Kitabı oxu: «At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? / High-Society Secret Baby»

AT THE

BILLIONAIRE’S

BECK AND CALL?

RACHEL BAILEY

HIGH-SOCIETY

SECRET BABY

MAXINE SULLIVAN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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AT THE

BILLIONAIRE’S

BECK AND CALL?

RACHEL BAILEY

“Invite me up,” Ryder said.

Macy arched one eyebrow, as if in control. “Why would I do that?”

His voice, when he found it, was rough. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“I don’t think talking’s what you have in mind.”

“Sure, just because I want to talk doesn’t mean I’m not aching to touch you.” To kiss you. To taste you.

Macy’s pupils dilated as Ryder leaned over and brushed his lips across hers.

Her mouth yielded, opened to him. Drunk on her exotic scent, he lifted his hands to cup her face, finding her cheeks were like silk under his palms. He felt her hands on his shoulders, lightly, then more assured as they travelled an exquisite path to his neck before her fingers tangled in his hair. He was lost—

A flash went off, lighting up the lobby, and Ryder pulled back, blinking.

The paparazzi had found him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RACHEL BAILEY developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck) and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to gain degrees in psychology and social work, but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living.

She lives on a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with her hero and four dogs, and loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her ever-growing to-be-read pile.

Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website, www.rachelbailey.com.

This book is dedicated to Emily May, who flew in like an angel when we were in such need of her. And to Sandii, Barb, Alison L, Alison A, Annie and Mum, who all provided practical help as well as their support. And the staff of the Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital’s Cancer Care Services. And to everyone who sent us thoughts, cards, hugs, prayers and wishes. You all helped immeasurably.

Huge thanks to Charles Griemsman for your insight and skill. You’re a pleasure to work with and your chocolate appreciation says much about your character.

And, as always, thank you to the fabulous Jenn Schober.

Dear Reader,

Chocolate is one of my very favourite things (some might even say I have a little addiction). And I’m a firm believer in its romantic properties, be it dark or milk chocolate; crisp from the fridge or melting on the tongue; plain or enrobing butterscotch pieces.

So, as you can imagine, the idea of combining chocolate with a passionate romance was irresistible.

All I needed was the perfect hero for my chocolate story. Enter Ryder Bramson. He quickly became one of my favourite heroes with his quiet intensity, the strength of his integrity, and his utter respect for Macy. I developed quite the crush on Ryder, but unfortunately, he only had eyes for his heroine.

I hope you enjoy Ryder and Macy’s story. I recommend you read it with chocolate close to hand!

Rachel

One

He was staring at her again.

Her boss, Ryder Bramson.

Macy broke away from his unsettling gaze and refocused on the meeting at hand. And yet her eyes drifted back to the Armani-clad man with the deep frown-line between his eyebrows. She knew Ryder Bramson by name—who didn’t?—but she’d seen him in the flesh for the first time today when he and his team had arrived in Melbourne from the States to check on the progress of this special project.

At six foot three, with closely cropped brown hair and rugged features, she had a feeling he’d stand out wherever he was, yet that hardly explained the unexpected thrum of desire that had resonated through her bloodstream at her first glimpse of the man she’d been working under for the past two weeks. Or the way her breath caught slightly every time his coffee-brown eyes flicked to hers during the introductions.

Sitting tall and broad in his chair, he watched her now, his head turned at an arrogant forty-five-degree angle to the left as if no one was worthy of him looking them squarely in the face. Unbelievably disconcerting.

It wasn’t as if she’d never been stared at before—it’d been one of the few constants in her life. Before she’d escaped to Australia at eighteen, she’d lived in a golden cage of wealth, luxury and limelight. The eldest of two children of a corporate giant and a Hollywood actress, she’d always drawn more than her fair share of unwelcome interest.

But this man’s stare was different. More intense. More focused. As if he could see through every defensive layer of protection she’d ever constructed.

Macy shivered and looked back at the statistics in front of her.

Her accountant finished his address and, despite her straying thoughts, Macy smoothly took her cue. “You’ll see the figures we’ve collected on each of Chocolate Diva’s potential competitors in this report.”

She passed a pile of bound documents to her personal assistant, who stood and distributed them to the people at the table.

Ryder accepted his and, without a glance, passed it directly to his secretary. “Tell me in your own words,” he said, his voice deep and authoritative.

Not missing a beat, Macy explained her findings so far. “If we’re to expand into the Australian marketplace we’ll need to find a niche in the already well-supplied market of chocolate products. Taking our research and forecasts into consideration, we will likely recommend beginning with three of our current products, some adapted for the Australian consumer, inserted into current retail outlets. Also two brand-name shops, one each in the Sydney and Melbourne city centers.”

She’d spent two weeks living and breathing this project before today’s meeting with Ryder Bramson and his entourage. She knew the figures by heart. She and her small staff of two had put in ridiculously long days, cramming more into two weeks than even she had thought possible.

Yet, Ryder didn’t seem impressed. His strongly featured face remained impassive, unmoved … except for every so often when he pierced her with that penetrating stare.

Like now.

Her skin tightened across her entire body and her pulse kicked up a notch. But she schooled her expression to be as unresponsive as his, and continued with her explanations of the projected profit and loss analysis. She’d bet good money that stare was one of the reasons for his phenomenal success with his family’s food empire—adversaries would always be off balance and employees desperate to perform their best for him.

She, however, would conceal how his calculating appraisal affected her. She’d grown up surrounded by powerful, emotionally remote men, starting with her father. The man who’d distanced himself from her when she was only thirteen and her mother had just died. Her understanding that in his grief-stricken state he couldn’t cope with her resemblance to her mother hadn’t lessened the pain. Especially when he’d been kinder to her sister, whose looks and personality didn’t remind him so much of his dead wife.

