The Billionaire’s Captive Bride
Emma Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

PETER RAMSEY SAW the traffic controller step out onto the pedestrian crossing, brandishing her stop sign, and slowed his car to a halt. A tribe of preschool children, kept in check by a couple of adults, were lined up on the sidewalk, waiting for it to be safe before heading over to the park on the other side of the road. They were all carrying lunch boxes.

Nice day for a picnic in the park, Peter thought, smiling at the happy little faces.

“Nice car!”

The appreciative comment from the traffic controller snapped his attention back to her. She had a wide infectious smile on her face, bright eyes dancing teasingly at him. Macho male in his BMW Z4 sports convertible being stopped for a pack of kids. She was enjoying her moment of power. Peter grinned back. I don’t mind, babe.

She turned aside to help shepherd her flock across the road just as Peter registered a buzz of interest in his mind. He liked the look of her. Her jeans hugged a very pertly rounded backside and long shapely legs. She was tall enough to be a good fit with his height. The scooped neck top she wore showed off a small waist and very attractive breasts, fulsome but not too big to be out of proportion with the rest of her figure. She was a babe all right.

He even liked the fact that her hair was pulled up into a ponytail—dark hair, almost black, the tail swishing as her head turned, keeping a watch over the safe passage of the children. She had a pert nose, too, slightly turned up at the end, and rather pixie-like ears, no lobes. Her skin was clear and shiny with good health. He couldn’t see any make-up except for the light pink lipstick that matched the pink in her top. No artful attraction about this woman. She was a natural. Mid-twenties? Difficult to tell her age.

The last of the children—a little boy—grabbed her free hand as though it was a highly prized connection, determined on pulling her along with him. I don’t blame you, kid, Peter thought, noticing how the boy looked adoringly at her, which probably meant she was one of the teachers from the preschool, briefly taking on traffic control.

She turned to look straight at Peter again, flashing the lovely wide smile as she waved her Stop sign in a cheeky salute to his patience. He raised his own hand in response, his mouth automatically curving as he had the weird sense of a fountain of pleasure bursting through him. He watched her accompany the little boy to the sidewalk on the park side of the road, wanting to follow her, meet her properly.

A car horn beeped behind him.

He drove on reluctantly, telling himself the impulse was stupid. What would a preschool teacher have in common with him? It flashed through his mind that Princess Diana had worked with preschool children before she married Prince Charles. Their marriage might have gone bad but Diana had become the Queen of Hearts. She’d reached out to people, touched them…

What woman had really touched him in recent years? Peter Ramsey, most eligible bachelor in Sydney, heir to billions and billionaire in his own right, and all too familiar with why he could have his pick of beautiful women. Which was fine for his sex life, but he had never been touched deeply enough for any attachment to last beyond an initial rush of lust. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he had become too cynical about how much he was worth when it came to marriage.

Even the babe with the ponytail…had she smiled at him because of the car he was driving?

Great smile.

The buzz of interest lingered.

Take a second look, it said. You’ve got the time.

And the inclination.

After the deceitful artfulness of Alicia Hemmings—his recent ex—it would be…refreshing…exciting…to have a woman without any artifice responding to him. Especially in bed. No faking it with an eye to feathering her own nest. Smiling that lovely smile afterwards…

Even while mentally mocking what was probably sheer fantasy, Peter turned his car into the next side street, spotted a parking space and took it. A quick button-press and the convertible hood lifted back in position for secure locking up. Preferring not to be connected to the driver of the BMW, he removed his cap, sunglasses, jacket, tie, undid the neck buttons on his shirt, rolled up his sleeves, then stepped out for an idle stroll through the park.

It was possible he could be recognised as Peter Ramsey, given his high media profile, but who would believe it when he was so out of place? Besides, it didn’t matter anyway. The woman would be surrounded by children, hardly an appropriate time or place to make himself known to her in any sense. Pursuing this impulse was ridiculous, yet the compulsion to go on, if only to satisfy a niggling sense of curiosity about her, had become irresistible. She was different to the usual run of women who peopled his world.

A corner shop provided him with sandwiches and a can of cola and he carried them into the park, feeling as though it would look perfectly reasonable for him to be having his lunch there. In fact, he was enjoying the novelty of it, enjoying the pretend game of being just anyone. Acting on this particular impulse was definitely not boring.

The children were seated on the grass, shaded from the midday sun by the widely spread branches of a Moreton Bay Fig. They were all looking enthralled at the ponytail babe who was apparently telling them a story. Peter settled on a nearby bench seat where he could surreptitiously watch and listen to the story-teller.

Her face was full of animation, very watchable. She also had a voice worth listening to. It lilted beautifully as she recited the rhyming verses of a fairy tale—a charming story about a princess with a magic rainbow smile and a heart of gold who’d come from the land of Evermore to bring joy to all the children.

Of course, there was the villain of the piece—a sneaky kid who always wore black and was really a rat—who set out to spoil every bit of happiness and spread lies about the princess, making her disappear from the children’s lives. But one small boy didn’t believe the rat’s trickery and he cried out in a mighty lion’s roar, bringing the princess back from the land of Evermore and exposing the rat for the stinking, rotten liar he was.

Standard stuff—good triumphing over evil—yet Peter was completely captivated by the rhyming verses and the perfectly pitched emotional delivery of them. The preschoolers listening so avidly to every word, actually came in on some lines as though they knew much of the story by heart, especially the lion’s roar bit. It had tremendous appeal and no doubt came from a popular children’s book. Peter decided to look for it, buy it as a gift for his nephew some time in the near future.

Once the last line had been recited, the children clapped and jumped up to form a dancing ring. There was a bit of a scuffle over who got to hold the storyteller’s hands. One of the other adults dryly advised, “You’d better be the princess in the middle, Erin.”

