The Billionaire’s Bidding

Six

“You’ll definitely have to write these into the prenup.” Perched on the edge of the four-poster bed, Emma had given up trying to reason with Alex. Instead, she slid a serpentine pattern ruby-and-diamond choker over her forearm. She’d have to be blind not to appreciate the brilliance of the jewels against her pale skin. A more mercenary person might be plotting ways to keep the necklace.

McKinley Inns had certainly allowed Emma and Katie to grow up with a lot of advantages in life, but it was still a relatively small company, and there’d been lean times with their family business. It was hard to imagine a threat to the Garrison wealth. Alex had produced an emerald necklace that looked to be a hundred years old. And she could only guess at the fortune tucked away in the leather and velvet boxes of the multi-shelved safe.

Alex extracted yet another case from a high shelf. “Would that be in favor of you or me?”

“I’m an option?” she joked. “Because a girl could get attached to some of these things.”

So far, they’d discovered a sapphire pendant, several diamond bracelets, a man’s ruby ring, even a tiara dripping with so many teardrop diamonds that Emma was sure it should be in a museum.

Still, the serpentine choker outshone them all.

“Afraid I can only lend them to you.” He smiled at her as he crossed the room, his eyes going a shade of smoke she was beginning to like. “But we’ll say yes to some of the party invitations, so you can show them off.”

“Only if we bring along a bodyguard.” She’d be scared to death wearing the necklace in public.

“You don’t need a bodyguard.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve got me.”

She couldn’t help but grin at that one. “Okay. But only if you bring along great-great-great Grandpa Hamilton’s saber.”

“You don’t think it might attract attention?”

“I thought attracting attention to us was your mission in life.”

He snapped open the newly discovered case. “Touché.”

“I, on the other hand.” She gave in to temptation and looped the heavy choker around her neck. “Am trying to be classy and circumspect about our engagement.”

Alex set the case down on the edge of the bed, motioning for her to turn around. “Let me.”

Emma stood and faced away from him so that he could work with the clasp.

He brushed her hair out of the way and took the two ends from her fingertips.

“Thanks,” she whispered, allowing herself a few seconds to enjoy the brush of his hands and the fan of his breath.

He smoothed the necklace and touched her shoulders, half turning her so she was facing a big oval mirror above a mahogany vanity table. “Take a look.”

Emma’s hand went to her throat where the necklace sparkled with the brilliance of two dozen flawless gems. She took a few steps closer, watching the diamonds reflect the light and the heavy gold glisten with her movements.

“Stunning,” she breathed out loud.

“Stunning,” Alex agreed, his voice a low rumble.

She glanced up and met his eyes in the mirror.

The smoky gray had turned to dark slate. His gaze dropped to the necklace, and in slow motion he brushed away a few stray strands of her hair.

Then he leaned down.

She knew she should stop him. She had to stop him. But her body was already anticipating the taste of his lips, his smooth warm lips against the delicate curve of her neck. Desire sizzled within her, and she held still, waiting, wanting.

His lips touched her skin, nudging the necklace out of the way, drawing her in with a gentle kiss. Her hands grasped the vanity top, steadying herself as her need for him took the strength out of her knees.

He broke contact, but then kissed her again. This time the tip of his tongue drew a circle above her collarbone. He blew on the moist spot, and her entire body contracted in response. Then he moved to the other side of her neck with a full, enveloping, overwhelming kiss.

Higher, then higher still. He kissed her jawline, her cheek, then his hands tunneled into her hair, bringing her head around as he zeroed in on her mouth.

When his lips met hers, passion and longing welled up from every corner of her being. She released the vanity, grasping his arm instead, clinging to the strength of his bicep and turning fully into his embrace.

While one hand guided her chin, his free arm snaked around her waist, pulling her firmly into the cradle of his thighs. His muscles were hot and hard as steel, transmitting the unmistakable signals of male desire.

His mouth opened wide, and she answered greedily. His tongue plundered her inviting depths, sending pulsating messages of need through her veins. She subconsciously arched her spine, moving closer, pressing her pelvis, her breasts, her thighs tight against his body.

The world outside disappeared, and her only thought was Alex. His incredible scent, his unbridled power, and the salty, tangy, heady taste of his skin fueled her hunger and hijacked any semblance of reason.

“Emma.” Her name vibrated on his lips.

His hand slid to her bottom, grinding her high and tight against him, leaving her no illusions about the state of his arousal. The knowledge shot through her, ricocheting out from the apex of her thighs, streaking electricity to her toes and fingertips.

