An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire (9 page)

What miracle allowed him to read the language of her hand so fluently? His heart surged against his ribs. He had to be careful not to let his fascination with this woman grow.
Very
careful. Nothing good could come of it.

* * *

When Dylan pulled up outside the front of Mia's cottage at the end of the evening she didn't invite him in.

She shook her head when he reached for his door handle. ‘You don't need to walk me to my door.'

But what if he wanted to?

This isn't a real date
.

He nodded. ‘Right.'

She undid her seat belt. ‘I just wanted to say...' She swung back, and even in the dark he could see the wariness in her eyes. ‘I did have a nice time tonight, Dylan. Thank you.'

‘I'm not after thanks. I want to apologise. For Thierry. Again.'

She shook her head. ‘Not your place.'

He clocked the exact moment when she gave in to her curiosity.

‘But why in particular this time?'

There'd been an excruciatingly awkward moment at dinner. Carla had asked Mia what the last film she'd been to see had been, and Mia had paled. Thierry had pounced with a narrow-eyed sneer.

‘It might be more pertinent to ask,
When was the last time you went to the movies?
'

Dylan's gut had churned and an ugly heat had flushed through him.

Mia had answered with a quiet, ‘It'll be over four years since I've been to see a movie.'

And the reason why—the fact she'd been in jail—had pulsed in all the spaces between them.

Dylan couldn't imagine Mia in prison—he couldn't make it make sense. But then he recalled her Spartan cottage and wondered if she'd actually left prison at all.

He rubbed a hand across his chest, trying to dislodge the hard ball that had settled there. ‘Thierry went out of his way to make sure everyone remembered
why
you'd not been to see a film in so long.'

She glanced down at her hands. ‘Dylan—'

‘It wasn't only rude, it was unkind.' How could Carla marry someone like that?

Mia rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans. Finally she glanced at him. ‘No matter how much you try to ignore it or justify it, the fact I've been in prison is not a small issue.'

He reached out to cup her face. ‘Mia, you're more than your past. You're more than the mistakes that landed you in jail.'

Her bottom lip trembled. The pain that flashed through her eyes speared straight into his gut.

She reached up and with a squeeze removed his hand. ‘It's kind of you to say that, but it's not what it feels like. It feels huge. It was a defining moment in my life. I completely understand why other people take issue with it.'

With that she slipped out of the car and strode up to her front door.

Dylan waited until she was safely ensconced inside and the veranda light was switched off with an unambiguous ‘the night is over' conviction. With a sigh he didn't understand, he turned the car towards home.

* * *

Mia set her sandwich down and unclipped her ringing phone. ‘Mia Maydew.'

‘Mia, it's Dylan and I have brilliant news.'

The sound of his voice made her pulse gallop. She swallowed and did her best to sound cool and professional. ‘Which is...?'

‘I have an appointment with Felipe Fellini—the photographer Carla's been so hot for.'

That made her brows lift. She hadn't thought the guy did weddings or celebrity functions any more. Still, the Fairweathers had a lot of clout.

‘She must be over the moon.'

‘I haven't mentioned it to her yet. He's agreed to a meeting—nothing more. I don't want to get her hopes up until it's official.'

Dylan was certainly going above and beyond where Carla's wedding was concerned. Especially when he wasn't even convinced that it would go ahead.

Correction—he wasn't convinced that the groom was worthy of the bride. That was an entirely different matter.

‘Mia, are you still there?”

‘Yes. I... That's great news.' She tried to gush, but she wasn't much of a one for gushing. ‘I'm very impressed.'

‘Liar.' He laughed. ‘You couldn't care less.'

‘I want Carla's wedding to be perfect.' And she didn't care how surly, bad-tempered or humourless Thierry happened to be. With her whole heart she hoped he treated Carla with respect, that he made her happy...that he did indeed deserve her.