Macy squared her shoulders. That experience had changed her, made her what she was. A strong, independent woman.

She could handle Mr. Bramson and his stare.

Glancing down at her laptop, she clicked a button and brought up a graph to show her point more clearly. It appeared on the LCD screens built into the conference table in front of the seven other people at the meeting. Six of them lowered their gazes to read.

The seventh kept his focus squarely on her, his head turned to the side at that almost insolent angle.

Macy felt a flush of nerves creep through her system—something she rarely felt in a business meeting, a place where she prided herself on being prepared and in control. Yet at this meeting, her boss barely seemed interested in the results he’d hired her to find. And when he looked at her like that, she found herself thinking more like a flesh and blood woman than a businesswoman. Her skin heated, her breathing became shallow.

No. She would not be sidetracked by biological responses to a man. Especially not now. There was no way she’d miss the chance to be Chocolate Diva’s first Australian CEO.

She met his gaze. “Is there a problem with your screen, Mr. Bramson?”

He lifted his right eyebrow—the first reaction he’d revealed since arriving in the building thirty-five minutes earlier. “I haven’t crossed the Pacific to look at graphs and reports that I could have studied from the comfort of my own office, Ms. Ashley.”

Macy nodded, ignoring the unease in her stomach. Of course he hadn’t. She flicked a switch and the screens went blank. Time for a change of direction—she was nothing if not flexible. Adaptable. Promotable.

When he’d headhunted her from her previous position—working for the corporate raider Damon Blakely, overseeing acquisitions of small companies—Ryder had made her a promise. During their phone interview, he’d said if this two-month project went well, she’d be in the running for the top job at Chocolate Diva—the high-end chocolate and candy brand—as it opened its doors in Australia. A job she wanted badly. The sort of job she’d been working toward since she graduated top of her class in her business degree. A major step toward her career goal of running a company at least the size of her father’s.

So if the boss didn’t want to be bothered reading reports, she was more than fine with that option. “We’ve prepared some samples of possible product variations for your team to try.”

He’d been examining the other staff members at the table, and now turned his head in a slow, deliberate move to look at her again, his intense physical presence seeming to reach out and touch her from across the table.

She held his gaze, unwilling to blink or show the smallest sign of intimidation. “Perhaps you and your staff would like to take the afternoon to recover from jetlag, and we’ll resume first thing in the morning with the product tastings.”

His right brow again arched, as if Ryder Bramson never needed time to recover from any experience. He probably didn’t.

Macy waited. It was his move.

Finally Ryder dipped his chin in one slow, yet precise nod. “If the product samples are ready, I’ll try them now. The U.S. team can go back to the hotel and be back by 9:00 a.m. sharp.”

The men and women in suits began assembling their papers and lifting briefcases, but Ryder’s clear, deep voice carried across their noise. “Ms. Ashley, I have a phone call to make. I’ll meet you back in here in ten minutes.”

Macy nodded then resumed gathering the reports and folders off the table in front of her and stood.

Shaun, a lean, gray-haired American from Missouri, whispered on the way out the door, “Don’t let him put you off, it’s just his way. He’s a good boss, but at home, they call him The Machine.”

Macy nodded discreetly as Shaun peeled off in another direction. That was perfectly okay with her. She liked to focus on her work, do the best job she could. Faux friendships that often arose in workplaces were nothing more than a distraction, and she’d never been the gossip-at-the-water-cooler type.

In fact, it seemed Ryder Bramson might be the ideal boss … as long as she could contain her reactions to his gaze. Even now she could feel the pulse at her throat, the remnants of a warm shiver trailing down her spine.

Definitely a bad thing.

But she’d pandered to enough imaginings about her boss in the short time since they met. It was time to stop.

Ten minutes later, Macy looked around the meeting room, making sure everything was in place. She and her assistant, Tina, had collected ingredients yesterday to give Ryder’s team a general idea of how the products could be adapted.

Tina walked in with a bowl of fruit pieces and laid it on the table. “How do you want to run this?”

Macy had planned the exercise for a group but it shouldn’t be a problem to downscale. She moved a bowl of dried lychees an inch to the left to make everything line up more squarely. “While you make up the samples and hand them to Mr. Bramson, I’ll explain the choices.”

“Sounds good,” Tina said as she turned on the chocolate fountain they’d filled with their own brand’s imported rich, dark chocolate.

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Macy turned. She took in Ryder Bramson filling the doorway—he’d removed both the charcoal business jacket and tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his teal-blue shirt. The dark hair on his strong forearms covered tanned skin, leading down to large, square hands with long fingers. Unbidden, the image of those hands roaming her skin filled her mind, those arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Her gaze traveled up to his face, his full bottom lip, then to his eyes, which were regarding her with a lazy appraisal of their own.

Macy swallowed. Stepped back. Put a chair between them.

Tina looked up and smiled—the picture of a professional reaction. “Ah, Mr. Bramson, we’re ready for you.”

His eyes lingered on Macy for another long moment before they flicked to her assistant. “Tina, isn’t it? Looks like you’ve done a great job here, but I won’t keep you from your work. I’m sure Ms. Ashley will be able to help me.”

Macy’s heartbeat stuttered. She glanced at Tina and saw the question in her eyes. She knew Tina was rushing to get the information on potential retail sites together, and, as Ryder was the only person coming for the tasting now, it made sense for Macy to do this alone. But with the sexual charge in the room, with the way her insides melted every time her boss looked at her, she could well do with a chaperone—

Macy stopped herself mid-thought. What was she thinking? She’d never let herself be diverted from her goals before, and she wasn’t about to start now. She closed her eyes, took a breath, then opened them and smiled at Tina. “It’s okay, I’ll be fine here.”

