The Billionaire’s Bidding

Four

No matter how hard Emma tried, she couldn’t seem to lose. A crowd had gathered around one of the craps tables, and every time she attempted to pass the dice, they’d erupt in a torrent of protest, shoving them back into her hands.

She took a deep breath.

Standing behind her, Alex rubbed her shoulders. “With a bet like that, you’re either going to save the charity or buy us a new hotel.”

She shook the dice up between her hands. “We don’t need a new hotel. This is getting embarrassing. Don’t you see Maxim glaring at me?”

“He’s not glaring at you.”

Emma glanced surreptitiously at her host and watched him run a finger under the collar of his shirt. It was bad enough that she was winning. But the entire crowd was winning along with her.

“How do I lose?” she whispered to Alex.

“Roll a seven.”

“Okay.” She blew on the dice.

Alex chuckled at her theatrics, and she dug her elbow into his ribs.

“A little support, please,” she breathed.

“Come on, seven,” he rumbled in return. “You do know you’ll lose two hundred grand.”

“It’s not my money.”

“Yeah. It’s mine.” Despite his protest, he sounded completely unconcerned.

It wasn’t his money anyway. It was the Teddybear Trust’s money. And she was going to put it back where it belonged or die trying.

She tossed the dice. They scattered along the green felt table, bouncing amongst bets that probably totaled a surgical wing, hitting the far wall of the table, then rolling to a stop. A six and a one.

Delight zipped through her.

She’d done it.

“Quit grinning,” Alex warned as the crowd groaned.

Right. The other betters were disappointed. She quickly hid her smile against Alex’s chest.

His strong arms went around her, and he made a show of stroking her back.

Okay. So much for not reacting to his latent sensuality. Every fiber of her body was revving up in reaction to his heat.

“Don’t worry,” he said, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “It’s only money. And it’s for a good cause.”

The groans and grumbles around them gradually turned to good-natured jokes. One man pointed out the tax benefits of their loss, while another suggested they’d all be on Teddybear Trust’s Christmas card list this year.

Alex didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let her go. No wonder. He had a big audience here-a big audience that would soon start asking questions about their relationship.

Hugging was the smart thing to do. So for just a second, Emma stopped fighting. She relaxed into his strength and let the tension roll out of her body. Gambling was way too stressful, even when she was trying to lose.

Alex’s palm smoothed her hair, while his lips touched the top of her head in a tender kiss. It felt way too good, and sirens went off in all corners of her brain.

She ignored them as long as she could. But finally she pulled back. Still, he kept one arm firmly around her waist. Although it went against her mental promise, she didn’t try to disentangle herself.

Some of the players moved away from the table, and the stick man called for a new shooter.

Katie and David appeared from the crowd.

“How’d you do?” asked Katie.

“She lost all my money,” said Alex with a playful squeeze.

“Well, it has gone to a good cause,” Emma pointed out.

“You lost my entire thirty-thousand-dollar stake,” said Alex.

She’d forgotten it was that much.

But one glance at his expression told her he didn’t care. Certainly he didn’t care. He wanted the whole world to know she was here on his dime.

That was the game. His game, she reminded herself, trying to ease out of his hold. “Take the tax deduction and quit complaining.”

He resisted her pressure.

She tugged harder.

Alex just grinned at her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Maxim’s voice came over the sound system. “You’re invited to take a break from the casino games and join us in the garden for a surprise, grand prize draw.”

“The gardens are lovely,” said Emma, pulling firmly out of Alex’s grip and moving to safety beside her sister. “Let’s go watch the draw.”

“Thanks to the generosity of an anonymous donor,” Maxim continued. “Our grand prize this year is a Mercedes-Benz convertible.”

The crowd gave an appreciative ahh.

“Check the top right corner of your admission ticket for your lucky draw number.”

Emma linked arms with Katie and they followed the flow of people moving toward the lighted greenery. She was trying to focus on the gardens, on Katie, on anything but Alex. Or, more to the point, on anything but her reaction to Alex.

“Is David okay?” she asked Katie, concentrating on how the oak trees sparkled with thousands of white lights and lines of lanterns glowed against colorful flower tubs and hanging baskets. The garden was absolutely breathtaking at night.

