At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? (3 page)

“I'm looking forward to it.”

She stood, smoothing down her jacket with a trembling hand. “So, I'd better make it an early night.”

He moved to her side and settled his palm into the small of her back. “I'll see you home.”

Macy bit down on her lip. She needed this date over before she did something truly stupid—like press herself against him and wind her arms around his neck. “That won't be necessary.”

He guided her through the room. “It'll be my pleasure. I've always seen my dates home.”

Once they stood on the pavement, she turned to face him in the dappled streetlight. “No, really, I'm fine.”

Ryder gave a half smile, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. “I won't compromise on this.”

He picked up her hand and laid a soft kiss on her wrist that sent a slow burn through her bloodstream. She snatched her hand back—she couldn't let herself be dazzled.

Ryder gave another half smile. Then he turned to hail a cab. A bright orange car pulled up on the street in front of them and she slid into the backseat, soon joined by Ryder. He was close, so close, and it was much more intimate sharing the backseat of a sedan than in a public bar.

“Where to, Macy?” Ryder asked.

She clipped her seat belt, determined to keep her distance at all costs—a promotion was worth more than a night in the boss's bed.

 

Ryder listened to Macy give the driver her address and frowned. Having never been to Melbourne before, there were only a few streets that were familiar to his ears.

“You live next door to our office?”

She settled back into her seat. “Yes.”

Though it would have been covered in her resume, he remembered the location of both her previous workplace and home address from the dossier he'd had prepared on her once he'd decided they would marry. And her home those three weeks ago was not their current destination.

He cocked his head on the side. “Your last job was on the other side of Melbourne.”

“It was,” she conceded, glancing at the city streets and the evening traffic through her window, before returning her gaze to him. “I moved.”

Ryder adjusted his long legs to turn his frame more toward her. This little pearl of insight was too valuable to let pass. “You moved for a two-month project?”

She raised one shoulder and let it fall. “I like to be near my work.”

Very near. “Do you always move when you change jobs?”

Macy shifted in her seat, not quite squirming, but definitely not happy answering the question. Interesting.

Then she called up another polite smile. “Usually. It makes sense to be near where I spend the majority of my day. And it means I can be called in on short notice.”

He frowned, considering the pieces of the puzzle. There was more to it. “You live in temporary places.”

She nodded once. “They suit my purposes.”

They pulled up at the downtown high-rise apartment block and Ryder leaned forward to look at the building through the windscreen. “In what way?”

“They're temporary.” Macy clasped the door handle. “Thanks for seeing me home.”

He swiveled back to her. She thought he'd leave her alone on a city street? Not likely. Besides, it was time he put his proposition on the table. They'd made a connection—now he had to hope it was enough to back up the logic of his offer.

Ryder thrust some Australian notes at the driver. “I'm seeing you to your door.”

Her lush lips compressed into a flat line. “There's no need. Really.”

He took his change and thanked the driver. “Yes, there is.”

She inclined her head, accepting graciously, if a little reluctantly.

Feeling upbeat, he stepped out onto the road and circled around to meet Macy on the pavement. It was a good sign she didn't have roots here. She wouldn't have trouble moving back to the States with him.

He laid a hand on the small of her back as they walked into the foyer of her building. Besides the doorman who stood discreetly at the entrance, they were alone, and the sounds of their shoes on the marble floors echoed through the softly lit interior.

Their first date had gone well, all things considered. Now he just needed to garner an invitation to her apartment and outline his offer and its merits.

Three steps into the silent foyer, Macy turned on the marble floor and faced him. “I only have to go up that elevator. You've seen me home.” She moistened her lips and he couldn't have dragged his gaze away with a gun to his head. Her scent, something exotic, surrounded him.

She was so damn beautiful he had to replay her words in his head to get her meaning. Was it a good thing or bad that the woman he wanted to marry made his body overheat and frazzled his brain?

“Invite me up,” he said.