Erin…

Nice name.

And she was great with the children, all of whom clearly adored her.

He was feeling very attracted to this woman, and not just on a physical level, though her sexual appeal was certainly getting stronger by the moment. He imagined her telling him fairy tales in bed…erotic ones…like Sheherazade, keeping her sultan entranced with her stories, making every night too good to miss.

He’d like that.

Very much.

So how was he going to meet Princess Erin in an acceptable fashion?

She could be married for all he knew, or attached to some guy she was in love with. Peter didn’t care for that thought one bit, quickly brushing it aside to concentrate on what tactic would give him the result he wanted.

There was no easy in here, not like for his friend and now brother-in-law, Damien Wynter, who’d taken one look at Peter’s sister and charged straight into getting Charlotte to marry him instead of the fortune-hunter who’d almost had a wedding ring on her finger.

He remembered asking Damien how he knew Charlotte was the one for him. The answer was still imprinted on Peter’s mind.

“There’s a buzz in your brain that tells you not to miss out on what you could have with this woman. She fits what you’ve been waiting for.”

Were his instincts telling him that Erin might be the one? The mocking voice of past experience said that was jumping too far too fast. Right now he was hooked enough to know he didn’t want to walk away from her, shutting a door that might lead to something good, something better than he’d had in the past. No matter how unlikely it was…

“Hey!”

The startled cry of alarm came from one of the teachers as a man charged the circle of dancing children and grabbed one of the little boys, snatching him up in his arms and hugging him tightly against his shoulder.

“He’s my son!” he threw at the three women who started toward him, protesting his action. It was like an animal growl, fiercely possessive, and the man backed away, eyeing them wildly, still clutching the boy to his chest.

The women argued with him.

The children started wailing, agitated by the sense of volatile conflict that had so suddenly erupted.

Peter sprang into action, catching snatches of the argument as he circled the Moreton Bay Fig to come around behind the threatening kidnapper.

“I’m his father. I’ve got every right to take Thomas with me.”

“We’re responsible for him, Mr Harper. His mother left him with us for the day and…”

“His mother took him from me. He’s my son!”

“You need to sort this out with your wife.”

“She won’t let me have him but she dumps him with you people who are nothing to him. Nothing! I’m his father!”

“We’ll have to call the police if you take Thomas.”

“Mr Harper, this is not a good move. If you end up in jail, you’ll never see your son.” That was Erin’s voice, gently pleading reason.

A high crazed laugh derided any reasonableness. “There’s justice for you. I do nothing wrong but I lose my son and my cheating bitch of a wife just gets him given to her.”

“You have to take this to the family court,” Erin pressed. “You’ll get a fair hearing.”

“Nothing’s fair!” The exploding anger cracked into spurts of tears as grief and despair poured from him. “She’s told a stack of lies about me to her big-shot lawyer. I’ve got no chance except this. No chance! You tell my wife she’s welcome to her money-bags lover, but taking my son…no…no…no…”

The tortured sobs of the man were gut-wrenching. He was shaking his head, backing away from Erin in a blind stumble.

“I’m calling the police,” one of the other teachers said, a cell phone already in her hand.

“Don’t!” Peter commanded as he moved in and clamped an arm around the bereft father’s heaving shoulders, stopping and supporting him.

Erin lifted a startled gaze to his. “Who are you?” she asked.

She had green eyes.

Beautiful green eyes.

And Peter felt a compelling urge to answer every question in them. Except…he didn’t want to throw the weight of his name around with her.

“I’m just a guy who hates to see another man reduced to tears,” he said, then shot a look of incisive authority at the teacher with the phone. “Stop that right now. I’ll take care of this. Calling in the police will only make everything worse.”

“I’m in charge of these children,” the woman argued. She was a good deal older than Erin, maybe in her fifties, iron-grey hair cut short, plump figure, and puffing herself up officiously. “I have to answer to Mrs Harper about what happens to Thomas.”

“Nothing is going to happen to Thomas,” Peter assured her. “Mr Harper just needed to hold his son for a few minutes. Fair enough in the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”

“He has to give him back,” the woman insisted.

“Yes. And you can trust me to see that he does. I’m big enough to do it. Okay?”

The man he was holding was too shattered to put up a fight and would have no hope of winning against Peter even if he did pull himself together.

The woman protesting his interference took stock of Peter’s height—well over six feet tall—his broad, muscular shoulders and powerful physique, all of which made him a formidable opponent in any arena. Harper was a relatively small man, the top of his head barely reaching Peter’s chin, his far more slender frame almost dwarfed in comparison. If it came to physical force, it was obvious who would end up controlling the situation.

“Make him give the boy back now,” the woman demanded.

The boy spoke for himself. “I want my daddy. I love my daddy.” He flung his little arms around his father’s neck and snuggled his head close. “Don’t cry, Daddy, I don’t like you crying.”

Tearing him away from his father would be brutal. There were other, kinder solutions to this situation. “Let’s take a bit of time to calm everything down,” Peter directed at the woman, trying to engender a spark of sympathy. “I’m going to walk Mr Harper over to that park bench…” He nodded to where he’d seated himself earlier. “He can sit with Thomas while you supervise the other children at play.”

“They’re all upset now,” she protested. “We should take them back to the kindergarten and settle them down.”

Peter switched his attention to Erin whom he found looking straight at him, a curious wonder in her lovely, luminous green eyes. Desire hit him hard and fast. Close up to her like this, any lingering doubt about pursuing this woman completely disintegrated. The adrenaline rush in his blood, the tingling in his groin—nothing jaded about these feelings. He wanted her and he was going to have her.

