Taken Over by the Billionaire

It was a force of nature, Jess’s smile. Ben felt it down deep in his gut. His flesh leapt.

This is not what I need right now.

But then he thought … why not? He’d finished with his latest in a long string of socialites. What was to stop him from exploring this attraction further?

Ben almost laughed. Because this wasn’t just attraction he was suddenly feeling. This was lust—an emotion he was not unfamiliar with. But this time it felt stronger. Much stronger.

Impossible to ignore.

Impossible not to pursue.

He could hardly contain the burst of triumph he experienced when she noticed him assessing her, and he heard her sharply indrawn breath, watched her reef her eyes back to the road as if the hounds of hell were after her.

And perhaps they were, he thought darkly. Be damned with his conscience! Be damned with common sense! He had to have her. And soon.

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, and lives near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Taken Over by the Billionaire

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

MURPHY’S LAW STATED that if anything could possibly go wrong, then eventually it would.

Jess did not subscribe to this theory, despite the fact that her surname was Murphy. But her father was a firm believer. Whenever anything annoying or frustrating happened, such as a flat tyre when he was driving a bride to her wedding—Joe owned a hire-car business—then he blamed it on Murphy’s Law: bad weather at the weekends; down-turns in the stock market. Recently, he’d even blamed the defeat of his favourite football team in the grand final on Murphy’s Law.

Admittedly, her dad was somewhat superstitious by nature.

Unlike her father, Jess’s view of unfortunate events was way more rational. Things happened, not because a perverse twist of fate was just waiting to spoil things for you without rhyme or reason, but because of something someone had done or not done. Flat tyres and stock-market crashes didn’t just happen. There was always a logical reason.

Jess didn’t blame Murphy’s Law for her boyfriend suddenly having decided last month that he no longer wanted to drive around Australia with her, having opted instead to go backpacking around the whole, stupid world for the next year! With a mate of his, would you believe? Never mind that she’d just gone into hock to buy a brand-new four-wheel drive for their romantic road trip together. Or that she’d started thinking he might be Mr Right. The truth, once she’d calmed down long enough to face it, was that Colin had caught the travel bug and obviously wasn’t ready to settle down just yet. He still loved her—he claimed—and had asked her to wait for him.

Naturally, she’d told him what he could do with that idea!

Neither had Jess blamed Murphy’s Law for recently having lost her much-loved part-time job at a local fashion boutique. She knew exactly why she’d been let go. Some cash-rich American company had bought up the Fab Fashions chain for a bargain price—Fab Fashions was in financial difficulties—and had then sent over some bigwig who had threatened the managers of all the stores that, if they didn’t show a profit by the end of the year, all the retail outlets would be closed down in favour of online shopping. Hence the trimming of staff.

Actually, Helen hadn’t wanted to let her go. Jess was an excellent salesgirl. But it was either her or Lily, who was a single mother who really needed her job, whereas Jess didn’t. Jess had a full-time job during the week working at Murphy’s Hire Car. She’d only taken the weekend job at Fab Fashions because she was mad about fashion and wanted to learn as much as she could about the industry, with a plan one day to open her own boutique or online store. So of course, under the circumstances, she couldn’t let Helen fire poor Lily.

But she’d seethed for days over the greed of this American company. Not to mention the stupidity. Why hadn’t this idiot they’d sent over found out why Fab Fashions wasn’t making a profit? She could have told him. But, no, that would have taken some intelligence. And time!

Before she’d been let go last weekend, she’d asked Helen if she knew the name of this idiot, and she’d been told he was a Mr De Silva. Mr Benjamin De Silva. Some searching on the Internet just this morning had revealed a news item outlining the takeover of several Australian companies—including Fab Fashions—by De Silva & Associates, a private equity firm based in New York. When she looked up De Silva & Associates, Jess discovered that the major partner and CEO was Morgan De Silva, who was sixty-five years old and had been on the Forbes rich list for yonks. Which meant he was a billionaire. He was divorced—surprise, surprise!—with one son, Benjamin De Silva: the idiot they’d sent out. A clear case of nepotism at work, given his lack of intelligence and lateral thinking.

