Billionaire's Pursuit of Love: Destiny Romance (3 page)

‘Call it whatever you like.’ He sat. ‘I’m still enjoying it.’

She didn’t answer and looked deliberately around the room, anywhere but at his handsome, smug face. He couldn’t force her to talk. In fact, the less she talked, the less chance she’d have of slipping up and hurling herself into a legal battlefield.

‘When do you go back to Brunei?’ he asked.

She put her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her hands and stared off into space. She felt his eyes drinking her in. She drummed her fingers on her cheeks to hammer home that all his money, all his good looks, all his flash and show made absolutely no impact. Zero.

‘You’re as beautiful as I remember,’ he said, his tone wistful and warm.

Her eyes committed an unforgivable sin and raced to find his. His striking blue eyes locked on hers, sucking her in with their seductive promise. But she wasn’t a naïve nineteen-year-old any more. She fixed her attention on a point across the room. The seconds ticked by.

‘New rule,’ he said. ‘Every minute you don’t talk, another thousand’s gone.’

She flopped back in her chair and studied him. ‘Were you this annoying back then?’

‘Possibly, but you found it endearing.’

For a moment she was back in that little restaurant they’d discovered not far from his hotel. A world away from the marble monolith where he’d been staying. A single candle had lit their table. They’d feasted on kuih melayu. The memory of sharing those sweet pancakes with the man who loved her so passionately was a permanent imprint on her mind and body. She ran her fingertips across her lips.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered.
Why are you back in my life?
It had taken years to scrub him from her heart and she knew she’d never really succeeded. ‘Why do you want to have dinner at all?’

‘I need to understand why you didn’t call me,’ he said, his eyes catching the lights. ‘I thought we had something.’ Blake’s expression looked . . . vulnerable?

God help her. She couldn’t hear this, not now. ‘I didn’t know your last name, remember,’ she flung at him. ‘Anyway, you were the one who left. So, it was a fling, pure and simple.’ She imbued each word with dismissive conviction.

‘Is that all it was for you?’ His quiet, questioning tone stripped away her emotional armour, sending a lethal missile straight to her heart. She gripped her champagne glass as though the slight flute could save her from the aching confession pushing to the surface.

‘It wasn’t for you?’ She’d meant to toss the words. Sling them. Fire, shoot, hurl them, but they came out hopelessly wanting and beseeching.

‘Sarah . . .’ He gently stroked his fingers down the back of her hand. Her lungs held her breath prisoner. Time froze. His eyes searched and probed, compelling her to reveal the truth. But the lawyer’s words kept her secret so deeply buried that digging it out would require a bobcat.

The shimmering veil parted, two waiters entered and the world crashed in.

‘Sauté of lobster,’ the waiter announced with a well-trained flourish. He lay down the gastronomic delight. Blake received his roasted duck foie gras. The moment dissipated; became lost in time like their original relationship.

Sarah picked at her lobster. She’d convinced herself she’d simply been a holiday fling for Blake. He’d got what he’d wanted, then left without a word. She’d been devastated. If only she’d listened to her mother. From a young age, her mother had lectured her on the ways of men.
Your father left. Your grandfather left. That’s what men do.
And Blake’s disappearance had validated her mother’s doctrine.

She jabbed her crustacean with her fork. Time to get onto safer ground.

‘What did you mean when you said the funds have been redirected?’ she asked. Probably into some new gaming project.

Blake raised a brow in warning.

‘I didn’t mention the S word,’ she clarified. She wouldn’t let him hammer another resource-stripping nail into the Sanctuary’s funding coffin.

‘Nicely phrased.’ His tolerant smile said, ‘You may have scored a point but I’m ahead by a million’.

‘So, are you increasing the unnecessary packaging on your products or just topping up your own pay packet?’

Blake sliced off a piece of foie gras, brought it to his mouth and chewed slowly, not taking his eyes from hers. Sarah shifted in her chair. Finally, he swallowed.

‘We’re building a mental-health wing at St Peter’s Children’s Hospital,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Okay, so that was unexpected. So she didn’t own all the territory in altruism.

‘Helping children is more in line with our corporate goals, as opposed to monkeys on the other side of the world,’ he said.