Katie shrugged her shoulders. “Why do you ask?”

Emma studied her sister’s expression. “He seems quiet.” David was normally joking and jovial. Kind of like how Alex was tonight.

Nope, wait. Not Alex. Not Alex.

“Maybe he thought I’d win,” said Katie.

“How much did you lose?”

“A couple of thousand.” Katie tossed her blond hair. “I really don’t know what his problem is.” Then she whistled low, pointing to the car. “Oh, baby. I can sure see myself cruising around the park in that.”

“Not bad,” Emma agreed, checking out the sleek lines of the silver convertible. The chrome shone, and the paint fairly glowed under the brilliance of the garden lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came Maxim’s voice as he stepped up onto the dais next to the spectacular car. “I have to say, Teddybear Trust donors are the most generous people in the country!”

A cheer went up from the crowd.

He bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the gesture.

Then, as the applause died down, he reached into a crystal bowl, stirring the slips of paper around with great drama. “And…the winner of this gorgeous, brand-new Mercedes-Benz convertible is…number seven-thirty-two!”

Alex ruffled Emma’s hair from behind. “That’s mine,” he murmured in her ear. Then he leaned up and winked. “I’ll be right back.”

Emma stared at his retreating back. “He won?” she asked out loud.

Katie stared at her for a moment, her blue eyes going wide. “He won!” she cried.

“I see we have a winner,” called Maxim as he spotted Alex moving through the crowd. Alex stepped up smartly onto the stage and handed Maxim his ticket.

“Mr. Alex Garrison,” Maxim announced after a cursory glance. “Tonight’s winner, and one of Teddybear Trust’s most valued sponsors.”

Alex made a show of sizing up the car. Then he stepped up to the microphone at the small podium. “Lady luck is definitely with me tonight,” he announced with a broad grin. “And I’m hoping she’ll stick around for a few more minutes.”

He turned to Maxim. “Many, many thanks to Maxim and all of the dedicated volunteers at Teddybear Trust.” He paused, gazing at the car for another moment. “Although I’d dearly love to take this baby out for a spin on the expressway, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

The crowd went silent.

“Because I’m donating it back to Teddybear,” said Alex. “For their September auction.”

Applause burst out as Maxim stepped forward and clasped Alex’s hand with both of his.

Emma couldn’t help the surge of pride that rose in her chest. Act or not, Alex had just donated serious money to a good charity.

He turned back to the microphone. “If you’ll be patient with me for another minute. There’s one more thing I want to say.” He cleared his throat. “I was only half joking about lady luck. Truth is, I attribute tonight’s luck to one very special lady.” He stepped back for a beat.

“Emma,” he continued, nodding in her direction.

It was a little overboard as courtship went. But, okay. She could go along. He’d earned this one. She smiled warmly up at him, trying to look love-struck.

He grinned back, his obsidian eyes sparkling under the tree lights. “Emma, will you do me the honor…Will you marry me?”

Emma froze. Her stomach plummeted to the patio.

A collective gasp went up from the crowd, followed quickly by a smattering of applause that grew and grew, while heads turned her way.

This was as bad as the JumboTron. No, it was worse than the JumboTron. At least at a baseball game, she’d have some anonymity. Half the people here tonight knew her, or had known her father.

Katie nudged her, and she realized Alex was staring at her expectantly.

While she tried to form a coherent thought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He’d planned this, the rat.

He was the anonymous car donor. The entire evening of chivalry and philanthropy had been designed to back her into a corner.

“Emma, say something,” Katie hissed.

“I can’t,” she whimpered under her breath.

“We made a deal with him,” Katie reminded her.

Yes, they’d made a deal. But not for this. Not for such a ridiculous showy, sentimental display. Her reputation was at stake. And, besides, she’d specifically vetoed this very thing.

Katie gave her a slight shove toward the dais. “Get up there.”

She wasn’t going up there. She couldn’t do it. Her feet had become concrete.

“Emma?” Alex singsonged in an overblown, adoring voice. The faker.

“Bankruptcy,” whispered Katie in a warning tone.

Bankruptcy.

Emma forced one foot forward. Then she moved the other. Then she pasted a sickly-sweet smile on her face and made her way toward him.

