Kitabı oku: «Affair with the Rebel Heiress / The Magnate's Pregnancy Proposal»

AFFAIR WITH THE REBEL HEIRESS

EMILY McKAY

THE MAGNATE’S PREGNANCY PROPOSAL

SANDRA HYATT

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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AFFAIR WITH THE REBEL HEIRESS

EMILY McKAY

“Well?” she prodded.

He gripped her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. “Stop. Interrupting. Me.”

Her chin bumped up and she glared at him through stormy eyes.

Suddenly he couldn’t remember what it was he’d been about to say. All he could think was that this was what he’d wanted for the past two months. He wanted to sleep with her. To strip her clothes off, lay her bare before him in a proper bed and spend hours worshipping her body.

“Well?” she demanded again. “Is that the best you can do?”

“No,” he said. “This is.”

Cupping her jaw in his hands, he shut her up the best way he knew how. He kissed her.

About the Author

EMILY MCKAY has been reading romance novels since she was eleven years old. Her first romance came free in a box of garbage bags. She has been reading and loving romance novels ever since. She lives in Texas with her husband, her newborn daughter and too many pets. Her books have been finalists for RWA’s Golden Heart Award, the Write Touch Readers’ Award and the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence. Her debut novel, Baby, Be Mine, was a RITA® Award finalist for Best First Book and Best Short Contemporary. To learn more, visit her website at www.EmilyMcKay.com.

Dear Reader,

Affair with the Rebel Heiress is a very special book for me, not only because I love these characters and felt honoured to tell their story (I always feel that way), but also because it marks an anniversary for me: it’s my tenth book!

I’ve been reading romances since I was eleven. I literally grew up reading Mills & Boon novels, Desire books and the old Bantam Loveswept titles. I spent so much money at the bookstore that my parents actually complained about it. (How crazy is that?)

Every time I turn in a book, or see the cover for the first time, or hold my book in my hands, I get this electric shock of excitement. I love being part of the Harlequin/ Mills & Boon family, and I can’t tell you how proud I am to have my tenth book with them out this month!

Now, about that book … Some of you may remember Kitty Biedermann from Baby Benefits, which was out in 2008. She was Derek Messina’s fiancée. She was the classic romance novel “other woman”— manipulative and self-centered. When I decided I wanted her to be the heroine of my next book, I knew I was facing a challenge. How could I transform her into a character people would love? I gave her plenty of spunk and sass along with a secret she’ll go to great lengths to keep hidden. And of course, she had to have a great hero with whom to match wits. Enter Ford Langley, a charming business tycoon who’s just not the type to back down from a challenge.

Did I pull it off? I think so. I hope you do, too!

Emily McKay

For my mother, Judy Beierle, who has taught me over and over to smile in the face of adversity, to meet challenges with bravery and hope, and to always, always find something to laugh about.

One

Kitty Biedermann hated Texas.

That single thought had echoed through her mind from the time the flight attendant had said the words “unscheduled landing in Midland, Texas,” until this moment, five hours later, when she found herself sitting in the bar adjacent the seedy motel in which she would be forced to spend the night.

The last time she’d been in Texas, she’d been dumped by her fiancé. Of course, he hadn’t been just any old fiancé. He’d been the man she’d handpicked to save Biedermann Jewelry from financial ruin. So being dumped hadn’t resulted in mere public humiliation or simple heartbreak. It meant the end of Biedermann Jewelry. So it was understandable that Kitty held a bit of grudge, not just against Derek Messina, but against the whole damn state.

Since being dumped by Derek, her situation had gone from bad to worse to desperate. She had needed Derek.

From the time she was a child, she’d been raised with one purpose—to land a husband with the smarts and business savvy to run Biedermann’s. When Derek hadn’t wanted her, she’d remained undaunted. But now, after six months of working her way through every single, eligible straight man she knew, she was beginning to feel … well, daunted.

With this latest trip to Palm Beach, she’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel. Geoffrey barely had two functioning synapses to rub together, but at least he could read, write and looked damn good in a suit. But even as meager as his qualifications had been, he hadn’t wanted her.

Biedermann’s meant everything to her. It was slipping through her fingers and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to catch it.

Now, with her elbows propped on the suspiciously sticky bar top and her chin propped in her palms, she stared at the murky green depths of her salt-rimmed margarita glass. She gave the glass a little shake, watching as the ice cubes within tumbled to the bottom of the glass. A lifetime of planning had fallen apart just as quickly. Was this rock bottom?

Her throat tightened against despair. Immediately she straightened, blinking in surprise. She was not given to fits of self-pity. Certainly not in public.