‘Orangutans,’ she said. ‘There’s a difference.’ She laid down her cutlery. ‘I suppose Hunt-F Tech advertising is going to be plastered all over the hospital.’ She knew she sounded mean and petty, but this evening was going anywhere but where she expected.

‘No,’ he said, fixing her with an expression she couldn’t read. ‘There’ll be no reference to the company. The wing is being named after my father.’

Another surprise. Sarah remembered Blake had been in Brunei on business with his father. Well, Blake was supposed to be on business, but he’d slipped away to spend all his time with her.

‘How is he?’ she asked.

‘Dead.’ He delivered the word in a hideous monotone. No feeling. No change of expression. No invitation to discuss.

A shiver ran the length of her spine. ‘Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry,’ she said. She wanted to jump up and hug him and steal away some of his pain. But that would not be a good idea. ‘I know what it’s like to lose a parent.’

‘Your mum?’ he asked. Did he remember she came from a single-parent family?

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry to hear it. She was your only family, wasn’t she? How —’

‘Cerebral malaria,’ she interrupted in the mechanical voice she used when speaking of her mother’s death. ‘The Sanctuary had a short-term cash-flow problem. She stopped buying malaria medication for herself to fund the ongoing operation costs. Her death was slow and she was delirious for days before she died. It was . . .’ She shuddered. Her mother had wept continually most of the time she’d been awake and kept saying sorry, over and over and over. When she was lucid, she’d begged Sarah to promise to run the Sanctuary. A promise Sarah had kept every day since.

‘I’m sorry, Sarah. When did this happen?’

She couldn’t handle sympathy. Especially from him. A man who had tapped into every secret thought she’d ever possessed.

‘She was struck down the week after you left.’ Had she really just said that? She kicked herself for the reference to him. But those dates were etched deeply into her soul. There was life before Blake and life after. He’d affected her forever. ‘That’s why I didn’t take up the job at the
Gazette
. I had to stay home and look after Mum and run the Sanctuary.’

His sexy frown was back. ‘So let me get this straight. Your mother ran the Sanctuary? You grew up there?’

‘Yes, and now I run it.’

‘Do you know you never mentioned that?’

She knew all right. ‘Really?’ Her lobster suffered another skewer. ‘I suppose it never came up.’ She’d made sure of it.

‘So that week in Brunei . . .’ He sat back with a look of determined concentration. ‘It was your mother who had meetings with my father. That was the week the Trust was established. It was part of the deal the government struck with us to develop its internet network. We had to contribute to a local cause.’

‘How could we not have known that our parents knew each other?’ Sarah asked.

‘Huh, I know parents were the last thing on my mind when I met you.’ The words melted into her skin and robbed her of breath. It was exactly this sort of charm that had swept her into trouble. She’d fallen so hard, so fast, so unconditionally. Here he was again, eating away at her defences. Being near Blake was as safe as living on Krakatoa in the late nineteenth century. She needed to leave this volatile ground.

‘Well, I had no idea the Sanctuary was associated with Hunt-F Tech or that you were in any way involved. I only became aware of Hunt-F’s involvement when we received a letter from your legal department informing us the Trust would be terminated.’

Blake frowned. ‘I guess that’s possible. The Trust was a completely separate legal entity established as part of the contract with the Brunei government.’ He shook his head. ‘All these years we’ve been so closely connected and had no idea.’

But would it have made any difference?
Blake sipped his top-shelf champagne from the crystal flute that sparkled in the glow of four thousand tiny expensive lights. They may be breathing the same air, but that was the only thing they had in common. Except, of course, their son.

As usual The Dorchester was delivering a culinary delight, but Blake couldn’t tear any of his senses from the woman before him. Sarah lifted a spoonful of chocolate mousse to her lips. Those lovely full lips. He wanted to reclaim that lush mouth. Run his hands through her glorious long hair, which fell free and framed her face with soft honeyed curls.

He placed his spoon down, leaving his summer berries and mascarpone barely bruised. No woman had touched him as she had. He might have been a fling to her, but she’d captured him body and heart and soul. It had been dangerous. His desire for her had blotted out the world. But this would be okay. She would be gone soon and that deadly distraction would once again be safely on the other side the world.