‘That I
do
believe. The thing is, Felipe wants to meet at Plum Pines this afternoon—two o'clock, if possible. He's only in Newcastle for a couple of days, and his decision on whether or not to take the job apparently depends on the potential locations Plum Pines offers for wedding shots. He wants to start with the lily pond.'

In other words he wanted
her
to be available at two this afternoon to take Felipe around.

‘That won't be a problem.'

She'd finished supervising the weed eradication programme last week. She was in the process of helping Veronica create an action plan for a particularly inaccessible area on the northern boundary. That, along with path maintenance, was what her week consisted of.

‘Are you on your lunchbreak?'

She traced a finger along the wooden edge of the picnic table. ‘I am.'

‘Excellent! That means we can chat.'

She stared up into the eucalypt canopy above and shook her head. Dylan
always
wanted to chat. The sooner he got back to FWE and his usual work the better. He wasn't the kind of guy who liked sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, and she had a feeling Carla's wedding wouldn't have his full attention until he'd passed judgement on Thierry.

She suspected he rang her just to ‘chat' in an effort to remove the sting of Thierry's incivility. Which was totally unnecessary. Only she didn't know how to say so without sounding ungracious.

‘What are you having for lunch?'

She was having what she always had. ‘A sandwich.'

‘What's in it?'

She lifted the top slice of bread. ‘Egg and lettuce. Why is this important?' Nevertheless, she found herself suppressing a smile.

‘Are you having chocolate once you finish your
delicious
sandwich?'

She choked back a laugh. ‘I refuse to have chocolate with
every
meal. I have a banana.'

‘But you're missing a food group! You have carbohydrate, protein, a fruit and a vegetable, but no dairy. Chocolate is dairy. It makes for a rounded meal, Mia.'

She couldn't help but laugh. ‘I'll see you at two, Dylan.'

She hung her phone back on her belt, a frown building through her. In the last fortnight Dylan had developed the habit of calling her a couple of times a week—always during her lunchbreak. Some days he didn't mention the wedding at all. She sometimes thought his sole reason for calling was simply to make her laugh. But why would he do that?

Was it really all for Carla's benefit?

Do you think he's doing it for your benefit? Do you really think he could be interested in you
?

It was a ludicrous notion—utter wishful thinking. They'd set their ground rules. Dylan wasn't any more interested in a relationship than she was, and a fling was out of the question. But the wisdom of that reasoning didn't dissipate the heat building between them. It didn't quash the thrill that raced through her whenever she heard his voice. It didn't stop her from looking forward to seeing him this afternoon.

She bit into her sandwich. Since when had the prospect of a meeting become more attractive than tromping along solitary paths with loppers and a pair of secateurs?

She had to be careful around Dylan.
Very
careful. She couldn't go falling for his charm. Never again would she be a man's sap, his puppet. Not even one as alluring and attractive as Dylan. She'd sworn never to travel that particular path again.

Couldn't you just kiss him once anyway? Just to see?

The illicit thought came out of left field. She stiffened. No, she could not!

No
way
was she kissing Dylan. Any kissing was absolutely and utterly out of the question. That way led to the slippery slope of lost good intentions and foolish, deceitful dreams. She wasn't descending that slope again. She had no intention of falling into the pit that crouched at its bottom.

So...that's a no, then
?

A definite no
!

She wrapped up what was left of her sandwich and tossed it into a nearby bin. A glance at her watch told her she could manage an hour's worth of path maintenance before she had to get back to meet with Dylan and his photographer. Wrestling with overgrown native flora sounded exactly what she needed.

* * *

Neither the exercise nor Mia's resolution to resist Dylan's appeal stopped her every sense from firing to life the moment she clapped eyes on him that afternoon. It made her want to groan in despair.

No despair
! She'd only need despair if she gave in to her attraction—if she handed her heart to him on a platter and became his willing slave. The attraction part of the equation was utterly normal. She'd defy
any
woman to look at Dylan and not appreciate him as the handsomest beast she'd ever laid eyes on.

