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One Night with the Rebel Billionaire
Trish Wylie
The virgin’s surrender When Roane Elliott meets a naked stranger on the beach, her second thought is to challenge his trespassing. Her first thought makes her virginal heart beat quite erratically! Then she discovers the stranger is Adam Bryant. The smouldering, dark-hearted son of the Bryant dynasty. After a decade away he’s back to claim what’s rightfully his. However wilful the prize…Roane is determined to resist him, but the temptation is overwhelming. His bedroom door is open and she’s taking steps to her surrender…
Adam moved his hand, nudging her chin up with his fist. And then he kissed her.
He took advantage of her submission to part her lips with his tongue and sweep inside, taking her sharp gasp of cooler night air and replacing it with raw heat. In a mist of sensuality Roane was only vaguely aware of him wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her closer to the edge of her chair. Her arms lifted, hands sliding around the column of his neck to hold him tight as their knees bumped together. Every doubt, every fear, every voice of reason in her head short-circuited except one.
Why haven’t I been kissed like this before?
Trish Wylie worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she’d wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep. And it took all that character-building and a healthy sense of humour to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, make-up as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know…after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a make-over…
Recent books by the same author:
Mills & Boon
Modern Heat™ THE RETURN OF THE REBEL HIS MISTRESS, HIS TERMS CLAIMED BY THE BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY
Trish also writes for Mills & Boon
Romance!In February look out for her fabulous new book, MANHATTAN BOSS, DIAMOND PROPOSAL!
Mills & Boon
Romance THE BRIDE OF THE EMERALD ISLE HER ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE THE MILLIONAIRE’S PROPOSAL
Dear Reader
Is there anything sexier than an intelligent man? I don’t think so. If he’s drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as sin he’ll turn my head—absolutely he will—but make him as intelligent as he is drool-worthy and you’ve got my undivided attention!
When Adam Bryant started to take shape in my mind he was an intelligent man—don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t realise just how intelligent until I’d written the first chapter. I guess there should have been hints of it there but—call me shallow—I may have been a tad distracted by the image of an Adonis skinny-dipping on a beach in the moonlight. I’m only human! Then all of a sudden my motorcycle-riding, skinny-dipping, black sheep/prodigal son of a hero started quoting Voltaire and Kerouac at my heroine. Hang on, I thought. This one is deep. This one is way more intelligent than I am. This one? Oh, my. This one is incredibly sexy! Never mind my heroine—I want him.
But a guy like this is a thinker, he’s an analyser. He was never gonna fall for a woman overnight, was he? So what happens when the story wants itself told inside a time frame of four days? Hmm…let’s just see, shall we?
Hs & Ks
Trish
ONE NIGHT WITH THE REBEL BILLIONAIRE
BY
TRISH WYLIE
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Sharon W—friend, reader, and fellow admirer of
hot men and gorgeous horses. Luv ya, babes!
CHAPTER ONE
‘EXCUSE ME. I’M SORRY. This is a private beach.’
Roane Elliott stepped tentatively closer. A full moon lit everything around her in shades of silver and grey, with black shadows that seemed to breathe with the ebb and flow of the tide. But her surroundings didn’t worry her as much as the presence of the stranger; she might have known every rock, every path, every place the sand sank deeper beneath her feet—but she also knew she was too far away from a 911 call for it to help if she got into trouble…
Her footsteps faltered. But it wasn’t the sudden 911 thought that had done it; it was because she was now standing close enough to see he was—
Her eyes widened. Oh, dear Lord. He was naked!
More than that, he was an Adonis. In the silvery light every tight muscle was defined in shadowy dips and shimmering planes from wide shoulders to tapering waist to taut… Her mouth went dry.
He turned around, so Roane swiftly averted her gaze, and mumbled under her breath, ‘Look at his face.’
When she glanced at him from the corner of her eye her errant gaze didn’t do what it was told. Well, who could blame her? He was sensational. She damped her lips as if she could taste him on the air before forcing her gaze sharply upwards, her palms itching with an almost primal urge to reach out and touch.
‘This is a private beach,’ she repeated with a little more force, lifting her chin to make her point. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘The ocean belongs to everyone.’ Even the tone of his voice was magical.