She cupped his face, smoothing her palms over his rough, masculine skin. She dug her fingers into his hair, kissing him harder, kissing him deeper. There was a primal magic to this passion, something she’d never, ever felt before.

In some dim recess of her mind, she knew they’d have to stop. But not now, not yet.

His breathing grew ragged. With both hands, he lifted her from the floor, slipping her skirt up her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist so that the fabric of his suit abraded the thin silk of her panties. His thumbs slipped beneath the delicate elastic, and her muscles clenched around the touch.

Alex swore under his breath.

Emma couldn’t disagree.

“We have to stop,” he groaned.

She nodded, not sure she was capable of forming words.

His thumbs circled higher, forcing a moan from her lips.

“Don’t do that,” he growled.

“Then stop-” She moaned again.

His hands retreated. He drew his head back to gaze into her eyes. “I want you,” he confessed bluntly, then waited for her reaction.

She took a breath. Then another. Then another, desperately gathering her bearings. “That can’t be good.”

“On the contrary,” he said as he slowly lowered her to the floor. “I have a feeling it could be very, very good.”

She moved away, out of range, shaking her head. “Don’t you say that.”

“Not saying it won’t change a thing.”

Maybe not, but it was all she had. She couldn’t take this. She’d never felt so wickedly free, as if some unbridled hedonist had taken over her body. She would have said anything, promised anything, done anything.

“We can’t ever do it again,” she murmured.

“That’s one solution,” he agreed. But then his voice dipped low, and he leaned slightly forward. “Or else we do, do it again. But we never, ever stop.”

The room temperature seemed to spike as they stared at each other. For a moment, Emma actually hesitated over the choice.

Abrupt noises came from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Mr. Garrison,” Mrs. Nash cried from the hallway.

Her rapid footsteps were followed by more measured ones and a litany of rapid-fire French.

“Philippe,” said Emma as Alex reflexively sprang toward the door.

It burst open, and Mrs. Nash marched inside.

“Will you please be so kind as to inform this odious man that the Garrison wedding feast dates back to William the Conqueror, and that we are not serving Garrison guests microscopic portions of bottom-feeding crustaceans smothered in outlandish butter sauces while I’m alive and breathing.” She took a breath.

“A slab of beef and a dollop of dough?” Philippe demanded, coming abreast of Mrs. Nash. “You have the nerve to call that food?”

“I call that the Queen’s supper,” Mrs. Nash snapped in return.

“You Brits don’t know how to do anything but boil.”

“I’ll boil you, you-”

“Excuse me?” Alex interrupted, glancing back and forth between the two.

Philippe seemed to recover his composure. “Forgive me, Mr. Garrison. Mademoiselle.” He clicked his heels together and fixed his attention on Alex. “I am Philippe Gagnon. Sous Chef, trained at the Sorbonne and apprenticed under John-Pierre Laconte. I have cooked for princes and presidents. And I am at your service.”

Alex turned to blink at Emma.

“I hired a caterer,” she confessed into the silence.

He paused, his expression carefully neutral. “You hired a caterer?”

“Is that a bad thing?” Before the question was out, she knew it sounded ridiculous. Mrs. Nash was about to call up the Royal Navy. And Philippe’s complexion was turning an unnatural shade of purple.

Alex didn’t answer, but his eyes widened.

Mrs. Nash sniffed. “You are the bride, of course.”

Emma might be the bride, but it was easy to see she’d stepped on some very important toes. She hadn’t wanted to hire a caterer. It had been an act of self-preservation.

Though she had to admit, Philippe was wonderful. He’d cleared her lobby and emptied her mezzanine of unwanted wedding planners and reporters. Since then, he’d been nothing but professional and helpful. She didn’t want to fire him.

But Mrs. Nash, who was obviously the uncontested mistress of her domain had very concrete plans for Alex’s wedding. Emma sure didn’t want to alienate her, either.

She glanced at Alex. No help there. He was obviously waiting for her next move.

She looked from Mrs. Nash to Philippe and back again. “Could we, um, compromise?” she asked.

Alex coughed. “You want the English and the French to compromise over food?”

“Is that a bad thing, too?”

No one seemed inclined to answer.

“I am willing,” Philippe finally put in, with a long-suffering sigh, “to make a few-how do you say-concessions.”

Emma glanced hopefully at Mrs. Nash.

Mrs. Nash’s lips pursed.