Tina paused a moment as if to reassure herself she really could leave, then bustled from the room.

Ryder strolled over and surveyed the food on the table before again meeting her eyes. “Where do you want me?”

She stilled, but Ryder’s strong face remained impassive, dark eyes focused on her, no sign of teasing or flirting visible. Brilliant, now she was reading double entendres into his words.

She found a polite smile and pointed to the head of the table. “There will be fine.”

Ryder took his seat and she sat in the chair to his right, in easy reach of all the ingredients, then slipped into the speech she’d been preparing in her mind. “The Diva Truffle Bar has tested well and is unique. At this stage we believe it will be able to enter the Australian market in its current form.” The bar—crushed almond and honeycomb in a chocolate truffle, coated in their own brand chocolate—would be as much a hit here as overseas if her research was correct. “We’ve run some preliminary focus groups and the feedback from the tastings was overwhelmingly positive.”

Ryder steepled his fingers under his chin, elbows on the armrests of his chair. But said nothing.

The silence threatened to stretch and leave her in the unfamiliar position of being flustered, so she took a breath and forged on with her spiel.

“The second product we’re investigating as an option is Diva Drops.” The dried fruit pieces smothered in a thick layer of their dark chocolate was their second highest selling line in the U.S., after the Truffle Bar. “Given your preference for Australian production using Australian products where possible, we might need to adapt some varieties. The cherries, cranberries and blueberries are harder to source here so we’re looking into the viability of some locally grown fruit.”

Ryder tipped his chin to the bowls in front of them. “Such as mango.”

Macy nodded and picked up a piece of dried mango on a toothpick then held it beneath the stream of the chocolate fountain. “This is dried Bowen mango. It’s in plentiful supply in the north during the summer and we have some early feelers out now with growers.”

She waited till the chocolate solidified, then handed the toothpick to him, realizing too late that there was very little room on the end of the pick for both sets of fingers. His thumb and forefinger encircled hers, capturing her hand with a gentle clasp. Time seemed to still as her body reacted to the touch, from the heat in her hand right down to a tug of desire deep in the core of her being.

She’d been thinking of his hands only minutes before and his fingers were so firm, his palm radiating such warmth on the back of her hand that she was glad she was already sitting down.

Then he moved to grasp the toothpick at the very end and she let go. He lifted it slowly and as the chocolate and mango reached higher, his tongue appeared and took the food into the dark depths of his mouth before he slid the pick out through closed lips.

With a start, Macy realized she’d been staring, so she began stabbing toothpicks in other pieces of fruit, but this time, arranged them on a plate instead of handing them to him.

Keeping her eyes glued to her task, she asked, “What did you think?”

There was no response as she put several more pieces of dried mango through the chocolate fountain then onto his plate. Her eyes drifted back to him. He was watching her.

He cleared his throat. “Delicious.”

The sensuality in his voice was unmistakable but Macy had no choice but to ignore it, despite the protestations of her body. She couldn’t afford to ruin this opportunity. That Australian CEO position had her name on it, and if she got the job, hopefully Ryder Bramson would remain her boss for a long time. She needed to keep this professional relationship working optimally.

She pushed the plate in front of him. “Other fruits in plentiful supply are pineapple, lychees and strawberries. Additionally—” she picked up the silver sugar tongs and pulled another bowl over “—we’re considering adding mint leaves to the range.” She ran the fresh mint leaf under the stream of chocolate, but before she could place it on his plate, Ryder laid his palm out for the delicacy.

She looked up, sure her boss was the type who’d want to minimize mess, but he nodded so she laid the leaf into the palm of his hand. Making sure not to watch him consume this one—staying professional—she grabbed a couple of napkins and put them beside his plate.

He wiped the chocolate remnants from his hand, then sampled an assortment of the other morsels from his plate. She could feel him watching her as he tasted and chewed, but she found things for her hands to do. Her pulse fluttered but thankfully her hands were steady.

“Very good,” his deep voice rumbled. “You said you’d be recommending three lines. The Truffle Bar, these variations of the Drops and …?”

“And the basic sampler tray. The current five fillings in the sampler should be suitable, but we’ll run more focus groups before finalizing that recommendation.”

A knock sounded at the open door and Tina walked in. “How’s it going in here? Do you need me?”

Ryder leaned back in his chair, eminently comfortable in his new domain. “No, Ms. Ashley has taken good care of me.”

Her skin heated as if the timbre of his voice, the intensity of his gaze could reach across and touch her. Caress her. Stroke her. She suspected that if he beckoned her now with the crook of a finger, she’d go without a second thought.

Thank goodness they’d be working on opposite sides of the globe most of the time. He was unexpectedly dangerous to her composure.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, glancing around the table, at the ingredients they’d been through. “Actually, unless you want to keep tasting, I’ve pretty much shown you everything.”

Ryder nodded once and stood. “These options are good. Tina, tomorrow you can run them past Shaun and the team.” He turned back to Macy. “Ms. Ashley, I’d like to see you for a moment alone. In my office, please.”

A shiver of excitement skittered along her spine despite knowing his request was professional—of course he’d want to talk to the team leader.

She stood taller and nodded. “Certainly.”

This was her opportunity to impress him—an opportunity she’d been looking forward to. But that was before she’d met him and felt how he could effortlessly bring her body zinging to life.

Would the effect be magnified once they were closeted in an office, alone?

Ryder stood behind the polished wooden desk in his temporary office and stared down at the cruising boats negotiating the ribbon of the Yarra River.