“Tell them another story,” he suggested, smiling to push the connection that had to be made. “You’re very good at it. I was listening to you while I ate my lunch. I’m sure you can make any trauma fade away.”

A twitch of a smile back. “Thank you. I think that’s a good idea.”

“Erin…” the other woman chided, obviously afraid of consequences with the situation taken completely out of her control.

“He is big enough, Sarah,” she stated confidently, waving away any further protest.

No rings on her left hand.

“Besides, you can always call the police if things don’t turn out right,” she added to appease ruffled feathers.

Triumphant pleasure surged through Peter. Erin was on side with him. Whether it was over this issue—fathers who got a raw deal when it came to divorce—or more a positive response to his presence on the scene—the man he was—he didn’t know, but a step had been made and he could exploit it.

Erin re-engaged with him, appealing for his co-operation. “We’ll have to collect Thomas on our way back to school.”

“Understood. Better make it you who does the collecting,” he pushed. “Thomas is less likely to cut up rough if he’s taken from his dad by the princess.”

She had pale creamy skin and it suddenly bloomed with colour. Peter couldn’t remember any women of his acquaintance ever blushing. He found it quite entrancing.

“All right,” she quickly agreed, then turned away to gather the children into a happy little group again.

The officious Sarah frowned disapprovingly at Peter but she clucked around her flock, not quite prepared to keep fighting his plan but still fretting over being thrust into the position of trusting a stranger. Nevertheless, having to call the police and deal with legal issues was not an attractive idea, either.

Having successfully manoeuvred a second meeting with Erin and won some time for the distressed father and son, Peter virtually scooped Harper along with him to the designated park bench, encouraging his compliance with a spate of sympathetic talk. “I know it’s all got on top of you, mate, but just fall in with me now and let’s see if we can find a better way to get you back with your son.”

There was no fight left in Harper. It seemed to Peter the man was completely at the end of his tether, almost collapsing onto the bench and rocking his little son in a kind of desperate love, having no hope at all for the future. When he was composed enough to speak, he looked at Peter with anguished eyes and said, “She told her lawyer I was an abusive father. It’s not true. Not true…”

Peter believed him. Far from showing any fear of his father, Thomas was clinging to him as though he’d missed his dad as much as Harper had missed his son. The caring was obviously mutual.

“A good lawyer should be able to set that straight,” he advised.

“I can’t afford one. Lost my job. Couldn’t give it the energy it needs…”

“What work do you normally do?”

“Salesman.”

“Okay. What if I find you another job, set you up with a lawyer who’s an expert on custodial rights, ensure you have the best advice on how to handle what’s happening now…”

“Why would you do this?” His eyes reflected confusion, an agitated mixture of uncertainty and mistrust. “You don’t even know me.”

It made Peter pause for a moment to sift through his motivation. Because a father shouldn’t be forcibly separated from his son? Because he hated seeing a man destroyed by a woman who took everything from him? Because of the sheer injustice of what was happening?

Or because impulse was ruling his life today!

Erin…

Connecting himself to Thomas’s welfare gave him a step into her work-place, a follow-up point for pursuing a connection with her. Harper didn’t know it, but he was a heaven sent opportunity for Peter to further his acquaintance with a woman he wanted.

However, the simple answer was, “Because I can. And I want to help you, Harper. I want Thomas to have his father in his life. It’s important.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re promising a hell of a lot.”

“Trust me. I can and will deliver on what I’m offering.”

A searching look, wanting to believe, hoping for a miracle, then the question…“Who are you?”

The same question Erin had asked.

Peter knew he had to answer this time. It would give instant credence to what he’d promised. He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers, opened it and showed Harper his driver’s licence for identification.

“Peter Ramsey,” the man read. The shock of the well-known billionaire-tag name hit him almost instantaneously. His eyes widened as he stared at the face that had been regularly displayed in the media for years—the squarish jawline, dark blond hair, blue eyes, strong arrowed nose, prominent cheekbones, a sprinkle of freckles from boyhood years in the sun—recognition sinking in. “What are you doing here?” spilled off his tongue.

Alone in a common park without the entourage that usually accompanied his public appearances…Peter shrugged it off. “Just taking a bit of time out of my life.”

“Like a chance in a million,” Harper muttered dazedly.

Which raised an ironic little smile. “Guess your luck was in for once.”

“You really mean it? You’ll help me like you said?”

“Yes, I will. You can come with me and we’ll get things moving in a positive direction for you right after Thomas has to go back to the kindergarten. In the meantime, why don’t you have a chat with your son, find out how life has been going for him since you’ve been separated?”

Harper thrust out his hand. “This is mighty generous of you, Mr Ramsey.”

“No problem,” Peter assured him, shaking his hand.

“I’m Dave. Dave Harper.”

“Good to know you, Dave.”

It was good—listening to the man reassuring the little boy that Daddy was okay now and they would get to see each other again soon.

Erin was weaving her magic with the kindergarten children, telling them another fairy tale in rhyming verses. Not one of them looked away from her to check on how Thomas was doing with his father. Disturbance over, Peter thought.

Nevertheless, the older woman, Sarah, would undoubtedly feel obliged to report this incident to Thomas’s mother when she came to pick him up later this afternoon. Which could cause Dave more grief. Although the kidnapping had been averted, the threat of it could be used against him. Better to fix that possible problem before it got rolling.

Besides, the fixing would give him the chance to meet Erin properly.

He would have to use the power of his name to get past Sarah’s objections to his interference, but he couldn’t remain incognito with Erin indefinitely anyway. He grimaced over the necessity for his identity to be revealed, knowing it would inevitably be a factor in how much she would want to know him.

It was always a factor.

But right now he didn’t care.

The desire to have her was far too strong to care about any other factors.