“Mrs. Nash?” Alex prompted.

“It’s tradition,” she spouted.

Emma struggled to come up with something helpful. “Perhaps you could do the main course? And Philippe could do dessert?”

“Mon Dieu.” Philippe crossed himself. “I will be ruined.”

Mrs. Nash clacked her teeth together. “The admiral would turn over in his grave.”

Emma looked to Alex once more. He should feel free to jump in anytime.

“Any more good ideas?” he asked her.

That did it. This whole mess was his fault anyway. “You were the one who proposed in public. You unleashed the dogs.”

“What dogs?”

“Philippe is the one who saved me. He cleared out the reporters. He sent the other caterers packing-”

“Thirty-five years,” Mrs. Nash put in. “Thirty-five years I’ve been with the Garrison family.”

Philippe made a slashing motion with his hand. “Yorkshire pudding and boiled cabbage has no place on my table.”

“Your table?” cried Mrs. Nash. “I think you mean Mr. Garrison’s table.”

“Can we get back to the dogs?” asked Alex.

“They were metaphorical,” said Emma.

“I got that much,” he drawled.

“The press,” said Philippe, providing a few more dramatic hand gestures. “They were everywhere. Ms. McKinley was forced into hiding. I saved her.”

“He saved me,” Emma agreed. And she wasn’t about to fire the man for his trouble. Surely to goodness four sane adults could come up with a compromise.

She turned to Mrs. Nash. “Why don’t we pull out your recipes-”

“Water, salt and a big ol’ slab of beef,” said Philippe.

“At least it’s not the legs of amphibians-”

“That’s it.” Alex took a decisive step forward. “Philippe, Mrs. Nash, you’ll work together. I want three recommendations for a compromise by Wednesday.”

The two immediately stopped talking.

“Morning,” said Alex.

After a pause, Philippe and Mrs. Nash eyed each other suspiciously.

“Can I get a yes?” Alex prompted.

Philippe lifted his chin. “But of course. I will do everything in my power to assist.”

“We can certainly discuss it,” said Mrs. Nash, canting her chin at an equally challenging angle.

“Then, thank you,” said Alex. “If you’ll excuse us, Emma and I were picking out some jewelry.”

Both Philippe and Mrs. Nash nodded stiffly and exited the room. Mrs. Nash closed the door behind them.

Alex gave Emma an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion. “A Frenchman?”

“How was I supposed to know you had a rabid housekeeper?”

Alex ambled back to the open safe. “You’re right. Silly me. Anything else I should know about? A Greek limousine driver? A Romanian florist?”

“What does Mrs. Nash have against the Romanians?”

His back was to her, but Emma could tell Alex smiled at that.

“Maybe you should run any future plans by me first.”

“To pander to your control freakish nature?”

“To avoid murder or dismemberment during the ceremony. Ahhh. Here it is.”

Emma’s curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped closer to the safe. “What did you find in there?”

He popped open a purple velvet box. “The Tudor diamond.”

Emma glanced down at the jewel in his hands and instantly stopped breathing.

It was gorgeous.

Old, unique, luxuriant and gorgeous.

The band was fashioned from strands of platinum, woven together to form an intricate Celtic pattern. Rubies tapered up the curve, highlighting the centerpiece-a glittering oval of a flawless gem.

The Tudor diamond.

“Try it on,” said Alex.

She shook her head. Fake brides didn’t touch a piece like that. At the very least, it had to be bad luck.

He moved the box toward her. “Mrs. Nash is right. The family jewels work in our favor.”

Emma shook again, shifting from one foot to the other, her heart rate increasing. No way. No how. The ring he’d given her at casino night was perfectly fine.

“It is insured,” he said.

“Against bad luck?”

He glanced at the ring in confusion. “What bad luck? It’s nothing but metal and stone.”

“It’s a precious family heirloom.”

“And it’s my family heirloom. And I want you to wear it.”

“That’s not your choice to make.”

Alex frowned. “It is my choice. I own the ring. I own the collection, the safe, the house. And I can give them to any damn person I please.”

She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it. “I’m talking morality, not legality.”

The frustration in his voice was obvious. “How is it immoral for you to wear my ring?”

“Because I’d be disrespecting all the brides who came before me.”

Alex blinked. Then he squinted, and a funny little smile flexed his face. “Emma. Do you honestly think you’re the first Garrison bride to marry for money?”

Emma wasn’t marrying for money. At least not the way he was insinuating she was marrying for money. She had her own money. He was simply…Well, he was helping her out, for a handsome return, that was all.