Macy was perfect. The woman he’d crossed the globe to meet had the face of an angel, the body of a Venus and a spine of steel. He’d have married her just to buy her father’s company, but all evidence now pointed to him enjoying this marriage.

Marriage.

Macy would be his wife.

Ryder sucked in a satisfied breath.

He knew he was cut from the same cloth as his own father—he’d lost count of the number of times people had told him that—knew he was incapable of love, especially the forever kind. So a practical marriage would suit him perfectly—he’d have companionship and raise a family, sidestepping the love issue.

He heard Macy’s voice, sweet as birdsong, coming down the corridor, talking rapidly to one of her staff, and he shook aside his wandering thoughts. One step at a time, no point getting ahead of himself.

Then she stood in the doorway, looking impossibly beautiful, awaiting his instruction. Her mysterious hazel eyes assessed him and her curtain of dark brown hair draped her shoulders like satin. Long, toned legs showed below the skirt of her suit, but he tried not to look.

He indicated with a hand that she could enter and she moved to stand in front of him, seemingly so delicate. For one crazy moment, he lost himself in the desire to explore her delicateness more intimately. To step forward—

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Bramson?”

Her words brought his attention back to the meeting … and his eyes back from her legs. He swallowed hard. “Call me Ryder.”

Her only reaction was to flick her hair behind a shoulder encased in a pearl-gray business jacket. “Ryder.”

“You’ve done well with this project. I don’t have to tell you that the expansion of this arm of our company into Australia depends on your conclusions, but I see it’s in good hands from the work you’ve completed.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t look pleased by the praise, though she didn’t look displeased, either. Her expression was too aloof for either, almost feline in the way her nose tipped up, the way her eyes blinked slowly. He liked it.

He sank his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “Have you had any problems?”

She raised a slim shoulder dismissively. “Nothing I couldn’t deal with.”

Ryder allowed a ghost of a smile. Perfect answer. He had to admit, he already liked her more than any woman he’d dated. Since he’d decided to marry her three weeks ago—immediately after the reading of his father’s will—he’d done a thorough background check and found that she seemed a good match for him. They both had high-profile, complicated families, and they both steered away from those families and the publicity surrounding them as much as possible.

But the bottom line was, this marriage needed to go ahead so he could buy her father’s company, including its stock in his own family’s company. If they had a connection, a spark, that was icing. Since—as he’d discovered at the recent reading of his father’s will—his father had split his majority share of stock in Bramson Holdings between his legitimate and illegitimate families, the stakes were high. His father had begun in food, then diversified into hotels when he’d realized he would need unrelated career paths for his sons. Ryder had always expected that his half brothers would inherit Bramson Hotels, and he would inherit Bramson Food Holdings, which he’s spent his entire working life strengthening.

Or that, as the legitimate son, he would get it all.

But what had happened after his father’s unexpected death was a mess. Neither he nor his half brothers owned enough stock in the parent company to hold outright control by themselves, turning the boardroom into a battle ground. Damn shortsighted of his father, but the upshot was, Ryder needed to fix this, fast.

His mother had stoically suffered the scandals and his father’s emotional neglect through her marriage and in return she’d been publicly humiliated after her husband’s death. One thing Ryder could guarantee—he would acquire enough stock to claim a majority in his own right and gain control of the board. Set everything to right again.

Macy’s father’s company was a key in that plan. Ian Ashley’s company owned a chunk of stock in Bramson Holdings. A chunk that Ryder himself would own, as soon as he could buy Ashley International. And then he’d be within sight of that clear majority of stock.

Time to place his proposition on the table. And to do that, he needed to see her one-on-one.

He knew her father hadn’t told her about the secret condition of sale, that he wanted the new owner to marry one of his daughters. Seemed he was an old-school businessman and wanted to pass the company to a male heir. Since he only had daughters, he wanted to sell to a son-in-law who would, in turn, produce a grandson to inherit. Initially Ryder had resisted the marriage demand that accompanied the contract of sale on principle, but his father’s will had changed everything. Now owning the stock that Ashley International held was nonnegotiable.

So, given that Macy was in the dark about her father’s plans, Ryder had decided it’d be best to ease into things—to ensure his offer didn’t come completely out of the blue. Of course it would still seem sudden to her—he couldn’t help that. But if he was right about her, she was practical enough to appreciate the offer on its merits—he’d be a faithful husband, he was financially stable even without the inheritance, and he’d be a good father. And, to ensure her assent, he was prepared to offer her whatever she wanted, be that a house on the French Riviera, a company of her own, or whatever else she desired.

He strode across the office to shut the door, then returned to the desk, leaning a hip on the edge. Macy didn’t bat an eyelash at the closed door, showing again that she was perfect for his lifestyle—unflappable.

“Macy, I’d like to see you somewhere away from the office.” She opened her mouth, but he spoke first. “Have a drink with me tonight.”

The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered and she didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m not sure tonight is good.”

Undeterred, he inclined his head toward the window’s city view. “Where’s the best place to have a drink in this city?”

She blinked. “Probably The Jazz Room. But I have no interest in mixing business with my personal life, Mr. Bramson.”

“Ryder.”

She drew herself up even straighter. “Ryder. If you’d like to discuss work matters, I’d be happy to—”

“I don’t want to discuss work matters,” he interrupted. “I’m asking you out on a date.”

Her lips compressed into a flat line. “I’d prefer you didn’t do that.”

He’d expected resistance, and it didn’t worry him. In fact, he’d rather confront any issues between them early.

He angled his head to the reports stacked on his desk. “Because I’m your boss?”

