, we can give you overalls, but that's not going to really help, is it?'

She was worried he'd ruin his
clothes
? ‘I have my workout gear in the car.'

She folded her arms. ‘Along with a four-hundred-dollar pair of trainers, no doubt? I don't want to be held responsible for wrecking
those
.'

He had no idea how much his trainers had cost. But she was probably right. ‘Couldn't you rustle me up a pair of boots?'

She gave a reluctant shrug. ‘Maybe. Are you sure you want to do this?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘We'll need to register you as a volunteer. There'll be forms to fill out and signatures required to ensure you're covered by the Plum Pines insurance.'

The more she tried to put him off, the more determined he became.

He rose with a decisive clap of his hands. ‘Then let's get to it.'

She rose too, shaking her head. ‘Don't say you weren't warned.

* * *

‘What's going on here?' Gordon boomed, coming into the office just as Dylan emerged from the change room wearing the overalls and boots that Mia had found for him.

She sat nearby, already dressed for an afternoon of hard work.

She shot to her feet. ‘Dylan—'

‘Mr Fairweather,'
Gordon corrected with a pointed glare.

‘Dylan,' Dylan confirmed, deciding it would be just as satisfying to punch Gordon on the end of his bulbous nose as it would Thierry. He glanced at Mia and wondered when he'd become so bloodthirsty. ‘I've decided to register as a volunteer.' He shoved his shoulders back. ‘I want to see first-hand what my hundred-thousand-dollar donation will be subsidising.'

Gordon's jowls worked for a moment. ‘It's very generous of you to give both your money
and
your time to Plum Pines...'

Behind Gordon's back, Mia gestured that they should leave. Dylan shrugged himself into full supercilious mode and deigned to nod in the other man's direction.

‘Good afternoon, Gordon.'

‘Good afternoon, Mr Fairweather.'

Dylan didn't invite Gordon to call him by his Christian name—just strode out through the door that Mia held open for him.

Behind him he heard Gordon mutter to the receptionist, ‘Bloody trust fund babies,' before the door closed behind them.

Mia grinned as she strode along beside him. ‘I think he likes you.'

He glanced at her grin and then threw his head back and roared.

* * *

‘What on earth...?'

The moment Dylan rounded the side of their family home—affectionately dubbed ‘The Palace'—Carla shot to her feet. Behind her a vista of blue sea and blue sky stretched to the horizon. It was a view he never tired of.

‘Dylan, what on
earth
have you been doing? You're so...dirty! Filthy dirty.
Obscenely
dirty.'

He grinned. ‘I signed up as a volunteer at Plum Pines. That was an inspired idea of yours, by the way. The place is amazing.'

She started to laugh, settling back into the plump cushions of the outdoor sofa. ‘I have a feeling it's a certain Plum Pines employee rather than a newfound enthusiasm for conservation that has you
truly
inspired.'

He sobered.
What on earth...?
That was supposed to come as a surprise.

He managed a shrug. ‘I like her.'

‘I can tell.'

How
could she tell?

She couldn't tell!

Romance had addled Carla's brain, that was all. She wanted everyone travelling on the same delirious cloud as she. It made her see romance where none existed. But he could work that to his advantage.

‘I'm not sure she likes me.'

‘And you think by becoming a volunteer it'll make her look upon you with a friendlier eye?'

‘Along with my newfound enthusiasm for weed eradication.'

Carla laughed—a delightful sound that gladdened his heart. There'd been a time when he'd wondered if he'd ever hear her laugh again.

‘She won't take any of your nonsense, you know.'

He eyed his sister carefully. ‘Would it bug you if I asked her out?'

‘Not at all.' She studied her fingernails. ‘If you'll promise me one thing.'

‘Name it.'

‘That you won't judge Thierry too harshly based on today's events. He wasn't at his best. He's very different from us, Dylan, but I love him.' She turned a pleading gaze on him. ‘Please?'

He bit back a sigh. ‘Okay.'

‘Thank you!'

He widened his stance. ‘But I want to get to know him better before you two tie the knot.'

