The Billionaire's Baby Chase. Valerie Parv
through him again, stronger now that she was before him in the flesh. It was even more of an effort to gain control of his vocal cords. Only years of top-level business negotiations gave him the skills to conceal her effect on him. “Zoe Holden?” he made himself ask, although he already knew the answer.
She swallowed hard, looked away and then back at him. Could he possibly be having a similar effect on her? To her credit, she sounded composed when she said, “You must be James Langford.”
The woman’s eyes had widened at the sight of him and although he was used to the reaction, he felt a perverse satisfaction at knowing he had impressed her. He knew his six-foot-two height could be intimidating. His sister accused him of working out deliberately to pack solid muscle around nature’s formidable packaging. She was wrong, of course. These days fitness was a business asset. If it made his rivals think twice about crossing him, it was an added bonus.
Intimidated or not, the woman extended her hand and James felt a quick flaring of respect for her. Although her hand was swamped by his larger one, her grip was firm and businesslike. “I’m Zoe, pleased to meet you.”
The musical cadence of her voice was as startling as her handshake, although not quite as startling as the mass of golden curls, which crowned an almost classically sculptured head and neck. She was beautiful enough to take a man’s breath away. If he had been no more than a client she was to show over a house, he would have been seriously tempted to invite her to discuss the deal with him over dinner that night.
He was seriously tempted, he admitted to himself, but was stopped by the certainty that she would want nothing further to do with him once she knew the real reason he was here. “Call me James,” he said and she nodded.
She opened the door wider. “Fine, James. I’ll get the paperwork for the Strathfield house and we can be on our way.”
James waited at the door while Zoe gathered the papers together and slid them into a leather document case. She was aware of his dark eyes following her movements. The attention had an odd, uplifting effect on her mood.
Most of her clients were elderly investors who treated her like a daughter, sometimes inviting her to their family gatherings. It wasn’t often she dealt with a man of the caliber of James Langford. She knew him by reputation, of course, as most people did. His company had pioneered satellite communications in Australia and now operated all over the world. He presided over a pay-television network, radio stations and something to do with computer software. The office had supplied her with some background details on him as soon as he showed an interest in the Strathfield mansion.
However, no amount of research could prepare her for the sheer physical impact he had on her. It wasn’t only his size, although it was daunting to discover that she only reached his shoulder even in high heels. His eyes were an arresting blue which would have given Paul Newman tough competition.
Coming on top of a long, lean body which had serious athlete written all over it, the effect was thoroughly arresting. But it was more than his appearance that made her catch her breath. He projected a sense of elemental power that was almost mesmerizing. It wasn’t hard to see why he was so successful. His air of command had struck her like a physical force as soon as she opened the door. Yet he bore the mantle of power so easily she had the sense that his genes must go all the way back to Alexander the Great in an unbroken line.
She almost laughed aloud at herself. After her disastrous marriage, what did she know about men and their genes? Alexander the Great, indeed. The man was a client. A rich, successful, incredibly virile and attractive one, but still a client. She had no business constructing an entire fantasy around a greeting and a handshake.
Her friend Julie was probably right. She was spending too much time either on her own or with Genie. Maybe she should make the effort to circulate more. If she allowed the memory of her marriage to Andrew to sour the rest of her life, she would let him defeat her twice.
Circulating was one thing, she knew. Allowing herself to get involved with a man, especially a take-charge man like James Langford, was quite another. Nobody knew better than Zoe that getting involved meant giving up control of your life. In Andrew’s case, it had meant giving up every shred of control, becoming accountable to him for every minute of her time. She had no intentions of putting herself in such a position again.
By the time she rejoined James, document case under her arm, her smile was coolly professional. “Shall we go? My car’s parked outside.”
“We’ll be more comfortable in mine.” He indicated a sleek black Branxton Turbo that managed to make her sedan, of which she was normally quite proud, look positively shabby. How did you make a car gleam like this anyway?
“But I know the way,” she countered, wondering why it was suddenly important to her to win this round. She told herself she was being practical, insisting on her own transportation, but the reason went deeper. For some reason, James Langford set her senses on automatic alert, although she couldn’t think why.
It wasn’t his stature or his wealth. In the property management business she’d learned to operate at all levels. And oddly enough, she felt her honor was safe with him, although he’d probably find such an old-fashioned notion laughable, if not a slight to his manhood.
No, there was something else about him which counseled caution, even if it was only her imagination, which seemed to be working overtime today.
She was mildly surprised when he slid into the passenger seat of her car without further discussion, reaching across to open her door from the inside. He seemed to take up a great deal of space inside the compact car, she noticed.
“Have you inspected many properties in Sydney?” she asked, trying to switch into professional mode before her thoughts ran away with her again. Around James it seemed all too easy.
“My deputy has looked at a number of them, but none entirely suits the company’s needs.”
She cast a sidelong look at him, almost disappointed that the conversation had switched to business so readily. “What are your company’s needs exactly?”
“A top location, naturally. A substantial parcel of land. And a property that has heritage value so our visiting executives gain some sense of the Australian character while they’re here.”
“Then you’re not buying for yourself?”
He shook his head. “Not to live in, no. I already keep a penthouse in the city and my main residence on the border of the Watagan State Forest, a few miles north of Sydney.”
Her eyes widened with delighted surprise. “I know it. My grandparents lived not far from Wollombi. I used to hand-feed kangaroos outside their back door.”
His interest was clearly piqued. “Perhaps I know them.”
A pang shot through her. “They died some years ago, within months of each other. I haven’t been up that way in a long time.”
She couldn’t have been more than fourteen the last time she stayed with her grandparents, although she’d visited them often as an adult. The memory of walking through lush green rain forests and trying to carry on a conversation over the summer evening anthem of cicadas remained with her.
Was it because her grandparents’ house was the only real home she’d known as a child? Her parents had been botanists, well enough known in their respective fields, but genteelly impoverished. Most of their time had been spent out in the field while their only daughter was farmed out to relatives, since they couldn’t afford boarding-school fees.
After her father succumbed to a rare tropical disease on an expedition to South America, her mother had retired to the south coast of New South Wales, amid a jungle of a garden where she grew medicinal herbs.
By then mother and daughter were so estranged that Zoe couldn’t imagine living with her mother. Fortunately by then she was working as a nanny, living with her charge’s family, so the question never arose. Her mother wouldn’t have enjoyed an enforced family existence any more than Zoe herself would.
“And