She held his gaze, unflinching. “Among other reasons.”

“Well, let’s deal with that one first. I’m not asking you out as your boss. I’m asking as a man who’s seen a beautiful woman and wants to have a drink with her, even though it’s slightly inappropriate.” Make that incredibly inappropriate in the modern workplace for him to ask out an employee. But this was hardly an everyday situation. “I want you to know I’ve never done this before, but I’m compelled to make an exception here.”

Her hazel eyes focused on his mouth for a fleeting moment, and every nerve ending in his lips leaped to life.

“It’s impossible for me to forget you’re my boss. You’re holding a potential promotion in your hands and I’d rather not complicate that issue.”

He smiled. Integrity. Such an attractive quality. “What if I gave you that promotion now? If I said you’ll definitely be the CEO of Chocolate Diva’s Australian operation?”

Her eyes flared and her lips parted before she brought herself back under control. “Then I’d say we’ve already complicated things. I want that promotion but I don’t want a single question in anyone’s mind about how I got it.”

He pushed off the desk, bringing him to stand in front of her … within touching distance. “We don’t have to tell anyone.”

She flicked her long hair over her shoulder. “That’s hardly the point. I’ll know.”

He hadn’t expected she’d accept the unearned promotion—if she’d wanted the easy route she’d still be at home with daddy’s money like her sister. But he was still relieved she’d turned him down. He’d prefer his wife to have principles, even if it did make this stage of the negotiations more challenging.

He reached for her hand and held it lightly between his. No pressure, just holding. And yet her skin touching his set off a sizzling heat that traveled through his veins all the way to his toes. For one extraordinary moment, he forgot the pressure to marry, forgot the company buyout, forgot the inheritance, and just wanted.

Wanted her.

As he watched, a blush stole up her décolletage, along her throat and bloomed on her cheeks.She felt it, too. The pull to kiss her delectable lips, to taste her, was almost overwhelming. His skin tightened and his lungs labored, but he couldn’t get carried away. Couldn’t count his chickens before they hatched.

He needed to marry her, not entice her into his bed.

Hauling himself back, he cleared his throat. “What if I promise our date won’t affect your promotion, that no one else will know, and that it will just be one drink?”

Her skin was so soft he couldn’t help but run a thumb across the back of the hand he still held, then over her palm. He watched as her pupils dilated. She was wavering.

“One drink, Macy. No torture involved.” He gave her a half smile. Damn, she was beautiful.

Then she withdrew her hand and nodded, back to being cool and businesslike. “I’ll meet you at the bar. Seven o’clock.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said before she turned and strode from his office. “More than you know,” he murmured to the empty room.

He tapped a thumb to his bottom lip, still prickling with awareness of her. If he could get her to agree to his plan, if he could convince her, then it’d be full steam ahead.

And he had a gut feeling that it would be. That he’d just made a date with his future wife.

Two

At seven o’clock, Macy stood outside The Jazz Room, taking in the scene—an upmarket cocktail bar with live jazz, and a deep room full of beautiful people in their glamorous best. Muted red walls surrounded the almost-capacity crowd who sat on tall stools at the gleaming bar or at polished silver tables.

She spotted Ryder sitting at the bar, and was uncharacteristically nervous for the second time in one day. She was on a date with Ryder Bramson. She’d always been so careful about keeping her work and private life separate, yet she’d agreed to meet her boss socially.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been hit on by a colleague or employer, but it never got any easier to rebuff. Ryder had quickly moved past her first line of defense—her aloof exterior—and now she had to play very carefully.

Rejecting the boss was just as bad a career move as sleeping with him.

In effect, she was cornered.

Ryder saw her and unfurled his long frame from the stool and strode toward her, purposeful intent oozing from his whole body. Her knees felt weak and she locked them to keep from swaying.

He stopped near enough for her to smell his clean woodsy scent, to feel the heat from his body, to see the shiny-smooth skin of his jaw where he’d recently shaved.

Ryder bent to kiss her cheek and she was surprised he’d do something so familiar. Surprised at the tingling on the side of her face where his lips had touched.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

His voice was a note deeper than it’d been in his office, and she felt it reverberate through her body. And there was something reassuring about his American accent. She was used to being the only American in the room, surrounded by Australian accents. Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, wanting him to say something else just to hear him speak again.

Oh, who was she kidding? This was nothing like when she’d been hit on before. Which only meant she had to tread with even more caution—the danger of forgetting her self-imposed boundaries was greater.

She’d been burned far too many times by people ready to sell her out, or walk away when times got tough, to trust again. Everyone had an angle, or they were only looking out for themselves. Even her own father, the person she should be able to depend on utterly, had distanced himself from her when she’d needed him the most—as a thirteen-year-old girl who’d just lost her mother.

So she’d accept Ryder’s compliment but not read anything much into it.

She ran her tongue over dry lips. “Thank you.”

She saw him watch the action, then move his gaze slowly up to her eyes. “Do you want to sit at the bar or take a table?”

Glad for a reason to break eye contact, she scanned the room. “The tables down the back are quieter.”

He put a hand on her waist and guided her toward the back of the room. As they wove their way through the tables, Johnny, a waiter who’d served her here before, was delivering drinks to a group of customers. He saw her and winked before continuing to place the brightly colored cocktails on the table.

As she spared him a brief smile, Macy thought she’d caught a faint scowl marring Ryder’s features but when she looked fully at him, there was no sign.

Ryder found a table in a corner that had a modicum of privacy. He pulled her chair out for her to sit, then turned to take his own seat, giving her a brief view of his back, so broad in the moss-green shirt, and exquisitely tapered down to his black trousers. For a man who had sat virtually motionless through the meeting today, he moved with masculine grace.

