Excerpt of Bought by a Billionaire by Kay Thorpe

AT LEAST he hadn't refused outright to see her, although he must be aware of why she was here. Aware of curious glances from staff in the vicinity, Leonie kept her face blank of expression. Vidal's arrival, along with her father's ab- sence, would have given rise to some speculation, but she doubted if the full facts were known as yet.

The man who emerged from what had been her father's office looked far from happy. Leonie couldn't blame him for avoiding her eyes. She only hoped he hadn't lost his job as a result of not realising what was going on.

She waited on tenterhooks for the summons to the inner sanctum herself, dreading the moment of confrontation. It was two years since she had last seen the man she was about to beg for forbearance on her father's behalf. Two years since she had told him he was the last man on earth she would ever consider marrying. If he still held a grudge against her for that put-down there was little chance of his complying with her plea, but she had to try.

The woman seated at the desk her father's secretary nor- mally occupied was new to her; she remembered him saying he'd had a change about a month ago. She looked across at Leonie as the intercom buzzed, curiosity written large in her eyes. "You can go through now," she said.

Leonie got to her feet, steeling herself for what was to come. It was on the cards that she would be emerging from the office again in a couple of minutes with Vidal's boot — metaphorically if not physically — behind her. Not that he'd be anything but within his rights in telling her to go take a running jump, so to speak.

It was some time since she'd visited her father at work.

Spacious and well-lit, his office overlooked the river. Leaning negligently against the windowsill, lean and lithe body clad in a silver-grey suit of impeccable cut, Vidal Parella Dos Santos regarded her in silence for a lengthy moment, his tautly sculpted features unrevealing.

"You've changed little," he observed in excellent Cambridge-acquired English. "But then, looks such as yours are unlikely to deteriorate." He indicated the chair set her side of the wide desk. "Please be seated."

"I'd as soon stand," Leonie answered. She drew a steadying breath, meeting the dark eyes full-on. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you how I feel about what my father's done. He abused your trust in him, and deserves to pay the price for it."

"But?" Vidal prompted as she hesitated. "But prison would kill him," she said. One black eyebrow lifted sardonically. "So what are you suggesting? That I allow him to get away with embezzle- ment?"

Leonie put everything she knew into keeping a steady head. "I'm asking you to just give him time to put things right again. He can repay what he owes by remortgaging the house."

"And how would you propose that he even arranges a mortgage without a job?" The smile that crossed the hard- boned face when she failed to answer immediately was al- most humorous. "You expect me to reinstate him too?"

"He's unlikely to get another job at all if you prosecute," she pointed out. "Which means he's never going to be in a position to pay back. Obviously it would have to be in a lesser capacity."

"One denying him any further opportunities to tamper with accounts, you mean?"

Leonie caught herself up, only too aware of being baited. "It makes more sense than putting him in a cell."

Vidal studied her strikingly lovely face, framed by the heavy fall of Titian hair, lowering his gaze with deliberation down the shapely length of her body, then back again. She tilted her chin, green eyes sparking as they met his once more. It was still there: the covetousness that had so alienated her in the past. What this man wanted he was accustomed to getting. Her refusal to marry him had been met with total disbelief at first, followed by cold fury when she'd added insult to injury by saying what she had. There had been no need to go that far, she had to acknowledge now. It said something for him that he hadn't taken it out on her father at the time.

More than could be said for her father for certain. "Did he send you to plead his case?" Vidal asked. She shook her head. "This is my idea. I don't condone what he's done, but I'd hate to see him in a prison cell my- self. I'm sure it can be taken for granted that he won't be doing any more big-time gambling."

There was a lengthy pause. Leonie wished she could tell what was going on in the arrogant dark head. She was still here. That in itself gave her some hope.

"You think him ready to carry on here in the circum- stances?" Vidal asked at length. "So far only one other person knows the truth of the matter, but even if he were sworn to secrecy there would be speculation."