The office phone rang and Jess snatched it up.

‘Murphy’s Hire Car,’ she said, trying not to let her irritation show through in her voice.

‘Hi, there. I have a problem which I sure hope you can help me with.’

The voice was male, with an American accent.

Jess did her best to put aside any bias she was currently feeling towards American males.

‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ she said as politely as she could manage.

‘I need to hire a car and driver for three full days, starting first thing tomorrow morning.’

Jess’s eyebrows lifted. They didn’t often have people wanting to hire one of their cars and drivers for that length of time. Mostly, Murphy’s Hire Car did special events which began and ended on the one day: weddings; graduations; anniversary dates; trips to Sydney airport; that sort of thing. Based on the central coast a couple of hours north of Sydney, they weren’t an overly large concern. They only had seven hire cars which included three white limousines for weddings and other flash events, two white Mercedes sedans for less flash events and one black limousine with tinted windows for people with plenty of money who wanted privacy.

Recently her father had bought a vintage blue convertible Cadillac but it wouldn’t be ready for hiring till next week, having needed new leather seats. Jess knew without even looking up this weekend’s bookings on the computer that she wouldn’t be able to help the American. They had several weddings on. Not uncommon given that it was spring. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but we’re fully booked this weekend. You’ll have to try someone else.’

His weary sigh elicited some sympathy in Jess. ‘I’ve already tried every other hire car company on the Central Coast,’ he said. ‘Look, are you absolutely certain you can’t wangle something? I don’t need a limo or anything fancy. Any car and driver would do. I have to be in Mudgee for a wedding on Saturday, not to mention the stag party tomorrow night. The groom’s my best friend and I’m the best man. But a drunk driver ran into me last night, wrecked my rental and left me unable to drive myself. I’ve a bunged up right shoulder.’

‘That’s terrible.’ Jess hated drivers who drank. ‘I truly wish I could help you, sir.’ Which she genuinely did. It would be awful if he couldn’t make it to his best friend’s wedding.

‘I’m prepared to pay over and above your normal rates,’ he offered just as she was about to suggest he try one of the larger hire car firms in Sydney. They could surely send a car up to him lickety-split. He might even have success hiring an ordinary taxi.

‘How much over and above?’ she asked, thinking of the hefty repayments she had to make on her SUV.

‘If you get me a car and driver, you can name your own price.’

Wow, Jess thought. This American had to be loaded. He could probably afford to charter a helicopter—not that she was going to suggest such a thing. Jess wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

‘Okay, Mr…er…?’

‘De Silva,’ he said.

Jess’s mouth dropped open.

‘Benjamin De Silva,’ he elaborated.

Jess’s mouth remained agape as she took in this amazing coincidence. With his being American and having such a distinctive name, he had to be the same man!

‘Are you still there?’ he finally asked after twenty seconds of shocked silence.

‘Yes, yes, I’m still here. Sorry, I…er…was distracted for a moment. The cat just walked onto my keyboard and I lost a file.’ In actual fact, the family moggie was sound asleep on a sun-drenched window sill, a good ten metres away from Jess’s desk.

‘You have a cat in your office?’

He actually sounded appalled. No doubt there were no cats allowed in the pompous Mr De Silva’s office.

‘This a home-run business, Mr De Silva,’ she said somewhat stiffly.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Sorry. No offence intended. So, can you help me or not?’

Well, of course she could help him. And it was no longer just a question of money. For how could she possibly give up the opportunity to tell the high and mighty Mr Benjamin De Silva what was wrong with Fab Fashions?