‘That can be arranged.' Her smile widened. ‘We can double date!'

Perfect
.

‘Perhaps,' he said, not wanting to appear too eager to share Mia with anyone else. ‘Are you going to let him talk you out of volunteering?'

‘Not a chance.' She laughed. ‘I'm signing up first thing tomorrow.'

CHAPTER FIVE

M
IA
STARED
INTO
the mirror and rubbed a hand across her chest in an effort to soothe her racing heart.

You look fine.

Dylan had assured her that tonight's date—
fake
date—was casual, not dressy. They were meeting Carla and Thierry at some trendy burger joint for dinner and then going on to a movie.

She really needed to go shopping for some new clothes. She'd not bothered much with her appearance since getting out of jail. She'd avoided pretty things, bright colours, shunning anything that might draw attention.

She glanced back at the mirror. Her jeans and pale blue linen shirt were appropriately casual, if somewhat bland. The outfit wouldn't embarrass her. More to the point, it wouldn't embarrass Dylan. On impulse she threaded a pair of silver hoops through her ears.

For the last five days Dylan had spent every morning at Plum Pines, helping her dig out weeds. And for the entire time he'd remained unfailingly cheerful and good-natured. He'd never once made her feel as if he was counting down the hours until he'd met his side of the bargain.

He continued to flirt outrageously—not just with her but with all the other female volunteers too. It made her feel safe.

She shook her head at that thought. She had to remain vigilant, make sure she didn't become too comfortable around him.

She swung away from the mirror, tired of her reflection. The fact remained that she had limited wardrobe options and this was the best that she could muster. Brooding about it was pointless. Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

Like what on earth was she going to add to the conversation tonight?

She strode into her tiny living room and dropped to the sofa. She needed to come up with five topics of conversation. She glanced at the clock.
Fast!
Dylan would be here to collect her in fifteen minutes. She chewed on her bottom lip. No matter how much she might want to, she couldn't sit through dinner without saying anything. That wouldn't be keeping her end of the deal.

Dear God! What to talk about, though?
Think
!

A knock sounded on the door.

Her gaze flew to the clock. He was early. And she hadn't come up with even one topic of conversation!

* * *

Dylan hated to admit it, but he couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of Mia out of uniform. Not that he had anything against her uniform, but there was only so much khaki cotton twill a man could take.

In some deep hidden part of himself lurked a male fantasy he should no doubt be ashamed of, but... He'd love for Mia to answer the door in a short skirt and sky-high heels.
So predictable
! He had a feeling, though, that Mia probably didn't own either.

Still, he'd make do with jeans and a nice pair of ballet flats. That would be nice. Normal. And maybe away from work she'd start to relax some of that fierce guard of hers.

He knocked again and the door flew open. He smiled.
Bingo!
She wore jeans and ballet flats. With the added bonus of surprisingly jaunty earrings that drew attention to the dark glossiness of her hair. He'd not seen her with her hair down before. He had an insane urge to reach out and run his hand through it, to see if it were as soft and silky as it promised.

He curved his hand into a fist and kept it by his side. He'd meant to greet her with his typical over-the-top gallantry—kiss her hand, twirl her around and tell her she looked good enough to eat—except the expression in her eyes stopped him.

He made no move to open the screen door, just met her gaze through its mesh. ‘What's wrong?'

Puffing out a sigh, she pushed the door open and gestured him in. ‘You're early.'

‘If you haven't finished getting ready I'm happy to wait. You look great, by the way.' He didn't want her thinking that he thought she didn't
look
ready. He didn't want her stressing about her appearance at all.

‘No, I'm ready. I just... I don't do this, you know?'

‘Date? Yes, so you said. It's not a date, Mia.'

Her living room was small. In fact the whole cottage was tiny. She'd told him earlier in the week that she rented one of the Plum Pines workers' cottages. There was a row of three of them on the south side of the reserve. From what he could tell, she ate, breathed and slept Plum Pines. He glanced around. Which seemed odd when she'd clearly taken few pains to make her cottage cosy and comfortable.