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT a man!

Part of Erin’s mind kept buzzing over him even as she carried through his suggestion of concentrating the children’s attention on another story.

A big man in every sense, she decided—strength, compassion, authority, as well as having a fabulous physique emitting so much male power, her female hormones were leaping around in a frenzy of interest. Definitely a prince of a man, and I’d just love to be his princess, she thought dizzily.

She’d caught a glimpse of him strolling through the park earlier and instantly liked what she saw—very impressive. When he’d settled on the bench seat in easy earshot of her story-telling, it had been impossible to resist the impulse to show off to him, pouring much more vitality into her performance than she usually did. Which was really silly because he was an absolute stranger with no chance of their meeting, given that she was caught up with a group of children.

Then had come his amazing intrusion when Thomas’s father had been about to make a terrible mistake. Generally people did not involve themselves in problems that were none of their business. Yet this man had, taking firm control of a very scary situation and producing alternative courses of action right off the top of his head, which demonstrated a mind used to cutting through to the heart of the matter in no time flat.

He’d even flummoxed Sarah with his air of commanding authority and Erin had never known Sarah to surrender her own authority to anyone else. It was good that she had on this occasion, though. Thomas’s father obviously needed help, not a stint in jail, which would defeat any hope of getting visiting rights with his son. Erin felt sorry for him. Having his wife desert him for a richer man and taking their son with her…he was in a bad place right now.

Apparently Sarah had decided they were in a bad place, too. As soon as the story ended, she was urging the children to pick up their lunch-boxes and form a crocodile line, ready for their return to the kindergarten. She picked up the traffic Stop sign herself, and directed Erin to collect Thomas. “And don’t be put off by the guy who took them over,” she instructed emphatically. “The boy’s mother could sue us for negligence.”

“I’m sure he’ll see that the agreement is kept,” Erin replied confidently.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to trust a stranger?” Sarah grumbled.

By their actions you shall know them, Erin recited to herself as she set off to approach the big man and the father and son he had taken under his protection. This guy was good. In fact, with his tall, muscular build and thick mass of blond hair, he was the perfect image for a splendid Viking warrior, wielding his powerful sword to fix wrongs. She could already see him being the hero in her next story.

He stood up when he saw her coming. Mr Harper remained seated on the park bench, speaking anxiously to Thomas who was on his lap, soaking up being cuddled by his father.

Erin was conscious of her pulse leaping into a gallop as she met the steady gaze of the self-appointed intermediary. There was a riveting quality about his blue eyes, giving her the weird sensation of a laser-probe straight to her heart.

Her skin tingled as though hit by an electric charge. She’d met a lot of different men in her globe-trotting, literary career. Not one of them had made this kind of impact on her. She wanted to say, “Don’t walk out of my life,” but such a plea seemed too embarrassingly presumptuous.

“Time to go,” she said, feeling a sickening irony in having to act on those words instead.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “Your name is Erin, right?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, wondering if he would recognise her much published author name and all it now stood for, whether it would mean something positive to him, enough to spark an interest in knowing her. In a self-conscious burst, she added, “Erin Lavelle.”

“Lavelle,” he repeated, rolling it off his tongue as though tasting it.

But she could see it hadn’t made any impact on him. He didn’t know of her. He was probably more a man of action than a book person. They were simply passersby, not occupying the same world, only this bit of park on a summer day.

He smiled, the flash of perfect white teeth reminding her of the smile of the BMW driver, but this couldn’t be the same man, could it?

“Sarah is the one in charge of the kindergarten?” he asked.

“Yes. Sarah Deering. She’s my aunt.”

Why she’d given this information, she didn’t know. It was irrelevant.

“I don’t suppose Ms Deering will let this go—not report it to Thomas’s mother,” he probed.

Erin shook her head. “I think Sarah will feel the need to cover herself in case of a repeat occurrence.”

He nodded and handed her a business card. “Tell your aunt I will personally ensure that the right avenues for custody will be pursued.” The blue eyes hardened with intimidating purpose as he added, “She might like to pass that on to Mrs Harper.”

For some reason he was assuming he spoke from a position of power. In fact, power radiated so strongly from him, a little shiver of trepidation ran down Erin’s spine as she glanced at the name on the card.

Peter Ramsey.

It meant nothing to her.

She looked up, frowning her puzzlement. “Who are you? Why do you think this carries some weight?”

Surprise at her ignorance was swiftly followed by twinkles of amusement. “Just show the card to your aunt, Erin. It tends to influence people, believe me.”

She heaved a rueful sigh. “Guess I’m out of the general loop.”

He grinned. “Charmingly so. May I ask a favour of you?”

“Ask away,” she invited, dazzled into ready compliance by the grin that seemed to say he found her attractive, too.

“My cell phone number is on that card. Call me after Mrs Harper has been and gone this afternoon.”

Excitement zinged through her. This might not be the end for them. “You want to know how it pans out?”

“I’d like to hear your impressions of the mother’s reaction to what happened here.” He grimaced. “Truth tends to get lost when it comes to divorce and the best interests of a child are not always served.”

“You’re right about that,” she said with feeling, having been the child of divorced parents herself.

“So you’ll call me?” he pressed.

“I will,” she promised, blithely uncaring about whether it was appropriate or not. The call might lead to another meeting with this amazing man.

“Good!” Satisfied that a pact had been sealed, he turned to the father and boy. “Got to let Thomas go with Erin now, Dave.”

There was no argument.

“I’m sorry for the scene I caused,” Mr Harper offered as he handed Thomas over to Erin.

“I hope you have good times together in the future, Mr Harper,” she replied with genuine sincerity, then quickly led the boy away, seeing that Sarah had the crocodile line in order and was anxiously waiting for them to join it.