She shook her glass again, studying the contents. Exactly what was in this margarita? After a mere two drinks she should not be succumbing to such maudlin emotions.

Maybe this was what she got for giving the bartender a hard time. When she’d ordered a Pinot Grigio, he’d asked, “Is that like a wine cooler?” Apparently she shouldn’t have doubted him when he said he’d make her a drink strong enough to knock her on her pampered, scrawny butt.

She was still contemplating the contents of her drink when she happened to glance toward the door and saw him striding in.

It was as if someone tossed a bucket of icy water on her. Every cell in her body snapped to life in pure visceral response. The stranger was tall and lean, somehow managing to look lanky but well-built all at the same time. He was dressed simply in well-worn jeans and a T-shirt that stretched taut across his shoulders, but hung loose over his abdomen. No beer belly on this guy. A cowboy hat sat cockeyed on his head, but he wore scuffed work boots instead of the cowboy boots she expected.

Her first thought—when she was capable of thought again—was, Now this is a cowboy. This was what women the world over romanticized. This was a man at his most basic. Most masculine.

Even from across the room, her body responded to him instantly, pumping endorphins down to the tips of her curling toes. Funny, because she’d always preferred her men sophisticated and suave. As well-groomed as they were well-educated.

She was, in fact, so distracted by this mystery cowboy who’d just sauntered in that she didn’t see the other guy sidling up to her. The rough hand on her arm was her first clue someone had claimed the stool beside hers. Swiveling around, she realized that hand belonged to a guy who could not have been more different than the cowboy who’d snagged her attention. This man was short and, um … plump. He was bald except for a few wisps of hair grown long, combed over and plastered down with what she could only hope was some sort of styling product. His cheeks were rosy, his nose bulbous. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t possibly have met him before.

“Well, hello there, little lady.” He stroked a hand up her arm. “Whadda say we getcha some’tem cold to drink and we scoot on out to that there dance floor?”

“Pardon?” She—barely—suppressed a shiver of disgust at his touch. She tried to wiggle free from his grasp, but he had boxed her in between the bar and the woman on the stool beside her.

Why was he rubbing her arm like that? Did she know this man? After all, he did look familiar.

“You wanna take a turn around the room?”

“A turn at what?” she asked, genuinely not understanding him. She spoke four languages, for goodness’ sake, but Texan was not one of them.

The man frowned. “Are you makin’ fun a me?”

“No,” she protested. Unfortunately, it was then that she figured out where she knew him from. “Elmer Fudd!” she blurted out. “You look like Elmer Fudd!”

Normally, she would not have said anything, but she’d already gulped down two of those wicked margaritas. And all she’d eaten since lunch was a packet of airline peanuts. So her tongue was looser than normal.

Indignation settled over his pudgy features. He leaned toward her, scowling. “Whadja call me?”

“I … I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“You are makin’ fun a me.” The man’s face flushed red, only increasing his resemblance to the cartoon hunter.

“No! I … I … I …”

And there it was. She, who almost always knew exactly what to say and who could talk herself into and out of almost any situation, for better or for worse, was speechless. Horribly so.

She’d unintentionally insulted and offended a man who was probably armed right now. This was it. She was going to die. Alone. Miserable. In Texas. Murdered in a fit of rage. By a man who looked like Elmer Fudd.

Ford Langley could see trouble coming the second he stepped into The Dry Well, his favorite bar in Midland.

The Well was the kind of seedy dive that rednecks and oil rig workers had been coming to, through boom and bust, for sixty years or so. Since the Green Energy branch of FMJ, Ford’s company, leased land for their wind turbines from a lot of the people in here, he figured they all knew who he was and how much he was worth. They just didn’t care. Frankly, it was a relief places like this still existed in the world.

It was not, however, the kind of place women wore couture suits and designer shoes. Ford had three sisters with expensive taste. He knew a five-hundred-dollar pair of shoes when he saw them.

The woman sitting at the bar looked startlingly out of place. He’d never seen her there before. He came to The Well almost every time he visited Midland, and he definitely would have remembered this broad.

The word broad filtered through and stuck in his mind, because that’s exactly what she looked like. The sexy broad who ambles into the PI’s office in an old film noir movie. Lustrous flowing hair, long silk-clad legs, bright red lipstick, gut-wrenching sex appeal. With just enough wide-eyed innocence thrown in to make a man want to be the one to save her. Even though he knew instinctively that he would get kicked in the teeth for his trouble.

