Barbara Dunlop - The Billionaire’s Bidding

“Yeah,” said Ryan.

“How long’ve we got?”

“He’s presenting the offer start of business Monday.”

“Who’s your source?”

“Adam down in accounting mentioned that his brother-in-law over at Williamson Smythe was looking at the same geologicals as we were.”

“He put it together from that?”

Ryan shook his head. “Adam doesn’t know a thing. I pieced it together myself from six different sources. We’re still the only player with the big picture.”

Alex’s mind clicked through potential scenarios. All of them ended with a DreamLodge win and a Garrison loss. “I can’t let him make that offer.”

Ryan nodded.

Alex had to shut Murdoch down. So how did he shut Murdoch down before Monday morning? Marry Emma was the obvious answer. “I wonder how she feels about Vegas…”

“You can’t marry Emma in the next forty-eight hours.”

Alex snorted. “The jet’s at JFK-I could marry her in less than five.”

“You don’t think a quickie Vegas wedding would look slightly opportunistic?”

Alex’s voice rose. “I’d rather look opportunistic than screw the whole deal.”

“And what happens when Murdoch talks to her?”

“By the time Murdoch talks to her, she’ll be Mrs. Alex Garrison.”

Ryan shook his head. “Not good enough. We don’t want Murdoch talking to her at all.”

“We can’t stop him from talking to her.” It was a free country, and DreamLodge owned as many communication devices as anybody else.

Ryan eased back down in his chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “We can if he thinks there’s no point in talking to her.”

“There are hundreds of millions at stake.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed quietly. “And we’re going to make him think it’s all ours.”

Alex recognized the cunning gleam in Ryan’s eyes. A renewed calm came over him, and he took his seat behind the desk, picking up a gold pen to twirl between his fingertips. “How?”

“We need four things,” said Ryan.

Alex was all ears. There was a reason he’d taken Ryan on as a partner. The man was a strategic genius.

“McKinley’s financial statements,” said Ryan. “Some serious intel on DreamLodge, a quick and dirty marketing mock-up, and a diamond ring on Emma McKinley’s finger.”

Alex could take care of the ring and the marketing plan. He supposed he could come up with some kind of rational explanation for wanting Emma’s financial statements over the weekend. But he didn’t have a single contact at DreamLodge. “What kind of intel?”

Ryan hesitated for a single beat. “Can you call Nathaniel?”

Alex blinked at the sound of his cousin’s name. “That’s a pretty big gun.”

“There are hundreds of millions at stake.”

Right. Nathaniel it was.

Emma slipped a thick, white McKinley-crested robe over her damp body, slipping on her glasses and flicking back a wisp of hair that had escaped from her clip. The hot tub motor whirred softly in the background as she padded across the penthouse from her bedroom to the living area.

She’d long since gotten past the strangeness of living in a hotel. Now she just enjoyed the view, the expert cleaning service and the convenience of hot meals at any hour of the day or night. McKinley’s head offices were on the third floor of the Fifth Avenue Inn. So on blustery winter days, she was only an elevator ride from work.

She pushed the on button on the television remote and curled up in one corner of the wine-colored sectional sofa, tossing a brocade pillow out of the way. It was eleven-fifteen, Friday night. She’d skipped dinner, and she was thinking a cheese tray and a glass of Cabernet would go well with Business Week Wrap-up on ANN.

She called an order in to the concierge, then settled back to watch Marvin Coventry interview the CEO of Mediterranean Energy. The company was under scrutiny following a merger with a British company and an alleged payout to a UN envoy’s nephew.

A knock sounded a few minutes into the interview, and Emma watched over her shoulder as she headed for the door to let in Korissa.

“Did they remember to add extra grapes?” she asked, while the CEO squirmed under the reporter’s questions. Good. His shareholders deserved an explanation.

“I have no idea,” came a male voice.

Emma twisted her head to come face to face with Alex Garrison. Her eyes went wide, and she jerked the lapels of her robe together. “I thought you were Korissa.”

“I’m Alex.” His gaze took in her robe, her haphazard hair and her clunky glasses.

“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t expected to see him again until tomorrow night at the Teddybear Trust fundraiser, and she definitely wasn’t ready to go another round with him. She tugged at her lapels, especially not dressed like this.

He glanced down at the briefcase in his left hand. “I thought you’d like to see my financial records.”

“At eleven-thirty at night?”

“You said you wanted a prenup.”

Sure she wanted a prenup. But not now. Right now she wanted to sleep, and to regroup before facing him again. “I’m not-”

“No time like the present.” He glanced pointedly at the room behind her, then shifted almost imperceptibly forward.

Emma stepped sideways to block his path as the nearly soundless whirr of a room service cart announced Korissa’s arrival.

The woman halted her brisk steps and glanced questioningly at Alex. “Shall I bring another glass?”

“That would be nice,” said Alex. And before Emma could protest, he slipped through the door beside her.

Emma wasn’t about to make a scene in front of Korissa, but the man was not staying. She moved out of the way of the cart.

“Nice,” Alex murmured, glancing around at the Persian carpet, the marble fireplace and the Tiffany chandelier.

“Thank you,” Emma said stiffly, while Korissa transferred the cheese tray, wine and fresh flowers to the dining table.

Then Korissa left the penthouse and closed the door behind her.

Emma yanked the sash of her robe tight. “This is not a convenient time.”

He set the briefcase down on the dining table and held up his palms in surrender. “I apologize. But I just got out of a meeting.”

His gaze seemed to snag on her outfit once again.

