At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? (10 page)

He cupped her face. “I had this plan for you, but then I met you and I haven't been able to think straight since. That first day, tasting the chocolates you handed me—” He groaned.

A faint blush stained her cheeks. “I couldn't take my eyes off your lips that morning.”

He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, flinging it onto the pile, leaving her naked, like him, the way they should be together. “I wanted so badly to do this,” he rasped and kissed her again, hungrily.

Her arms wound up and around his neck, locking him in place. She swayed against him. As she moved he could feel the round softness of her breasts shifting across his skin. His arousal stroked across her belly. Her swaying was such a simple movement, but because it was Macy, it was so powerful he wasn't sure how long he'd last before embarrassing himself like a teenager.

Holding her shoulders, he maneuvered her against the tiled wall where the warm water flowed over them. He grabbed the soap and slid it across her shoulders, down to the slope of her breasts. Then, wanting the contact with her skin that the soap was monopolizing, he rubbed the
cake back and forth in his hands until they were thickly lathered and slid his palms over her beautiful breasts, paying attention to the peaks that formed hard buds under his fingers.

He let the shower wash away the soap then leaned down to continue the task with his mouth. Macy moaned and her fingers speared through his hair.

He rested his cheek against the sweet swell of her breast and looked up. “Would it be so bad, married to me, doing this for the rest of our lives?”

Before she could answer, he let a hand snake down her belly to find the place he'd been wanting to touch since they'd walked into this bathroom. No, since he'd woken this morning.

She gasped and writhed against the wall behind her, but still managed to squeeze out a reply. “Marriage is about more than good sex.”

He slipped two fingers inside her and claimed her mouth. “Good sex?” He kissed her again, lingeringly. “Macy, sex doesn't get better than this.”

“Okay,” she panted, hands fisting in his hair, “phenomenal sex.”

He shot an arm out of the shower and snagged his jeans, extracting a condom from his wallet and quickly sheathed himself. Then he stood before her, devouring her with his eyes,
burning
for her. “Tell me you won't want to do this again when we leave this shower.”

“I can't.” She reached for him, bringing him back firmly against her, her wet skin sliding against his.

“Tell me you could walk away from this, because I sure as hell can't.”

He grasped her knee and brought it up around his hip and finally,
finally
thrust into her. Sensation flooded his system. Macy. The feel of her enveloping him. Macy. Her
teeth biting into his shoulder. Macy. Her hips bucking against his, taking more of him inside her. Macy. The slide of their bodies in rhythm.

“Ryder,” she murmured, her eyes closed. “Ryder.”

Hearing his name on her lips when she was beyond thinking, when her words would be instinctive, almost made him lose control on the spot. But he gritted his teeth and held on.

“Macy, look at me.” She opened her eyes and locked gazes with him. “Stay with me…because…I want you to
know
…this is just…about you…and me.”

“I do know,” she breathed. Then, still holding his eyes, her breath rushed out on his name and her body clenched around him, her fingers digging into his biceps, and the intensity of the embrace pushed him over his own edge where the world imploded in a cascade of fireworks and sensation.

He slumped against her, holding her tight, never wanting to let her go.

Hoping with everything in him that he never had to.

T
he next day, after a lazy morning in bed, Macy turned off the shower, her muscles limber and warm from the hot water, her mind focused on the memories of yesterday when Ryder had taken her beyond what she thought was possible between two people. He was right—sex didn't get better than what they had.

She stepped out onto the bathmat and found Ryder there waiting, her towel in his hand, charcoal trousers zipped but not buttoned and a grin stretched across his rugged face. Her heart melted at the gesture—simple yet endearing. “Thank you.”

He wrapped the towel around her shoulders then used the movement to tug her into a kiss. “I've ordered breakfast,” he said against her mouth. “It'll be here in five minutes. Then we need to talk about what we'll do with the day.”

She blushed. After they'd left the gym yesterday,
they'd spent the day in his bed, ordering room service and making love until they'd fallen asleep late into the night.

She looked up into eyes that were focused entirely on her. “What do you think Tina and Bernice will say?”

“I don't know about Tina—she might have believed you when you said we'd found some other properties to investigate. Bernice on the other hand—” he grinned “—may have some suspicions since I got her to hold all calls. But she's far too professional and dignified to mention it.”

Macy wrapped her hands around the towel edges she could reach. She'd rather not have anyone know that she and Ryder had moved their relationship to another level, though Bernice was bound to find out. Ryder's assistant seemed very perceptive, but he was right, she was professional. She wouldn't mention it.

She smiled up at him. “What did you order for breakfast?”

He rubbed his palms up and down her towel-covered arms, and she felt his heat through the fabric. “Strawberries, croissants, juice and coffee.”

“Perfect.”

“I can think of more delectable treats—” he leaned in to kiss her earlobe “—but this will do for now. I'll give you a couple of minutes to get dressed.”

