Page 17 of How to Undo the Proud Billionaire

It was just past five the next morning when Radd walked into the dining room and headed straight for the coffee machine in the corner. He jammed his cup under the spout. At the sound of footsteps, he turned and smiled when he saw one of his oldest friends crossing the room to where he stood.

“You’re up early,” Mari said after they exchanged a hug. “Did you sleep well?”

That would be a no. He’d tossed and turned for hours, unable to push the memory of how Brinley tasted from his thoughts. He’d kissed a lot of women, slept with about as many, but he’d never lost sleep before. He didn’t like it.

He seemed to be saying that a lot around Brin.

Speaking of Brinley, he wondered where she was. The door to her villa had been open when he’d passed by and her bed had been made. He’d called out but received no reply.

“Did you arrange for one of the rangers to take Brin on a game drive?” Radd asked as Mari fixed herself a cup of coffee.

“No, I wouldn’t have done that without your permission,” Mari answered him, a tiny frown marring her smooth forehead.

Then where the hell was she? “She’s not in her room, have you seen her this morning?”

Radd felt his stomach lurch and cold water ran through his veins. God, he hoped she hadn’t gone for a walk. The resort wasn’t fenced and the animals—wild, free and dangerous—could, and had, stroll through the grounds. Just last week they’d had a leopard lying in the branches of the acacia outside villa four.

He’d been so desperate to lay his hands, and his mouth, on her that he hadn’t given her the safety speech. Goddammit, how could he be so stupid?

Mari placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sure she’s fine, Radd. Let’s just stay calm, okay?”

Right. He never panicked, so why was his throat tight and his lungs heaving? Pulling in a few deep breaths, he shook his head to clear it, and forced away thoughts of Brinley being mauled by a hyena or bitten by a Cape cobra.

Overreacting much, Tempest-Vane?

“Why don’t you check the conference room?” Mari suggested. “Maybe she decided to get up early to get the arrangements done.”

Now, why hadn’t he thought of that first? Oh, maybe because he’d had no sleep, was sexually frustrated and generally pissed off that a woman he’d met yesterday—yesterday, for God’s sake!—had managed to rock his world.

He couldn’t wait for later, to be able to bundle her onto his plane and send her back to Cape Town and out of his life. He didn’t like feeling this off-kilter, so out of control.

Control wasn’t just important, it waseverything.

Holding his coffee cup, Radd walked out of the dining room and down the stone path leading to the conference room. He opened the door to the light-filled room, his eyes widening at the enormous bouquets sitting on the steel table in the middle of the room. They were a riot of white, cream, blues and greens, lush and wild. Somehow, despite the flowers being imported and exotic, she’d managed to invoke the feel of the bush in the arrangements. He was reminded of the colors of new spring growth, the African sky in summer, the way the sun hit the land at the beginning of the day.

The buckets on the floor were mostly empty, save for a couple of stalks of greenery.

Her work was done, and done exceptionally well, but where the hell was Brin?

Walking farther into the room, Radd’s booted foot kicked something soft, and he looked down to see a leather tote bag lying on the floor. Radd looked around. Seeing the high-backed couch at the other end of the room, he strode over to it and his heart finally settled into an even rhythm. Brin was curled up on the plump cushions, her hands tucked under her head, dark curls resting on her cheek. Since she wore the same clothes as yesterday, it was obvious she’d never made it to her room last night.

He gently picked up one curl, then another, and pulled them off her cheek. Her makeup had worn off and he could see the spray of freckles on her straight nose, a tiny scar in the middle of her forehead. Her eyelashes, long and thick, touched her cheek and highlighted the blue stripes under her eyes. How late had she worked?

Radd gripped the back of the couch and stared down at her, fighting the wave of lust threatening to consume him. He could handle desire, he wasn’t a kid and could walk away, but the wave of protectiveness surprised him. He wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Why was he feeling this way? Why was he feeling anything at all? He wasn’t used to paying this much attention to his feelings, to evenhavingfeelings. He’d trained himself not to react, to push emotion away.

He needed to go back to feeling nothing.

And he would, because Brinley wasn’t, in any way, his type. He dated—okay, slept with—sophisticated women, tough women, women who knew the score.

He dated cool blondes and raven-haired pixies, African queens and fiery redheads. Looks weren’t important, but their emotional independence was.

So why the hell had he kissed Brin last night? Why had he spent hours last night imagining what her slim, firm and glorious naked body would feel like pressed up against his—damn good, of that he had no doubt. Why, goddammit, was he standing here staring down at her?

There was only one explanation: he was losing his damned mind. He should only have one priority, and that was making sure that Naledi’s wedding went off without a hitch and getting Vincent to sign the final deed of sale. Restoring the mine to the Tempest-Vane group of companies was all that was important.

The acquisition of the mine, and their announcement that they would be increasing capacity and employing thousands of workers, would be front-page news. That news would lead to an interest in their PR and rebranding exercise.

---