The crowd’s applause escalated, and people congratulated her all along the short route. She let her vision go soft, and the multitude of faces blur in front of her.

Up on the stage, Alex gallantly took her hand. “Will you marry me?” he repeated, popping open the velvet box.

She barely glanced at the ring. She just wanted to get this over with and get out of there. She hastily nodded her head. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” And then I’m going to kill you.

His grin said he was reading her mind again. It also said he’d won this round. He took the marquise solitaire out of the box and slipped it onto her finger.

Then, as the crowd roared its approval, he leaned down.

He wasn’t…

He wouldn’t…

He would!

She tried to step back, but his arms slid around her.

Under his breath, he commanded, “Kiss me.” And she realized she had no choice.

Several hundred people were watching, and this was the crux of a multimillion dollar deal. She tipped her head and saw him smile.

She promised herself she’d make it quick. She’d pucker up, get it done and get the heck away from this sham. But then his lips touched hers, igniting twenty-four hours’ worth of pent-up passion.

His mouth was warm and firm, and way too mobile for a perfunctory photo op. Fine smoky scotch had flavored his lips, the residual alcohol tingling her sensitive skin.

She told herself to end it, but his arms pulled her tight, and fireworks went off inside her head, counterpoint to the flashes of cameras in her peripheral vision. A primal hormone kicked in, and her eyes fluttered closed. Her body went limp, and she opened to him, giving him access, returning his parry, her body alight in raw desire.

Ever so slowly, his arms loosened. Then he drew back, finishing with a brief, tender peck on her ravaged lips. Then the cheers of the crowd penetrated her consciousness, as every photographer in the place finished a montage of their kiss.

A cold wash of reality hit Emma. Keeping a professional distance was going to be a lot more difficult than she’d imagined.

Alex couldn’t believe how easy that had been. Maxim had been more than eager to participate in the Mercedes scam. Sure, it meant Teddybear got a sizable donation, but Alex had a feeling the man was more excited about the flamboyant engagement. Whatever.

Alex shrugged as his limo pulled away from the portcullis in front of the McKinley Fifth Avenue. He’d seen Emma to the penthouse elevator and now picked up the phone to dial Ryan’s number. He guessed a lot of people had a romantic streak.

“Yo,” said Ryan in a sleepy voice.

“The ring’s on her finger,” said Alex as the limo turned into traffic.

“It went well?”

“She said yes.” That was the salient point. The kiss had seemed salient there for a few minutes, too. Surprisingly salient. But the kiss was fleeting, even if it was unexpectedly arousing. That diamond ring was money in the bank. “Boy Scout Garrison is now Romantic Fool Boy Scout Garrison.” Gunter would be thrilled with the publicity, but Alex sure wasn’t wild about the inherent celibacy.

“Better you than me, buddy,” Ryan chuckled, knowing full well the engagement had clipped Alex’s dating wings.

A soft murmur sounded in the background, cuing Alex’s radar.

“You alone?” he asked.

“You kidding?”

Alex swore.

Ryan chuckled again. “Grit your teeth and think of the profit.”

“I am thinking about the profit.” But Alex was also thinking about Emma’s kiss. For someone who prided herself on her solemn strength, her lips sure packed a punch. And she’d looked fantastic in that sparkling dress that showed off miles of creamy smooth skin.

He’d run his fingertips over it as often as he’d dared. Which turned out to be a mistake, since it was hard to think about the money when all he wanted was more of her body and more of her lips. And that wasn’t about to happen in any meaningful way. Not now, not ever.

The woman with Ryan giggled, and Alex heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Buck up,” Ryan advised.

“Right.” Alex stabbed the end button and tossed the phone on the bench seat beside him. It was going to be a very long marriage.

Emma had had a very long Monday morning.

The following morning, she wiped away the sweat that had gathered near her hairline, tuning out the chatter of two women in a whirlpool tub near the spa’s fern garden.

She should have known better than to get mixed up with Alex. When a deal was too good to be true, it meant it was too good to be true. Yeah, the man was bailing them out financially, but the personal price was much too high.