‘Are you sure about this plan, Dylan?'

He turned back, frowning at her unease. ‘What are you worried about?'

One slim shoulder lifted. ‘That I'll embarrass you.' She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. She planted herself on a hard wooden chair at the little dining table pressed hard up against one wall.

She moistened her lips and he realised she wore a pale mocha-coloured lipstick. Desire arrowed straight to his groin. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to ignore it. For pity's sake, he'd warned himself off her—that should have been that!

He gritted his teeth harder. Apparently not. But, while he might find her attractive, he didn't have to act like a teenager. He needed to put her at her ease—not crank up the tension further.

‘I can't imagine how you think you'll embarrass me.'

‘I'm... I'm not much of a talker, but I know I need to keep up my share of the conversation tonight.'

His heart stilled before surging against the walls of his ribs.

She lifted her hands, only to let them drop back to her lap. ‘I've been trying to come up with five fool-proof topics of conversation so that...' She shrugged again. ‘So that I'm pulling my weight.'

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to tug her into his arms and hug her. He had a feeling that would be the last thing she'd want. He contented himself with leaning towards her instead. She wore a soft floral scent and he pulled it as far into his lungs as he could.

‘I don't expect you to become a sudden chatterbox. It's not who you are. I don't want you to change. I like you just the way you are. So does Carla.'

Was she worried that the better they got to know her the less they'd like her? The thought disturbed him.

‘It's just...you and Carla are so bubbly and fun. I should hate to put a dampener on that.'

She thought he was
fun
? A smile tugged through him. ‘You mean Carla and I are noisy chatterboxes who dominate the conversation and won't let anyone else get a word in edgewise.'

Her eyes widened. ‘I did
not
say that!'

He burst out laughing. After a moment she rolled her eyes, resting back in her seat.

‘You must've worked out by now that Carla and I love an audience.'

She gave a non-committal, ‘Hmm...'

‘And you have to remember Thierry will be there, and no one could accuse call
him
of liveliness.'

‘I'm not sure I want to be compared to Thierry.'

He tried a different tack. ‘How did the school group go this afternoon?'

Her face lit up. ‘They had a great time. It's so funny to watch them the first time they touch a snake or a lizard.'

He picked up the book sitting on her coffee table—a recent autobiography of a famous comedian. ‘Good?'

‘Yes, very. She's as funny on the page as she is on the television.'

He set the book back down. ‘Did you hear about that prank the engineering students at the university pulled with the garden gnomes?'

She sent him an odd look. ‘I saw the photos in the paper. It was rather cheeky...but funny.'

‘What's a dish you've always meant to cook but never have?'

Her frown deepened. ‘Um...veal scaloppini.'

‘I couldn't help noticing that these cottages don't have any off-street parking.'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘And...?'

‘And I didn't see a car parked out the front, which leads me to conclude that you don't have a car.'

She folded her arms. ‘That's correct.'

‘Are you planning to get one?'

‘Maybe.'

‘When?'

Her forehead creased. ‘What is this, Dylan? Twenty Questions?'

‘There you go. There's your five topics of conversation, should you need them—a funny incident at work, a book recommendation, a local news story, does anyone have a recipe for veal scaloppini they'd recommend, and I'm thinking of getting a small to medium-sized hatchback—what should I get?'

She pushed her hair back behind her ears, all but glaring at him, before folding her arms again. ‘How do you know I want a hatchback?'

‘You're young and you don't have kids, which means you don't have to settle for a station wagon yet.'

She unfolded her arms, but then didn't seem to know what to do with them. She settled on clasping them in her lap. And then she smiled—
really
smiled—and it lit her up from the inside out. Her dark eyes danced and he felt a kick inside that should have felled him.

‘Five topics of conversation—just like that.' She snapped her fingers. ‘You managed it effortlessly. How can you make it so easy?'

‘Probably the same way you can identify the difference between a bush orchid and a noxious weed.' He grinned, referencing an incident earlier in the week when he'd set about eradicating the wrong plant.