She shivered almost imperceptibly, but then arched one eyebrow, as if in control. “Why would I do that?”

A slow smile spread across his face. Her veneer of control called to him, compelled him to move closer. He could see her writhing in his bed, in his arms, under him, all thoughts of control long gone.

His voice, when he found it, was rough. “There's something I want to talk to you about.”

Macy glanced at his mouth then met his eyes. “I don't think talking's what you have in mind.”

He reached and found her fingers with his, holding them at his side in the lightest of clasps. “Sure, just because I want to talk doesn't mean I'm not aching to touch you.”
To kiss you. To taste you.

Her pupils dilated to almost cover her hazel irises but she didn't move.

He leaned over and brushed his lips lightly across hers, meaning it to be no more than a peck, a brief demonstration of his words. He began to pull away but he couldn't help gently touching her mouth again. Those lips had been on his mind for twelve hours straight. Just one more touch…

Her mouth yielded, opened to him, and he needed no second invitation for something he'd been wanting to do since she'd arrived at the bar. As he deepened the kiss, he moved forward, closing the distance but not pressing against her—not yet—the bulk of his coat ensuring a respectable distance. Her tongue lightly touched his, a caress sweeter than he'd even imagined.

Drunk on her exotic scent, he lifted his hands to cup her face, finding her cheeks were like silk under his palms. He felt her hands on his shoulders, lightly, then more assured as they traveled an exquisite path to his
neck before her fingers tangled in his hair. He was lost. He moved—

A flash went off, lighting up the room, and Ryder pulled back, blinking, scanning the area. Through the front glass wall, a lone photographer stood with a long lens zoom, still clicking and flashing rapidly. The doorman was already in action, racing to the photographer, and Ryder shoved Macy into an alcove where she'd be more protected, then stormed to the door. By the time he reached the spot, the photographer was running down the street.

The paparazzi had found him.

Breathing choppy, he narrowed his eyes and watched the coward flee. He'd managed to avoid them since landing in Australia. They targeted him every so often, but they'd stepped up their assault since his father's death—on him, and his half brothers Seth and Jesse. Most of the time he ignored them and didn't let the media affect his life, but they'd just interrupted a very private moment. One he was enjoying immensely. He kicked at the concrete path, accepted the apologies of the doorman, then strode back inside to find Macy.

She stood in the alcove, her arms hugging her waist, her face a shade paler than before. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, attempting to take away the aftertaste of the shock. She must be more used to being photographed than him, but since he hadn't seen recent photos of her in the papers, it'd probably been a while for her. And they'd both been so carried away by that kiss, she was probably still reeling from its abrupt ending.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

She stood motionless in his embrace, arms still around her own waist, a world away from him. “I think it was good timing,” she said unsteadily.

“What do you mean?” He held her a little tighter, suspecting where she was going.

Disengaging herself from his arms, she stepped back. Her shoulders were square, ready to face whatever came, but her eyes were haunted. Ryder clenched his fists to stop from reaching for her again.

She took a deep breath and let it out in measured evenness. “I won't have an affair with my boss. I've spent too much time building my professional reputation to see it destroyed over a fling.”

“What makes you think I'm only interested in a fling?”

Her eyes held a world of pain and cynicism. “Experience.”

She'd been hurt. Thinking of her being hurt, betrayed, made him want to reach for her all the more, to offer words of comfort, but he knew she wouldn't want sympathy so he bit them back and waited.

She glanced at the spot where the intruder had been, then back to him. “I'm sorry, I never should have agreed to this date.” She pulled herself up to her full height, spine stiff. “Thank you for the drink, but you have to realize we can't repeat it.”

He frowned. This was clearly going to be a problem he'd need to overcome before he could convince her to marry him. Or, more pressingly, to kiss him again.

He needed to tread gently. Lifting her chin with a knuckle, he said, “Macy, don't let a parasite of a photographer ruin our night. We were enjoying ourselves until that flash went off.”

Her eyes softened for a moment and he thought she was with him, but then her shutters came down.