She smoothed her napkin across her lips. He tracked the process with hungry eyes. He had to be with her one more time. Then perhaps he could lock away the fantasy of her forever.

‘I’d better get going.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

What?
‘You can’t leave,’ he said. He hadn’t intended his voice to be so harsh, but their night would not end here.

‘Blake, I fly back to Brunei tomorrow.’

‘So we only have tonight.’

She tilted her head in a way that drove him crazy.

‘Blake, I think it’s better to leave things here, don’t you?’ She stood and hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I’d like to contribute to dinner, but unfortunately I can’t afford it. Have to get back to . . . um, get some sleep. Long flight.’ She held out her hand. ‘Any chance I could have that cheque now?’

Could she really walk away this easily? He stood and pulled the cheque from his pocket. He amended the amount, initialled it and handed it to her.

If one of her orangutans had arrived in a dinner suit and joined them at the table, she couldn’t have looked more astonished. ‘You were serious about fining me?’

‘I’m nothing if not sincere,’ he said.

‘Any amount makes a great deal of difference. I appreciate this.’ She put the cheque in her bag then held out her hand, hesitated, then dropped it. She pecked him on the cheek.

‘Goodbye, Blake.’ Her voice wobbled slightly. His pulse quickened. She did feel something for him. He knew it.

‘If this is going to be our last kiss, then . . .’

Why use words? He gathered her into his arms. The warmth of her sweet curves fired his blood. He wanted her closer. He wanted her harder. He wanted her now.

‘Blake . . .’ He took his name from her lips with a kiss. She softened under his touch. She wanted this, too. God, he had to have her.

She dragged her lips from his. ‘People will see.’

‘No, they can’t – remember? Anyway, I don’t give a damn.’

He found her mouth again. She tasted of chocolate and strawberries. Of hot passion and erotic promise.

‘Let’s get out of here.’ He pulled her towards the wall of light. He’d book the penthouse suite.

‘No.’ She wrenched herself from his grip and slipped through the luminous curtain.

He flung the lights aside and strode after her.

‘Put this on my tab,’ Blake ordered the maître d’ and followed her out onto the street. Sarah stood hailing a cab.

‘Running again?’ he said.

‘You were the one who ran. Disappeared. Vanished from the face of the earth.’ Her red-hot anger hit him with surprising force.

‘I think we’ve established that I didn’t.’

‘No. You denied it. That doesn’t make it true.’

A black cab pulled up and Sarah opened the door. ‘I have to go. Goodbye, Blake.’

Hell, were those tears in her eyes? The cartilage between his ribs felt as though it had fused solid. He grabbed the door of the taxi. ‘Stay with me.’ The passion in his voice scared him. He cared too much.

‘Blake, that time is gone. I can’t . . . Please . . .’

The tone of her voice told him everything. She’d known that passion, deep enough to transport you to a place so heavenly that without it, life was forever grey and lifeless and desolate.

He caught her about the waist and drew her hard against his body. His pulse flared and smashed away every rational thought. He slid his other hand up the back of her neck and claimed her mouth. Her lips were as warm and lush as a tropical afternoon. He kissed her, hoping all the words he wanted to say were there in his kiss. All the time they had wasted could be washed away. They could relive their hot passion. He wanted her. Now. Now. Now.

She slid her hands onto his chest and pushed.

‘No, Blake. We can’t . . .’

‘Why the hell not?’ He hadn’t meant to sound so callous.

‘Because . . . Because . . .’

She yanked free, climbed into the taxi and slammed the door shut.

The cab pulled into the traffic. Sarah turned and watched him until the taxi rounded the corner.

Blake stared at the spot where the cab had disappeared. His blood pumped hot and fast. Sarah had no idea who she was dealing with if she imagined she could just evaporate.

Sarah stared at the front page of the newspaper. The Taylor versus Hamilton-Smyth custody case occupied a quarter of the page. Her situation was frighteningly similar to Eleanor Taylor’s. The woman had lost everything in her legal battle to return to Australia with her son. The lawyer was right. She had to get home before informing Blake of his son’s existence.

‘Look, Mum.’

She folded the paper and looked up. Daniel pointed excitedly to a London tourist map spread out on his single bed in their shabby London hotel room. ‘We go left out of the hotel and the Tube is three blocks down.’

