Free Propositioned by the Billionaire by Lucy King

and went with the motion. ‘Who by?’
    ‘Me.’
    As she’d suspected. ‘Of course. What billionaire would be without one?’
    ‘If I’d wanted a status symbol I’d have bought a playground in the Caribbean.’
    Hmm. ‘So what is this deserted peaceful island with no interference from the outside world? An escape?’
    ‘Perhaps.’
    ‘From what?’ she asked.
    ‘The city.’
    She had the impression the island was an escape from more than just the city because she’d found no mention of it in her research. ‘How much time do you spend here?’
    ‘Not enough.’
    That seemed a shame, she thought, drinking in the spectacular scenery spreading out before her. The shoreline jutted in and out, shaped by millennia of buffeting winds. After the carefully landscaped gardens of the night before last, the rugged beauty of the island took her breath away.
    As did Alex’s profile. Phoebe took advantage of the fact that he was staring out of the windscreen to study him. Despite the concentration etched on his face, the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed to have softened, as if the serenity of the place had seeped into him too. The wind ruffled his hair and as she ran her gaze over the hint of the bump on his nose it struck her how much Alex suited this landscape.
    ‘When were you here last?’
    ‘About a year ago.’
    ‘Why so long?’
    ‘Busy. Work.’
    ‘What made you buy a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic?’
    ‘It’s a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic,’ he said dryly. ‘I like my space. I value my privacy.’
    That figured. Given the press attention he received she guessed he wasn’t a great fan of journalists. Or nosy PRs, judging by the brevity of his answers to her questions. Still, she hadn’t got where she had by being deflected by evasiveness.
    ‘No man is an island,’ she said solemnly.
    ‘Are you romanticising me, Phoebe?’
    Heaven forbid. ‘Just thought I’d mention it.’
    ‘It’s not completely isolated.’
    He’d pointed out the other islands in the archipelago as they’d flown over them. ‘Who lives on the other ones?’
    ‘No idea.’
    ‘That’s not very neighbourly.’
    ‘Owners of remote islands don’t tend to be very neighbourly.’
    ‘What happens if you run out of sugar?’
    ‘My housekeeper makes sure I don’t.’
    He had answers to everything, thought Phoebe as they headed off the rough land and onto a gravel track. He was wasted in venture capital. He should be in PR.
    ‘If you value your privacy so highly, why host a party for a hundred people?’
    ‘No press. Do you have to keep asking questions?’
    ‘Yup. Sorry. It’s my job.’
    ‘Perhaps you should be saving your energies for later.’
    ‘I have plenty of energy,’ she said with a grin, and realised with surprise that it was true. Despite her lack of sleep, Phoebe felt oddly invigorated. It was probablythe sea air. Or the thrill of a challenge. Or perhaps the exhilaration of the Jeep ride.
    It had nothing whatsoever to do with having spent the best part of the day with Alex.
     
    A shower of gravel flew up as Alex pulled up outside the house and yanked on the handbrake. The sooner he could get away from Phoebe, the better.
    Her incessant questioning was driving him nuts. He didn’t want to have to go into detail about when and why he’d bought the island, but any longer and his resistance would crumble under the sheer weight of her persistence.
    ‘Oh, wow.’
    Phoebe was standing up and gazing up at his house, an expression of awe on her face. At least she’d stopped with the bloody questions, he thought grimly, jumping out of the Jeep and striding round to her side. ‘Give me your hand.’
    ‘This is amazing,’ she said, holding her hands out but still staring up at the house. ‘Did you build it?’
    Alex helped her out of the Jeep, set her on her feet and took their luggage out. ‘I designed it. Someone else built it.’
    He glanced up. The two-storey glass and steel