Surely there would be plenty of opportunities somehow to bring up her lost job during the course of their very long drive together. Mudgee was a long way away. She’d never actually been there but she’d seen it on the map when she and Colin had been planning their trip. It was a large country town in the central west of New South Wales, a good five-or six-hour drive from here, maybe longer, depending on the state of the roads and the number of times her passenger wanted to stop.

‘I can take you myself, if you like,’ she offered. ‘I am well over twenty-one, a qualified mechanic and an advanced driving instructor.’ She only helped out in the office on Mondays and Thursdays. ‘I also own a brand-new four-wheel drive which won’t have any trouble negotiating the roads out Mudgee way.’

‘I’m impressed. And extremely grateful.’

And so you should be, she thought a little tartly.

‘So where exactly are you now, Mr De Silva? I’m presuming you’re on the Central Coast somewhere.’

‘I’m staying in an apartment at Blue Bay.’ He gave her the address.

Jess frowned as she tapped it into the computer, wondering why a businessman like him would be staying up here instead of in Sydney. It seemed odd. Maybe he was just doing the tourist thing whilst he was in the country. Combining business with pleasure, as well as going to his best friend’s wedding.

‘And the address in Mudgee where I’ll be taking you?’ she asked.

‘It’s not actually in Mudgee,’ he replied. ‘It’s a property called Valleyview Winery, not far from Mudgee. It’s not difficult to find. It’s on a main road which connects the highway to Mudgee. After you drop me off, you could stay at a motel in Mudgee till I need you to drive me back here again on the Sunday. At my expense, of course.’

‘So you won’t actually need me to drive you anywhere on the Saturday?’

‘No, but I’ll pay you for the day just the same.’

‘This is going to be ridiculously expensive, Mr De Silva.’

‘I’m not worried about that. Name your price and I’ll pay it.’

Jess pulled a face. It must be nice never having to worry about money. She was tempted to say some exorbitant amount but of course she didn’t. Her father would be appalled at her if she did such a thing. Joe Murphy was as honest as the day was long.

‘How about a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses?’ Mr De Silva suggested before she could calculate a reasonable fee.

‘That’s too much,’ she protested before she could think better of it.

‘I don’t agree. It’s fair, under the circumstances.’

‘Fine,’ she said briskly. Who was she to argue with Mr Moneybags? ‘Now, I will need some other details.’

‘Like what?’ he demanded in a rather irritated tone.

‘Your mobile phone number,’ she said. ‘And your passport number.’

‘Okay. I’ll have to go get my passport. I won’t be long.’

Jess smiled whilst he gathered the information he wanted. Three thousand dollars was a very nice sum.

‘Here we are,’ he said on returning, and read out the number.

‘We also need a contact name and number,’ she said as she typed in the details. ‘In case of an emergency.’

‘Good grief. Is all this strictly necessary?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, wanting to make sure he was the right man. ‘Company rules.’

‘Fine. My father will have to do. Mum’s on a cruise. But Dad does live in New York.’

‘I did assume he’d be American, Mr De Silva. You have an American accent. His name and number, please?’

‘Morgan De Silva,’ he said and Jess smiled. She’d known it had to be him!

He rattled off a phone number which she quickly typed in.

‘Do you want to pay for this via your credit card or cash?’ she asked crisply.

‘Which would you prefer?’

‘Credit card,’ she said.

‘Fine,’ he said, a decided edge creeping into his voice. ‘I have it here.’

He read out the number. American Express, of course.

‘Okay. That’s all done. We’ll deduct one thousand dollars in advance and the rest on completion.’

‘Fine,’ he bit out.

‘What time would you like me to pick you up tomorrow morning, Mr De Silva?’

‘What time do you suggest? I’d like to be out there by mid-afternoon. But first, could we dispense with the “Mr De Silva” bit? Call me Benjamin. Or Ben, if you’d prefer.’

‘If you like,’ she said, slightly taken aback by this offer. Australians were quick to be on a first-name basis but she’d found people from other countries weren’t quite so easy going. Especially those who were wealthy. Maybe Mr De Silva wasn’t as pompous as she’d originally thought.