She hated the spotlight. And if this morning’s flurry of activity was anything to go by, the spotlight was exactly where she’d be stuck for the next few months. Out of desperation, she’d left her office, skulked down the back staircase and dragged a lounger behind the curve of the marble wall here in the hotel spa in a bid for peace and privacy.

“Emma?” came Katie’s voice from around a spreading palm.

“Back here,” Emma reluctantly confirmed.

Katie appeared in high heels, a straight white skirt and a matching blazer. “What are you doing?”

Emma paused for a significant second. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m hiding.”

“From what?”

“Not from what, from who.”

Katie stripped off her blazer. “Then who?”

“Philippe.”

“Why? And aren’t you going to ruin your laptop?”

“Because he’s a caterer. And because he’s an insane stalker. And yes, probably.”

The two women in a nearby whirlpool laughed, and Katie took a couple of steps closer, lowering her voice. “You’re being stalked by an insane caterer? Is there such thing as an insane caterer?”

“I think they’re all insane,” said Emma. “I’m being stalked by at least a dozen. Philippe is just the most persistent of the crowd.”

“Can’t security take care of them?”

Emma pressed the save button on her laptop and turned her complete attention to Katie. “Oh, sure. Then all the reporters can have a field day on McKinley security staff roughing up skinny men in berets.”

Katie glanced behind her. “We have reporters, too?”

Emma sighed and pushed back her damp hair. “Yes. We have reporters. In the lobby, out front, on the mezzanine floor.”

“Nobody bothered me.”

“That’s because Alex Garrison didn’t make a spectacle of you last night.”

Katie took a seat on the far end of the lounger, curling one leg beneath her as her face lit up with the memory. “You have to admit, if that had been real, it would have been incredibly romantic.”

Emma didn’t have to admit any such thing. It was grandiose and tacky. She’d never, not in a million years, marry a man who thought proposing in public was romantic.

She snapped the laptop closed. “It wasn’t real.”

Katie sighed. “I know that.”

“So quit getting all starry-eyed on me. Alex was acting.” A small difference, maybe. But a rather important one.

Katie toyed with a lock of her hair. “He’s a good actor.”

“He probably had his marketing staff coach him.”

Katie laughed at that.

“Mademoiselle McKinley?” came a nasal male voice.

A sudden shift in Emma’s blood pressure left her feeling light-headed. She stared at Katie. “You were followed?”

“I’m not exactly double-o-seven,” Katie protested.

“Aarrgghh.”

“Mademoiselle McKinley?” Philippe Gagnon repeated. Then he appeared around the corner of the marble wall. “Ah, there you are.”

Katie nearly choked on a laugh as the brisk, wiry sixty-something man stepped in front of them and clasped his palms together over his chest.

“There is so much we must do,” he began.

He sure had that right. And on the top of Emma’s list was a clandestine trip to the Bahamas. She’d find a small secluded beachfront hut with no phone, no radio, and no caterers.

Katie, on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed by Philippe’s interruption. She stood and held out her hand to him. “I’m Katie McKinley, sister of the bride.”

“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” He gallantly raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I am Philippe Gagnon. Sous chef, trained at the Sorbonne and apprenticed under John-Pierre Laconte. I have cooked for princes and presidents.”

Katie turned to Emma, her grin growing wide. “Did you hear that, Emma? He’s cooked for princes and presidents.”

“Shoot me now,” Emma muttered as a trickle of sweat made its way between her breasts.

Philippe shook an admonishing finger. “No, no. None of that from the bride. I am here now, and I will take care of everything.”

Emma sat up straight. “Oh, no you-”

“Emma.” Katie shot her eyes a look of warning.

But Emma wasn’t getting dragged into this circus. “I am not-”

“This is a most stressful time for you, mademoiselle.” Philippe fluttered a hand toward the exit. “Those bohemian food hacks in the lobby. I will have them gone. Poof.”

Then he held up his palms. “No, no. No need to thank me. After that, I will talk to the reporters. Give them a tidbit or two, non? Satisfy them for a short while.”

Emma stared into the man’s pale blue eyes, seeing an unexpected shrewdness in their depths. It took her less than a minute to revise her opinion of him. “You can get all those people out of my lobby?”

“But, of course,” he said. “You must stay calm. I must keep you calm.”