When he left, the bathroom seemed colder, the colors lackluster, the air flat. She drew in a sharp breath and held it, considering what that meant. In a short time, he'd become the brightest thing in her life. The idea of being without him seemed dull and lifeless, a path that made her stomach clench to even consider. Warily, she met her own eyes in the mirror. Was she in too deep?

A knock sounded at the door outside and voices
brought her attention back. Room service had arrived. She pulled on clothes for the first time in almost twenty-four hours and went out to the suite's dining room.

Breakfast was laid out on a table at the window overlooking Sydney. But Ryder was frowning, his shoulders tense. He clenched a rolled newspaper in his fist.

Uneasy, she went to him and laid a hand on his forearm. “What's happened?”

He looked up, startled, then his eyes filled with a dark pain. “Macy…”

Her stomach fluttered—something was very wrong. “Ryder, tell me.”

He rapped the rolled newspaper into his other palm, then again, as if deliberating on how to tell her. A hundred possibilities ran through her mind, each worse than the last, but still he didn't speak. She lifted a hand to his face, bringing his focus to her.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing down then up. “They're carrying a story on us. Being here.”

“But the media knew we're staying here on our business trip.” There had to be more to it than that, so she waited.

“They're saying we're, quote, holed up in our room.”

“Oh.” Her stomach swooped and she gripped the back of the chair beside her. She'd been so happy this morning when she'd woken in Ryder's arms. Warm, secure and blissful.

Ryder guided her into the chair and crouched in front of her, gripping her hand with his free one. “They have a source from the hotel saying we've barely left our suite. We're ordering room service and not letting housekeeping in.”

She felt sick. It had happened. She was back to being a gossip-media target. All the running and hiding and
playing the model citizen all these years had been for nothing.

Ryder swore, low and hard. “I'll sue the hotel.”

“Show me the story.”

He opened the page and held it out. The headline screamed Love Nest. She skimmed the article—mainly innuendo and speculation, but enough to put her straight back on the radar of gossips and magazine editors.

Ryder stood, his face filled with self-recrimination. “I did this.
Damn it
, I caused this by coming here.”

Slowly, she stood, the truth of their situation becoming clear. “Well, I'm glad you did.” Her breath was shallow, her heart still fluttered with the fear of the upcoming media frenzy, but she made herself stand calmly so she could explain.

“How can you say that?” His features twisted, disbelief patent.

“Ryder, this is just about my worst nightmare, but I can't bring myself to regret this, all that we've shared.”

Then it hit her, she was in love.

She could put up with being the subject of a newspaper story to have him. She would put up with more. Even—she swallowed past a ball of emotion in her throat—a marriage of one-sided love if it gave him what he wanted most. Her father's company. She could do it. She
would
do it. She would do it for him, the man she loved.

Ryder was eyeing her skeptically. “Tell me why you're taking this so well. You realize they'll follow us like hyenas now?”

Macy bit down on her lip as her stomach churned, glad she hadn't eaten yet because the idea of being stalked by the media made her nauseous. “I know.”

“Then explain this to me, because I have to tell you, your reaction makes no sense whatsoever.”

“This—” she waved the newspaper “—doesn't matter.” She threw it down on the table and straightened her spine. “Ryder, I've decided to marry you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Because we were caught out?”

“No, because I've made a decision.” Her hands were trembling, so she folded her arms tightly under her breasts to hide them. “You've put up some very persuasive arguments—”
and I love you
“—and I want you to have my father's company. I'll take you up on your offer to give me a CEO's position with Chocolate Diva or one of your other companies—”
so you don't guess why I'm doing this
“—and you'll take another step toward gaining control of your board of directors. A win-win.”

He stared into her eyes, his face inscrutable. Macy held her breath, waiting for his reaction. She'd expected him to be pleased. Keen. Why wasn't he pleased? Her skin went cold. He'd changed his mind.

Then he shook his head and held up his palms. “Macy, I don't want to push you into something you don't want to do just because you're upset about bottom-feeder reporters.”

Relief flooded through her veins. He still wanted to marry, he was just concerned for her. She smiled to convince him, ignoring the warning signals in her mind that danger lay ahead. She would do this for him.

“I'm one hundred percent sure. Pour the coffee and let's drink to it.”

He rubbed a hand over his puckered forehead. “You're serious.”

“You bet I am,” she said, meeting his eyes with certainty.

 

Ryder poured the coffees and juices, and used the silver tongs to put a croissant and several strawberries on each plate. He needed the time to readjust since the earth had just shifted under his feet.

He'd done it, he'd moved a huge step closer to controlling Bramson Holdings.

But at what cost?

He was condemning his sweet Macy to a marriage like his parents'—loveless. He cared for her, even more so now that they'd been intimate and she'd allowed him to see her vulnerabilities. He genuinely liked her, as well as desiring her like all hell.