‘As to time,’ she went on with a little less starch in her own voice, ‘I would suggest that I pick you up at seven-fifteen. That way we’ll avoid the worst of the traffic. Any earlier and we’ll run into the tradies plus Sydney commuters. Any later and it’ll be the people going to work at Westfield’s, not to mention the mothers taking their kids to school.’ Lord, but she was babbling on a bit. She could almost hear him sighing down the line.

‘Seven-fifteen it is, then,’ he said abruptly as soon as she gave him the opportunity to speak. ‘I’ll be waiting outside so we don’t waste time.’

Jess’s eyebrows lifted. She’d picked up a few well-heeled tourists in her time and they rarely did things like that. They always made her knock, were often late and never helped her with their luggage—if it was a trip to the airport, that was, and not just a day out somewhere.

‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘I won’t be late.’

‘Perhaps you should give me your mobile phone number, just in case you don’t show up for reasons outside your control.’

Jess rolled her eyes. It sounded like he was another subscriber to Murphy’s Law. But what the heck? She was used to it.

‘Very well.’ And she rattled off her number.

‘And what should I call you, Miss…er…?’

‘Murphy. Jessica Murphy.’ She was about to say he could call her Jess—everyone else did—but simply couldn’t bring herself to be that friendly to him. He was still the enemy, after all.

So she said a businesslike goodbye instead and hung up.

CHAPTER TWO

BEN SIGHED AS he flipped his phone shut and slipped it into his jeans pocket. The last thing he wanted to do was be driven all the way to Mudgee tomorrow by Miss Jessica Murphy, qualified mechanic and advanced driving instructor, he thought grumpily as he headed for the drinks cabinet. She’d declared herself well over twenty-one. More likely well over forty. And plain as a pikestaff to boot!

Still, what choice did he have after that doctor at Gosford hospital had declared him unfit to drive for at least a week? Not because of the excuse he’d given over the phone just now. His right shoulder was stiff and bruised but quite usable. It was the concussion he’d suffered which was the problem, the doctor having explained that no insurance company would cover him till he had a signed medical clearance.

Stupid, really. He felt fine. A little tired and frustrated, maybe, but basically fine.

Ben scowled as he sloshed a good two inches of his mother’s best bourbon into one of her crystal glasses. He supposed he should be feeling grateful he’d found a hire car at all, not irritated. But Miss Jessica Murphy had got right up his nose. There was a fine line between efficient and officious and she’d certainly been straddling it. He half-regretted making the offer for her to call him Ben, but he’d had to do something to warm the old tartar up, otherwise the drive tomorrow would be worse than tedious.

If only his mother had been here, Ben thought as he headed for the kitchen in search of ice. She could have driven him. But she wasn’t. She was off on a South Pacific cruise with her latest lover.

Admittedly, this one was older than her usual. In his mid-fifties, Lionel was only a few years Ava’s junior. And he was currently employed—something in movie production—so he was a big improvement on the other fortune-hunting toy-boys who’d graced her bed over the years since his parents’ divorce.

Not that his mother’s affairs bothered him much these days. Ben had finally grown up enough to know his mother’s personal life was none of his business. A pity she didn’t return the favour, he thought as he scooped a few cubes of ice from the fridge’s automatic ice-dispenser and dropped them in his glass. She was always asking him when he was going to get married and give her grandchildren.

So maybe it was better she wasn’t here right now. The last thing he wanted was outside pressure about his relationship with Amber. He was having enough trouble as it was, deciding whether he should give up the romantic notion of marrying for love and settle for what Amber was offering. At least if he married Amber he wouldn’t have to worry about her being a fortune hunter, which was always a problem when a man was heir to billions. Amber was the only daughter of a very wealthy property developer, so she didn’t need a meal ticket in a husband.