Daniel’s face glowed with expectation. Every muscle in his young body quivered as though bursting to break the confines of their poky room. He had the body of a whippet, lean and athletic, honed from their outdoor life and hard work. He slid his finger over the map.

‘We come out here at Waterloo and it’s five minutes to the London Eye.’ Anticipation danced wildly in his sky-blue eyes. ‘From there we could walk to The Tower,’ he said, tapping the map, ‘but I think I want to go to Madame Tussauds first. People made of wax sounds so cool.’

In so many ways, Daniel was wise beyond his nine years. He’d had to face more of life’s harsh realities than a lot of kids, but today he was as eager as a toddler with a new toy.

‘We fly out at six tonight,’ Sarah said, mussing his short, dark hair. ‘There’s no way we can fit all that in today, darling.’

Daniel folded his hands across his chest and regarded her with his best nine-year-old stare of disapproval. She loved his solemn face and had to smother a smile. She knew this meant she needed to take him particularly seriously.

‘Come on, Mum, you spent most of yesterday in meetings while I fed ducks in Green Park with Gabby. Ducks!’

Thank goodness for Gabby. Gabby had volunteered at the Sanctuary a few years ago on a gap year from her English degree. She’d organised a fundraising tour of the UK to make the most of Sarah’s visit to her country, and had been kind enough to look after Daniel yesterday. But, Daniel playing with ducks was like giving pussycats to a lion tamer.

‘You owe me,’ he said.

‘How about we get started and see how much we can fit in? But we need breakfast first.’

‘No, let’s grab something on the way,’ he said, shoving the map into her hand.

He pulled her out the door and down the hall. The dim yellowy lights hid much of the peeling paint and grime on the walls, but they couldn’t disguise the smell of mildew, age and the odour of some of the establishment’s less salubrious guests. She wished she could afford a better class of hotel, but she’d spent almost all their savings to bring Daniel with her to London.

The rickety lift delivered them to the hotel foyer.

‘I’ve got to go to the loo,’ Daniel said. He dashed to the men’s toilets.

‘I’ll be standing right outside,’ she called.

‘Yeah, Mum,’ Daniel replied in a jaded voice and let the door bang behind him. Sarah knew he hated the way she’d been hovering around him since they’d arrived in the city.

She closed her eyes and leant against the wall to wait. The noise from the traffic further disordered her already jangled thoughts. She’d hardly slept as her mind had churned with a relentless question . . . 
What do I do? What do I do?
Seeing Blake after so much time forced her to reflect on decisions she’d never thought she’d have to make. Daniel had never had a father. She needed time. Time to think things through. She massaged her brow with her thumb and forefinger but it didn’t ease the building headache. She needed to be clear of the mayhem of the city and everything it represented before she could think clearly. Assess the situation. Get proper legal advice.

Sensations much more pleasant pushed aside all thoughts of paternity. That kiss on the pavement. She trailed her forefinger across her bottom lip. If Daniel hadn’t been here, what would she have done?

‘So I thought we could have breakfast together.’

Fingers of terror tore at Sarah’s heart. Her chest collapsed, depleting the oxygen from her lungs. Her eyes flashed open and she sprang off the wall. Blake stood before her.

‘That way I’m sure I can charm you into extending your stay for a few days,’ he said. He stepped close and examined her face. ‘What’s wrong?’ Concern stripped the seductive tone from his voice. He laid a protective hand on her arm.

Sarah looked wildly at the bathroom door, then Blake’s face. She pushed him away.

‘You have to go,’ she said, her voice high and shrill with raw fear. She grabbed his arm and dragged him in the direction of the front door.

‘Sarah. Stop it. What’s going on?’ Blake asked, looking around.

Hysteria fogged her mind. Her legs moved like iron bars, but her head felt as light as whipped cream. This couldn’t be happening. Blake couldn’t meet Daniel like this. Why had she brought Daniel to England? She should have ignored his pleas. Left him safely at home. God, could Blake take him now? The lawyer had talked all about a father’s rights and her legal vulnerability if she stayed in England.

‘Mum?’ Her son’s voice sapped the strength from her body. The muscles in Blake’s arm tightened under her grip. He looked past her.

