The Billionaire's Beautiful Intruder (Billionaire Knights Book 3) (3 page)

“Hey!” she called out. “Mr. Knight! Mr—Steve!”

But the infuriating man simply kept on walking, choosing to ignore her.

She stood shaking her head. “Of all the stubborn, mulish, overbearing…”

“Are you coming?” the helicopter pilot asked, holding the door for her.

She saw that her luggage was still inside the chopper. So the pilot had probably guessed she wouldn’t be staying, huh? Suddenly rebellious, she stalked over to the aircraft, took a firm grip on her luggage and dragged it out until it hit the ground with a dull thud. Then she extended the handle and announced defiantly, “I’m staying put.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Suit yourself, Miss Grayson,” he muttered with a sly grin, then abruptly jumped into the chopper and slammed the door shut.

For a moment she felt hesitant. She’d wanted to make a statement and she had, but was she really so sure about staying on? Actually she wasn’t. Staying here was the last thing she wanted. She watched the pilot power up the engine and go through his preflight routine. If she returned to London now she’d feel like a failure. Even though Steve obviously didn’t want her here, his brothers did. They cared for him, and were probably sick with worry about him. If she left now, she was letting them down.

And then there was that matter of the donation, of course. Even though Steve had told her the hospital would get to keep the money, she wasn’t so sure. Why would anyone part with a million pounds and get nothing in return? At least she had to make a valiant stab at trying to make this work. It was only for a week, after all. Next week Marco would be back, and this would all be over, her professional pride intact, Steve’s brothers reassured Steve was his crusty old self, and the hospital’s burn unit financially robust for another term.

The pilot threw her a final glance, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow. In response she gave him a thumbs up, which he returned with a grin. The rotors slowly started to whine and slash the air with their signature twhop-thwop-thwop sound.

With a sinking heart she watched her ride to London rise into the air and then finally take flight, quickly swallowed up by the gray skies overhead.

She stood gazing after the disappearing chopper for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Then, figuring it was too late for second thoughts, she started trudging up to the house, quickly discovering the small rubber wheels were highly ineffectual when dealing with the rocky terrain.

She wondered what Steve would say when he discovered the woman he’d wanted to ditch was still here, back with a vengeance and not taking no for an answer.

And Steve would have been surprised if he hadn’t owned a powerful pair of binoculars and was watching her trudge up the makeshift road to the house, having trouble negotiating the rocky incline with her suitcase in tow.

A dark frown creased his brow as he muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

The lady nurse, that pretty little firebrand, had decided to stay put after all. At least she had gumption, he admitted, and a lot of nerve. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, though, which was obvious from the slightly stupefied expression on her face. She didn’t strike him as the outdoorsy type, judging from the color seeping into her cheeks, the exertion coloring them as brightly red as her hair. He considered giving her a hand, but decided against it.

If she was too stubborn to accept a direct order to stand down and return to her post she deserved whatever hardship was coming her way. Maybe then she’d realize that being out here wasn’t a fun walk in the park, or a paid vacation in paradise. Tyler Island wasn’t a place for pampered city folk like nurse Molly Grayson. The island was often violently lashed by storms, and life out here was tough and conditions harsh, which was just the way he liked it.

He hoped she had some warm clothes tucked away in that suitcase of hers. Not because he cared if she suffered the capricious weather, of course. Simply because he didn’t want her getting sick on him, forcing him to take care of her the way she apparently was under the impression she should take care of him.

When he’d stood at her side just now he’d noticed she was quite beautiful, with her flaming red hair, her bewitching green eyes and her pale freckled skin. She was probably the girlfriend of some hospital administrator, he reckoned, some eager beaver taking pride in the fact that she lent herself to charity work. Like him, he concluded grimly. He was her charity case—the project she’d been awarded by his overbearing brothers.

But he wouldn’t play the victim, he vowed. He’d told his brothers to back off and leave him alone and that’s exactly what he wanted—what he needed.

The moment she’d finally made it up to the house, red-faced and panting heavily, he stood waiting for her in the doorframe. “What part of get off my island didn’t you understand?” he immediately demanded through gritted teeth.

Her lips thinned, and her chin lifted mutinously. God, she was gorgeous. Her eyes were the color of jade and sparkled mutinously as she stared back at him, a fire in them that had to be seen to be believed. He suddenly wondered how they would look if he kissed her, but quickly shrugged off the thought.

“Look, buddy,” she began, struggling heroically to catch her breath.

“Oh, just get your ass inside,” he grumbled. What was the use of arguing? She wasn’t going anywhere now. He stepped aside so she could enter. And as she was passing him he caught a whiff of her perfume. Something flowery and lemony and wholly wholesome and fresh.

