He gave a cursory glance at the view. ‘Never.’
‘What do you mean,never?’
‘After I sold the retreat...’ he pointed down to a house in the middle of the square ‘...I never had any reason to go back to the village. I pumped money in when I could, and had people do what needed to be done to create the vision that I had for Scarlata, for its people. It’s now a sought-after tourist destination. They didn’t need me to oversee them fulfilling their destiny.’
‘And your mother?’
‘I paid people to do what needed to be done for her,’ he said stonily. ‘I came back to her when my father died, broke the news to her, and paid someone else to deal with the aftermath.’
‘The aftermath?’ she asked, but he didn’t answer.
Flora’s stomach flipped as they flew up the hillside to the land above it...as she saw what was built there.
‘Is that your house?’
His eyes unreadable, he replied, ‘It will be.’
‘It’s beautiful!’ she gasped, extending her neck so she could admire its architecture. Tall white walls, intricately patterned columns, verandas, balconies on each floor with stone table and chair sets, climbing trellises of green foliage that ascended to a steepled roof...
And behind it the background was stunning. A forest of trees in greens and browns, and more mountains.
‘This is where you grew up?’ she asked, turning to him as the helicopter landed in a clearing marked with a big H.
‘The only thing that remains of the house I grew up in are the foundations. Everything else—’ he dipped his broad shoulders in a shrug ‘—is brand-new.’
‘But you livedhere?’
‘With my mother.’
‘Did she like it?’ she asked.
‘Like what?’
‘How you transformed it?’ Flora said, trying to imagine growing up here. What it had been like before he’d rebuilt it. ‘The house? This isn’t the home of a boy struggling to find food.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It is the house of the billionaire who rebuilt it. It was never my home, but it will be now.’
He unbuckled his belt and reached for hers.
Palms forward, she halted his touch. ‘I can do it,’ she said, and she did. Popped the buckle and untangled herself from the harness.
The proximity of their bodies belied the distance she could feel between them. He’d retreated somewhere inside himself, to a place she couldn’t follow. Even his touch felt different. The hand at the base of her spine as he’d reached to help her had been incidental, courteous.
Hefelt different. Restrained. When the last three days he had been anything but.
‘So did she?’ she asked, focusing on him rather than trying to organise her feelings. Admit what was happening.
His gaze narrowed. ‘Did she what?’
‘Did she like it? The house you built for her?’
‘She didn’t care.’
‘Did you?’
‘Did I what?’
‘Care?’ she pushed.