Well, he could take that deep, rumbling, deliciously masculine voice of his that was doing something completely undiscovered to her pulse rate and—
Her thought process stalled. Wow, he had the most amazing muscle definition on his chest and upper arms. Not pumped up, steroid induced definition, oh, no. He looked like the kind of man who worked at something very physical for a living. Or was a natural sportsman of some kind, a swimmer maybe—no, not lean enough for a swimmer. Not that he was fat anywhere she could see, which was pretty much everywhere if she chose to take a good long look. And she could have, because he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about being naked—in fact, he placed his hands on his hips, almost daring her to go right ahead and look.
Thankfully the silent arrogance brought her gaze north to his shadowed face rather than travelling south, which, deep down, it really wanted to do…
She cleared her throat. ‘You’re not in the ocean; you’re standing on the beach. And it’s private. You have to go. There are security patrols.’
It was a lie. But he didn’t know that.
In the shadows the suggestion of a crooked smile appeared, ‘Your beach, is it?’
‘It belongs to the family I work for. I—’ She’d been about to tell him she had a place a few hundred yards away. No doubt she’d be casually discussing the weather with him next. ‘I have permission to be here.’
When he took a step forwards she instinctively stepped back. ‘I know self-defence, so don’t try anything. I’m a black belt in ju-kwando.’
A brief chuckle of deep laughter preceded the dropping of his hands and another forward step. ‘My clothes are behind you. And for future reference it’s ju-jitsu or tae kwon do. Nice try. But I won’t bite you.’
Roane moved to the side as he stepped closer, colour rising on her cheeks when he inclined his head and added a low, ‘Not unless you ask me to.’
She opened her mouth to say something cutting in return and couldn’t seem to get her brain to work well enough to form a sentence. But she liked to think any red-blooded female would have been the same when confronted with such temptation. He was one of those men that would take what he wanted when he wanted, wasn’t he? She could feel it. There was just something very erotic about that—in the darkness—when he was naked… For a girl as inexperienced as Roane it was quite the realization. But what kind of woman was turned on by a naked stranger in the middle of the night? She tried to think of a reason why she was still standing there.
Making sure he leaves, she told herself.
Liar, an inner voice replied.
The rasp of a zipper invited her to glance back at him. His elbows bent as his hands worked on the belt of his jeans, he asked, ‘You live here?’
‘Answering that would hardly be a good move on my part, now would it?’
‘I’d say you left the region of good moves when you approached a stranger to begin with, wouldn’t you?’
When he turned his face towards the ocean the moon lit his face. For a brief moment Roane was struck by how beautiful he was. Not a word normally used to describe men, she knew, but he was. There was no way to tell what colour his hair or eyes were in the restricted light, but she had a sneaking suspicion they’d merely be icing on the cake.
His face had a symmetry to it that she’d never seen before—almost as if he’d been artificially created. Twinned dark pools that suggested large deep-set eyes, a perfectly straight nose, a mouth—dear heaven, that mouth; full lips practically calling out to be kissed. He even had a square jaw.
Roane was just the teensiest bit smitten.
He looked at her and smiled the most sinfully sexy smile. Because he knew, didn’t he? Looking the way he did, how could he fail to know women were smitten by him? Judging by the beast of a motorcycle she’d discovered parked at the top of the wooden walkway down to the beach she’d bet he drove all over the country leaving trails of smitten women behind him. There was an addictive sense of—freedom—to him too; as if he belonged where he stood and nowhere else. Nothing would stop him from going where he wanted when he wanted, from swimming naked on a private beach or seducing a woman in the moonlight…
He could reach out and haul her to him, press those practised lips to hers, lower her to the soft sand beneath their feet, surround her body with his and—
Erotic images flashed across her brain, her body aching low inside at the very thought of that kind of an encounter. Just once in her life. She could almost hear the ragged breathing; feel the sweat-slickened skin…
Roane choked out the words, ‘Please leave.’
His answer was slow, voice so husky she felt her breasts grow heavy in response. ‘Scared, little girl?’
Roane frowned at the words. Why did they sound familiar? She didn’t know who he was, but a part of her suddenly felt she should recognize him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No one here knows me.’
When he turned and bent over to retrieve the rest of his belongings a shadow tracked the line of his spine, disappearing into the slight gape at the back of his jeans. The muscles in his shoulders worked as he moved, large hands reaching out and casually lifting what looked like a shirt and a jacket and boots. No underwear, she noted. And then he was turning to face her again, tucking the items casually against his hips.
‘Taking a chance approaching a naked stranger on a beach in the dark, you know that, don’t you, little girl?’
