Australia’s Most Eligible Bachelor Read Free

decided glitter in his eyes, so dark a brown they were almost black. “I don’t have time for this. What’s it all about? You have exactly five minutes.”
    “Give me one ,” she retorted smartly, hoping she looked a whole lot more in control of herself than she was. “May I have my bag?”
    He frowned at her. “What is it you want to show me?” He didn’t oblige, but drew the tote bag onto his lap. Gil would have checked carefully, but there were always surprises in life. This extraordinary young woman didn’t exactly look unstable or wired. He could see the high intelligence in her face, the keenness of her turquoise-green regard. She was nothing like all the well-connected young women he knew. The pressure was on him from his father to pick out a suitable bride. Annette Atwood was highly suitable. But did he honestly believe in love ?
    “Photographs.” Miranda’s mind was momentarily distracted while she focused on his hands. He had beautifully shaped hands. Hands were important to her.
    “That’s nice!” He didn’t hide the mockery.
    “I’d hold the nice until you have a look at them,” she warned. “Don’t think for one minute it’s porn. Good old Gil would have spotted that, and I don’t deal in such things. I was very well brought up. Go on—pull them out. They won’t bite you.”
    “The cheek of you!” he gritted. “You know what I’d really like to do with you?” He was uncomfortably aware his body was coiled taut. Why? She was pint-sized. No physical threat at all. What did he want to do with her? Why was he giving her the time of day? Actually, he didn’t want to think it through. She was so young , with her life in front of her. Despite himself he felt a disturbing level of attraction.
    “Throw me out onto the street?” she was suggesting. “You could do it easily.”
    “Maybe I will at some point.” He withdrew several photographs from a side pocket in her well-worn bag. They looked old, faded, turning up at the edges. He narrowed his dark eyes. “What exactly are these? Photographs of Mummy when she was a girl?” He was being facetious. Until he saw what he had in his hand.
    God, no! This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t her. The girl in the photographs didn’t just bear a strong resemblance to his stepmother. She was Leila—unless she had an identical twin.
    “How clever of you, Corin,” Miranda said, making an effort to conceal her own upset. “They’re photographs of my mother when she was a year younger than I am now.”
    His expression turned daunting for so young a man. Shades of the father, Miranda supposed. “Just be quiet for a moment,” he ordered.
    Miranda knew when it was time to obey. She and Corin Rylance had polarised positions in life. She was a nobody. He was on the highest rung of society. Heir to a great fortune. He could cause her a lot of grief.
    “So what’s your game?” He shot her a steely glance, the expression in his fine eyes in no way benevolent.
    “No game.” She turned up her palms. “I’m deadly serious. We can keep this between the two of us, if you like. I’m certain from what I know of my birth mother— your stepmother—that she hasn’t confided her sordid little story to another living soul. Least of all your father.”
    “You want money?” The stunning features drew tight with contempt.
    “I need money,” she corrected.
    “Aaah! A big difference.” The tone was withering.
    “I think you can spare it.”
    “Do you, now?” His tone all but bit into her soft flesh. “So I’m to look after you indefinitely? Is that the plan? Well, let me help you out here, Miranda, as you’re barely out of school. Blackmail is a very serious crime. I could turn you over to the police this afternoon. It would only take one call.”
    “Sure. I’ve risked that,” she admitted. “But you won’t be doing your family any favours, Corin. Don’t think I’m not ashamed to have to ask you. I have to. My mother— your