And when her hair brushed against his cheek, the softness took him by surprise, and he had the fleeting desire to run his hand through the russet strands. To let them slide between his fingers, then grab a handful of them, yank her head back, and worry those fiery lips of hers with a devastating kiss.

He frowned at the peculiar thought, the first time in a long while that he’d found his mind wandering in this particular direction, then decided to ignore the unwelcome intrusion. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he told her grudgingly, and saw that she was looking around, blinking in surprise, as if the place wasn’t at all what she’d expected. What did she think this was? Club Med?

T
he house was
a lot more modest than she’d anticipated. In her imagination the Knight billionaires had built themselves a mansion to rival the movie stars of this world, but this was more like a modest log cabin, only built with brick not logs. The walls were roughly hewn chunks of black rock, probably the same rock that made up the island, and the interior was surprisingly dim and spartan, with small windows, wooden floors, and furniture as sturdy and bare-bones as the rest of the place. She managed to suppress a cry of surprise, and the large imposing male who stood next to her produced a sound halfway between a snort and a mocking laugh.

“Were you expecting a castle, princess?”

“No, of course not. I just…”

“This is all I’ve got, and if it isn’t to your liking, too bad,” he told her gruffly. Not to be outdone, she wanted to point out that she wasn’t the one brought up in luxury, but she never got the chance, for with long paces he crossed the floor to a door leading off the living space. “Your room, Your Highness,” he grunted.

She followed him hesitantly. She had to admit his sheer size was intimidating, as was his manner. Then she glanced past him into the room. It was as basic as the rest of the place. A bed seemingly made from wood collected on the island, a night table and a closet. “The furniture…” she began.

“Is all handmade. My great-grandfather, when he bought the island, built this house himself, with his bare hands, then decided to furnish it as well, with wood found on the island.” He lifted his massive shoulders. “I like it.”

She would have told him that she liked it, too. She wasn’t into fancy stuff. She liked the earthy and humble feel of the place, and let her hand caress the closet, admiring the craftsmanship and the feel of the wood beneath her fingers. Simple and pure and honest. But since she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, she simply told him, “This will do, Mr. Knight,” and left it at that.

His eyebrows rose and he shook his head as he left her. She felt oddly bereft when he did. Even though he was imposing and intimidating, there was something oddly appealing about him, something that told her he was a man who could be trusted. An honorable man. She almost wished she’d known him before—before he’d become the person he was today, the inveterate loner. She quickly shrugged off the irrational thought, and rolled her suitcase inside.

She quickly filled the closet with the few items of clothing she’d brought, enough for one week. Gazing out of the window, which was small and set in the thick outer wall of the house, she saw that her room was located at the back, overlooking a sheer drop to the cliffs below, the ocean lashing violently against the rock. Quite the spectacular view, she thought with a shiver, but definitely not for the faint of heart or people suffering from vertigo.

And she was just unpacking the rest of her suitcase when she remembered the medical supplies. Suddenly distraught, she hurried into the living room.

“My… My other suitcase,” she cried when Steve looked up. “I—I left it on the helicopter.”

“What was in it?” he asked gruffly. “Your evening gowns? You won’t be needing those here, Miss Grayson. No parties or late-night social gatherings around here. It’s just you and me and this dreary old place, I’m afraid.”

“My medical supplies!” she cried, closing her eyes on an exasperated groan. “I need my medical supplies.”

He frowned at her. “Whatever do you need those for?”

She rolled her eyes. “For you, of course. That’s the whole purpose of my stay. That’s the reason your brothers sent me here. To take care of you.”

His eyes darkened and his lips tightened. “There’s nothing to patch up, nurse Grayson,” he grumbled. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“But your brothers told my manager—”

“Whatever they told him was a bunch of lies to get you out here, lady. I got a clean bill of health months ago. Long before I set foot on Tyler Island.”

She stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. “So you’re not—I mean you don’t need—you’re—”

“I’m in the best shape of my life,” he growled. “I even aced the cholesterol test.”

“But then why…”

He frowned. “Beats me. Which is why I told you I don’t need you here. But you wouldn’t listen, would you? And now you’re stuck here. With me.”

The reality of the situation dawned on her. If he wasn’t in a bad way, and she wasn’t needed here to nurse him back to health, then why… Then she remembered a throwaway comment Malcolm had made. That his brothers were afraid Steve might be suicidal. Well, he certainly didn’t look suicidal to her.

“Obviously your brothers thought you needed help,” she told him curtly.

“Well, they were wrong,” he riposted angrily. “I don’t need anyone to look after me, and that’s exactly what I’ve been telling them for months. So if you could simply stay out of my way, I’ll do my best to stay out of yours, okay?”