“I—I have to go.” She whirled and walked a little too fast toward the elevator. Jaw clenched, he watched her
leave, telling himself not to follow, not to come on too strong and ruin this. No matter how much he wanted to go after her, comfort her, his whole future depended on not scaring her away.

When the elevator pinged and she disappeared behind mirrored doors, he was left alone. The empty feeling that over took him was strangely hard to swallow for a man who prided himself on being a loner. He just didn't want to leave this blasted foyer where they'd kissed only moments ago.

Don't be sentimental and stupid.
Ryder turned and strode outside to find another cab.

Their wedding couldn't come soon enough.

M
acy stepped into the hall, letting the door to her serviced apartment click shut behind her. The night had been long and sleepless with images of Ryder replaying in her mind. His face so close as his mouth descended to hers…his short hair spiked between her fingers…his breath warming her cheeks…

Sensations from that kiss had tormented her body until the sheets had become a twisted mess and she'd had to trade any hopes of sleep for early morning coffee.

She pressed the elevator button and tapped the toe of her three-inch heels until the doors swished open. Facing him this morning would be difficult, knowing how she'd acted last night.

She'd kissed her boss.

Would he take her seriously in the office now?

Would he try to repeat the intimacy?

Would the other staff members be able to tell she'd
been kissed by the CEO of the company, and if so, would they snigger behind their hands thinking she'd tried to sleep her way to a promotion?

She'd worn pumps higher than the normal kitten heels she routinely wore to work to eliminate some of his height advantage, even though they'd still only bring her to his forehead or so. And she'd chosen a professional look—a duck-egg-blue silk blouse with a high collar and a fine wool skirt. She'd pulled her hair back tightly into a French twist to make sure she sent no sexual signals.

The kiss, bone-melting as it may have been, could not be repeated if she wanted to keep her reputation. Or her sanity.

As the elevator arrived at the ground floor, her phone rang. She flicked it open and thumbed the talk button.

Ryder's deep voice came down the line. “I can explain.”

She smiled grimly. It was a little late, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

She waved to the doorman and stepped out onto the misty street. “I'd rather forget it. One kiss, it's over, we'll move on.”

There was a pause on the line. “Have you read the papers?”

She pulled her scarf a bit tighter against the early morning chill. And frowned. “No.”

“I'm on my way. I'll be at work in ten minutes.”

The phone disconnected.

She threw it in her bag and walked just a little faster into the office building next door that housed the temporary Chocolate Diva suites.

He'd mentioned the papers. It could be something about the company's tentative plans to move into the Australian market. Or…it could be about the photographer last night.
He'd been at a distance and shooting through glass for the few seconds before Ryder had given chase. She'd hoped any shots he'd fired off would be unusable.

But either way—a company story or a paparazzi shot—why would Ryder need to explain?

Reaching her office door, she had to stop herself rushing as she booted up her computer and clicked on the link to the Melbourne papers.

And then her stomach dropped clear to her toes.

There on the
front page
was a shot of Ryder kissing her in the foyer of her apartment building. The photo was a little grainy but there was no doubt it was them. Her eyes flicked to the headline.

Bramson Buys Ashley Int. Heiress.

She read down, her breath coming a little faster with each line.

“…in a secret deal between Bramson and Ian Ashley…”

“…our source said off the record that Macy Ashley's hand in marriage was the price…”

“…Bramson wanted to marry the younger, prettier Ashley heiress but was told the only option was Macy…”

“…Bramson is believed to have completed the deal with Ms. Ashley last night…”

Macy's hand flew to her mouth as her body shook. Her brain screamed to turn off the screen but she couldn't look away.

It could all be lies.

Could be.

She bit down on her lip. He'd said on the phone he could explain.

She heard the elevator sound a second before Ryder strode into the office looking more like a commander
on a battlefield—leading legions of men, his orders obeyed without question—than a man who'd come to apologize.