She was incredibly conscious of her body as she walked away from Peter Ramsey. It was as though she could feel him watching her, assessing everything about her. It made her shoulders square up to a straighter carriage, caused her bottom to feel twitchy, and her knees actually threatened to wobble. She didn’t look back, telling herself to maintain some dignity and not moon over the man like some star-struck teenager. His card was in her hand. That guaranteed another connection with him.

Once back at the kindergarten, Erin helped settle the children for their afternoon nap. She had intended to leave at this point, having done the favour her aunt had requested. A story-telling session from Erin Lavelle was great PR for the preschool, backing up the much-dropped fact that she was, indeed, Sarah’s niece. However, the intriguing encounter in the park demanded a change of plan.

Having taken the precaution of copying the essential details from Peter Ramsey’s card into the notebook she always carried with her, Erin slipped into the administrative office to have a private conversation with her aunt who was sitting at her desk, hunched over a newly made cup of coffee and looking as though she needed a shot of caffeine to stitch frayed nerves back together.

“That could have been nasty. Really nasty,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Thanks for helping out, Erin. I don’t know how I would have handled it…” Her voice trailed into a heavy sigh as she shook her head over the frightening incident. “The children could have panicked…”

“It was lucky Peter Ramsey was there,” Erin quickly put in.

The name jolted Sarah out of her fretful train of thought. Her eyes sharpened to a wary alertness. “Who? Who did you say?”

“The big man. His name is Peter Ramsey. He gave me his business card…” She placed it right in front of the coffee cup, hitching her bottom onto the front edge of the desk’s large surface as she explained the card’s purpose. “He said for you to mention his name to Mrs Harper if she gets ugly over what her husband did.”

Sarah picked up the card and stared at it disbelievingly.

Erin carried on with her job as messenger. “He also gave his personal assurance that Mr Harper would seek legal help to get some custody rights, so you shouldn’t be afraid of him going off the rails again because of not being able to see his son.”

“Peter Ramsey,” her aunt said with almost breathless awe. Her eyes were goggling when she looked up at Erin. “I should have recognised him. But why on earth would he be in that park?”

Erin honed in on the most pertinent point. “Why should you have recognised him?”

“Because of who he is, of course,” her aunt brushed off impatiently, then caught Erin’s grimace of frustration. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him. He’s Lloyd Ramsey’s son and heir.”

This stunning revelation was a blow to the fantasy that had been building up in her mind. “You mean the multibillionaire, Lloyd Ramsey?”

“The one and only,” her aunt confirmed.

Lloyd Ramsey was virtually an Australian legend, making so many headlines over so many years, even Erin who’d always lived in the world of books, was not ignorant of the man’s power and how he wielded his wealth. He’d been nicknamed “the shark” because he went after a bite of just about every big business enterprise going. From Sarah’s reaction to Peter’s name, apparently his son had also carved out a prominent position in Australia in more recent times.

Erin had the queasy sense he was way out of her league, occupying a far, far different world to hers. “Is Peter Ramsey a business whiz, too?” she asked.

“Very much so on the international scene,” came the heart-sinking reply. “All high-tech stuff. I’m not up with that but he’s always in the social pages, being photographed with other celebrities. Every time he changes women it’s big news.”

Erin’s stomach did a dive, too. “You mean…he’s a playboy.”

The macho BMW sports car popped back into her mind. Had he been the driver?

Her aunt shrugged. “Well, he’s still playing the field. Hasn’t married anyone yet. Probably doesn’t give much time to his relationships. Always on the go. And let’s face it, a man in his position can get any woman he wants when he wants.”

Yes. He probably could.

The excitement that had been fizzing through Erin’s bloodstream completely flattened out. The possibility of Peter Ramsey being her prince was looking dim if not downright dead.

Yet he had certainly played knight to the rescue in the park and she had felt a strong connection with him. On the other hand, their shared empathy for Mr Harper’s situation could have accounted for that feeling, plus, of course, her instinctive response to his very dynamic sexual appeal.

“Why do you think he’s involved himself with this?” Erin asked, wanting more input from her aunt.

Sarah shrugged. “Why was he in the park? Maybe the two are connected.”

“What do you mean?”

“There must have been a trigger for his action.” She paused to think through what had happened. “Maybe he overheard Mr Harper yelling out that he’d been ripped off by his wife. That could have hit a sore spot with Peter Ramsey.”

“Do you know that some woman has just ripped him off?”

“No.” Sarah leaned back in her chair, a cynical little smile tugging at her mouth. “But it has to be always on the cards with that much wealth on the table. Remember what happened with his sister.”

Erin shook her head. “I don’t know anything about his sister.”

Sarah looked surprised. “The story ran in the media for weeks. It was huge.”

“When?”

“Oh—” she waved her hand as though trying to grasp the time element “—must be almost three years ago.”

Erin thought back. “I was travelling through Asia then.”

“Always off somewhere,” Sarah remarked with a sigh of exasperation at her niece’s footloose life. “You should stay home more often, Erin.”

The cynical thought instantly slid through her mind—What home? Her mother had remarried and made a home with her second husband—no room for her daughter. Her father…fat chance of being welcomed for more than an hour or two in his household! The house she’d bought at Byron Bay was her writing base but it was always lonely there, not what a home should mean.

Out loud she said, “So what about Peter Ramsey’s sister?”

“Big scandal!” her aunt answered with relish. “Charlotte Ramsey was about to marry one guy and just before the wedding he refused to sign the prenuptial agreement her father had drawn up. She turned around on the spot and married the British billionaire, Damien Wynter, instead. Her former fiancé proceeded to sue for ownership of the apartment they’d shared—hers, of course—in a de facto relationship. He got it, too. Didn’t go to court. She signed off on it. The point is…”

“He was in it for a slice of the Ramsey billions.”

