At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? (9 page)

He looked at her warily. “Yes.”

“And to buy it, you need to marry me.”

“Yes.” He turned onto his side, eyes sharply focused on hers.

Her lungs felt constricted, working too fast, too
shallow. “I thought I was your key to buying a company, but it's so much more than that, isn't it?”

He nodded while reaching for her, as if afraid she'd pull away. Well, he was right about that. She sat up, taking the sheet with her and tucking it under her arms. She'd known he was after her for her father's company, but this was bigger…and felt grubbier somehow.

“Did you even want the project to go ahead? Or was it simply bait for me? Tell me I haven't been wasting all that time on a sham.”

“It was part of my forward planning,” he said, slowly, diplomatically. “I just bumped it up in the schedule to employ you. If you'd left the project, I'd still have employed someone else to finish it.”

She dragged in a shaky breath. “But starting it now, this business trip to check on it, the marriage proposal, even this—” she waved an arm at his rumpled bed “—it's all to secure your father's company. It must mean a lot to you.”

He sat bolt upright, eyes wide and serious. “Not this. I told you this is between you and me and I meant it. A separate issue.”

She hesitated at the sincerity in his expression, but the turmoil deep in her chest spoke louder. “How can sex be a separate issue from a marriage proposal?”

“I don't know. It just is.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “All I can tell you is that I want to marry you so I can get control of the company that should have been mine, but I want you in my bed again because every moment I'm not touching you is painful. My body goes into withdrawal and I ache to feel your skin, to kiss your mouth, to hold you against me.”

She felt tears threatening but whether they were tears of frustration, betrayal or because his words moved her,
she had no idea. It was as if the hotel room walls were moving in, pushing against her, robbing her of oxygen.

She stood, letting the sheet drop, heading for the door. “I need some space to breathe.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice gravelly with concern.

She stopped at the door and turned, unworried that she was naked in front of him. Her emotional nakedness was much more disturbing than the physical. “For a walk.”

He held up a finger and reached for his cell phone on the table beside the bed before dialing quickly. “It's Bramson. What's the situation outside? I see. Thank you.” He hung up and stood. “The security firm says there are photographers outside the hotel waiting. My men can escort you on a walk if you'd like.”

Walls everywhere were closing in on her. Even outside this room, outside the hotel. Tears threatened again, but she'd never let them spill over. She reached for a bathrobe hanging on a hook beside his bathroom to give herself something to do, and tugged the cord tight until she felt the burn on her skin. It didn't help. Her head still pounded, her lungs still struggled.

She looked back at Ryder, standing motionless, waiting for her reaction. His large, solid body called to her—invited her to fall into him, let him wrap his arms around her and provide comfort, make everything else go away. But that's how all this mess had started. Her attraction to him on the first day he'd walked into her offices. She'd been lost from that moment. And yet, he'd planned it….

She took a step closer to him, arms crossed tightly over her robe. “You did this. You came here to charm me into marriage, to get your father's company. You brought the media with you.” She kept absolute control over her
voice, not letting it rise the way it wanted to. “And now I can't walk outside. You've upended my life.”

His face twisted, eyes tormented. “I never intended this. I thought it would be simpler.”

The words hit her like a glass of cold water and she stumbled back before catching herself. “You thought I'd give in sooner? Fall at your feet?”

His face turned harsh as he shook his head. “You're twisting my words. I meant I didn't think the media would stalk us.”

“Well, they are.” She pulled the sides of the robe more firmly together. “And now I can't go for a run to get the space I need from what you've put in motion by coming here.” She stalked back to the door.

“Where are you going?” he repeated his earlier question, but this time his tone was more commanding.

“Don't worry, I won't leave the building,” she said as she shut the door behind her and headed for her room to get changed.

 

Ryder gave her two hours to work off her anger and confusion. He hated cooling his heels in the suite, but couldn't deny she had a right to her annoyance. It'd only been two weeks since he'd arrived, after all, and a lot had happened in that time. The paparazzi stalking her after a three-year break, finding out her hand in marriage was a clause in her father's sales contract, Ryder arriving and now explaining his own inheritance issues, her giving up on her goal of running Chocolate Diva Australia, and now their intimate relationship.

Two hours was the least he could give her to assimilate. He should probably give her more. But he couldn't tamp down his need to be there for her, to help her adjust to the changes, to see if he could help. To just be with her.

After checking the bar, he headed for the gym. He found her alone in the expansive room, on the treadmill, skin flushed deep pink, hair in a damp ponytail, workout clothes stuck to her body. Heat flared through his bloodstream, imagining her panting this way in his bed. For him. One night was nowhere near enough.

She looked up and met his gaze, and for a single moment, her eyes mirrored the heat he knew was in his. Then she frowned and turned back to the instruments giving continuous readings on her progress, not missing a step.

“Macy.” He took a step nearer.

“Yes?” she replied, not glancing up.

Taking any response as encouragement, he walked over to stand in front of her treadmill. “We have to talk.”

“Can't see a need.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the computerized readings.

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Okay, there are things I want to say.”

She waved at the vacant treadmill beside her. “So talk.”

He scanned the room, considering his options. They needed to talk, and if doing it this way made her comfortable, then why not? He mounted the treadmill and programmed it for the same pace as Macy's. They walked for several minutes before she said, “You wanted to say something?”

“I apologize.”

There was a heavy pause when the only sound in the cavernous room was their shoes rhythmically hitting the tread. Finally she spoke, still without turning to him. “For what?”