To make matters worse, she was talking to Dale Martin, who, Ford knew, had been going through a rough divorce. Dale had undoubtedly come in looking for what The Well provided best: booze, brawls and one-night stands. Given how completely out of his league the woman was, Ford could already guess which Dale was going to get.

When Ford heard Dale’s distinctive drawl rising above the blare of the jukebox, Ford moved through the crowd, closing in on the brewing conflict, hoping he could cut trouble off at the pass.

He approached just in time to hear Dale accuse her of making fun of him. Hiding his cringe, Ford slung an arm around the woman’s shoulders.

The stubborn woman tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her firm. “I will—”

“Dale, buddy,” he continued before she could ruin his efforts. “I see you met my date.” He sent the woman a pointed look, hoping she’d take the hint and stop trying to squirm away. “Sugar, did you introduce yourself to my buddy, Dale?”

“It’s Kitty,” she snapped.

Dale was looking from him to her with a baffled expression. Which was fine, because Ford figured confused was better than furious.

“Right, sugar.” Ford gave her shoulder an obvious squeeze. Winking at Dale, he added, “Kitty here’s one of those feminist types.”

She blinked, as if having trouble keeping up with the conversation. “Insisting that I be called by my given name and not some generic endearment does not make me—”

“She’s a bit prickly, too.” Based on her accent, he made a guess. “You know how Yankees are, Dale.”

“I am not prickly,” she protested.

But with Ford’s last comment, a smile spread across Dale’s face and at her protest, he burst out laughing, having forgotten or excused whatever she’d said to offend him. After all, she was a Yankee and obviously couldn’t be expected to know better.

With Dale sufficiently distracted, Ford tugged the delectable Kitty off her stool and nudged her toward The Well’s crowded dance floor. “Come on. Why don’t you show me what you can do in those fancy shoes of yours, sugar?”

At “sugar” he gave Dale another exaggerated wink. She, of course, squeaked an indignant protest, which only made Dale laugh harder.

When they were out of Dale’s hearing range, she once again tried to pull away from him. “Thank you, I’m sure. But I could have handled him myself. So you can’t seriously expect me to dance with you.”

“‘Course I do. Dale’s watching.”

Before she could voice any more protests, or worse, undermine all his hard work, he stepped onto the dance floor, spun her to face him and pulled her close. The second he felt her body pressed to his, he had to ask himself, had he really orchestrated all of that to avoid a fight or had he been angling for this all along?

She was taller than she’d looked sitting on the stool. With her heels on, her head came up past his chin, which was rare, since he dwarfed most women. As he’d suspected, her boxy suit hid a figure that was nicely rounded without being plump. She was delectably, voluptuously curved.

He felt the sharp bite of lust deep in his gut. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. He lived a fairly high-profile life back in San Francisco. As a result, he picked his lovers carefully for their discretion, sophistication and lack of expectations. He had enough responsibility without saddling himself with a spouse. Unfortunately, it had been nearly six months since his previous girlfriend, Rochelle, had gone out for lunch one day with a friend who had kids and came home dreaming of designer diaper bags. He’d been happy to dodge that bullet and hadn’t been in a hurry to find someone to replace her. Which probably explained his strong reaction to this woman. Kitty, she’d said her name was.

As he moved her into a shuffle of a Texas two-step, he felt her body relax against his. If his instincts were right, Kitty was smart, beautiful and used to taking care of herself. In short, she was exactly his sort of woman. She just may be the most interesting thing that had happened to him in a long time.

Kitty had never before found herself in this situation. Naturally she often danced with men she’d only just met. But she kept very careful tabs on the social scene in Manhattan. As a result, she usually knew the net worth, family history and sexual inclinations of every male in the room.

What some might consider mere gossip, she considered her professional obligation. She was in no position to date, marry or even notice a man who couldn’t bring his own personal fortune to her family coffers. Unfortunately, ever since Suzy Snark had caught Kitty in her sights, the business of finding a rich husband had become increasingly difficult. Derek—damn him—had been the perfect choice. Until he’d gone and fallen in love.

But the truth was, she was tired of planning every move she made. This stranger with whom she was dancing, this cowboy, this man she’d never see again after tonight, made her pulse quicken.

From the moment she’d seen him sauntering through the door to the instant he’d pulled her body against his, she’d felt more alive than she had in months. Years, maybe. Somehow the scent of him, masculine and spicy, rose up from his chest and cut through the stench of stale smoke and cheap beer. His shoulders and arms were firm and muscular without being bulky. He had the physique of a man who worked for a living. Who lifted heavy things and shouldered massive burdens. The hand that cradled hers was slightly rough. This was a man who’d never had a manicure, never taken a Pilates class and probably didn’t own a suit.

