The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption. Sandra Marton

       CHAPTER ONE

      DANIELLE wondered if the man was watching her. She had the feeling he had been, ever since he’d entered the first-class lounge. She’d been alone and, when the door had swung open, it had been natural to glance up from her book and look at the new arrival. Having company had seemed a welcome prospect.

      But she hadn’t expected anyone like him. Tall, broad-shouldered, he had the kind of rugged good looks that Danielle had only before seen on the movie screen. He looked nothing like the weary, middle-aged businessmen travelling on expense accounts her friend Ginny had sworn were the only people who used the airlines’ private lounges between flights.

      ‘Look,’ Ginny had said patiently, ‘you have a two-hour layover between planes. Why should you sit in a noisy terminal all that time while some guy who sells widgets relaxes in style? I have a friend who’s a flight attendant. He can get you into the VIP lounge.’

      Danielle had protested, saying that her discount ticket on Air France hardly entitled her to such perks. She would feel out of place, she’d told Ginny. But her friend had been determined.

      ‘Jack says it’s no problem. And you’ll probably be all by yourself anyway. After a while, you’ll be dying for company.’

      Ginny had been right. The lounge had turned out to be big, handsomely furnished—and as impersonal as a dental surgery. Danielle drank more coffee than was good for her, read a glossy fashion magazine until her eyes felt glazed, and kept glancing at her watch, as if she could somehow will the time to move faster. But she never did resolve the feeling of being out of place.

      That was why she felt so uncomfortable now.

      Her first thought, when she’d seen the man, had been that he belonged here and she didn’t. And then something had happened, something she still couldn’t understand.

      His eyes—so blue they were almost violet—had met hers. Suddenly, the room had seemed to shimmer with electricity. Danielle had heard the racing beat of her own heart, and then the man had smiled, a private little tilt of his finely sculpted mouth that had sent colour flooding into her face.

      Danielle had wrenched her head away, forcing herself to stare blindly out of the window, and finally she’d heard the soft sound of footfalls as he’d crossed the room and then the soft shift of leather as he’d settled into a chair.

      Silence had fallen around her again and the moments had dragged by while she’d tried to decide what to do next. Her impulse had been to bolt out of the door to the public lounge. But that was silly. There was no reason to run—it was just that, every few minutes, she felt the nape of her neck tingle with the awareness of his eyes, felt her blood surge wildly beneath her skin. And then her pulse would begin to quicken until it drummed so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

      All of which was, of course, ridiculous. It was just her imagination—there was no reason to think he was looking at her. He was probably reading a newspaper or dozing or—

      ‘Excuse me.’ She looked up, startled. The man was standing beside her, holding a newspaper in his hand and smiling. ‘I was wondering—do you have the correct time? My watch seems to have stopped.’

      ‘It’s five past seven,’ Danielle said, looking pointedly from him to the large clock on the wall.

      His eyes followed hers and his smile broadened. ‘Now, how could I have missed seeing that?’ She said nothing, and he put his hand