She glanced up at him, wondering how she was going to survive the next week with this angry hulk of a man. A man who very clearly didn’t want her here. Grim-faced, she nodded. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Steve eyed her suspiciously. She’d agreed too easily. Why his brothers had sent her out here he still didn’t understand. He’d told them he was fine. That the only reason he’d decided to spend the winter on Tyler Island was because he needed to be by himself for a while, and out there in the world that was impossible. He’d tried, Lord knows he’d tried, but there was always some official business function to attend in his capacity as founder and co-owner of Knight Enterprises, or some family gathering or some other social nonsense.

He’d been to Stuart’s wedding, and had felt so out of place, having to smile and be merry while inside he felt hollow and dead, that he’d decided to remove himself from the scene and retreat to the island for a while. He needed to be by himself, until he got things right in his head again. He certainly didn’t feel like talking to people, or burdening his family with his depressing presence.

After what had happened on his third tour of duty he needed time and space. To be left alone until he could wrap his head around what had gone down—until he got those screaming voices out of his head, and those terrifying images. Until the nightmares stopped and he didn’t wake up bathing in his own sweat each and every night. Until that happened he needed to isolate himself, to be locked away from the civilization he’d sworn to protect and in whose service he’d almost come home in a body bag that final time.

And now this woman. How was he going to cope? Already she was invading his space, invading his thoughts. Already he was feeling annoyed with her. And already he wished he’d personally put her on that chopper, strapped her in, and had watched Marco take off. He shouldn’t have allowed her to make up her own mind. He should have done it for her.

He felt her presence before she’d announced it, and he turned on her in a flash, his instincts well-honed and lethal. When he saw the fear in her eyes he held back. He could see why she was scared of him. He was trained for war. Two hundred pounds of pure muscle and lethal skill. He could kill a man with his bare hands. He checked himself. This wasn’t her fault. She was simply a victim of circumstance, and his brothers’ well-intentioned but ill-executed attempt to help him.

“What is it?” he asked her in his deep, rumbling voice.

“I was just wondering if you could perhaps show me around a little? Explain to me how things work around here? I mean…” She held out a slender hand and displayed a tiny smile. “For starters, what about the bathroom situation?”

He nodded. She had a point. If she was going to live here, she needed to know her way around. “I hope you’re easily satisfied, Miss Grayson.”

She eyed him curiously. “I am,” she told him, and a small frisson of awareness assaulted him, a vision of her in his arms jumping out of nowhere. “I mean—accommodations are sparse, and perhaps not what you’re used to.”

She opened her mouth to snap a retort at him, but then closed it again with a click. The man was simply incorrigible! She followed him as he took her for a brief tour of the house, pointing out the bathroom, kitchen, larder and storage space, and explaining how to operate the kitchen stove and the bathroom boiler.

As he took her out back and showed her where he kept the supply of firewood, Molly thought he looked more formidable than any man she’d ever met. With his curly beard and his long hair whipping in the breeze, a stark stone wall his backdrop where it protected them from the sheer drop beyond, he could have been a Norman conqueror or some Viking king. Especially since his scowl seemed to be a permanent fixture, his lips never once hinting at a smile.

A neat pile of chopped wood was placed inside a shack, an axe still lodged deeply into the chopping block, and suddenly an image of this powerful male as he chopped wood flashed before her eyes. His muscles working, his naked torso glistening with sweat, a ferocious growl renting the frigid air as he relentlessly cleaved one chunk of wood after the other. Her eyes dropped to his large hands, his fingers slightly curled. She felt her breathing quickening, and her heart fluttering wildly at the thought of those hands on her naked body, those fingers grasping her bare breasts. She quickly placed her own hand on her chest in a bid to still the heavy thud of her violently beating heart.

When she looked up she saw him scowling at her and she involuntarily tossed her red mane over her shoulder, then rushed past him. “I’ve seen enough,” she announced a little huffily, and as she entered the house, she knew he was only a few paces behind her, his dark eyes boring holes into her back. Good thing he couldn’t look into her mind, she thought as color stained her cheeks.

Shaking his head, he decided that their living arrangements would work themselves out. Until Marco returned they were forced to put up with each other, and had to make the best of a bad situation. He stared hard at the way her pert behind moved in those tight jeans she was wearing, and could only imagine how she would look out of them. He’d already noticed that her breasts were large and that her waist was narrow, and that when she was upset her pulse beat a steady drum at the base of her throat.

For a moment out there, as she stood panting heavily, her hand on her heart, she’d looked like a fairy princess. With her long red curly hair, her remarkable green eyes and her pale features, she could have been a princess in ancient times, and a beautiful one at that. She was young, but at the same time there was something ancient about her, an elusive quality that made her look much older than her years. It was in her eyes, he decided. Something haunted, as if she’d been through quite a terrible ordeal and had barely managed to survive.

Not that any of that mattered. She was simply a guest in his home, and he would have to bear her presence. If only she kept to herself, they’d be just fine.