Curves for the Billionaire (2 page)

Her lecturers at University College of London had said that as doctors they would become accustomed, even immune to death.  Perhaps that came with years of practice; at the clinic she still felt profoundly affected each time another innocent child surrendered to its waiting arms.  She often shed bitter tears in the privacy of her room at night when a child who seemed on the road to recovery, giving its parents and the medical staff hope, succumbed unexpectedly.

She’d always known that it was more likely
when,
not
if,
her father would develop lung cancer.  It had only been a few puffs after meals or when out socializing, and he’d been careful not to smoke in the house or around her.  But then her mother had died in a car crash in Scotland while visiting her parents.  Several hours after they’d received the devastating news, Samantha had stood at her bedroom window and watched through tear-filled eyes as he had smoked one cigarette after another, shivering in the frigid February air.  He had never remarried.  When Samantha encouraged him to go out with friends or join a dating agency, he always said that no one could replace the love of his life.

Those words always chilled her.  She had been in love with Zachary since she’d met him, weeks before her sixteenth birthday, but there was no hope that she would ever be more to him than a good friend.  She prayed that she would be able to find happiness with someone else one day because she loved children and being an only child and growing up lonely she wanted four.  But every time she imagined them, two boys and two girls, they all had Zachary’s dark hair and his beautiful green eyes.

Zachary.
 She couldn’t even begin to estimate his personal wealth and influence.  He always travelled in style and comfort, so the fully-reclining first class seat he’d booked for her wasn’t much of a surprise, but she had been shocked when a chauffeured Mercedes from the British High Commission had arrived to pick her up promptly at seven to take her to the airport.

She was pleased with his success.  It gave her a quiet thrill to see his chiselled face plastered on the front pages of newspapers and magazines and know that the ever-widening gap between their financial statuses hadn’t altered their friendship.  He still called her at least once a week, from wherever he was in the world and flew over to see her whenever his busy schedule allowed.

The tiny jolt as the plane touched down safely at Heathrow Airport brought Samantha back to her surroundings.  Guiltily she realized that daydreaming about Zachary had distracted her from thoughts of her father’s illness.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she slipped on her winter coat and grabbed her carry-on luggage.

Brr-rrr!  The difference in temperature was noticeable as she exited the plane.

Within minutes of disembarking, she was headed towards Arrivals, looking for the distinctive wide smile of Zachary’s Dominican chauffeur, Edward Mahoney.

“Sam!”

She turned incredulously at the sound of the dark brown velvet voice which had filled her ears less than twelve hours ago, soothing all her fears and reminding her that he was the rock she could cling to in any of life’s storms.  He wasn’t to be blamed if he was unaware of the fact that she wanted to cling to him in an entirely different way—sated and weak after a bout of incredible sex.

“How did you get here so quickly?” she asked, her voice muffled against his broad, heavenly-smelling chest as she was enveloped in his steely arms.  He had promised to have her met at the airport, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would do so in person.

“I flew in from Rome this morning.”  He eased her head back until their gazes met.  The green eyes which she’d always secretly envied were filled with tenderness.  He ran his thumb softly along the length of her jaw, making her swallow convulsively.  “I couldn’t let you face this alone.”

“When did you leave South Africa?” she demanded, breaking the spell before she did something as foolish as pull his head down until his lips covered hers.

It was impossible to keep track of him.  He often used the private plane he had bought three years ago when his company had become one of the world’s top 100 companies, but he still sometimes took commercial flights, “to do his bit for the environment”, as he put it.

“I left Johannesburg four days ago.”

“I didn’t mean to drag you away before you completed your business in Italy,” she apologized.  One of the country’s luxury car manufacturers had discreetly contacted him weeks ago.  They were looking for a private investor but were very specific about the person they wanted—with his Italian ancestry, his love for luxury Italian cars and his personal wealth, they thought he’d be the perfect fit for them.  He had been more excited about the prospect than any other he’d mentioned in years, and had intended to spend a week in the country visiting the manufacturing plant and familiarizing himself with their business practices.  He’d told her that even if he ultimately decided against investing, he wanted to offer the company some ideas on improving efficiency and lowering costs.

“Rome can wait.”  He brushed his thumb against her full lips, and his eyes seemed to spark.  “I wanted to be here with you.”

She willed her heart to stop pounding as she fought the temptation to misconstrue his words and the tender look in his eyes.  He was simply being a good friend!

“But you were so excited—” she objected.

“They contacted me,” he reminded her, replacing his thumb with a square-tipped finger to stop her protesting further.  “I told them I had a family emergency and had to fly home immediately.  If they have a problem with that, then they’re not the type of people I want to do business with.  It’s better I know now, before I invest millions of pounds with them.”

“I’m glad you are here,” she admitted, rapidly blinking back the tears pricking her eyelids.

“Where else would I be at a time like this?”  He bent and kissed her first on one wet eyelid and then the other before giving her a final squeeze and releasing her go.  Reaching for the handle of her suitcase with one hand, he enfolded her right with the other and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Companionable silence enveloped them as his Emerald Fire Green Metallic Jaguar XK ate up the miles between the airport and her father’s home in Alcester, South Warwickshire.  With both a Lamborghini and a Ferrari in the garage of his Park Lane home, Samantha was pleased that he still occasionally used the car he’d let her help him choose five years ago when his company had first shown a decent profit.  That day she’d witnessed firsthand the charm and negotiating skills that would make him the successful businessman he’d become.

