Barbara Dunlop - Beauty And The Billionaire

“Great.”

“So, what are you doing?”

Hunter’s hand slipped around to her stomach. “Went to the spa in Brussels today, and the one in London. Met with the managers. Got them all set up for Friday’s launch.”

“Good for you.” Kristy paused. “Hunter still in Paris?”

“He’s here. But he was a little standoffish after you left.”

Hunter choked back a laugh.

“I guess he came to his senses,” said Kristy.

“I guess he did,” Sinclair agreed, as the sponge meandered toward her breast. She clutched it to her stomach to stop his progress.

“So, when are you coming home?”

“By the fourteenth, for sure. I need to be there for the ball.”

Hunter wrenched his hand free.

Sinclair bit down on her lip to keep from gasping as the sponge brushed between her legs. “I better go,” she blurted, grappling for Hunter’s meandering hands.

“Anything wrong?”

“Uh, something’s boiling on the stove.”

“The stove?”

“I moved to a suite. Talk to you in a few days.” She disconnected.

She turned on him. “Are you crazy?”

“No.” He kissed her mouth.

“Do you know what would happen-”

He kissed her again.

“If they-”

He kissed her a third time.

She gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, turning to press her body into his, the water slick and hot between them.

Hunter’s phone rang.

“For the love of-”

“Give me the sponge,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Forget it.”

She snapped her fingers, then wiggled them in a give it motion. “Fair’s fair.”

He dried his hand, then lifted his phone, at the same time tossing the sponge to her.

She eased back on her heels and snagged it with both hands.

“Hunter Osland,” he greeted.

There was a pause. “Hey, Jack.” And he grinned at Sinclair, spreading his arms, giving her a wide-open target.

She couldn’t decide whether to go for it or not.

Then Hunter’s attention clearly shifted to the phone call. “I’d still use the mine as collateral.”

He paused.

“Maybe in the short term, sure.” He slicked his wet hair back from his forehead.

“Of course he’ll be ticked off. Everything ticks him off.”

Hunter absently smoothed the droplets of water down Sinclair’s arm. She gave up goofing around and curled against him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Get in and out before the Paraguay election, and you won’t have a problem.” Hunter’s hand worked its way across her stomach.

She glanced up to see if he was teasing her again, but he seemed absorbed in the call. He wasn’t messing with her, just unconsciously caressing her body. She sighed and relaxed against him.

Hunter chuckled, jiggling his chest. “We’ll check it out sometime.” A pause. “I mean me, of course. I’ll check it out sometime. None of your business.” Hunter’s hand squeezed Sinclair. “I’m going now,” he said to Jack. “A nap, that’s what. Time zone change. Okay by me. I’m turning off my phone. Uh-huh. Goodbye.”

He hit the off button with his thumb and held it down until it chimed. Then he dropped it on the shelf beside them and hauled Sinclair up for a kiss.

“You are so distracting,” he muttered.

“I was being good.”

“You were being damn good.”

She giggled as his mouth came down, hot and moist and demanding against her own.

The water splashed around the whirlpool in waves as they rediscovered each other’s bodies.

They were back in the U.S. by midmorning on the fourteenth, and Sinclair couldn’t resist checking in at Lush Beauty in one of her new outfits.

Her hair and makeup perfect, she strolled into the office in a slim peacock-blue coat dress, with three-quarter sleeves, leather details on the collar, appliqué pockets, large contrasting silver buttons and high-heeled leather ankle boots. She carried a tiny purse, holding nothing but her cell phone, keys and a credit card.

Amber’s jaw literally dropped open as Sinclair crossed through the outer office.

“I was going to check messages,” Sinclair called over her shoulder. “You coming to the ball tonight?”

She pushed open her office door and stopped dead.

Chantal sat at her desk, computer open to e-mail, file folders scattered in front of her, and Sinclair’s phone to her ear.

Neither woman spoke for a moment.

“Can I call you back?” Chantal said into the phone.

“You’re at my desk,” said Sinclair.

“You’re back early,” said Chantal.

Amber apparently recovered her wits and rushed into the office. “Roger asked-”

“I’ll be needing it now,” Sinclair informed Chantal. “Right now.”

Chantal hit a few keys on the computer. “If you’ll just give me a few minutes.”

“I don’t think so,” Sinclair stated, walking around the desk. “Those the Valentine’s ball files?”

“The Castlebay files,” Chantal admitted.

“Oh, good. Just what I wanted.” Sinclair dropped her small purse on the desk. She was vindictive enough to put it label up so that Chantal could see it was a Vermachinni.

She inched in closer, crowding the woman until Chantal finally stood up and clicked the close button on her e-mail program. Chantal started to pick up the files.

“You can leave them here,” Sinclair told her. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Chantal glared at her.

“Did Roger mention the private party at the Castlebay Spa Manhattan tonight?”

Chantal didn’t answer.

Sinclair pursed her lips, knowing full well Roger himself didn’t even know about the after party yet.

The woman’s eyes glittered black. “Amber said she e-mailed you the catering contracts yesterday?”

“She did. And we’ve substituted duck for the pheasant. We got rid of the peanut oil because of possible allergies. And the gift bags are now recycled paper, which will stave off any media grab by Earthlife.”

Chantal scooped up her briefcase and stomped out of the office.

“Uh,” Amber stammered in the wake of Chantal’s departure. “Is there anything…you, uh, need?”

Sinclair turned. “Hi,” she said to her assistant.

“Coffee?” asked Amber, quickly straightening a pile of magazines on the credenza. “Tea?”

“It’s me,” Sinclair pointed out.