“For everything.” God knew, he'd change this all for her if he could. Protect her from the fallout.

“Everything?” For the first time since he'd entered the room, she looked at him. Her eyes held a sea of confusion and pain. He'd put that emotion there.

He gripped the rails of the treadmill until the blood supply was cut off in his fingers. “Not for making love to you. Even though I should be sorry it happened too soon, I can't be.”

“Me, either,” she whispered.

His heart skipped a beat. “Macy—”

“But you still want to marry me to buy my father's company.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, deliberately, as if that could soften the blow.

She turned sharply back to the instruments giving readouts. “We have an impasse then.”

Impasse? Damned if he'd let them waste time in a deadlock, on either a business or personal level. He switched off his treadmill and whipped around to stand in front of hers, hands on hips, challenging her to look at him. “This is not over. We're in no way over, Macy.”

She turned her machine off and stepped down, then strode past him toward the lifts. He followed. But instead of pressing the button, she headed for the stairwell. The gym was only two floors below their suite—she probably just wanted to run off the extra adrenaline. When they reached their floor, he overtook her and slid the key card into the lock before holding the door open for her.

Macy headed for her room, and turned at the door to her bathroom, seemingly unsurprised to find him behind her. “I need to take a shower.”

He shrugged then folded his arms. “Me, too.”

“You have your own bathroom.”

“We're in this one.”

“No, I'm in this one.” She folded her arms, mirroring his pose.

Despite his serious intentions, he had to work to hold back a grin. People rarely stood up to him, challenged him to his face. He liked Macy doing it.

He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I want to spend time with you and we both need a shower. We've seen each other naked.”

She sighed. “If we get into the shower together, we both know we won't be talking.”

He let the grin free. “Is that a problem?”

She made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. “How can I get my head straight with you here?”

“We don't have to make love.” He shrugged. “We could take turns in the shower and talk.”

Her hazel eyes dismissed the suggestion. “How likely is that?”

“I can do it.”
If he put in a superhuman effort.
“Are you worried about your own self-control?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Maybe,” she admitted.

“Let's see, shall we?” After flinging the door closed behind him, he moved past her and turned the shower on. “Who first?”

She seemed to debate as her eyes crept to the closed door and back. Then her face set, decision made, and she lifted her chin. “You.”

She thought she was calling his bluff. Though, to be honest, his heart was beating so hard he was having trouble remembering what the bluff was about.

He grabbed the neck of his shirt at the back and yanked it off, watching her eyes devour his chest. Other women had appreciated his body before—he knew it had appeal—but no one had ever looked at him with the
hunger Macy tried to deny. It sent every last drop of blood he had to spare straight to his groin.

He toed off his runners. “You happy to talk about the project?”

Macy cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” He undid his zipper and peeled off his jeans and boxers. “That's what this trip was for after all.”

“True,” she croaked, as if forcing the word out.

He stepped under the water and began to lather up, watching her watch him. No way would he believe she didn't want him to make love to her when he could see the heat her eyes were generating—enough to keep his entire house toasty in the winter.

He soaped his chest, then stomach. “Tell me about the forecasts for the first six months of operation.”

She frowned, eyes not straying from the path his sudsy hand was taking. “We estimate…” Her voice trailed off as he lathered his abdomen and lower.

He held back a smile. “Macy?”

She looked at the ceiling, lips moving quickly and silently as if reciting something. Maybe he wasn't winning—maybe her self-control was better than his. He'd try harder. He soaped his face, before turning into the shower spray to rinse his eyes clear. Softly at first, then more firmly, he felt a hand on his back, tracing his spine. He turned slowly, and the hand followed, feathering around his side to his abdomen. She was still fully clothed, a slightly lost expression on her face, as if she wasn't sure what she was doing.

He was sure.

He'd never been more sure of anything.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, under the spray. Then he stood there
for seconds, minutes, he couldn't be sure, just holding her. Feeling her close. She let him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. He could feel her chest rising and falling as rapidly as his own.

“Ryder—” she arched her neck back to look up into his eyes “—what are we doing?”

“It feels right, Macy.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But
is
it right?”

“Macy, I'm not thinking about buying your father's company now.
You
do this to me.” He snagged her hand and lowered it to where he ached for her. She encircled him with her fingers and he groaned. “No woman has ever affected me this much before. I'm ready for you all the time. Sometimes I can't believe I'm able to have conversations at all.”

“Even when we're in business meetings?” Her hand continued to caress him, making his breath choppy.

“Especially when we're in business meetings. That blasted twist you've had your hair up in has been driving me crazy. I've had to clench my fists to stop them from reaching over and liberating your hair. And then taking you on the boardroom table.”

With her free hand, she pulled the band out of her ponytail and he turned them so she could tilt back and let the water flow through her hair—changing it to liquid silk. He leaned above her as she was arched over his arm and captured her mouth, water running down them both. Could someone explode from need? His senses were hyperaware, taking pleasure almost to the brink of pain—all because of one woman. One amazing woman.

He straightened, bringing her with him, and looked deep into her eyes. “It's been this way for me from the first moment I saw you.”

She reached to kiss his throat. “When we shook hands?”

“Before that.” He grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, then threw the sodden fabric onto the floor outside the shower. “When I walked in the room and saw you.”

“You didn't let it show. Though I did notice you staring.” A shy smile curved her lips.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he slid his hands under the sides of her shorts and panties and slid them down, then waited as she stepped out before throwing the garments on the floor with her top.