Why did he keep calling her that? Okay, so compared to him she was little. He had to be six feet two easy; Roane was five feet five. And beside all that defined muscle and inherent strength she was positively sylph-like in comparison. But being called a little girl at the age of twenty-seven should surely have felt patronizing to her. Instead it felt distinctly…sexual…and Roane was certain he knew that.
‘I told you, there’ll be a security—’
‘No, there won’t.’
She felt a flicker of panic. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes—’ he continued looking at her ‘—I do.’
Who was this guy? The end of Martha’s Vineyard they were on wasn’t known for a large influx of motorcycle-riding bad boys. Frankly, anyone unfamiliar with the island would never have found the beach to begin with. But the main house on the bluff was certainly rich pickings for thieves. Maybe he’d been checking out the Bryant place? Was that it? Had he been filling in time on the beach while he waited for everyone to go to bed?
Roane had always had a very active imagination.
The stranger moved his clothes to the same hand as his boots, before reaching out to her. When she flinched back from it his low voice sounded irritated. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
‘I don’t know that.’
‘You’re still stood there so you must feel it or self-preservation would have kicked in.’ He beckoned with long fingers. ‘Come here.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to see you.’
‘Why?’
Sighing impatiently, he stepped forwards and lifted her chin with the crook of his forefinger, turning her face to the light while she looked sideways at him with wide eyes. She didn’t move—she couldn’t seem to find the strength to move. It was surreal.
Trapping her chin between his thumb and forefinger he angled his head and examined her face at a maddeningly leisurely pace; thumb smoothing back and forth almost absent-mindedly. Then he let go—leaving the heated brand of his touch against her skin.
‘Grew up some, didn’t you, little girl?’
Roane blinked at him as he turned away, her feet carrying her forwards as he stepped silently onto the end of the wooden walkway. ‘Who are you?’
He didn’t look back, his deep voice carrying on the night air. ‘Night, Roane.’
* * *
‘Hey, Jake?’
Roane jogged across to her friend’s side when she spotted him on the laneway between the main house and the guest quarters the next morning. ‘Wait up.’
He turned, a broad smile in place when he spotted her. ‘Morning, sunshine.’
‘Morning.’ She couldn’t resist stopping for a similar smile in return before falling into step beside him. They’d been friends since they’d been in nappies. And whereas most women were immediately struck by his tall, dark and handsome good looks Roane had long since outgrown the stage of being anywhere in the region of starry eyed. He was like a brother to her.
‘Do you have a visitor on the estate? There was someone on the beach on my way home last night.’
Jake lifted dark brows. ‘Was there?’
‘Yeah—it was the weirdest thing.’ She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and skipped over the bigger details, like naked male glory and a soul-deep feminine reaction to that nakedness. There were some things a gal just didn’t discuss with a brother. ‘He seemed to know me.’
Jake’s chin jerked up a little, his gaze on the guest house. ‘Did he? Well, then—let’s just see if it’s who I think it was, shall we?’
Roane frowned in confusion as Jake slung a long arm over her shoulders and tugged her close to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, ‘We do have a visitor…’
Roane kept her hands in her pockets and allowed Jake to steer her up the grassy path and through the open doors of the house that her own home could have fitted inside at least a dozen times. Guests at the Bryant estate were treated to the kind of luxury most folks would be hard-pressed to find in a five star hotel.
Exquisite views over the ocean from the custom-built, architect-designed house were the first treat. The fact it was nestled in fifteen-odd acres of mature trees and established gardens overlooking a private cove was the next. Then add ten thousand square feet of house with five bedrooms, gourmet kitchen and countless luxury amenities, including master suite with Jacuzzi and great room with cathedral ceilings and two-storey stone fireplace and, well…
Modern-day European royalty probably lived in less.
‘Hello?’ Jake released her as they stepped through into the beechwood kitchen, bright light streaming in through the many windows to bathe the room in golden warmth. ‘Anyone home?’
He stopped so suddenly Roane almost walked into the wall of his back. Frowning, she stepped around him, ready to make a comment about a little warning being a good thing when her jaw dropped.
Her mystery man gave her a cursory glance before turning his attention to Jake. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yeah, please.’
He turned and poured two cups while Roane continued to gape. She’d been right about the hair and eye colour being icing. In fact if anything he was even more stunning in sunlight than he was in moonlight. She now knew his cropped hair was dark blond, the bright light in the room picking up lighter strands in the spikes that looked as if they’d been formed by long fingers raked casually from front to back. As for his eyes…well, she might have to be a little closer to be sure, but they looked pretty good to her…
Jake was talking again. “Found the key, then?’