If by keeping her calm, Philippe meant protecting her privacy? He was hired.

Mrs. Nash punctuated her presence on the pool deck by clacking a pitcher of orange juice down on the table next to Alex’s lounger.

He glanced up from the executive summary of the McKinley strategic plan.

He didn’t know what he’d done to annoy Mrs. Nash, but it was obvious by the set of her lips that something was up. He tried to gauge her expression, but the sun was bright, and his eyes were grainy from lack of sleep.

He decided to go for the direct approach. “Something wrong?”

“What could be wrong?” Then her lips returned to the prune position. “Though I see you’re getting married.”

“I am,” he confirmed, wondering if that was really the problem. Surely she wasn’t offended because he hadn’t told her personally. Sunday was her day off.

She peered at him over the half glasses that were secured around her neck by a sparkling gold chain.

He was clearly supposed to be catching onto something here. But he really didn’t have time for games. Another ten minutes of cramming for the showdown with old man Murdoch from DreamLodge, and he was diving into the pool to wake himself up. He would barely get in thirty lengths and a shower if he wanted to be at the DreamLodge offices before eight.

And he definitely wanted to be there before the start of business. He wasn’t taking any chances that Murdoch would get to Emma before Alex got to him.

Mrs. Nash finally relented. “To a woman I’ve never met?”

Alex gave his head a brief shake. “You met her last week.”

Mrs. Nash drew in an expressive breath. “No. She was at the estate last week. We were never introduced.”

Okay. That was an oversight. Alex could see that now, and he would definitely introduce them as soon as possible. “I’ll-”

“And I see she’s recently come into some property…”

And what, exactly, did Mrs. Nash mean by that? And what was that funny tilt to her chin?

Her tone dropped to interrogation timbre and the pace of her words slowed. “Hotel property.”

“Yes.” Alex measured his response. He was way too tired to justify his personal life.

At his admission, her voice turned snappy again. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young man.”

Young man? “What happened to Mr. Garrison?”

“Sweeping that innocent girl off her feet.”

Alex sat forward. “Wait a minute-”

“Did you send her the usual hothouse bouquet? Take her to Tradori’s? Book your suite at the Manhattan?”

“Whoa.” How did Mrs. Nash know about his suite at the Manhattan? “I’ve been completely up front with Emma.”

“Ha. The poor woman didn’t have a ghost of a chance. Her father only recently passing.”

Now that just plain wasn’t fair. Alex rose to his feet. “She had every chance.”

Mrs. Nash shook her head. “Alex, I love you dearly. You are like a son to me.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know your weaknesses.”

“I know my weaknesses, too.” And they certainly didn’t include lying to women in order to steal their property.

They might involve misleading a competitor to cinch a business deal, or lying to the world at large in order to merge two hotel chains. But those were completely separate issues. And defensible ones.

Not that he had to explain himself.

Of course he didn’t have to explain himself.

Unfortunately, something in her expression triggered a psychological remnant of his childhood. And he couldn’t seem to bring himself to disappoint her.

He made a split-second decision to bring her into the circle. “Emma knows why I’m marrying her.”

Mrs. Nash’s expression changed. “She knows it’s for her hotels?”

He nodded. “I offered her a financial bailout, and she took it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”

He stripped off his shirt, stepped out of his sandals to head across the deck.

Mrs. Nash followed on his heels. “A marriage of convenience, Mr. Garrison?”

“Yes, Mrs. Nash. A marriage of convenience.” It wasn’t like he was breaking the law.

“Well, we both know where that leads.”

“To profitability and an increase in our capital asset base?”

“To misery and a cold, lonely death.”

A stillness took over Alex’s body. He hooked his toes over the edge and gazed into the still, clear water. “I am not my father.”

“You are more like him than you care to admit.”

“I’m nothing like him.”

She clicked her teeth, and he could feel her shaking her head.

“I know what I’m doing, Mrs. Nash.”

“Due respect, Mr. Garrison. You haven’t a bloody clue.”

Yeah. That was respectful all right. Alex tamped down the urge to engage in the debate. He was out of patience, and he was out of time. He drew a strangled breath, tensed his calf muscles and dove into the pool.