“You come here regularly?” Ryder’s voice held the first hint of curiosity she’d heard from him. Strange that he hadn’t seemed as curious about her reports—detailing launch expenses in the millions—as her social life.

Macy shrugged one shoulder as she scanned the drinks menu. “Occasionally.”

The live jazz was always exceptional, and sometimes when she’d finished a long day at work, after eating takeaway at her desk, all she wanted was to be lost in a dimly lit crowd for one drink. To unwind before going home.

Ryder didn’t respond for one minute, then two. But she wouldn’t look up from the list of drinks. She could feel him watching her—the air was charged with the tension of it—another tactic that probably worked well for him with employees. She continued to casually read the cocktail options.

Finally, he spoke. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t talk much about yourself?”

She smiled, closed the drinks list and laid it on the silver tabletop. “I’ll have a margarita.”

Without looking around, he held up a finger. Johnny appeared and Ryder ordered her margarita plus a martini, no olive.

Once Johnny left, Ryder cleared his throat. “What made you settle in Melbourne?” “

I like it here.”

“You obviously didn’t move for the weather. Hot as hell today, yet arctic winds on the way over here tonight.” He smiled ruefully.

She recrossed her legs under the table, irritated that he’d been here less than a day and was already finding fault with her adopted home. But annoyance was another reaction she couldn’t show her boss. “Actually, I like the weather. Makes me feel like I’m not stuck in one place all the time. The trick is to dress in layers.”

“Useful local information.”

Johnny returned back with their drinks, and she gave him a quick smile. Waiter and customer—a nice, uncomplicated relationship, just how she liked them.

Then she looked across at her date—a more complicated, tangled relationship she couldn’t imagine. But she smiled at him, too, and accepted her glass. “Thank you.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” He tasted his martini and winced. “Too dry.”

Macy slowly twirled her glass, looking for the perfect place on the salt-encrusted rim to sample her drink. A much better option than looking at the man across from her. If he’d been anyone other than her boss, this might have been playing out differently … but he was.

He swallowed a mouthful of his drink then sat back in his seat. “Tell me something about yourself.”

Macy sipped her margarita then licked the salt from her lips. This was the exact problem with being out socially with a colleague—the sharing of personal information. The press had shared her personal information with the world most of her life. It’d left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She tapped a fingertip on the stem of her glass. “Ryder, don’t pretend you don’t know who I am.”

Even if her face hardly ever ran in the media nowadays, her name wouldn’t slip past a man as savvy and intelligent as Ryder. Her father worked in a similar industry and her sister was in the glossy magazines most weeks. Her surname was hardly low profile.

His eyes held hers with intensity. “I know what family you come from. I know a little bit about your childhood, like most Americans. But you’re wrong. I don’t know who you are.” Ryder stretched his legs to the side of the table. “But I’d like to.”

Macy expelled a long breath. This farce had gone on long enough. She’d thought she could play this game—one date with the boss, but she’d been wrong. Every moment this went on, she was getting in deeper into her own personal catch-22: she couldn’t get involved with him and she couldn’t rebuff his efforts to get involved. Either way she’d possibly offend him and kiss her promotion goodbye. She had to say something now before she was completely out of her depth.

She flicked her hair over a shoulder and met his gaze. “Ryder, I know I said I’d meet you here tonight, but I have to tell you, I’m uncomfortable about this.”

He straightened in his chair, frowning. “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”

Her stomach dipped. Now she had offended him. The man who would decide her promotion.

She held a palm out. “No, that’s the thing—you don’t have to do anything. You’re my boss. You pay my wage and hold a potential promotion in your hands, so I can’t relax.”

Ryder leaned closer. “I understand your concern. I’ve never done this kind of thing before, either.” His voice dipped. “Here and now, I’m not your boss. I’m just a man.”

Macy hesitated. She needed no reminder he was a man. Every feminine instinct she had screamed the fact. But he was her employer, too. “That’s not possible. You’re my boss whether you want to think about it right now or not. It’s inescapable.”

He raised one brow. “What if we don’t try to escape it? What if we try to build on it?” His eyes darkened in a depth of emotion that took her breath away. It transformed his features from rugged to something beautiful. She wanted to reach out and touch his lips, run her hands along his strong jaw. She’d never reacted with this intensity to a man before.

Her body screamed yes, but she didn’t, couldn’t, say the word.

Instead she gave herself an internal shake. Maybe it was time to go home. “I don’t think this is working.”

Ryder inclined his head. “I agree. My understanding of a date includes some small talk about ourselves. If you don’t want to talk about yourself, how about I talk a bit about me?”

Macy hesitated on the edge of her seat, half wanting to leave, half wanting to hear what he’d say. Like her, he was famous for not giving media interviews, and from the comment that one of his staff had made today about him being The Machine, she suspected it wasn’t only the media he refused to be open with.

Apparently taking her silence as consent, Ryder took a sip of his martini, swallowed, then began. “I suspect you know I was born in Rhode Island and that I grew up there and in New York City.”

She nodded, settling back into her seat now he’d made the decision for her about staying. She’d also heard about the open secret of his half brothers—would he go as far as mentioning them? From what she knew of him, it wasn’t likely.

“Although my parents were married, my father was absent, so I was raised by my mother.” A flash of a frown creased his forehead—too quick for her to be completely sure she’d seen it. But something told her that there was carefully guarded pain inside that statement. And the girl inside her who’d lost her mother understood.

She relaxed her face and body into an empathetic smile. “Your mother did a good job.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in acknowledgment of the compliment before he took another mouthful of his drink. “My father had a second family—a mistress and two sons. I’d seen them around on occasion, but I met them for the first time at my father’s funeral and then again at the will reading.”

