The Billionaire's Defiant Acquisition

‘Okay, you’ve had the answer you presumably wanted, so now you can go.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What I don’t understand, Conall, is why you’ve come all this way in order to ask a question which didn’t need to have been asked in person. You could have texted or emailed me. Even phoned. But you didn’t.’

‘It isn’t about the question.’

‘No? Then what is it about?’

Conall met her gaze and let her fury wash over him like a fierce tide. He had tried to stay away from her—telling himself that it was for her own good, as well as his. But something just kept drawing him back to her—and now that he was here, he felt curiously exposed. He knew she deserved nothing less than the truth, but that still didn’t guarantee him the outcome he longed for. It was fork-in-the-road time, he realised. It was time to stop hiding behind the past. To reject the emotional rules he’d lived by for so long. ‘I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for the way I behaved on our last evening together,’ he said, in a low voice.

She frowned. ‘You mean...what happened in the hall?’

‘Yes,’ he said roughly. ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

She shrugged with the expression of someone who planned to say exactly what was on their mind—and to hell with the consequences. ‘We had some pretty raw and basic sex, which I thought you’d enjoyed—I certainly did, even if you completely ruined my dress and some perfectly good underwear.’

His mouth gave a flicker of a smile. ‘You’re missing the point, Amber.’

‘Am I?’ Her voice went very quiet. So quiet it was almost a whisper. ‘Yet you were the one who taught me that no sex was bad sex, unless one person happened to object to it.’

‘Yes, I know I did. But I lost control.’ He felt a lump in his throat. ‘For a moment I saw red. I felt consumed by something which seemed to consume me. It was as if I was powerless to stop what was happening and I didn’t like that.’

‘So what? Everyone loses control some time in their lives—especially after a blistering row. What’s the matter, Conall—did you think you were going to run off to find a handy canister of paint and start spraying graffiti all over the walls?’ She gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘I don’t have a degree in psychology, but I’ve seen enough therapists in my teenage years to realise that what you call staying in control means never letting any emotion out—so that when you do, it just explodes. So why not do what everyone else does and just let yourself feel stuff?’

Her words made sense and deep down he knew it, but did he have the courage to admit that? The courage to reach inside himself for something he’d buried for as long as he could remember? Because yes, that something was emotion. His mother had been uptight, he recognised that now—she’d allowed herself to be defined by a youthful indiscretion, so keen never to repeat it that she had locked away all her feelings and desires. And hadn’t he done the same?

There had been other factors, he recognised that, too. He’d grown up in a house where he’d never fitted in. A house where his intellect and natural athleticism had made him physically and mentally superior to the men who ruled the Cadogan household—but their wealth and power had allowed them to patronise him. Amber had accused him of having a chip on his shoulder right at the beginning of their relationship—and she had been right.

But he’d learnt his lesson. Or tried to. He had come here today with only one thing on his mind, and that thing was her.

He looked at her. ‘What if I told you that I agree with every word you say?’

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘And what’s the catch?’

‘No catch. If you can accept that I’ve been a fool. That I’ve been arrogant and stubborn and short-sighted in nearly letting the most wonderful thing which has ever happened to me slip through my fingers. And that is you. You I want. And you I miss.’ His voice deepened, but there was a break in it. ‘Because I love you, Amber, and I want you back.’

She shook her head, struggling a little as she got out of the deckchair. ‘But you don’t do love,’ she said. ‘Remember?’

‘I didn’t do a lot of things. If you want the truth, I didn’t really live properly until I met you.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong—to the outside world I had everything. I made more money than I knew what to do with. I ate in fine restaurants and owned amazing houses, with great works of art adorning my walls. I could travel to any place in the world and stay in the best hotels, and date pretty much any woman I wanted.’ He stopped speaking and for a few seconds he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

‘But I don’t want any other woman but you because everyone pales in comparison to you, Amber,’ he said, and his voice was raw. ‘I thought you represented everything I didn’t want—but it turns out you’re everything I do. You’re sharp. Irreverent. Adaptable. You make me laugh and, yes, you frustrate the hell out of me, too. But you always challenge me—and I’m the kind of man who needs a challenge. And so...’

‘So?’ she echoed a little breathlessly as he walked across the scorched brown grass and took her in his arms.

‘We did a lot of stuff in public—for the public. But this is private. This is just for us. I have something I want to give you, but only if you can tell me something—and I want complete honesty from you.’ He swallowed. ‘And that is whether you love me back.’

Amber savoured the moment and made him wait for a few seconds—she felt almost as if it was her duty to do so. Because Conall had made her feel very insecure in his time and he needed to know that they shouldn’t put each other through this kind of thing, ever again. But she couldn’t hide the smile which had begun to bloom on her face. It spread and spread, filling her with a delight and a sunny kind of joy.

‘Yes, I love you,’ she said simply. ‘I love you more than I can ever say, my tough and masterful Irishman.’

‘Then I guess I’d better do this properly.’ He glanced around, but, although the garden was deserted except for a dejected-looking starling pecking at the bare ground, they were still visible to the bedroom windows of the adjoining houses.

‘Is there anywhere more private we could go?’

Breathlessly she nodded and laced her fingers in his, leading him up the rickety old stairs until they reached the tiny box room which was her bedroom. She watched his face as he looked around, seeing disbelief become admiration and then avid curiosity. He walked across the bare floorboards to the painting she was halfway through, and stared very hard at the vibrant splashes of yellow and green, edged with black.

Turning round, he looked at her. ‘You’ve been painting,’ he said.