She continued to stare at him as if he were amazing, and he had the disconcerting feeling that he could bask in that admiration forever. He shrugged. ‘Practice. In my line of work I have to talk to a lot of people. Though, if the truth be told, the sad fact is that I have a talent for frivolity and nonsense.'

‘Good conversation is neither frivolous nor nonsensical.'

He waggled his eyebrows. ‘It should be if you're doing it right.'

She didn't laugh. She met his gaze, her face sober. ‘It's not nonsense to put someone at ease.'

His gut clenched up all over again. If he continued to put her at her ease would she eventually let him kiss her?

He stiffened. He and Mia were
not
going to kiss. They weren't going to do anything except find out if Thierry deserved Carla. Full stop.

This was nothing more than a case of opposites attracting. He and Mia were too different—too mismatched—to make things work in the long term. And he refused to do anything to hurt her in the short term. She'd been through enough.

* * *

By the end of dinner Dylan could cheerfully have strangled Thierry. The only contributions he'd made to the conversation had been negative, except when Carla had won a grudging concession that his gourmet burger was
‘okay'
.

Mia, for all her worry, had been a delightful dinner companion. And nobody had needed to ask her if
her
burger was good. The expression on her face after she'd taken her first bite had made him grin.

Thierry had scowled.

From what Dylan could tell, scowling was Thierry's default setting.

When a lull had occurred in the conversation Mia had mentioned the book she was reading and asked if anyone else had read it.

Thierry had ignored the question.

Carla had invited Mia to join her book group.

Mia had kept her expression interested, but in her lap her fingernails had dug into her palms, creating half-moons in her flesh that he'd wanted to massage away.

She'd swallowed. ‘Are you sure I'd be welcome?'

‘All are welcome! We meet at the library on the first Wednesday of the month.'

‘Well...thank you. It sounds like fun.' And she'd promised to read the following month's book.

Dylan had wanted to hug her. He hadn't known that asking her to befriend Carla, and the specific details involved, would be so difficult for her. The thing was, friendship didn't seem to be an issue at all. He sensed that both women genuinely liked each other. But going out and mixing with people was obviously a challenge for Mia.

He couldn't help thinking, though, that locking herself away and hiding from the world wasn't the right thing to do.

He'd taken his cue from her, however, and gone out of his way to invite Thierry for a game of golf. Thierry had declined, saying he didn't play the game. Dylan had then tried inviting him out on his yacht, but Thierry had declined that too, saying he was too busy with work at the moment.

His heart had sunk when Carla had avoided his gaze. What on earth did she
see
in the man?

Now dinner was over, and they were finally seated in the cinema—Mia on one side of him and Carla and then Thierry on the other—Dylan let out a sigh of relief, no longer obligated to attempt small talk with his sister's fiancé.

It wasn't until the cinema darkened, though, that he suddenly remembered Mia's thin-lipped, pale-faced reaction to the nocturnal houses.
Damn it!
Did the cinema have the same effect?

He touched her arm and she started.

‘Is being here uncomfortable for you? Is it like the nocturnal houses?' He kept his voice low so no one could overhear.

‘No, it's fine. High ceiling...and it's cool. Those things make a difference.' Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. ‘Actually, I'm really looking forward to the film.'

It made him wonder when had been the last time
he'd
relished an outing as simple as this one. Reaching over, he took her hand. When she stiffened, he leaned closer to whisper, ‘It's just for show.'

It wasn't, though. He held her hand because he wanted to. He leaned in closer because he wanted to breathe in that subtle floral scent she wore.

When the movie started her hand finally relaxed in his as if she'd forgotten it was there. For the next ninety minutes Dylan experienced the romantic comedy tactilely—entirely through Mia's reactions. They weren't reactions visible in her face, but evident only via her hand in his—in the twitches, squeezes, sudden letting go, in her hand's tension and relief. He sat there spellbound as Mia worried for and cheered on the romantic leads. All of it rendered for him through her fingers.