She paused, not quite believing what he’d just shared. “I saw something about that in the papers. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He met her gaze for a moment before finishing his drink and pushing the glass to the side of the table. “His death was unexpected but our relationship wasn’t particularly friendly.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a shock.” Her mind flew back to when she’d heard the worst news of her life and she felt the sting of emotion in her eyes that always accompanied the memory. She paused until she had it under control before continuing. “My mother died in a plane crash when I was thirteen.”

“I can’t imagine how you got through that,” he said, voice rough. “You must have been devastated.”

She’d wanted to curl up and die. Even now, just thinking about it, her insides were like a black hole that sucked in and destroyed any sign of joy.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, willing herself back from that place of despair before opening them again and nodding. “More than devastated. My father and sister turned to each other, and I—” learned to never rely on anyone “—learned to cope with life on my own.”

She shook her head, banishing the thoughts, and changed the subject. “Do you wish you’d had siblings to grow up with?”

He opened his mouth, about to reply, then frowned and shut it again. She had the feeling he’d been about to offer her a standard reply, but for some reason had changed his mind.

When he spoke, his voice was pitched even lower than usual. “I used to, when I was a boy. But I don’t think I would have made a good brother.”

Her heart softened, honored that she’d been given this gift of truth from a man seemingly unused to bestowing it. “I think anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Ryder’s dark eyes changed, sparked, and the awareness that had been simmering between them leaped to life.

Her insides melted.

She watched Ryder swallow then reach across the table and lay his hand on hers.

Her blood pounded through her veins and she felt the world slow to a stop. Noises retreated until the only sound she was aware of was her own breath. There was no one but the two of them, connected through their hands on a polished metal table.

Eyes locked on his, she turned her wrist so their hands lay palm to palm. The burning heat from his hand suffused hers and traveled throughout her body, bringing goose bumps across her skin and desire coiling low in her belly.

His chest rose and fell in the same erratic rhythm as hers. His lips were slightly parted, ready to speak … or kiss. And with startling clarity she realized she wanted his kiss more than she’d ever wanted anything. Wanted to hear him whisper sweet words in her ear, to lose herself in his embrace.

Then he whispered, “Macy,” and the world came crashing back with reality.

Spell broken, she lowered her eyes and extricated her hand from his gentle clasp, leaving it to lie in her lap. Ryder slid his hand across the table to grasp his empty glass.

“Another margarita?” His voice was like gravel. “You said one drink,” she said softly, still not meeting his eyes.

“I’d hoped you might want another.”

“No,” she said. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I have a lot of work to get through tomorrow.” Feeling like she needed to make the excuse stronger, she added, “Making last-minute arrangements for our trip to Sydney in a couple of weeks.” They would look at potential retail space for one of their first brand-name stores, a companion to the Melbourne shop.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

She stood, smoothing down her jacket with a trembling hand. “So, I’d better make it an early night.”

He moved to her side and settled his palm into the small of her back. “I’ll see you home.”

Macy bit down on her lip. She needed this date over before she did something truly stupid—like press herself against him and wind her arms around his neck. “That won’t be necessary.”

He guided her through the room. “It’ll be my pleasure. I’ve always seen my dates home.”

Once they stood on the pavement, she turned to face him in the dappled streetlight. “No, really, I’m fine.”

Ryder gave a half smile, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. “I won’t compromise on this.”

He picked up her hand and laid a soft kiss on her wrist that sent a slow burn through her bloodstream. She snatched her hand back—she couldn’t let herself be dazzled.

Ryder gave another half smile. Then he turned to hail a cab. A bright orange car pulled up on the street in front of them and she slid into the backseat, soon joined by Ryder. He was close, so close, and it was much more intimate sharing the backseat of a sedan than in a public bar.

“Where to, Macy?” Ryder asked.

She clipped her seat belt, determined to keep her distance at all costs—a promotion was worth more than a night in the boss’s bed.

Ryder listened to Macy give the driver her address and frowned. Having never been to Melbourne before, there were only a few streets that were familiar to his ears.

“You live next door to our office?”

She settled back into her seat. “Yes.”

Though it would have been covered in her resume, he remembered the location of both her previous workplace and home address from the dossier he’d had prepared on her once he’d decided they would marry. And her home those three weeks ago was not their current destination.

He cocked his head on the side. “Your last job was on the other side of Melbourne.”

“It was,” she conceded, glancing at the city streets and the evening traffic through her window, before returning her gaze to him. “I moved.”

Ryder adjusted his long legs to turn his frame more toward her. This little pearl of insight was too valuable to let pass. “You moved for a two-month project?”

She raised one shoulder and let it fall. “I like to be near my work.”

Very near. “Do you always move when you change jobs?”

Macy shifted in her seat, not quite squirming, but definitely not happy answering the question. Interesting.

Then she called up another polite smile. “Usually. It makes sense to be near where I spend the majority of my day. And it means I can be called in on short notice.”

He frowned, considering the pieces of the puzzle. There was more to it. “You live in temporary places.”

She nodded once. “They suit my purposes.”

They pulled up at the downtown high-rise apartment block and Ryder leaned forward to look at the building through the windscreen. “In what way?”

“They’re temporary.” Macy clasped the door handle. “Thanks for seeing me home.”

He swiveled back to her. She thought he’d leave her alone on a city street? Not likely. Besides, it was time he put his proposition on the table. They’d made a connection—now he had to hope it was enough to back up the logic of his offer.

Ryder thrust some Australian notes at the driver. “I’m seeing you to your door.”

Her lush lips compressed into a flat line. “There’s no need. Really.”