It was mutually beneficial, and she resented him making her feel otherwise.

“This has been going on since the early eighteen-hundreds,” said Alex. “Even my father-” Then he clamped his jaw. “Hold out your hand, Emma.”

She started to retreat, but he reached out and snagged her left wrist, coaxing it toward him.

“I don’t-”

He slipped the band over her first knuckle.

She shut her mouth and stared at the endless circle of platinum, at Alex’s dark hand against her own pale skin, at the antique rubies and diamond winking in the light.

“Believe me when I tell you,” said Alex, pushing it a little farther. “You’re carrying on a proud tradition.”

The ring thudded reluctantly over her second knuckle, but then it settled at the base of her finger.

A perfect fit.

“There,” Alex breathed, stroking his thumb over the surface of the diamond. “Now we’re really engaged.”

Where Alex had ended up with Hamilton’s fortune and Hamilton’s looks, his third cousin, Nathaniel, had ended up with Hamilton’s life. The second son of the current earl of Kessex, Nathaniel had been forced to seek his own fortune, just as Hamilton had done so many decades before.

With little more than seed money from the family estate, Nathaniel had founded Kessex Cruise Lines. Then he’d added Kessex Shipping and quickly grew his fortune to the hundreds of millions.

He now had his finger on the pulse of the transportation industry from Paris to Auckland. And the transportation industry was the lynchpin of global commerce. Alex might know how to run a successful hotel chain. But Nathaniel could manipulate the world.

He’d provided Alex with a thick dossier on DreamLodge, then he’d hung around an extra couple of days. He should have been on his way back to London today. His continued presence made Alex nervous. Nathaniel didn’t stick around unless something was interesting. And things that Nathaniel found interesting usually made Alex sweat.

The two men, along with Ryan, waited until Simone exited and closed the door to Alex’s office.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked his cousin without preamble.

Across the round meeting table, Nathaniel inched slightly forward in his chair. “You ever met David Cranston?”

That sure wasn’t what Alex had expected to hear. “You mean Katie McKinley’s boyfriend?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Sure,” said Alex.

Nathaniel strummed a single staccato beat with his fingertips. “He’s on my radar.”

Ryan jumped in. “Why?”

Nathaniel’s mood became contemplative. “Don’t know yet.”

“Gut feeling?” asked Alex, knowing the answer already.

Nathaniel’s gut feeling was legendary in the family. He made million-dollar deals based on nothing but a vague shimmer of a theory.

His uncanny luck used to freak Alex out. But then Nathaniel explained his luck was, in fact, the sum total of several hundred subconscious observations, from facial expressions and stock trends to weather patterns and newspaper articles. He wasn’t sure himself how it worked. He only knew that it did.

The phenomenon didn’t freak Alex out anymore, and he’d quit calling it luck years ago.

“Gut feeling,” Nathaniel confirmed. “Did you know McKinley Inns just hired him?”

“Cranston?” asked Alex, more than slightly bothered that he had to hear news like that from his cousin. “Doing what?”

“Overseas marketing. VP Special Projects.”

Ryan snorted. “Special projects?”

“Pathetic,” Nathaniel agreed.

“What’s his background?” asked Alex. And what was Emma thinking?

Nathaniel shrugged. “Some kind of mediocre project manager for Leon Gage Consulting.”

“Did they can him?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “He quit.”

“McKinley actually headhunted him?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Offered him a salary bump.”

“The guy’s a mooch,” said Ryan. “Takes a cushy job with the girlfriend’s firm…”

Alex hated the thought of McKinley Inns supporting a do-nothing executive, particularly where nepotism was involved.

Then again he wasn’t stupid enough to get between his fiancée’s sister and her true love, either. Of all the battles he wanted to take on at McKinley, this sure wasn’t on the top of his list.

Nathaniel stood up. “That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

Alex stood with his cousin. “You’re offended on an ethical level, aren’t you?”

“Nothing worse than a wussie who rides on his woman’s coattails. You should have a talk with this Katie person. Tell her to dump the bastard.”

Alex scoffed out a laugh. “Right. Like that’s going to happen.”

“She’s got rotten taste in men.”

“She’s also got fifty acres of beachfront property on Kayven Island. She can marry her St. Bernard for all I care.”

Nathaniel gave him a mock two-fingered salute. “Thanks for the visual there, Al.”

“Not a problem, Nate. Everything still on track for the Kayven Island project?”