In all honesty, Ben hadn’t been under the impression that Amber wanted a husband at all yet. She was only twenty-four and was clearly enjoying her life as a single girl with a glamorous though empty job at an art gallery, a full social calendar and a boyfriend who kept her sexually satisfied. But, just before his trip down under, Amber had suddenly asked Ben if he was ever going to propose. She said she loved him, but she didn’t want to waste any more time on him if he didn’t love her back and didn’t want marriage and children.

Of course he hadn’t been able to tell her that he loved her back, because he didn’t. He’d said that he liked her a lot but did not love her. Ben had been somewhat surprised when she’d replied that she would be happy enough with his liking her a lot. He’d assumed—wrongly, it seemed—that a woman genuinely in love would be more heartbroken by his own lack of love. Apparently not! She’d given him till Christmas to make up his mind. After that, she would be looking elsewhere for a husband.

Ben lifted the bourbon to his lips as he wandered back into the living room and over to the glass wall which overlooked the beach. But he wasn’t really looking at the ocean view. He was recalling how he’d told Amber that he would think about her offer whilst he was in Australia and give her an answer on his return.

And he had been thinking. A lot. He did want marriage and children. One day. But, hell, he was only thirty-one. On top of that, he wanted to feel more for his future wife than he currently felt for Amber. He wanted to fall deeply in love, and vice versa, the kind of love you had no doubts over. The kind which would last. Divorce was not on his agenda. Ben knew first-hand how damaging divorce was to children, even when the parents were civilised about it, as his own parents had been. His workaholic father had sensibly and generously given Ben’s mother full custody of Ben, allowing her to bring him back to Australia, with the proviso that Ben spent some of his school holidays with him in America.

Ben had still been devastated to find out that his parents no longer loved each other. He’d only been eleven at the time, and totally ignorant of the circumstances which had led to the divorce. It was testament to his parents’ mutual love of their son that they’d never criticised each other in front of him, never blamed each other for the break-up of the marriage. They’d both just said that sometimes people fell out of love and it was better that they live apart.

Ben had hated coming to Australia at first, but he eventually grew to love this wonderful laid-back country and his life out here. He’d loved the school he’d been sent to and the many friends he’d made here. He’d especially loved his years at Sydney University, studying law and flat-sharing with Andy, his very best friend. It wasn’t till he’d graduated that his father had finally told him the ugly truth: that his mother had trapped him into marriage by getting pregnant. She’d never loved him. She’d just wanted a wealthy husband. Yes, he’d also admitted to having been unfaithful to her, but only after she’d confessed the truth to him one night.

His father had claimed he hated hurting Ben with these revelations but believed it was in his best interests.

‘You are going to inherit great wealth, son,’ Morgan De Silva had said at the time. ‘You need to understand the corrupting power of money. You must always keep your wits about you, especially when it comes to women.’

When a distressed Ben had confronted his mother, she’d been furious with his father, but hadn’t denied she’d married the billionaire for his money, though she’d done her best to explain why. Born dirt-poor but beautiful, she’d had a tough childhood but had finally made it as a model in Australia and then overseas, having been taken on by a prestigious New York agency. For several years she’d made very good money but just before she’d turned thirty she’d discovered that her manager hadn’t invested her money wisely, as she’d believed, instead having wasted it all on gambling.

Suddenly, she’d been close to broke again and, whilst she’d still been very beautiful, her career hadn’t been what it once was. So, when the super-wealthy Morgan De Silva had come on the scene, obviously infatuated with the lovely Australian blonde, she’d allowed herself to be seduced in more ways than one. She’d been attracted to him, she’d insisted, but had admitted to Ben that she didn’t love his father, saying she doubted he’d loved her either. It had just been a case of lust.

‘The only thing your father loves,’ she’d told Ben with some bitterness, ‘is money.’

Ben had argued back that this wasn’t true. His father loved him. Which belief had prompted his move to America shortly after his graduation from university.

