The Billionaire’s Bidding

Three

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.

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.”

“That’s because I’m in pain.”

His arm immediately slacked off. “I’m hurting you?”

“Mental anguish.” And that wasn’t a lie.

“Give me a break.” He resumed the pressure on the small of her back as a balding man in a finely cut suit stepped forward to greet them.

“Mr. Garrison,” said the man with obvious enthusiasm. “So very good of you to join us.”

“Good evening, Maxim,” said Alex, reaching out to shake hands. “May I present my um, girlfriend, Emma McKinley.”

His voice softened ever so slightly over her name. Emma’s heart tripped for a split second, while Maxim did a double take.

“Maxim is the chairman of Teddybear Trust,” Alex explained.

The burly man smiled broadly as he reached for Emma’s hand. “And you’re the president of McKinley Inns. We haven’t met. But I’ve heard a good deal about you, Ms. McKinley.”

“Please, call me Emma.” Her smile was genuine now. “I have the utmost respect for the Teddybear Trust.”

The foundation had built a new children’s wing at St. Xavier’s last year, and they’d funded countless pediatric cancer research projects.

“This way,” said Maxim, gesturing through the cut glass doorway to the Tavern on the Green foyer. “Drinks are in the Terrace Room. And might I suggest the Pavilion as a starting point for casino games?”

“Blackjack?” asked Alex, tossing Maxim a wry grin.

Maxim grinned back. “Last year was unfortunate for you.” Then he winked at Emma. “But I know you’ll bring him good luck tonight.”

“I’ll try my best,” she promised Maxim, thinking that karmic forces might not be so quick to reward them for lying to the entire city.

Then Alex recaptured her hand and nodded to the doorman as he placed a quick kiss on her knuckles. Emma struggled to keep her head clear as they crossed into the richly decorated entry. The lobby was festooned with fine crystal and stained glass, while magnificent chandeliers refracted light as they started their way through the winding hallways.

She caught their reflection in a beveled mirror, shivering at the image of Alex, straight and tall, his strong hand resting on the small of her back, only a hair below the plunging V of her sparkling dress.

“Would you care for a drink?” His deep voice rumbled through her.

“A Chablis,” she replied, then cleared her throat against the sultry sound. They were playacting here. He was pretending to be her date for the benefit of the reporters and the other patrons. And she was pretending to like him for exactly the same end.

She dragged her gaze away from the mirror and vowed to ignore every facet of his sex appeal. She needed to get a grip here.

He pointed to a doorway. “Through there, then.”

They entered the Crystal Pavilion, catching the obviously curious glances of other guests.

Did they recognize Alex? Did they recognize her? She craned her neck, looking behind her for her sister’s reassuring face. “We’ve lost Katie and David.”

“We don’t need a chaperone.”

“But-”

“Tonight’s about you and me.” He smiled, nodded and waved a greeting to someone across the room.

They stopped next to the bar, and Alex rested a forearm on the polished top, giving the waiter their order before turning his attention to Emma. “You should try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

Emma couldn’t imagine relaxing under these circumstances. She couldn’t imagine relaxing around Alex at all.

“In a few minutes you get to start spending my money,” he said.

“I’ve never gambled in my life.” She didn’t mean it to sound snippy, but it came out that way.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” He snagged a handful of nuts from a crystal bowl on the bar and tossed them in his mouth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re way too conservative.”

The waiter set the drinks down on Teddybear Trust coasters.

“I am not,” Emma insisted.

Alex stuffed a bill in the tip snifter and nodded his thanks to the man. “Are too,” he chuckled low to Emma as they walked away.

She huffed out a breath.

“You can prove me wrong, you know.” He handed her the glass of Chablis, gently steering her back to the hallway. “Just belly on up to the blackjack table and make sure everyone knows I’m bankrolling you.”

She took a sip of the crisp wine and let the alcohol ease into her system. “Is that what the modern urban male does for the woman he loves?”

“Since it’s no longer practical to slay you a mastodon. Yeah. That’s what we do.”

She hid an unexpected grin behind another sip of the wine. “What if I want the mastodon instead?”

“Are you going high maintenance on me?”

“Apparently.”

He pointed to another entryway. “Through here to the tables.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know how to play blackjack.”

He shrugged. “It’s easy.”

Beyond the glass wall, lighted gardens spread out before them, lanterns swaying in the breeze as the well-dressed guests mingled from the restaurant to the patio and back again. The dealers, dressed in black jackets and bow ties, chatted with the guests as they doled out the cards.

Alex steered her toward a green felt table with high chairs and small white squares printed on the fabric.

“Hop up,” he whispered against her ear, and she tried not to react to his nearness.

But then his arm casually brushed her bare back, raising goose bumps and sending pulses of energy to very inappropriate spots on her body.

“There you are.” Katie’s voice interrupted the moment. “This is fabulous!”

“Fabulous,” Emma echoed, grateful for the buffer.

Katie hopped up next to Emma. There were already two men at the opposite end, of the table facing the dealer. That left one empty seat in the middle.

David stood behind Katie’s chair, and Emma gave him a smile.

“Buy me some chips,” Katie told him.

In her peripheral vision, Emma saw Alex place some bills on the table in front of the dealer.

“I thought we were going to the roulette wheel,” David said to Katie.

Katie patted the tabletop. “I want to play blackjack.”

The dealer slid four stacks of purple chips in front of Emma. She half turned to Alex. “What do I do now?” she whispered.

She could almost feel his smile. She inhaled his scent, and the fabric of his suit gently touched her bare back.

“Make a bet,” he whispered back. “Put it in the white square.”

The man at the far end bet two green chips, and the other bet a black one.

“What are the colors?” she asked Alex.

“Don’t worry about it.”