Amber nodded. “Mineral water, maybe?”

“Amber.”

“You look…”

Sinclair waved a dismissive hand. “I know. Did you see the ads for the Chastlebay locations? They’re having special midnight openings tonight to coincide with the ball over here.”

“Sinclair?” came Ethan’s voice.

Amber quickly ducked out of the office.

“Good for you,” Ethan said to Sinclair.

She assumed he was talking about her appearance and smiled.

“Somebody needs to stand up to Roger.”

She realized Ethan was referring to her absence. “All I did was take a vacation.”

“On the eve of the product launch.”

“True.”

“It took a lot of guts.”

“I wasn’t trying to make a statement.” She was merely trying to keep her career path alive.

“I thought you were trying to prove we couldn’t live without you.”

Sinclair paused. “Can you?”

“It’s tough. Not that Roger would ever admit it. Amber really stepped up to the plate.”

“Good for her. What about Chantal?”

Ethan cocked his head. “I think she has a future as eye candy.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Sinclair nodded, glad of Ethan’s assessment.

“I really just wanted to give you a high five on the spa deal,” said Ethan.

Sinclair grinned and held up her hand.

Ethan smacked his palm against hers. “Hunter’s a smart man,” he said.

Sinclair nodded her agreement.

“He told me the idea originated with you. So, you know, you probably have a supporter in that corner.”

“That’s good to know,” said Sinclair, trying to keep the secretive glow out of her eyes. Earlier this morning, as the jet taxied to the terminal building at JFK, Hunter had kissed her goodbye and pledged admiration for her business savvy and his support for tonight.

Ethan made for the door. “See you tonight?”

“You will.”

As Ethan left, Amber peeked through the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind.” She took in Sinclair’s outfit one more time. “I gave your name and cell phone as an after-hours contact for the caterer tonight.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” That was standard operating procedure.

“Oh, good.” Amber disappeared.

Sinclair straightened the Castlebay files, hoping her makeover went a whole lot better tonight than it went today.

Ethan hadn’t noticed, Amber was afraid of her, and who knows what Roger had thought? She’d hardly wowed them here on the home front.

Freshly shaved, in his dress shirt and tuxedo slacks, Hunter looped a silk bow tie around his neck. Sinclair would be wearing her most elegant dress tonight, and he wanted them to go well together. Although they were trying to keep their relationship under wraps-okay, their former relationship under wraps-he seriously wanted her to shine. And he was planning on at least a couple of dances.

He stepped in front of the hallway mirror in the Oslands’ New York apartment and leveled the two ends of the tie.

Then his cell phone rang.

He retrieved it from the entry-room table and flipped it open. “This is Hunter.”

“Two things,” said Jack.

“Go,” Hunter replied, squinting at a strand of lint on the crisp white shirt. He brushed it off.

“The incumbent president of Paraguay just dropped dead from a heart attack.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

Hunter sat down on the entryway bench. “Did you use the mine as collateral?”

“I did.”

“Damn.” That was a setback.

“And two,” Jack continued. “Frontier Cruise Lines is filing for Chapter Eleven tomorrow morning. There are three ships up for sale in the next twelve hours.”

“And our cash position sucks.”

“It sucks.”

Hunter paused. “You really want to get into the cruiseship business?”

“Kristy loved it.”

Hunter could relate. Sinclair loved the spa business.

Wait.

He shook the comparison out of his mind. He had to get used to thinking of himself and Sinclair as separate entities, not as the same thing.

“Where are you?” he asked Jack.

“Sydney.”

Hunter glanced at his watch. “Banks open in London in four hours. You serious about this?”

“What does your gut say?” asked Jack. “You’re the quick thinker.”

“There’s no denying the quality of Frontier ships. And it’s an expanding market. We could dovetail Castlebay marketing with a new cruise-line marketing strategy, maybe even put Castlebays on each of the ships.” Hunter clicked through a dozen other details in his mind. “You have a sense of the Frontier prices versus market?”

“Fire sale.”

“We might be able to do something with the Lithuania electronics plant. Restructure the debt…”

“Gramps will kill us.”

“Welcome to my world.”

There was silence on the line.

“You know,” said Jack. “I think I’m understanding the appeal of this. It’s like Vegas.”

“Higher stakes,” Hunter quipped.

“No kidding,” said Jack.

Hunter glanced at his watch. “I’d have to go to London.” The Lithuania banking was done through Barclays, and they needed the time-zone jump start to pull it together.

“That a problem?” asked Jack.

Hunter’s mind flashed to Sinclair. She’d be all right at the ball. Truth was, he was merely window dressing tonight. She was so ready for this. And, anyway, he could make it up to her later.

“I need to make a couple calls,” he said.

“You get the financing in place, and I’ll nail down the contracts with Richard.”

“Where is he?” asked Hunter.

“L.A.”

“Too bad.”

“Should I send him to New York?”

“It’d be better if you could get him to London.” Hunter paused. “No. Wait. New York will work. Tell him I’ll call him around 4:00 a.m.”

“Perfect.” It was Jack’s turn to pause. “And, Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“All part of the game, cousin.” Hunter disconnected.

He dragged off the bow tie and released the buttons to his shirt.

On the way to the bedroom, he dialed Simon and asked him to have the jet ready. Then he changed into a business suit, put another one into a garment bag and called down to his driver to let him know they’d be heading for the airport.

Sinclair stood in the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel. She hadn’t expected Hunter to pick her up and escort her every movement. It wasn’t as if they were on a date. Still, she would have felt a little less self-conscious with somebody at her side.