He pulled up in front of her desk and slid his hands into his pockets, making his charcoal suit jacket bunch above his wrists. She couldn't stand up—her knees may not have supported her weight—so she remained in her high-backed office chair.

Ryder looked down into her face, assessing. “You've read it.”

Those were his first words? Not,
“It's a pack of lies”
? She leaned back into the executive chair, ready to be lied to. “Is it true?”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Some of it.”

She focused on his burnt orange shirt with its neatly knotted charcoal tie as she took calming breaths. It was easier than looking into the eyes of yet another betrayer. “When were you going to tell me? Ever?”

“I intended to tell you last night,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling.

She remembered him asking her to invite him up, that he had something important to say. She'd doubted him at the time, thinking he had something more physical on his mind. But it was possible he'd planned to explain this mess.

Slowly, she stood, stretching to her full height plus the three inches of her heels. “Which parts are true?”

He speared long fingers through his hair, held them there, then nodded before digging his hands into his pockets again. “I wanted to buy your father's company. He said he'd only sell to a son-in-law. Said it'd been a family company for three generations, and he intended that to continue into the fourth and fifth generations.”

Bile rose in her throat. Yes, she could believe that of her father. It fitted his obsession with the future of his company, his total contempt for the idea that a
daughter
could be the one to hand it down to.

Her mouth twisted into a smile. “And apparently the deal on the table was only for me, much to your disappointment.”

He held up a hand. “That part of the report was wrong. Your father's terms stipulated either daughter. I chose you.”

Macy coughed out a laugh. She didn't believe that for a second. Kyla had always been the one the boys preferred—she was gorgeous, sexy and knew how to make a man come to her with her eyes. Of course Ryder would have chosen Kyla if he'd had the option.

Another thought struck. “Did you tell the media?”

“No.” His forehead creased into a frown. “And to be honest, I can't think of how the media got hold of it. Surely your father wouldn't want this type of publicity, either?”

She sighed. “Kyla.” It was her style.

“To jeopardize the sale?”

“To make me say no.” And then land the bachelor catch of the year herself.

Which brought her back to the facts: her father had tried to sell her. And Ryder had jumped at the offer.

She looked out the window, down to the buildings below, before finding his eyes again. “I can't believe you even considered this, let alone agreed.” She'd thought her ability to judge people had improved, but this demonstrated otherwise.

The elevator doors whooshed open out in the hall and she heard Tina dropping her bag on her desk outside.

Ryder didn't turn to the noise but he paused, waiting.

Tina poked her head around the door to give her usual morning greeting, but hesitated as she took in the scene. “Are you okay?”

Ryder didn't take his eyes off Macy as he replied. “We're fine. Shut the door on your way out.”

Macy nodded to her assistant to confirm she was okay and Tina discreetly backed out, closing the door behind her.

As if they hadn't been interrupted, Ryder continued, his voice calm…persuasive. “We could have a good marriage. I'd be a faithful husband and an involved father with our children.”

He'd already factored children into the equation? Macy blinked rapidly, trying to recapture her inner balance. This conversation became more bizarre with every passing minute.

With three easy steps he was behind the desk with her. Not within touching distance, but strategically eliminating the desk as a barrier.

“And I'm prepared to give you whatever you want. A house in Tuscany. Your own company. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Name your terms.” He tilted his head to the side, the picture of reasonableness. “I think we'd get along well.”

Macy crossed her arms under her breasts, needing some sort of protection. Not from his words, but from his presence. She could smell his scent and it brought back memories she couldn't afford to indulge right now.

She tilted her chin up. “I'm not sure where you got the idea that I'd be interested in your peculiar offer, but I will not now—nor will I ever—enter into a marriage of convenience. We don't know each other well enough to even have this conversation.” She let her arms drop
to her sides and let out a long breath. “What about love? Don't you want to wait and find a woman you love?”

Ryder rolled back his broad shoulders. “I have to be honest. Love isn't something I can offer.”

