Playing the Billionaire's Game

‘I think it is irrelevant in the presence of a beauty like hers.’

‘Ah. Well, impartially, I can see your point but, as an old family friend, I do not quite see the allure. To me, your beauty shines brighter than anyone else in the room.’

And Sia hated that his assurance took the bite out of the strange nauseating jealousy she’d felt swirling in her stomach. But it did make her plan easier, not to have to compete with another woman.

A plan she was seriously beginning to doubt. And, for just a second, she allowed herself to wish that this was as simple as what it seemed to be: a handsome, charming man finding her interesting and beautiful. It was a yearning that took her by surprise. Sharp, sudden and acute.

She’d never had time for boys or, later, men. At school her goal had been university, desperate to get away from the cold, staid clutches of her aunt’s house. And at uni? Just feeling the money slipping through her fingers each moment she was there had been enough to forge a single-minded focus she’d not really ever let go of. So she’d spent her Friday and Saturday evenings in the library and her nights alone in her bed and if it had made her feel a little lonely then so be it. Because she’d got her degree and a job that she loved for the most part and she was happy.

It was the touch of the pad of his thumb across her cheek, the way that his finger angled her jaw that brought her back instantly. It sent a cascade of sparks across her nerve-endings, lighting her pulse and kicking an extra thud into her heart. For just a moment she hoped he would kiss her. At the look in his eyes as he gazed at her mouth, she fooled herself into thinking that he might want to.

‘Eyelash,’ he said by way of explanation, pulling the rug from beneath her.

She couldn’t do this. There was something about Sebastian Rohan de Luen that was more than just the arrogant playboy art thief and that made him dangerous. Too dangerous.

‘I should go.’

CHAPTER THREE

INTERVIEWER TWO: After all that, you just left?

INTERVIEWER ONE: I don’t understand. You didn’t even ask him if he stole the painting?

MS KEATING: But Bonnaire’s doesn’t think there was a painting to steal.

INTERVIEWER ONE: No...but you do. That’s why you were there, isn’t it?

MS KEATING: Yes.

INTERVIEWER TWO: So why did you—

MS KEATING: If you would let me finish?

SIA COULDN’T EVEN look at Sebastian.

‘I should go.’

‘But do you want to?’

Yes. No. She honestly couldn’t say any more.

He’d levelled her with such a look, one that she felt down to her toes. It was one that spoke of challenge and temptation. Sia would have run for the hills, but Henri? While Sia was a combination of all the things that had happened after her father’s arrest, Henri was all the things from before. The passionate, reckless, thoughtless parts of her mother and the intensely focused, creative, calculating parts of her father. Henri had been locked up for far too long and now she wanted to play.

She felt the sharp sting of arousal as his gaze locked onto her lips and desire rushed through her bloodstream, reaching parts of her body she barely recognised. She both welcomed and feared it, torn between the two. Never before had she felt such a thing.

‘What I want has very little to do with it.’

‘How strange,’ he said, cocking his head to one side as if to inspect her from a different angle. ‘I don’t think I do that very often.’

‘Do what?’ she asked, genuinely confused.

‘Self-restraint.’

The arrogance with which he said it, the sheer ego of the statement itself made it near impossible for Sia to keep her mouth closed against the shock. But she couldn’t help the question that fell from her lips.

‘You don’t have self-restraint?’

‘It’s not that I don’t have it. It’s just that I don’t need it.’