Sarah tapped the desk with her finger to emphasise the train of reasoning in her mind. “He was going to rip her off.”

“And she didn’t have that problem with Damien Wynter,” Erin concluded. “Which is rather sad when you think about it, finding out you’re only being married for your money. I wonder if Charlotte Ramsey is happy with her British billionaire.”

“Erin, you might write happy endings for your stories, but there’s no way you can guarantee them in true life,” her aunt said dryly.

“True. But for whatever reason, Peter Ramsey seems intent on underwriting a happier ending for Thomas and his father.” She raised an appealing eyebrow. “Mind if I stick around to see how Mrs Harper takes that news?”

It drew a curious look. “Why so interested?”

“The power of a name,” Erin tossed off casually. “I just want to see it in action.”

“She doesn’t pick him up until five o’clock.”

“That’s okay. I’ll go for a walk in the meantime.”

“Mmm…” Sarah pondered the request. “It might be wise to have a sit-in witness.”

“Absolutely,” Erin pressed, hopping off the desk and waving a goodbye before her aunt had second thoughts. “See you later.”

She didn’t walk far. Her feet automatically took her back to the bench-seat Peter Ramsey had occupied in the park. She sat precisely where he had sat, her mind running hot with thoughts about him. He hadn’t acted like a playboy. He had seemed serious and caring. Though she had to admit the serious caring had been directed at a father and his son, both of whom were apparently being short-changed by a woman.

Maybe his attitude towards women fell into an entirely different category. What experiences had shaped the man who had stepped in to make a difference—a positive difference—to a man and boy he didn’t even know? Erin knew she was too intrigued to turn her back on learning more of Peter Ramsey. She’d promised to report back to him on Thomas’s mother and she would make the call.

If she had imagined a personal interest in herself, he wouldn’t set up a further meeting with her. But if she hadn’t imagined it…if he did want another face-to-face encounter…a surge of strong resolution tossed caution—or wisdom—aside.

She wanted to be with him.

How many times in her life had she felt like this about a man?

None!

Seize the day, she fiercely told herself.

If she got the chance to seize it.

CHAPTER THREE

“PETER RAMSEY.”

His voice held a clipped self-assurance, demanding an efficient reply.

Erin took a deep breath to calm her jiggling heart. Speak to the man. Reach out to him, she told herself. You have this one chance!

“Hi! It’s Erin Lavelle.” The words spilled out in a breathy rush. Oh great! she thought. He’s probably hearing the pant of a gold-digger who hopes she’s onto a good thing with this call.

“You do have a very distinctive voice,” he said, and it sounded as though he was smiling through the words.

Smiling with pleasure!

A wild, wonderful hope danced through her mind. “You asked me to call,” she reminded him.

“It’s come later than I expected. I thought you weren’t going to contact me. I’m glad you have.”

It was pleasure. Warm pleasure. A smile burst across Erin’s face. “Mrs Harper didn’t come until five o’clock. She’s only just left.”

“Ah!” The sound of satisfaction. “There must be a lot to tell me and I do want to know all of it. Would you join me for dinner, Erin? I’ve been with Dave Harper most of the afternoon, getting his side of the story to a good lawyer. I need to hear your impressions of his wife.”

“Dinner…” she repeated dazedly. The invitation had come so fast her head was spinning.

“Regardless of what people might have told you about me since our meeting in the park, I promise I’m not the big bad wolf, and you don’t have to fear my gobbling you up on the spot,” he assured her with dry mockery.

“Right!” she said, though the idea of being gobbled up by Peter Ramsey had actually sent her pulse-rate zooming. “Where and when?” she asked, trying to sound efficient and not too eager.

“Whatever suits you, Erin.”

Which lobbed the ball straight into her court.

Was it a test of how much she would try to screw out of him?

What did he expect her to choose?

Best to go for her own comfort zone, she swiftly decided, given she was in an absolute tizz about meeting him again. The intimidation of a ritzy restaurant would only make her more nervy.

“Are you okay with a downmarket place?” she asked, wondering if he preferred the privileges that went with being recognised in trendy surroundings.

“No problem,” he assured her.

So he didn’t need ego-stroking.

“Do you like Thai food?”

“Fine with me.”

He was being very accommodating.

Glowing happily, Erin gave directions. “Along Oxford Street, between the end of Hyde Park and Taylor Square, there’s a little restaurant called Titanic Thai. I could meet you there at seven-thirty.”

“Should I book a table?”

“No. I’ll drop in and ask them to keep me one.”

“You live nearby?”

“More or less,” she answered vaguely, not wanting to divulge too much about herself at this point. “I’ll see you there then?”

“Seven-thirty, Oxford Street, a Thai restaurant called Titanic but it’s only little,” he said in a tone of amusement.

“That’s it,” she confirmed and rang off, feeling pleased with herself for not only seizing the chance he’d held out, but for taking command of proceedings, as well.

Her feet wanted to skip all the way to the bus stop.

Got her!

Peter’s hand clenched in exhilarating triumph.

Then he laughed at himself for being so absurdly excited over another meeting with a woman whose life was so remote from his, they’d probably have nothing to talk about apart from Dave Harper’s miserable situation.

Nevertheless, that bit of reality did not dim his desire to experience all there was to know of Erin Lavelle. He’d been in the mood to embrace the wildly improbable ever since she’d smiled at him at the pedestrian crossing, and tonight was another step in the same vein. Knowing who he was, she could have taken him for an expensive dinner at a top class restaurant. He wouldn’t have cared if she had, but he was delighted with her choice. It was in keeping with this whole encounter—totally off-the-wall.