Not that he’d cut his mother out of his life altogether. She’d been a wonderful mother to him and he still loved her, despite her faults and flaws. They talked every week or so on the phone, but he didn’t visit all that often, mostly because he rarely had the time.

Life since going to the States had been full-on. An economics post-graduate degree at Harvard had been followed by an intense apprenticeship in the investment business. There’d been a few snide remarks when he’d made his way quickly up the ladder at De Silva & Associates, but Ben believed he’d earned his promotion to an executive position in his father’s company, along with the seven-figure salary, the sizeable bonuses, the flash car and the equally flash New York apartment. Along the way, he’d also earned the reputation for being a bit of a playboy, perhaps because his girlfriends didn’t last all that long. Invariably, after a few weeks he would grow bored with them and move on. Never once had he fallen in love, making him wonder if he ever would.

It was a surprise to Ben that his relationship with Amber had lasted as long as it had—eight months—possibly because he didn’t see all that much of her. He was working very long hours. He’d never thought himself in love with her. She was, however, attractive, amusing and very easy to be with, never fussing when he was late for a date or when he had to opt out at the last minute. Never acting in that clinging, possessive way which he hated.

She’d also never once said she loved him in all those months, so her recent declaration had come out of the blue.

Ben had been startled at first, then flattered, then tempted by her proposal, possibly because of his father’s mantras, on marriage.

‘Rich men should always marry rich girls,’ he’d said more than once, along with, ‘Rich men must marry with their heads. Never their hearts.’

Sensible advice. But it was no use. Ben knew, deep down in his heart, that marriage to a girl he didn’t love would be settling for less than he’d always wanted. A lot less.

So his answer had to be no.

Ben considered ringing Amber and telling her so immediately, but there was something cowardly about breaking up over the phone or, God forbid, by text message. She’d already asked him not to call or text her whilst he was away, perhaps hoping that he would miss her more that way.

Frankly, just the opposite had happened. Without phone calls and text messages, the connection between them had been broken. Now that he’d made his final decision, Ben felt not one ounce of regret. Just relief.

When his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket, Ben hoped like hell it wasn’t Amber. But it wasn’t her, the caller ID revealing it was his father. Ben frowned as he lifted the phone to his ear. It wasn’t like his father to call him unless there was a business problem. Morgan De Silva wasn’t into social chit-chat.

‘Hi, Dad,’ Ben said. ‘What’s up?’

‘Sorry to bother you, son, but I was thinking about you tonight and decided to give you a call.’

Ben could not have been more taken aback.

‘That’s great, Dad, but shouldn’t you be asleep? It must be the middle of the night over there.’

‘It’s not that late. Besides, you know I never sleep much. What time is it where you are?’

‘Mid-afternoon.’

‘What day?’

‘Thursday.’

‘Ah. Right. So you’ll be off to Andy’s wedding in a couple of days.’

‘I’m actually driving up to his place tomorrow.’ For a split second Ben contemplated telling his father about the accident and his fiasco about finding a hire car, but decided not to. Why worry him unnecessarily?

‘Nice boy, Andy.’

His father had met Andy when Ben had brought him to America for a holiday. They’d gone skiing with Morgan and had a great time.

‘So, when do you think you’ll be back in New York?’ his father asked.

‘Probably not till the end of next week. Mum’s away on a cruise and doesn’t get back till next Monday. I’d like to spend a day or two with her before I fly home.’

‘Of course. Why don’t you stay a little longer? Have a decent holiday? You deserve it. You’ve been working way too hard.’

Ben stared out at the beach and the ocean beyond. In truth, it had been a couple of years since he’d had more than a long weekend off, his mother recently having accused him of becoming a workaholic, just like his father.

‘I might do that,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

‘My pleasure. You’re a good boy. Give my regards to your mother,’ his father said abruptly, then hung up.

Ben stared down at his phone, wondering what in the hell that had been all about.