Yet he was condemning her to his mother's fate.

What kind of monster did that make him?

She went to sit at the breakfast table, as if the decision was made, but he grasped her hands and stayed her. “Macy, I know this is what I wanted, but I need you to be absolutely certain. Can you be truly satisfied with this arrangement?”

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second—he would have missed it if he hadn't been watching so attentively. But then her smile was wide when she spoke and he wondered if he'd imagined it.

“You asked me yesterday if it'd be so bad being married to you, making love with you for the rest of our lives. It was a good point. This will be good for our careers, and we get phenomenal sex to boot. It sounds like a great deal and I'd like to take you up on it.”

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, thanking the heavens for this, for her, for everything. “I don't deserve you.”

She pressed a kiss to his neck. “You deserve all
good things,” she whispered. “Starting with my father's company. Ring him.”

Ryder checked his watch and did the conversion to New York time. It was night there. He had to admit, there was a lot of appeal to the idea of ringing Ian Ashley now and getting things underway. “You sure you don't want more time to think about it?”

“I'm sure. Ring him.”

He snatched up his cell phone and found the number then punched it out on the hotel phone so he could put it on speaker.

It rang several times before a gruff voice filled the room. “Ashley.”

“It's Ryder Bramson.” He snagged Macy's hand and interlaced their fingers, wanting her to know they were a team in this. “I'm calling to tell you I've met your condition of sale.”

There was silence on the line. “Really? That was quick.”

“Macy is here with me now in fact.”

He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head to the phone. Macy shook her head. He nodded, understanding—he hadn't thought she'd want to talk to her father.

“I'll have the papers delivered to you by the morning.” Ryder had them drawn up with his signature before he'd left the States, and one of his staff was waiting for the word to deliver them.

“Right,” Ashley replied. “Good. I'll look out for them.”

Ryder hung up the receiver and squeezed Macy's fingers. “It's done.”

“It's done,” she repeated softly and smiled.

He pulled her back to the couch and sank down with
her on his lap, tucking her in against his chest. “I promise, I'll always look after you. I'll be faithful and I'll do my best to make this marriage work.”
I'll never be like my father
, he vowed to himself. This might be a loveless marriage, but that didn't mean they had to end up hating each other. Or hurting each other.

“I know you will.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled in. “I trust you. You're a good man, Ryder Bramson.”

Was he? When he'd convinced a gorgeous woman with the world at her feet to marry him so he could get his hands on more money and power? He shut his eyes as if that could stem the self-disgust that was threatening to overwhelm him. But he pulled Macy closer. He couldn't give her up. It wasn't just the money anymore. He needed Macy in his life, in his bed.

And he'd make sure he lived up to the faith she'd put in him if it killed him. Starting now.

“Let's go back to Melbourne today,” he murmured. “As much as I want to stay here in bed with you, we have plans to make. Besides, now you've agreed to be my wife—” he kissed one eyelid, then the other “—we have every night for the rest of our lives to make love.”

She sighed happily. “I could get used to that.”

Hell, so could he. But this was about more than their bed. It was also about her future happiness and nothing was more important than that.

“I'll make this work, Macy,” he whispered into her hair. He had to, for her sake.

 

As they stepped into the executive jet terminal at Melbourne's Tullamarine airport, Ryder took Macy's hand and squeezed it. She looked up at him and smiled, and when they paused to wait for their bags to be
collected, she leaned in to him. The gesture was nothing extraordinary, but it was so loaded with meaning, with trust and faith, that an air of contentment descended over him and seemed to envelope them both.

His phone beeped and he checked the message. “The car's here,” he said. The driver he'd put on retainer for his Australian trip was meeting them. “I'd like to drop into the office first.”

She nodded. “Suits me. I want to check on a few things there.”

He wasn't surprised she was happy with the plan; she was as much a workaholic as him. He liked that about her. “I'll get the driver to drop us then take our bags to your apartment.”

She looked at him with a question in her eyes. Now he knew what it was to have her in his bed, he wasn't planning on sleeping apart tonight. “I thought you'd be more comfortable if we stay at your apartment than my hotel room.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “You thought right.”

They reached the limousine and the driver took their bags from Ryder and opened the back door for them.

“Ryder,” she said once they were settled in the car and he'd draped an arm across her shoulders.

He looked down at her and his blood heated. “Yes?”

“I'm having a thought about the office that's inappropriate for the workplace.” Her eyes twinkled.

“I think I'll like this thought. Tell me about it.”

“I have to warn you. It's very unprofessional.”

“We've both spent far too much time being professional over the years.” As soon as they'd spent half an hour at the office—one hour tops—he was taking Macy to her
apartment and making love to her again. “I vote for your idea.”

“You haven't heard it yet.”

“Does it involve you and me?” He raised an eyebrow.