“Titanic Thai, here I come!” he said out loud, grinning to himself as he bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom of his Bondi Beach apartment. Shower, shave, change of clothes, get to Taylor Square, scout the restaurant…tonight he was going to get the princess with the magic rainbow smile and the heart of gold!

Erin knew that the most sensible course was to play it cool with Peter Ramsey, not look as if she expected anything from him, turn up in jeans and pretend she wasn’t madly wishing he found her too desirable to pass up. Their lives were too different to envisage any serious relationship between them.

On the other hand, she’d never been so captivated by a man. Even if it could only be a mad fling with him…

Temptation wove its own more exciting path around common sense and was in full swing by the time she reached the Hyde Park apartment hotel where she invariably stayed while in Sydney. It was in easy walking distance of the Thai restaurant where she had frequently dined.

As she showered, washed and blow-dried her hair into a silky black mane that rippled over her shoulders, her mind moved into a totally reckless whirl of wanting to make something happen between her and Peter Ramsey. Her hands reached into the clothes cupboard and pulled out the lemon, lime and green dress. It was a gorgeous dress. She loved the colours and the colours loved her. It was also a wicked little dress. In fact, her London editor, Richard Long, who regularly tried to move their relationship into a sexual one, had described it as a bed-me dress.

It was halter-necked, virtually backless, had to be worn braless, the low V-neckline in front showing a seductive hint of cleavage. A wide tan leather belt drew attention to the curvy lines of her figure, and the soft fabric flowed into a frothy skirt that was deliciously feminine. Teamed with strappy tan leather sandals and no jewellery, it wasn’t too, too dressy, Erin decided.

And so what if it did stir the pot tonight!

Peter Ramsey had appeared like magic in her life.

Why not use a bit of female witchery to keep him in it, at least for long enough to explore the feelings he’d aroused?

She was thirty years old and had virtually perfected the role of an onlooker of life, a passer-by who’d never felt truly wanted enough by anyone to become enmeshed in a deep involvement. A lasting attachment to Peter Ramsey was not really within the bounds of reason, but a brief one…a fiercely compelling conviction surged through her…that was worth going for, given that no other man had ever made such a deep impact on her.

Peter glanced at his watch as the waitress uncorked the bottle of chardonnay he’d bought from the liquor-mart next door and proceeded to pour him a glass of wine. Seven twenty-five. Only a few more minutes to wait if Erin was punctual. No reason for her not to be, he reasoned. Her choice of restaurant was very much a drop in place.

The front half of it was divided into a kitchen along one wall with a bench-seat along the wall facing it for takeaway customers to wait for their orders to be cooked. The back section had just two rows of five tables each side. He’d been led to the third one behind the kitchen, which provided privacy from the more transient customers.

The table had a laminated surface for easy cleaning. Paper serviettes were available from a dispenser. Pepper and salt and various sauces were contained in a holder. A corked bottle of water stood by two drinking glasses. If customers wanted to drink wine with their meal, it was a case of bring your own—information Peter had received when he’d arrived earlier. An ice bucket could be provided and was, the waitress leaving the bottle in it after she finished serving him.

He sipped the chardonnay—a fine Margaret River wine that he hoped would be to Erin’s taste. He wanted to please her, wanted her to be pleased with him. This meeting place virtually shouted that to her mind, any romance between them was out of the question. No doubt, the Ramsey name had intimidated her into thinking that. A smile of happy anticipation spread across his face. He relished the challenge of overriding that barrier with a full-on charm offensive.

Except it wasn’t needed.

That realisation hit him the moment Erin walked into his line of vision. There was nothing casual about her appearance. It was a full-on female offensive.

Desire to take what she was offering instantly kicked in. Erin Lavelle was an outstandingly gorgeous babe, long silky black hair swinging free, lush breasts free, too, playing peekaboo from a very sexy bodice. The dress she was wearing was a knockout—a stunning combination of colours that brought out the green in her eyes, and was styled to stir the juices of any red-blooded male.

Yes reverberated around in Peter’s brain.

But it was tinged with disappointment—the challenge had just been snuffed out.

And laced with cynicism—was this a reaction to his name and all it stood for? Had rainbow girl decided to take a crack at the pot of gold?

Mistake!

Elation had bubbled through Erin as Peter Ramsey rose from the table to greet her, looking stunned by this more glamorous version of herself, but there was something wrong with his smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. And it curled into a twist of irony.

Her fluttering heart closed its wings and shrunk inside itself. Her mind cringed with embarrassment. She’d misread his invitation to dinner. The attraction she felt towards him wasn’t mutual and she’d just made a gigantic fool of herself.

Defence instincts sprang into action. The fertile creativity in her mind was fast-tracked into finding a scenario that would wipe out his impression of availability signals being flaunted.

“Hi!” she said brightly, quickening her step towards him, holding out her hand, fixing a wry little smile on her mouth. “Excuse the glad rags. A bit out of place here. But I’m going on to a party afterwards and it was easier not to have to do a change of clothes later.”

“Please don’t apologise. No man could look at you tonight without feeling a sense of pleasure,” he rolled out, politely intent on putting her at ease, though the hand holding hers made that impossible. It gripped hard, almost possessively, sending a charge of heat into her bloodstream. “Meeting up with your boyfriend?” he asked, a laser-intensity in the blue eyes scanning hers, jolting her into giving up the truth.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

An arched eyebrow expressed surprise. “Then I’m sure there’ll be plenty of contenders for the position at the party.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, given the blatant sexiness of her dress. “But will I click with any of them?” she tossed out a touch ruefully, knowing how very rare that had been in her life, and the one possibility of it happening tonight was distancing himself from her.

“Very elusive, that click,” he remarked dryly.