“I take it you had a free evening?”

“No, I did not have a free evening. I had a conference call, three supply contracts to approve and an accounting meeting that lasted past ten.”

“But you’re free now.” He opened up the case.

She stared pointedly down at her robe. “Do I look free?”

He fought a grin. “You look…”

“Forget it.”

“I was going to say cute.”

“You were going to say awful.”

His brow furrowed for a split second. “Why do you always-”

“What do you want, Alex?”

He shook his head, then he lifted an envelope from his briefcase. “I want to swap financial statements.”

“Call me in the morning.” She wanted to sleep. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m booked up all day.”

“Well, I’m booked up all night.”

He stilled. His glance shot to her bedroom door. “You have company?”

It took a moment for his meaning to set in. Of all the nerve. “No, I do not have company.”

“I thought maybe you were having a final fling.”

“I’m not a final fling kind of girl.”

He checked her out one more time. “Really?”

“And if I was, would I dress like this?”

“I told you, you look cute.”

She groaned in frustration.

He abandoned his briefcase and moved toward her. “Seriously, Emma. I don’t know where all this insecurity comes from.”

She had no idea how to respond to that. Zero.

His voice went soft. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

“Stop it,” she rasped. He was obviously practicing his lines, spinning his lies, trying to put her off balance for his own reasons.

He came to a halt directly in front of her, the intensity of his perusal causing waves of reaction through her body. “Don’t sell yourself short, Emma.”

She tried to breathe normally, tried to squelch the unmistakable creep of desire working its way along her limbs. “You have…surprising taste.”

His mouth curved into a slow grin.

It was a smooth mouth, a shapely mouth, a very sexy mouth, set under a luminous laserlike gaze that surrounded a woman and made her feel like the only person on the planet. Emma felt herself being dragged under his spell.

“You think I prefer silk and satin?” he asked softly.

“I think you’d prefer black lace and heels.” As soon as she spoke, she regretted the impulse.

His nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Really?” And his eyes telegraphed his thoughts.

“Not on me.”

He glanced at her cleavage. “Why not?”

This was getting crazy. “Alex.”

He nodded to her bedroom door. “You got something back there I might like?”

God help her, she did. A little teddy and matching panties that Katie had bought her on her birthday.

Not that Alex would ever see them.

A trace of laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Still waters run deep?”

“I have nothing,” she lied.

He reached up and smoothed a stray lock of her hair. “Sure you do. Go ahead, Emma. Let me in on your deep, dark secret.”

She blinked into the polished obsidian of his eyes, steeling herself against his pull, promising herself she wouldn’t let him take control of their relationship. She needed to stay strong. She needed to stay focused. She had something he wanted, and the transfer was going to be on her terms.

But then his palm paused on her temple, distracting her thoughts. His fingertips brushed her hair, and every reluctant nerve in her body zeroed in on his point of contact, zinging hormonal messages that flushed her skin and softened her lips, and pushed her body in toward him.

His hand slipped down to her neck, cupping her hairline, pulling her slowly, inexorably toward him. His head tipped to one side, and she followed his lead, accommodating his advance, waiting, wondering, coming up on her toes in anticipation.

Then he stopped. She felt his hesitation as if it were her own. Yes, her primal brain screamed. No, her rational mind answered.

His breath puffed against her skin. “My own deep, dark secret is…” He paused. “That I…” Another pause. “Want…” Then he sighed. “Your financial statements.”

The words were a dose of cold water.

And she was glad.

Truly.

Kissing Alex would have been a supremely stupid move. Not that she wouldn’t be forced to kiss him at some point during this escapade. But it didn’t have to be in her apartment, while they were alone, while she was half-naked.

What was she thinking?

She pulled determinedly away. “Okay. But then you do have to go.”

He gave her a sharp nod of agreement, blinking away a funny glow that simmered deep in his quick-silver eyes.

She wasn’t going to explore that glow. She wasn’t even going to think about that glow. This was business.

All business, she told herself as she crossed to her computer. She clicked a link to the financial server and brought up the last quarter rollups, hitting the print button.

Alex watched in silence as the printer whirred to life and rapidly spit out twenty pages.

She scooped them from the tray and briskly handed them over.

“Thank you,” he said, as he reached for the doorknob.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, calculating the seconds until he’d be gone.

But then he paused, and his flinty eyes narrowed. His lips parted. “Emma-”

“Good night,” she prompted with finality.

He sucked a breath between his teeth, but he didn’t persist. Instead, he gave a brief nod of resignation. “Good night.”

And then he was gone. She twisted the door lock behind him, her fingers clamping hard on the metal bolt. Okay that-whatever it was-could not happen again.

She’d made a deal with Alex. It was no different than her staffing the front desk in Hawaii or taking a stint as a cocktail waitress in Whistler. Her father had always been proud of Emma’s ability to roll up her sleeves and pitch in.

In this case, maybe she was rolling up her lips. But it was the same thing. She’d kiss Alex eventually, but it would be a business kiss. It would be for show, and it sure wouldn’t happen while they were alone and she was half naked and lusting after his body.

She shivered, stepping back from the door, telling herself she was doing exactly what her father would have done. She was making the best of a bad situation.

When her mother died, and he was left with two bereft little girls, he’d picked himself up and dusted himself off. He’d learned to braid their hair, wallpaper their rooms and bake chocolate chip oatmeal monster cookies. When their Montreal hotel burned to the ground, he’d made the best of that, too. With fearless, unflagging optimism, he’d buried his remorse, swept up the ashes and rallied the troops.