“Minor problem with the dockworkers’ union, but I straightened it out. Everything still on track at your end?”

“Absolutely.” Emma had a ring on her finger, and they’d had very positive coverage in three major newspapers.

Nathaniel slid his chair back under the meeting table. “In that case, gentlemen. I’ve got a girl and a plane both waiting on the tarmac at JFK.”

Alex reached out and shook Nathaniel’s hand. “Thanks for the intel. On both fronts.”

“Anytime.” Then Nathaniel nodded to Ryan. “Catch you later.”

Ryan rose to his feet. “Have a good flight.”

Nathaniel grinned and turned for the door, tossing his parting words over his shoulder. “Plane’s my new Learjet Sixty. Girl’s a licensed masseuse from Stockholm.”

Alex crossed to his desk as the door clicked shut behind Nathaniel. “Guess he will be having a good flight.”

“How do I get his life?” asked Ryan.

“Most people want his brother’s.”

Wednesday evening, Katie grasped at the unwieldy ring on Emma’s left hand. “No way,” she exclaimed.

“Way,” said Emma, still struggling to get used to the weight of the thing and still worrying about the insurance implications if she lost it.

Katie looked up, her eyes shining under the lights of Emma’s penthouse. “A real earl?”

“About four generations ago.”

“Alex gave you his family heirloom?”

“Don’t go getting all excited.” Emma liberated her hand and sat back down on the couch. “He’s only lending it to me. And it has a dubious history.”

Katie took the seat opposite, kicking off her sandals and curling her feet beneath her. “Oh, do tell.”

“The brides all married for money.”

Katie stared at her, waiting. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought you were talking about sex and scandal and murder.”

“Sorry. No murders.” Emma thought back to her afternoon. “Well, except for Mrs. Nash. Alex’s housekeeper. I have a feeling she’s capable of it.”

“And did you upset her?”

“Not so much me. But Philippe better watch his back.”

Katie grinned. “I have a feeling Philippe can take care of himself.”

Emma had to admit, she had that feeling, too. She stroked her thumb over the big diamond and was assailed by a vivid body memory of Alex. She determinedly shook it off. “So what did I miss at the office?”

Katie tossed her wavy blond hair back over one shoulder. “I got David to come and work for us.”

Emma didn’t understand. “Your David?”

“Yes, my David.”

“But he has a job. With Leon Gage.”

“I convinced him to quit.”

An uneasy feeling trickled through Emma. “Why would you do that?” David was a great guy. And Katie obviously loved him. But working together? Day in and day out? Could that be good for any couple?

“Because we need him,” said Katie, the tone of her voice subtly shifting to petulant.

Emma regrouped.

She wished Katie had discussed it with her. Not that Emma would have overruled her sister, but she might have been able to curb Katie’s impulsive nature.

“Did you at least get help from Human Resources?” McKinley had a top notch HR department.

“What? I can marry him, but I can’t hire him?”

“Katie-”

“Really, Emma.”

Emma clenched her jaw. HR checked references and aligned suitable people with suitable jobs. What would they do if David didn’t work out?

Now she struggled to keep the censure out of her voice. “What’s he going to do?”

Katie pushed out her bottom lip.

“Katie?”

“Vice President of Special Projects Overseas.”

Emma pressed her thumb against the jagged facets of the ring. This time when the memory of Alex popped up, it was strangely comforting. “I see.”

“He’s got contacts in Europe and all over the Caribbean.”

Emma nodded. She wasn’t aware they had problems in Europe or the Caribbean.

“He’s going after convention business and tour clubs.”

Emma couldn’t hold her tongue completely. “Are you sure that’s not too much togetherness?” She wanted Katie to be happy, truly she did. But there was something about this situation that made her uneasy. For Katie’s sake. For the company’s.

“You and Alex are going to work together,” said Katie.

“But Alex and I aren’t-”

“Getting married.”

Emma jerked her thumb away from the ring. “Falling in love.”

“So? Love makes it easier for me and David to work together.”

Emma struggled to find fault with that logic. Technically, she supposed it should be true. Katie and David actually liked and respected each other. Where Alex and Emma couldn’t come within ten feet without arguing or…worse.

Fingers spread, Katie raked her blond hair back over her forehead. “Quite frankly, Emma, if you’re going to worry about anyone working together, I’d worry about you and Alex.”

Emma was already worried about that.

She resisted the urge to touch the ring again.

Quite frankly, she was getting more worried by the hour.