He took his change and thanked the driver. “Yes, there is.”

She inclined her head, accepting graciously, if a little reluctantly.

Feeling upbeat, he stepped out onto the road and circled around to meet Macy on the pavement. It was a good sign she didn’t have roots here. She wouldn’t have trouble moving back to the States with him.

He laid a hand on the small of her back as they walked into the foyer of her building. Besides the doorman who stood discreetly at the entrance, they were alone, and the sounds of their shoes on the marble floors echoed through the softly lit interior.

Their first date had gone well, all things considered. Now he just needed to garner an invitation to her apartment and outline his offer and its merits.

Three steps into the silent foyer, Macy turned on the marble floor and faced him. “I only have to go up that elevator. You’ve seen me home.” She moistened her lips and he couldn’t have dragged his gaze away with a gun to his head. Her scent, something exotic, surrounded him.

She was so damn beautiful he had to replay her words in his head to get her meaning. Was it a good thing or bad that the woman he wanted to marry made his body overheat and frazzled his brain?

“Invite me up,” he said.

She shivered almost imperceptibly, but then arched one eyebrow, as if in control. “Why would I do that?”

A slow smile spread across his face. Her veneer of control called to him, compelled him to move closer. He could see her writhing in his bed, in his arms, under him, all thoughts of control long gone.

His voice, when he found it, was rough. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Macy glanced at his mouth then met his eyes. “I don’t think talking’s what you have in mind.”

He reached and found her fingers with his, holding them at his side in the lightest of clasps. “Sure, just because I want to talk doesn’t mean I’m not aching to touch you.” To kiss you. To taste you.

Her pupils dilated to almost cover her hazel irises but she didn’t move.

He leaned over and brushed his lips lightly across hers, meaning it to be no more than a peck, a brief demonstration of his words. He began to pull away but he couldn’t help gently touching her mouth again. Those lips had been on his mind for twelve hours straight. Just one more touch …

Her mouth yielded, opened to him, and he needed no second invitation for something he’d been wanting to do since she’d arrived at the bar. As he deepened the kiss, he moved forward, closing the distance but not pressing against her—not yet—the bulk of his coat ensuring a respectable distance. Her tongue lightly touched his, a caress sweeter than he’d even imagined.

Drunk on her exotic scent, he lifted his hands to cup her face, finding her cheeks were like silk under his palms. He felt her hands on his shoulders, lightly, then more assured as they traveled an exquisite path to his neck before her fingers tangled in his hair. He was lost. He moved—

A flash went off, lighting up the room, and Ryder pulled back, blinking, scanning the area. Through the front glass wall, a lone photographer stood with a long lens zoom, still clicking and flashing rapidly. The doorman was already in action, racing to the photographer, and Ryder shoved Macy into an alcove where she’d be more protected, then stormed to the door. By the time he reached the spot, the photographer was running down the street.

The paparazzi had found him.

Breathing choppy, he narrowed his eyes and watched the coward flee. He’d managed to avoid them since landing in Australia. They targeted him every so often, but they’d stepped up their assault since his father’s death—on him, and his half brothers Seth and Jesse. Most of the time he ignored them and didn’t let the media affect his life, but they’d just interrupted a very private moment. One he was enjoying immensely. He kicked at the concrete path, accepted the apologies of the doorman, then strode back inside to find Macy.

She stood in the alcove, her arms hugging her waist, her face a shade paler than before. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, attempting to take away the aftertaste of the shock. She must be more used to being photographed than him, but since he hadn’t seen recent photos of her in the papers, it’d probably been a while for her. And they’d both been so carried away by that kiss, she was probably still reeling from its abrupt ending.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

She stood motionless in his embrace, arms still around her own waist, a world away from him. “I think it was good timing,” she said unsteadily.

“What do you mean?” He held her a little tighter, suspecting where she was going.

Disengaging herself from his arms, she stepped back. Her shoulders were square, ready to face whatever came, but her eyes were haunted. Ryder clenched his fists to stop from reaching for her again.

She took a deep breath and let it out in measured evenness. “I won’t have an affair with my boss. I’ve spent too much time building my professional reputation to see it destroyed over a fling.”

“What makes you think I’m only interested in a fling?”

Her eyes held a world of pain and cynicism. “Experience.”

She’d been hurt. Thinking of her being hurt, betrayed, made him want to reach for her all the more, to offer words of comfort, but he knew she wouldn’t want sympathy so he bit them back and waited.

She glanced at the spot where the intruder had been, then back to him. “I’m sorry, I never should have agreed to this date.” She pulled herself up to her full height, spine stiff. “Thank you for the drink, but you have to realize we can’t repeat it.”

He frowned. This was clearly going to be a problem he’d need to overcome before he could convince her to marry him. Or, more pressingly, to kiss him again.

He needed to tread gently. Lifting her chin with a knuckle, he said, “Macy, don’t let a parasite of a photographer ruin our night. We were enjoying ourselves until that flash went off.”

Her eyes softened for a moment and he thought she was with him, but then her shutters came down.

“I—I have to go.” She whirled and walked a little too fast toward the elevator. Jaw clenched, he watched her leave, telling himself not to follow, not to come on too strong and ruin this. No matter how much he wanted to go after her, comfort her, his whole future depended on not scaring her away.

When the elevator pinged and she disappeared behind mirrored doors, he was left alone. The empty feeling that over took him was strangely hard to swallow for a man who prided himself on being a loner. He just didn’t want to leave this blasted foyer where they’d kissed only moments ago.

Don’t be sentimental and stupid. Ryder turned and strode outside to find another cab.

Their wedding couldn’t come soon enough.