Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir
‘Fortunately both air travel and the Internet are available to many of us now, Mr Maynard.’
A hint of a smile turned up the corner of his mouth and for a second Caro saw a glimmer of appreciation in that hard gaze, making it look almost warm. The effect was startling.
She sucked in a slow breath, to her consternation feeling her bra scratch flesh that suddenly felt oversensitive. Deep inside flared a kernel of heat that had nothing to do with nerves. It felt like feminine awareness.
Caro told herself she was imagining things. She was immune to men.
‘You think I should give you the job because you come from the same country as my niece?’
She brushed her sleeve, giving herself a moment’s respite from that searching gaze.
‘I think it’s useful that I speak the language and understand the culture. Such things are comforting, especially at a time of loss.’ She paused. ‘Even if she’s not going to live there, there’s a strong argument for her keeping her native language.’
Slowly he inclined his head, as if reluctant to agree. ‘Frankly that’s the only reason you’re here, Ms Rivage. Because Ariane needs someone who can speak Ancillan as well as English. She’s lost her parents but I don’t want her to lose her heritage too.’
His voice hit a gravel note and something shifted inside her. For the first time since Caro entered this imposing library she felt real sympathy for the man before her. His expression hadn’t altered yet that tiny crack in his voice hinted at deep-buried grief.
He might remind her of a sexy fallen angel with that blatantly raw masculinity and a simmering impatience that bordered on arrogance, but he’d recently lost his sister and brother-in-law. Plus inherited responsibility for his niece.
He probably wasn’t at his best.
‘I have some experience of dealing with loss, Mr Maynard. If you give me the chance I’ll do everything I can to support your niece and help her thrive.’
His eyes held hers and for the first time she sensed he wasn’t quite so negative. Was it wishful thinking?
She didn’t have a chance to find out for there was a tap on the door and it swung open.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Jake, Ms Rivage.’ It was the secretary, Neil Tompkins, who’d escorted her upstairs. ‘There’s a call I really think you need to take. The Geneva consortium.’
Jake Maynard pushed his chair back. ‘My apologies, Ms Rivage. This is bad timing but it’s crucial I take this.’
Even so, Caro gave him credit, he didn’t simply march out, but waited for her response.
‘Of course, Mr Maynard.’
‘I won’t keep you long.’ Then the pair disappeared, the studded oak door closing behind them.
Caro shot to her feet as if from a catapult. Sitting under that icy scrutiny had taken its toll. Leaving her bag beside her chair, she paced the room, drawn to the incredible vista of snowy mountains, so different from her Mediterranean home.
Her mind raced through what he’d said and how she’d responded. What she could have said better. What she could say to sway him on his return.
If the other applicants were so much more experienced it was unlikely he’d entrust his precious niece to her. On the other hand, Ancillan wasn’t a common language. Its origins were ancient, with roots in classical Greek and even, the linguists thought, Phoenician, bu
t influenced over the centuries by trade and conquest so it had traces of Italian, Arabic and even Viking borrowings. If she was the only applicant who could speak it she had a chance.
The door banged open and Caro swung around. But it wasn’t Jake Maynard who entered, nor was it the door to his secretary’s office that stood open. It was a door on the other side of the room.
In front of it, poised as if in mid-flight, was a small, dishevelled figure. Her frilly dress was rumpled and her plaits were half undone so her head was surrounded by a bright bronze nimbus of curls.
Caro’s heart stopped.
She breathed. She must have, for she didn’t black out. But she couldn’t move.
Memory swamped her as the little girl turned a tear-stained face and drowned violet eyes met hers.
Caro felt a trembling begin in the soles of her feet and work its way up her legs to her hands and belly. She swallowed then swallowed again, unable to moisten her suddenly arid mouth.
She’d struggled, hoped and prayed for this moment. But nothing had prepared her for the raw shock of reality.