Playing the Billionaire's Game - Pippa Roscoe Page 0,50

she contemplated whether the fantasy was one he’d invited her to step into or one he’d enticed her in to, to cover his tracks.

Sebastian felt a twinge of uncertainty. He’d not seen Sia that afternoon though, in all fairness, he’d been distracted by a minor wrangling in the New York hotel and by the time it had been resolved it was nearly five p.m. He’d thought she might have found herself something to do, or been resting, but as the day drew into dusk he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, despite his best intentions, the evening might not quite go as planned. He’d known that telling her an area of the estate was off-limits was a risk, but had decided it was worth it. Something he still believed.

When Sia finally arrived in the living room she took his breath away. The dress was of a similar style to the one she had worn in Victoriana, but this one was the colour of honey. Rich, alluring, evocative. As if she’d dressed with the sole purpose of driving him out of his mind. Which was why it took him a moment to see that Sia was braced, as if ready for some kind of hurt, and he couldn’t quite tell why.

‘Are you okay?’ he said, fighting the urge to close the distance between them, instinctively knowing that it could cause her to flee.

‘Yes.’

Sebastian bit his tongue. Clipped, one-word answers weren’t Sia’s usual style. Giving in to temptation, he crossed the room, stopping barely a foot from her. Sia couldn’t meet his gaze and he closed down the bitter laugh he felt rising. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d declared her a terrible actress. In an instant he knew what she had thought of his request, what conclusion she’d drawn. And could he deny that she was right to do so? Justified, even, after everything he’d done?

He took a breath. ‘I had a plan. For how this evening would go. But...’ He trailed off, realising that it didn’t matter what he said, how he might explain things. The only way would be to show her. ‘Come with me?’ he asked, his hand held out just like he had done hours before. She nodded, only this time she didn’t take his hand, leaving his fingers to close on thin air.

Pushing down on a feeling he refused to name, he led her to the door to the basement, flicking on the lights for the staircase and taking the lead. ‘The previous owners converted the entire area into a very expensive wine cellar,’ he said, all the while questioning why he was persevering with this. Anything he’d hoped to gain was now well and truly shot to pieces. ‘But with a few tweaks I realised it would be perfect,’ he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘Perfect for what?’

‘This,’ he said, turning on the low lighting that instantly brought warmth and light to the cavernous underground chamber. The space stretched beyond the footprint of the estate, almost all the way to the boundary. It could have been a World War One weapons bunker for all he knew, but it had been exactly what he’d wanted for his collection.

He was strangely satisfied by the gasp of surprise that fell from Sia’s lips. He’d fallen in love with it the moment he’d seen it and it had been the sole reason for buying the estate. Beautiful sand-coloured stone slabs made up the flooring that met aged brick, running along, up and over the walls and curved ceiling of the basement. Soft blond up-lighting mirrored the arches in the walls that led through to other rooms and areas that ran off the central corridor stretching before them. It was his pride and joy and he’d been so excited to share it with Sia, but the moment he’d seen that look in her eyes, the fear of what he might reveal to her, he knew he only had himself to blame.

The space was what Sia noticed first. The walls she noticed second. Paintings. Everywhere she could see. Paintings by unspeakably famous artists, some that she’d only ever heard of and some she could have sworn were hanging in museums and galleries visited by tourists every day. She left Sebastian to walk through the stone corridors and arched hallways, her mind lit with wonder at the most incredible private art collection she’d ever seen. There didn’t seem to be a particular pattern, subject matter or epoch to curate