Daniel walked slowly towards her. ‘Mum?’

Blake couldn’t know. What would he do? Bile burned in her throat and blood roared in her ears louder than a jumbo jet on take-off.

Time moved in jagged flickering frames. Sarah stared at the alarm on Daniel’s face. She turned. Blake’s eyes flared wide. She dropped her hands from Blake’s arm and stood between her son and the father he’d never known. Tiny black meteorites whizzed from the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. Blake brushed past her, his body crossing the invisible barrier she’d tried in vain to erect. With piercing clarity, she knew her simple life in the jungle was about to splinter faster than trees in the path of a developer’s bulldozer.

‘You have a son?’ Shock, surprise and a touch of sadness suffused his tone, as though this revelation had killed something special.

Would he guess? Daniel’s age was a dead giveaway. He had Blake’s hair and eyes, but . . . but . . . Would Blake know his son on sight?

She swung around. Father met son. She lost the ability to move. The final seconds of life as she knew it slid into the abyss.

Disappointment? Jealousy? Sadness at a lifetime of missed chances? Blake didn’t know how to feel. He’d never considered Sarah would be attached. She didn’t wear a ring. She hadn’t mentioned a husband . . . a child.

‘So, introduce me,’ Blake said. He held out his hand to the boy. He looked about Robert’s age. His nephew had just turned ten. ‘I’m Blake.’ He stared at Daniel. A strange sensation pricked every cell in his body. Those blue, blue eyes. The structure of his face.

‘Hello,’ Daniel said, his voice formal. He shook Blake’s hand. ‘I’m Daniel.’

At the first touch of Daniel’s skin something sharp twisted deep inside Blake’s soul; some force had stormed in every protective barrier and flung the door open to his heart.

‘How old are you, Daniel?’ His words sounded far away and strangled.

‘Nine,’ Daniel said. ‘Nine and a half.’ A half-smile lit his young face. A Huntington-Fiennes smile.

Blake whirled to face Sarah. She stood, hands locked over her mouth, her eyes wide as though she’d witnessed a hideous crime. The fear and guilt in her eyes extinguished any doubt. Everything about her screamed her confession. He turned and stared at the boy.

Daniel was his son and Sarah had planned to keep him hidden.

His throat closed over. Fury fired through his heart. Confusion and joy pumped through his veins. He dragged in three quick breaths. Only Daniel’s presence prevented him from doing . . . he didn’t even know what. He looked between mother and son.

‘I have . . . This is . . .’ He couldn’t structure a simple sentence. He gripped Sarah’s shoulder. ‘You didn’t . . .’

Daniel’s face slowly altered from shy to worried.

‘Mum?’ he said. His tone begged his mother to tell him how to react.

I’m frightening him.
Hell, his first moments with his son and he was scaring him. Blake dumped cold water on fiery emotions and hauled himself into order. He crouched down next to Daniel.

‘Nine and a half, brilliant.’ He hoped his overly bright voice sounded sincere. ‘I loved being nine. Cricket. Football.’ Blake placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Best age ever.’

He wanted to hold Daniel. Hug him. Know him. Protect him. He didn’t know the next move. Didn’t know the how-to-act-when-you-find-your-son-after-ten-years playbook. For the first time in forever, he didn’t have the upper hand.

‘We don’t play sport at home,’ Daniel said, looking off to the side. ‘Don’t have time.’

Didn’t play sport? What nine-year-old boy didn’t play sport?

‘That’s a shame.’ Blake’s voice faltered. He realised he’d do anything . . . everything . . . he’d give the universe to his son if he could. ‘Perhaps we could organise a game of cricket in the next few days.’ He was amazed the words coming out of his mouth made any sense. It was as though he was on stage acting out a role for the first time and only just managing to remember his lines.

‘We leave tonight,’ Daniel said, glancing at his mother. ‘I don’t think I’d have time for cricket. Thanks though.’

Blake’s heart broke at his son’s exacting politeness.

‘Daniel, do you mind if I have a quick chat with your mum?’ Being alone with Sarah could be dangerous. He didn’t trust himself not to do something reckless.

‘Ah, okay.’ Daniel didn’t move.