The dealer placed stacks of black chips in front of Katie.

Emma pushed two purple ones into the square in front of her, and the dealer gave them each a face-up card.

She glanced at everyone’s cards, wondering if the man had made a mistake. She leaned back to talk to Alex. “They can see-”

“It’s okay. You’re only playing the dealer.”

“Well, the dealer can see what I’ve got,” she hissed. How was that fair?

“Trust me.”

Emma tipped her head to look into his eyes. Trust him? Was he kidding? He’d made it clear last night-somewhere between gross revenue and capital depreciation-that he was looking out for his own interests. In fact, he’d strongly advised her to do the same.

Of course, in this case, it was his money. Who cared if she lost?

“Emma?”

“Hmmm?”

He nodded at the table. “Look at your hand.”

She glanced down. A queen and an ace.

“You won,” he said as the dealer pushed a couple of chips into her square.

“Hit me,” said Katie next to her.

Even though it was just luck, a warm glow of pride grew in Emma’s chest. She’d won. Her very first time gambling, and she’d won. Whatever happened from here on in, at least she had that.

“Bust,” sighed Katie, while David shook his head.

The dealer cleared the cards.

“Bet more this time,” said Alex.

Emma stacked another chip in her square.

“It’s going to be a long night at this rate,” Alex breathed.

“Why don’t you do it then?”

He leaned in closer, his hand sliding up to her bare shoulder. “Because we want the world to see me spending a lot of money on you, remember?”

She turned so that her nose almost contacted his cheek. His spicy scent surrounded her, and his broad palm moved ever so slightly against her shoulder. It would be so easy to sink into this fantasy.

She reached for her wine. “How about if you bet my money instead?”

He chuckled. “Doesn’t work that way. Now bet.”

“You’re such a chauvinist.”

“Yeah, I am. Get used to it.” He straightened, ending the conversation.

Fine. He wanted to bankroll her? Emma moved an entire stack of chips into the white square. Take that, Alex Garrison.

“That a girl,” he said.

“Holy crap, Emma,” said Katie.

Emma turned to her sister.

“That’s ten thousand dollars.”

“What?” Emma nearly swallowed her tongue.

The first card landed in front of her.

“Those are five-hundred-dollar chips,” Katie pointed out.

Emma’s stomach contracted. She quickly reached for the stack of chips, but Alex stopped her by putting his hand over hers.

“Too late,” he warned.

She turned to stare at him, her eyes wide in horror. She couldn’t bet ten thousand dollars on a hand of cards. That was nuts.

“Play the game,” he calmly advised.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Alex.”

“Play the game.”

“No way.” She started to rise, but her hand was trapped by his.

“You won,” he said.

“What?”

He nodded to her cards. “You won again. You really should gamble more often.”

Emma slowly looked down at her hand, a ten and an ace. She gave in to her wobbly knees and sat back down on the stool.

“Bust,” said Katie.

David shifted behind her.

“How much did you lose?” Emma asked her sister. David didn’t look too happy about this.

“Five hundred dollars.”

Emma cringed. “Ouch.”

Katie tossed two more chips in her square.

“I think we should move to roulette,” David suggested.

“This is fun,” said Katie. “We’re having fun. Aren’t we, Emma?”

“I’m having fun,” said Alex, a definite edge of laughter to his voice.

David’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath.

The dealer passed out the cards.

“You know you just let fifteen thousand dollars ride?” asked Katie.

Emma’s gaze flew to her chips. Good God. Why hadn’t Alex stopped her?

After a long, tense minute, she won with a three-card nineteen. She immediately swiveled her chair sideways. “I can’t take this anymore.”

Alex trapped the chair with one knee to keep it from recoiling. “You’re winning.”

Their legs touched, and the warmth of his body seeped into her thigh. “I’m having a heart attack,” she told him. And it was definitely on more than one front.

She started to climb off the high stool, and he quickly offered a hand to steady her. “You don’t walk away from a hot streak.”

“Watch me.”

She shifted. Whoops. She hadn’t counted on being all but trapped in his arms. A half step forward and she’d be pressed up against him. If she tipped her head, they could kiss. Or she could bury her face in his neck and flick out her tongue to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

Of course she didn’t. But the desire was strong. So was the image.

He watched her with those smoky eyes for a long moment. “Okay.” He finally said. “Ever played craps?”

“No.”

“Good.” Then he gestured toward the hallway, putting an end to the intimate moment. “Craps tables are in the Chestnut Room.”

She turned to Katie. “Are you coming?”

“Not for craps,” said David.

Katie peered at her boyfriend’s expression. “We’ll catch up,” she told them.

Emma nodded. Then she began walking with Alex. “Can we at least switch to ten-dollar chips?”

“No.”

“I can’t bet five hundred dollars at a time.”

Alex might be comfortable with a high-rolling, high-stakes lifestyle. But she sure wasn’t.

“You’re already up several thousand,” he said.

That was true. She felt a little better. She could lose all this, and he’d still be even.

“If you don’t start losing soon,” Alex continued. “The Teddybear Trust will be bankrupt.”

Emma stopped, and her mouth formed a spontaneous O. She’d forgotten all about the Teddybear Trust. “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

Alex chuckled, his hand going to her back to get her going again. “I’ll say.”

She gave a sigh of frustration.

Then, unexpectedly, his lips brushed her temple. “You’re delightful, you know that?”

Her chest contracted around the compliment.

But then Edwina and Fredrick Waddington materialized next to Alex, and she realized the compliment was part of the ruse. Everything about tonight was part of the ruse. Alex wasn’t an easygoing, philanthropic businessman. He was only playing his part.

She forced out a smile as he performed the introductions. No more fantasy. No more intimacy. No more physical reactions. From this minute on, she was remembering it was a game.