The Billionaire’s Bidding

“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.

Well, Emma could be fearless. And she could bury whatever knee-jerk hormones were messing with her reaction to Alex. She’d make her father proud or die trying.

Emma was on guard Saturday night.

When they pulled into Tavern on the Green, she waited until Alex stepped out of the limo before she moved across the back seat. Mindful of the reporters waiting on the other side of the red rope line, she smoothed her champagne cocktail dress, and readied herself for a graceful exit.

Next to the open door, Alex turned to face her. He gallantly offered his hand, and she bit back a protest. She didn’t want to touch him at all, definitely not first thing. But there was no way to refuse the invitation.

Surrounded by the tiny white tree lights and the glowing lanterns of the portcullis, she took a breath and reached out. As soon as their fingertips made contact, a warm glow whooshed up her arm. She smiled bravely as cameras flashed in all directions.

Her gaze caught on Alex’s soft, gray eyes. But she quickly blinked her attention away as he played out his role for the cameras. She tried to appear adoring without actually looking at his face-bad enough he was holding her hand. Bad enough she was imagining some cosmic connection between them as they strode the gauntlet of reporters firing questions.

Then Alex wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her to a halt for the photographers. They were pressed together, from knee to shoulder, and she could feel every single breath he took.

“Act like you adore me,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m trying,” she returned, holding a smile, cursing her traitorous body that was cataloguing every nuance of Alex.

“Try harder.” He gave the photographers a final wave, then propelled her toward the entrance.

Emma resisted the pressure of his hand on the small of her back. “Katie and David were right behind us.”

“They can catch up.”

“But-”

“Until you become a better actress, we’re not standing around for the paparazzi.”

“I’m smiling, already.”

“That’s a grimace.”