Leonie had been holding her breath without realising it, letting it out now on a cautious sigh. "Something he'd just have to live with. Part of the price to be paid."

Vidal straightened away from the windowsill, six feet of vital Portuguese masculinity. "I need time to consider," he said. "I'll give you my answer tonight. My suite." He shook his head as she opened her mouth to protest, a hard glint in his eyes. "Eight o'clock. Unless you'd prefer to settle the matter here and now."

She knew exactly what he meant: the same settlement she would be facing at eight, if she went. There was little point in pleading with him. If she wanted to succeed in her aim, then she paid the price too.

She made no effort to conceal her aversion as she looked at him. "I suppose I should have anticipated this."

Broad shoulders lifted, his expression unrelenting. "I'm due some recompense, I believe, but the choice is entirely yours."

Leonie turned without another word and left the office. She gained the lifts, looking neither right nor left, pressing to descend. Thankfully the cage was empty when it arrived. Facing a sea of faces would have tested her to the limit.

One thing was certain: there would be no renewal of the marriage proposal tonight. Vidal would be seeking to humil- iate her as she had humiliated him two years ago. There was one very good way of doing that: by making her submit to him. The very thought of it made her cringe inside, but if it meant keeping her father out of prison she could live with it. She would have to live with it.

It was raining when she got outside. Lacking an umbrella, and unwilling to have the pale beige suede suit she was wear- ing ruined, she sought refuge in a nearby coffee shop. Others had done the same thing, limiting table space, but she found a seat at the window bar, gazing unseeingly out at the hur- rying crowds as she thought about the man she had just left.

One of Europe's leading industrialists, at the age of thirty- five Vidal Parella Dos Santos was regarded as something of a phenomenon. Born into Portuguese aristocracy, he could have idled his way through life any way he chose. Leonie had met him for the first time some weeks after her father had become chief accountant of the London company. She'd been drawn to him at first, she had to admit: few women could fail to find his looks alone an attraction. What she'd taken against was his arrogant assumption that he could have any woman he wanted for the mere asking. It had come as a shock when her refusal to sleep with him had resulted in a proposal of marriage, but she had been under no illusions. All he saw, all he coveted, was the outer shell. He knew nothing of the person she was inside, nor wanted to know.

Once he'd tired of her she would have been discarded, like all his other women.

Her father knew nothing of the proposal. Since losing her mother four years ago, he had shown little interest in any- thing except work — or so she'd believed. Exactly when the gambling habit had started she wasn't sure. Long enough to have gone through more than eighty thousand pounds of company money, at any rate. Like most gamblers, his losses had far outweighed his gains.

He wasn't going to prison, she vowed. Vidal could have his pound of flesh, if that was what it was going to take. There was always the chance that he would renege on the deal, of course, but she somehow doubted it. Whatever else he might or might not be, his reputation as a man of his word once given was widely known.

It was gone four by the time she reached the Northwood Hills home she still shared with her father. At twenty- six, and earning a decent salary, she could afford a place of her own, even if only to rent, but he refused to move somewhere smaller, and she couldn't bring herself to leave him to rattle around the house in solitude. Not that he might have any choice but to sell up if the worst did come to the worst.

Stuart Baxter was seated at his desk in the study, playing listlessly with the executive toy Leonie had bought him as a joke last Christmas. He looked up at her entry, eyes lacklus- tre, expression downcast. He'd looked much the same when he'd told her the truth last night.

"I still haven't heard anything," he said dully. "I keep ex- pecting to find the police at the door any minute!"

"It may not come to that." Leonie did her best to sound upbeat. "I've been to see Vidal. Obviously he's not exactly over the moon about it all, but there's a good chance that he won't be prosecuting. Even a chance that he'll keep you on, if you arrange to pay back the money you've taken."

Stuart gazed at her in silence for a lengthy moment, a variety of expressions chasing across his face. "How on earth did you manage that?" he asked at last. "You hardly know the man!"