Macy sucked in a breath at his quick and effortless dismissal of being able to love her. But it wasn't worth wasting energy over. She shook her head. “If you know anything about my family, you have to know the last man I'd ever marry is the one my father picked out for me.”

His eyelids lowered a fraction as his voice became seductive. “You liked me last night.”

Instinctively, she glanced at the screen on her desk, to the front page of the paper. To the image of Ryder kissing her. The shot had been taken as he cupped her cheeks with his hands, so they floated in the air, framing her face. Her throat went dry and she swallowed, remembering the crushing need she'd felt for him in that moment. Remembering the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him….

She ignored the ache that pressed in her chest, then, resolute, she looked up and met his eyes. “I won't break my contract—I'm a professional. I'll see out this project for the six weeks left. Then I'm gone. I don't want your promotion. And in the meantime, no more games. You'll keep your distance. There will be no meetings alone, or trips together like the one planned to Sydney in two weeks.”

His shoulders squared and his feet moved a little wider apart. “Not acceptable.”

She did a double take. “Pardon?”

“If you're seeing out the contract, then you still work for me. You will be on that plane to Sydney. I'm not going on an important trip with an accountant or a personal assistant when the team leader is available.”

Macy took an unsteady step back, mind whirling. “You can't possibly expect—”

“I do.” Any trace of the man who'd kissed her was gone from his expression as he cut her off. The Machine was back. “There are no lame ducks on my payroll. If you're staying, you'll carry out your duties properly.”

He turned and strode out the door, leaving her open-mouthed, watching him.

Had she felt cornered before? Seemed she'd just discovered a whole new level of entrapment.

 

One week later, Macy stood in the foyer of her apartment building watching for Ryder's car. Right on the dot of 8:00 a.m. it arrived, yet she wasn't surprised. The Machine probably ran his whole life like clockwork.

The silver luxury car pulled to the curb and the uniformed driver circled to open her door. Macy smiled in greeting to Bernice in the front passenger seat. She'd worked with Ryder's personal assistant several times over the days the American team had been based in the Melbourne offices, and respected her.

“Thank you.” She slid into the backseat where Ryder's solid length was settled.

“Good morning, Macy,” he said, voice deep and rough. Dressed in a dark suit with a sky-blue shirt and tie the same shade, he dominated the sedan. His clean, woodsy scent filled the air.

She gave him a polite smile, belying the way the sight of him still made her pulse spike. “Good morning.”

They'd kept the polite facade going since the morning the paparazzi photo had been in the paper. The way she wanted it.
Needed
it to keep her reaction to him under control.

As the driver climbed back behind the wheel and
pulled away, Ryder's voice rumbled again from beside her. “Bernice, did William send those updates?”

Pages rustled in the front and Ryder and his personal assistant were soon in deep conversation. With no desire to hear details of the U.S. operations of companies unrelated to her project, Macy blocked it out and thought about the delicate issue she needed to bring up with Ryder as soon as she got him alone.

From the day the paper ran the story about them, security guards had been stationed not only at the office, but also in front of her apartment building. When she left each night, the guards escorted her next door and shielded her from the small contingent of paparazzi that now staked out their street.

When she'd first quizzed her doorman about the guards at her apartment complex, he'd said the building's owner had employed them. But last night the doorman had let slip another piece of information that had confirmed her suspicions.

Ryder was behind the new security staff.

Macy bit down on her lip. Despite his cool, professional interactions with her in the past week, he'd acted—and was still acting—to keep her safe.

She'd been shocked, but her heart had melted a little at the revelation. No one had tried to safeguard her since the day her mother died. No one else had cared enough…until Ryder.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself as she reinforced the walls around her heart. Just because it seemed he'd been protecting her, she couldn't let herself be swayed into forgetting the deal he'd made with her father.

To buy her hand in marriage.

A secret transaction with her as the currency.

Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the car as her lungs struggled to inhale. She clicked the window control and when the breeze pushed gently against her face, she sucked in a deep breath.