She’d never told him that she had chosen the colour purely because of his eyes.

“I’m here,” he reminded her, reaching over to squeeze her hand reassuringly.

“I know.”  She smiled at him, briefly returning the pressure of his fingers before letting his hand go.

As if she could forget!  She had been achingly aware of him from the moment she’d met him.

She hadn’t wanted to attend her cousin’s eighteenth birthday party, but her father had insisted, worried that she’d been spending more time than was healthy alone in her bedroom since her mother’s death eight months prior.

Slender as a reed, brunette, hazel-eyed and beautiful, Helen had always referred to Samantha as her ‘fat, red-headed, Scottish cousin’, scathingly remarking that Samantha and her mother Louise, with their Rubenesque figures should have their stomachs stapled or jaws wired if they couldn’t control their appetites.  But she was a good enough actress to fake cousinly interest and concern when Samantha’s father was around.  He was not only a wealthy uncle but a generous one too.  For Helen’s birthday that year he had given her ten thousand pounds towards expenses for her round-the-world, gap-year trip.  Helen had hugged him tightly when he had dropped Samantha off that evening and promised to keep an eye on her younger cousin.

With her parents on a golfing weekend in Ireland and her older brother away at Edinburgh University, Helen had seemed to make a determined effort to bond with Samantha, even insisting on her wearing a black strapless mini dress from her own wardrobe instead of the decorous floral pink Samantha had planned.

Self conscious and uncomfortable in the dress, Samantha had stayed in the kitchen, handing out chilled drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

“Why are you hiding in here all by yourself?”  A voice had asked about an hour after the party started.

She’d looked up to find a lanky young man with broad shoulders he was yet to grow into, lounging against the doorjamb, his thick dark hair tousled, his eyes drinking in her curves appreciatively.

“I’m not hiding,” she denied, feeling a blush cover her face and the tops of the full breasts that threatened to spill out of the too-small dress.

“Come and dance,” he’d encouraged.

“I don’t dance,” she’d lied.  She may not have enjoyed the ballet lessons the school had insisted would teach poise and grace, but she loved all other forms of dance.

“I’ll teach you.”  He’d come further into the room and stood smiling down at her.

Up close he’d taken her breath away.  His eyes were an unusual shade of green and framed by long, thick, dark lashes and his lightly tanned skin was flawless.  And as if he hadn’t been blessed with more good looks than anyone had a right to, the cutest dimple dented his left cheek when he smiled.

Until that moment Samantha had been oblivious to the opposite sex.  In an instant she’d fallen head over heels, hopelessly in love.

“Zachary, you’d better leave my cousin alone if you don’t want to end up in jail!”  Helen’s voice had broken the spell as she had breezed in to grab another chilled bottle of wine from the fridge.  She’d then thrown over her shoulder as she’d exited the room, “She’s only a little girl.”

Zachary had straightened hastily, the teasing light fading from his eyes.  “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”  She would have been sixteen in five weeks, though the angry flush that stained his cheekbones and the tightening of his jaw told her he wouldn’t be interested in the minor detail.  She’d quickly apologized, “I was just about to tell you!”

“You’re too young to be dressed like that.”  His voice and eyes had been icy with condemnation.

“It’s Helen’s,” she’d explained, pulling her wavy, waist-length hair forward to cover her cleavage.  “She said the dress I brought with me was frumpy.”

“Better frumpy than looking like a…” He’d broken off then, but she’d known that he’d almost said the word “prostitute”.  “Go change into your own dress and come back.”

Wanting to die of embarrassment, Samantha had sidled out of the room, past Helen’s half-drunken friends and up to the bedroom she would be sharing with her cousin for the night.  She’d changed hurriedly, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and washed the makeup off her face.

“That’s better,” Zachary had said, his smile a little wry as he took in her altered appearance.

Then he’d grasped her by the waist tightly and for a moment she had panicked, heart hammering in her chest, wondering what he’d do next.  All he’d done is lift her onto the high kitchen worktop and then jump up beside her.

They had talked like old friends until Helen returned for more alcohol.  Her eyes had narrowed as she’d looked at them, their heads close together to catch each other’s words over the loud music.

“I think you should go up to bed now, Samantha,” she’d ordered.  “I promised your father I’d look after you.”

“I’m giving her a lift home,” Zachary had informed Helen, surprising Samantha.

“You’re not taking my fifteen-year-old cousin anywhere!”  Helen had stated angrily, grabbing Samantha’s arm and pulling her off the worktop.  Shoving her younger cousin behind her, she had faced Zachary like a lioness protecting her cub.  “She’s a minor and I can’t in all conscience let her go home at this time of night in a car alone with a
grown
man.”

“Zoë will be in the car, too,” Zachary had stated with distain.  He’d clearly seen right through Helen’s unconvincing little act—after all she’d been the one responsible for dressing her cousin inappropriately in a house full of horny young men who were freely imbibing of the endless supply of alcohol available.