Not that he
was
a beast. Not when he moved towards her, hand outstretched, a smile of delight on his face at seeing her. Then he was an utter sweetheart.

She couldn't stop herself from smiling back.

It's polite to smile
.

Polite or not, she couldn't help it.

He kissed her cheek, his warm male scent raising gooseflesh on her arms.

‘Mia...' He ushered her towards the other man. ‘I'd like you to meet Felipe Fellini.'

She shook the photographer's hand. ‘I've heard a lot about you, Mr Fellini.'

‘Yes, yes, it is inevitable. Now
this
...' He gestured to encompass the lily pond and its surrounds. ‘You must tell me that you have something better, something more original for me to work with than this.'

He strutted through the area in a coat embroidered with wild, colourful poppies, flinging his arms out in exaggerated disappointment while speaking in an affected American-Italian accent.

Mia stared at him, utterly flummoxed. Never, in all of her twenty-five years, had she ever come across someone like Felipe Fellini!

She moistened her lips. ‘I...uh...you don't like it?'

‘Ugh, darling! You
do
? I mean,
look
at it!' He pointed at the pond, the grass, a tree.

Behind Felipe's back, Dylan started to laugh silently. Mia had to choke back her answering mirth. ‘I... I can't say as I've ever really thought about it.'

He swatted a hand in her direction. ‘That's because you're not an
artiste
. My sensitivities are honed to within an inch of their lives, darling.'

It should have been dismissive, but the words held a friendly edge and she suddenly realised he was having the time of his life.

She planted her hands on her hips. ‘What's wrong with it?'

‘It's a cliché. An utter cliché.'

‘But isn't that what a wedding is all about?'

The question slipped out before she could censor it. She wished it back the moment both men spun to face her—Felipe with his hands up to cover his mouth as if utterly scandalised, Dylan contemplating her with those deep blue eyes, his delectable lips pursed.

‘Dylan,
darling
, it appears I've met a creature I never thought existed—a truly unromantic woman.'

Dylan folded his arms, nudging the other man with his shoulder. ‘I saw her first.'

Felipe spluttered with laughter. ‘Darling, I'm not a ladies' man—but if I were...you'd be in trouble. I'd have her eating out of my hand in no time.'

Mia started to laugh. She couldn't help it. Felipe, it appeared, enjoyed flirting and games every bit as much as Dylan.

‘Come along, you unromantic girl.' Felipe draped an arm across her shoulders with a smirk in Dylan's direction. ‘Show me something worthy of my talents.'

Dylan fell in behind them with a good-natured grin. Mia led them to the utility she'd parked further down the track. One hundred and eighty hectares was a lot of ground to cover. They wouldn't manage it all on foot before dark.

Felipe discounted the first two spots Mia showed him—a forest glade of wattle, with low overhanging branches, and a pocket of rainforest complete with a tiny trickling stream.

‘Clichéd?' she asked.

‘Totally.'

‘You don't know what you want, but you'll know it when you see it, right?'

Dylan's chuckle from the back seat filled the interior of the car, warming Mia's fingers and toes.

‘I'll have none of your cheek, thank you, Dylan Fairweather. You, sir, are an uncultured and coarse Philistine.' He sniffed. ‘I understand you have a
Gilmore
on your wall.'

For a moment Dylan's eyes met Mia's in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You're welcome to come and admire it any time you like, Felipe.'

‘Pah!'

At Mia's raised eyebrow, Dylan added, ‘Jason Gilmore—like Felipe, here—is a world-class photographer.'

Felipe gave a disbelieving snort and Mia found herself grinning, Dylan and Felipe's high spirits momentarily rubbing off onto her.

‘I've never heard of Jason Gilmore, but I've heard of Felipe. So I'm not sure this Mr Gilmore can be all that good. He certainly can't be in the same class as Felipe.'

Felipe reached out and clasped the hand she had on the steering wheel, pressing his other to his heart. ‘I
love
this girl.'