Leonie crossed her fingers behind her back. "I appealed to his better nature."

"He didn't give the impression of having one when I saw him yesterday." Stuart paused again, obviously at something of a loss. "What exactly did you say to him?"

"I gave him my assurance that you'd chop your fingers off rather than risk gambling again," she said. "You wouldn't, would you?"

The smile was wry. "I've learned my lesson on that score, believe me!" He shook his head, still bemused. "It's more than I could ever have hoped for. More than anyone could hope for!" He hesitated before adding tentatively, "I suppose everyone knows by now?"

"Only one, apparently, although there'll no doubt be some talk among the staff. Anyway," Leonie added hardily, "facing gossip has to be better than going to prison, doesn't it?"

"Yes, of course. Don't think I'm not grateful!" He shook his head again. "I can still hardly believe he's even consid- ering not prosecuting, much less keeping me on! Did he give any indication of when he might let me know his decision?"

"You should know by tomorrow," she said, closing her mind to the possibility that it could still all go wrong.

She left him to think about it, heading upstairs to her bed- room. It was a relief to be alone for a while. By eight o'clock she had to be in complete possession of herself, focussed on one thing, and one thing only — getting her father off the hook he'd forged for himself. Easier said than done, when every instinct in her fought against what was to happen, but there was no other choice. Vidal's pride must be satisfied.

Despise him though she did, there was no denying the physical pull he still exercised. She'd felt it the moment she set eyes in him again. There had been media reports linking him with various women over the past couple of years, but none of them had lasted long. If she'd been fool enough to marry him she would very likely have fallen by the wayside herself long before this, with the only difference being that she could, had she been so inclined, have taken him for enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Some would call her a fool for not seizing the opportunity.

The only foolish thing she'd done was to get involved with him at all, she reflected ruefully. It was hardly as if she'd been unaware of his reputation where women were con- cerned.

She made no effort when it came to choosing an outfit for the evening, opting for a plain grey skirt and white blouse over her least glamorous underwear. She was allowing her- self no emotionalism at all over this affair. It was the only way she was going to get through it.

She had booked a taxi to take her back into town. Expensive, but she didn't feel like facing another train jour- ney. Allowing for all eventualities, she told her father she was meeting a girlfriend from work, and might spend the night at her flat.

Vidal kept permanent hotel suites in several cities. Drawing up outside the Mayfair edifice he graced with his presence when in London — knowing exactly what she faced in there — Leonie felt like some high-class prostitute. There wasn't, she supposed, all that much difference when it all boiled down.

Already in possession of the suite number, she was at least able to avoid asking at reception. The suite itself was on the top floor. She steadied herself with hard purpose before knocking on the solid mahogany door.

Vidal opened it, regarding her with lifted brows as she stood there silently waiting. Dressed now in trousers and ca- sual shirt, he looked no less formidable to her than earlier.

"To the minute," he observed. "Come in."

The doorway was wide. Even so, he was uncomfortably close as she stepped past him into the spacious living area. The place had been redecorated since her last visit — that was her first, totally irrelevant thought. The colour scheme was now a gracious symphony in mingled blues and greys, with touches of scarlet, the carpet underfoot stretching away like a silver-grey sea to the beautifully draped windows. An ar- rangement of fresh flowers on a side table gave off a delicate scent.

"Nice," she commented, determined to appear on top of the situation. "They do you proud."

"For what it costs, so they should," came the dry response. "But you're not here to discuss the décor."

"True." Leonie turned to look him in the eye, hating him for what he was forcing her to do; hating herself for doing it. "I want your assurance re my father before anything takes place between us."

Vidal slanted a lip. "You'd take my word for it?" 'Oddly enough, yes," she said, hoping her faith in at least that aspect of his character wasn't misplaced.

The slant increased. "Then you have it, of course. A drink before we eat, perhaps?"