“You find that, too?” She was babbling—babbling because she was so knotted up inside, any words were better than silence.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The hard challenge in his eyes made her feel silly. It derided any assumption that everything was easy for him. She really had no idea what his life was like, had come to find out, but…this wasn’t why he was here and she was putting every foot wrong.

“I’m sure you have a bigger choice of candidates for the click than I have,” she shot out defensively.

“Believe me, that doesn’t make it any less elusive.”

“I’m told you’ve had a lot of women, Peter.”

“Trial and error. How many errors have you made, Erin?”

She shook her head, completely rattled by the swift riposte and the highly personal probing in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how we moved onto this stuff. You wanted to know about Mrs Harper.”

“And the errors made there,” he agreed, releasing her hand and gesturing to the chair opposite his. “Are you in a hurry to get this dinner over with?”

The question flustered her. Everything about this meeting seemed to be going hopelessly awry, including her fiction about a party, which he naturally assumed would put a limit on this meeting. “No. No. Time doesn’t matter,” she muttered, settling on the chair and shooting him a look of appeal for a less pressured feeling to this meeting. “It’s Thomas who matters. His life is being screwed up by warring parents.”

“You care more about the child than the father?” Peter queried as he resumed his seat.

It made Erin pause to consider. “I guess I empathise more with Thomas. My own parents divorced when I was seven.”

“Were you the only child?”

“Yes.” She grimaced, remembering all too well the sense of being deserted. “A very lonely only child.”

“Who got custody of you?”

“My mother.”

“Was that what you wanted?”

“I wanted them to stay together.” She flashed him a look of burning conviction. “You shouldn’t have children if the marriage isn’t rock solid.”

“Is that why you haven’t married? You’ve never felt secure enough in a relationship?”

This conversation was going right off the rails. She didn’t want to analyse herself, not to him or anyone else. As it was, he’d drawn stuff from her she never talked about and it was none of his business. “We’re not here to talk about me,” she tersely reminded him.

“Just curious about where you’re coming from,” he said amiably, reaching for the bottle of wine, which was resting in an ice-bucket. “This is a Margaret River Chardonnay. Would you like to share it with me?”

No way was she going to add alcohol to the volatile mix of feeling emotionally torn up by this man. Her tongue was running out of control and she needed to put a guard on it. She nodded to the corked bottle on the table. “I’ll stick to water, thank you.”

“Saving yourself for party drinks.”

Erin paused to take stock of what was happening here. The party lie kept spawning questions that were pricking at her private life. Why was Peter Ramsey putting her so much on the spot if he had no personal interest in her?

His reaction to her attempt to look as attractive as she could had definitely been negative, yet since she’d dismissed her dressed up appearance as nothing to do with him, he seemed intent on finding out more about her than the main purpose of this meeting warranted.

Feeling uncomfortably confused with the situation, she looked him straight in the eye and belligerently stated, “No. I just prefer water. I like to keep a clear head.”

“Even at a party?”

“Especially at a party.”

“Had a bad experience,” he assumed.

“No. And I don’t want to invite one.”

“Sounds like being in control is of prime importance to you.”

He was boring in again, the piercing blue eyes focused so intensely on hers, answers to his questions had been spilling out as though drawn from her by a magnet. Despite being stone cold sober, Erin felt hopelessly out of control with Peter Ramsey. Her pulse was racing and her mind was struggling to keep up with his.

“I will not give control of my life to someone else,” burst from her lips before she even realised how revealing that was about herself.

He zoomed straight in on it. “Being independent is safer than trusting anyone, Erin?”

“When the people you should be able to count on keep shuffling you around for their convenience, you learn independence pretty darned quick,” she answered with considerable heat, feeling him burrowing under her skin, going deeper and deeper. “And that’s probably what’s in store for Thomas Harper,” she added emphatically, trying to move this conversation onto the track it should be taking.

Needing action to break the highly charged current flowing between them, she turned and grabbed the bottle of water, proceeding to fill one of the glasses provided with a long, cool drink.

“I’m sorry. I should have done that for you.”

The apology grated on her frayed nerves. “Why?” she shot at him.

He shrugged, his mouth twitching into a bemused little smile. “It’s what a gentleman does for a lady.”

“And what does a lady do for a gentleman in your world, Peter?”

She goes to bed with him.

The cynical thought was in her mind, even as she posed the question. Nevertheless, it came as a shock when she read it in his eyes, the sudden simmer of desire directed straight at her.

Even his smile seemed sensually seductive as he answered, “In my world a gentleman looks after a lady who answers his needs.”

Her mind was in an absolute whirl. “What need am I answering?” shot straight out of her mouth.

“My need to talk with you.”

His reply was so smooth, his expression shifting so swiftly to serious sincerity, Erin wondered if she’d imagined the hot flash of desire. But her skin was still tingling from it.

Fortunately the waitress arrived at their table to take their meal orders, diverting Peter Ramsey’s attention and giving Erin a breathing space. She needed a blast of oxygen in her brain to clear her confusion and get some reasonable perspective on what had eventuated from this meeting so far.

She had paraded her wish to be desirable to him with blatant honesty.

He hadn’t liked it.

Yet now…did he find a hard-to-get scenario more stimulating—the challenge of winning over resistance? Perhaps he’d had too many women offering themselves to him on a platter and he’d envisaged her being different—more of a novelty for him, like her choice of this restaurant.

She sighed.

Nothing in real life was simple.

Which was why she much preferred living in the stories she made up in her mind. She had total control over how her characters acted and what their response to each other would be.

“Erin?”

Peter’s prompt snapped her out of fantasy and back to the immediate demands of the present. She smiled at the waitress. “I’ll have the Chilli Jam Prawns.”

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