‘How about you sit over there for a minute?’ Blake pointed to a sofa and gave Daniel a pat on the shoulder. His hand lingered. He wanted to sweep Daniel into his arms. To somehow apologise for the years lost to them both. To atone.

Daniel took the map from Sarah’s hand and wandered over to one of the threadbare lounge chairs.

Blake waited until Daniel walked out of earshot and rounded on Sarah. Her face had faded to a horrible shade of white and fear danced in her eyes. She should be afraid.

‘I have a nine-year-old son?’ Sarah recoiled at the controlled anger in his low voice. He gripped her arm, drawing her further away. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he didn’t want Daniel to hear, as it wasn’t going to be good. ‘You were going to leave. Even after you’d found me, you were going to leave and not tell me?’

‘I didn’t know what I was going to do. I . . .’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I didn’t know I’d see you again. I wasn’t prepared . . .’ She dropped her hands. ‘I was advised . . . I never thought I’d see you again.’

‘And how hard did you look?’ Fury fuelled his ice-cold words.

‘We can’t do this in front of him.’ Sarah’s pleading voice stole some of the anger from his body. Blake looked over at Daniel. The boy flicked furtive glances in their direction. Blake losing his temper was helping no one. This was his family, not some corporate negotiation.

Blake dropped his claim on Sarah’s arm. ‘You’re right.’

He walked over to his son. Sarah shadowed him.

‘Daniel, would it be okay if I tagged along with you and your mum?’ Blake dropped down on the couch next to his son. He noticed again the appalling quality of the hotel. How could Sarah bring his son to such a dump? ‘I’ve got the day off work today and I haven’t been sightseeing in such a long time.’

Daniel looked at his mother for permission.

‘Your mum thinks it’s a great idea,’ Blake said. ‘Don’t you, Sarah?’

‘Ah . . .’

He threw her the look he saved for people who crossed him. Guilt nudged his heart at the anxiety that played across her features. Why the hell should he feel guilty? Keeping a son from his father was an unforgivable crime.

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice stripped of the brash fight of yesterday.

‘Great,’ Blake said. ‘Let’s get going. Where to? I know lots of great places.’

‘We’re going to Madame Tussauds first,’ Daniel ventured.

‘Excellent. I haven’t been there since I was your age.’

Perfect. An action-packed day would keep Sarah off guard. He had a plan and just enough time for its execution.

Blake walked through the maze of surreal wax figures. The jarring colours and bright lights of Madame Tussauds did nothing to sort out his mixed-up mood. His son zigzagged excitedly from one famous immortalised icon to the next. He couldn’t take his eyes from the child, who possessed a patchwork of his own features. The irony of the situation was almost comical. Being surrounded by copies of famous people as he followed himself in miniature. But comical certainly wasn’t at the top of his emotional checklist.

‘Who’s that?’ Daniel asked, standing in front of Lady Gaga. ‘Why does she have a telephone on her head?’

He shot a questioning glance at his mother, who had her arm draped protectively over Daniel’s shoulder. She risked a look in Blake’s direction. The expression she found had her looking quickly back at the famous songstress.

‘That’s Lady Gaga,’ Blake said. How could any child not know Lady Gaga? You knew who she was even if you thought she was ridiculous. Daniel hadn’t known any of the movie stars or sports heroes either. ‘She was the top-selling pop star for a while.’

‘She looks stupid,’ Daniel said.

Blake laughed. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

Daniel dashed ahead.

‘He doesn’t know who Lady Gaga is?’

‘Why is it important to know who she is?’ Sarah asked and moved to follow her son.

Blake caught her hand. ‘How much else doesn’t he know?’

‘He knows what’s important.’

Sarah joined Daniel, who stared at Beyoncé in a skimpy black outfit.

Blake watched mother and son. The bond between them was obvious and strong. But he was nothing to his son. Daniel didn’t even know he had a father. Or was there another man filling that role? The desire to break something, destroy something, mangle something fired through his blood. He glimpsed Wolverine in the distance. The way he was feeling now he could take out the action hero, regardless of the long steel claws.

He shook his head. This wasn’t helping. He needed to calm down. He needed to concentrate. He needed a strategy. He didn’t know his son or anything about his son’s life, and Sarah was the current expert.