In short, he was a real man. Unlike the pampered men of her acquaintance. Most of whom, she was sorry to say, were likable, but were just a little bit … well, that is to say … well, they were sissies. And until this moment, she’d never realized that bothered her. She’d never known she wanted anything else.

Her face was only inches from his shirt and she had to fight against the sudden impulse to bury her nose in his chest. To rub her cheek against his sternum like a cat marking her territory.

It had been so long since she felt this kind of instant sexual attraction to someone. Geesh, had she ever felt this kind of attraction? She didn’t think so.

Not that she planned on acting on it. A one-night stand was so not part of her five-year plan.

“I don’t even know your name,” she muttered aloud. “Ford,” he murmured.

He’d ducked his head before speaking so the word came out as warmth brushing past her ear. She suppressed a shiver.

“Like the car?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Yep. Like the car.”

Geesh, indeed. Even his name was masculine. Why couldn’t he have had a name that was just a bit more androgynous? Like Gene or Pat. Or BMW.

She didn’t manage to stifle her chuckle.

“You’re imagining me named after other car brands, aren’t you?”

Her gaze shot to his. “How did you know?”

“It’s pretty common. People usually think one of two things and you just seemed the type to wonder, ‘What if he’d been named Chevy?’”

“Are you saying I’m predictable?” Even though the lighting was dim, she could see that his eyes were whiskey-brown. And just as intoxicating as the tequila in her drink.

“Not at all,” he reassured her. “You could have been thinking Dodge.”

“It was BMW, actually. I can’t see you as something as clunky as a Dodge.” Was she flirting with him? What was wrong with her?

“So you’re a woman who appreciates precision engineering.”

Actually, I’m a woman who enjoys precision in everything.

The words had been on the tip of her tongue. Thank God she swallowed them. Instead she asked, “What’s the second?”

“Second what?”

“You said people usually think one of two things. If the first is other car names, then what’s the second?”

His lips quirked in either amusement or chagrin. “They wonder if I was conceived in the back of a Ford.”

“Ah.” Perhaps that had been chagrin, then. And was that the faintest hint of pink creeping into his cheeks? As if he were just a tad embarrassed. “And were you?”

“That,” he said firmly, “is a question I was never brave enough to ask my parents.” They both chuckled then. A moment later he added, “But I have three sisters and their names are not Mattress, Kitchen Table and Sofa, so I think I’m safe.”

She nearly asked what the names of his three sisters were, but she stopped herself. Somehow that seemed inappropriate. More personal, even, than the discussion of his conception. She didn’t know Ford. Didn’t want to know him longer than the length of this song. Personal details like the names of his sisters didn’t matter. So instead, she gave in to her temptation to rest her cheek against the strong wall of his chest and to breathe in deeply.

After a moment he said, “I hope you don’t judge Dale too harshly.”

“Dale?”

“The guy hitting on you earlier.”

“Ah. Him.” She’d forgotten he even existed.

“He’s been going through a rough divorce. His wife left him for a guy who’s twenty-three years old.”

“Ouch. That’s got to be hard on the ego.”

“Exactly. Which is why he’s been a mite irritable lately. But what exactly did you say to him that made him so mad?”

She cringed, hesitating before answering him. “I said he looked like Elmer Fudd.”

Ford seemed to be suppressing laughter. “I can’t imagine why that offended him. Everybody loves Elmer Fudd.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him!”

They both chuckled. But then she looked up. For a moment, space seemed to telescope around them, blocking out everything else. The smoke, the crowd, even the blare of the music faded until all she could hear was the steady thump-thump of the bass echoing the thud of her heartbeat.

She felt her nerves prickle in anticipation. Desire, hot and heavy, unspooled through her body. Her very skin felt weighed down. Her thighs flushed with warmth.

Who knew that laughter could be such a turn-on?

Their feet stopped shuffling across the floor. That ridiculous grin seemed frozen on her face for an instant, but then it faded, melted away by the intensity of his gaze. There was a spot just over his ear where his otherwise straight hair curled. Before she could think, her fingers had moved to his temple to tease that wayward lock of hair.

He took her hand in his, stilling her fingers. He cleared his throat, and she expected him to say something, something funny maybe, something to lighten the tension between them, but he said nothing.

Who had ever imagined that she’d feel this needy lust for a stranger? Not just a stranger, but a cowboy. A Texan. When she’d sworn she’d never even set foot in this damn state again. She so hadn’t seen this coming.

That’s when it hit her. Here, tonight, was a night out of time. She would never be here again. She would never see him again.

In this strange place, with this man she didn’t know, she had complete immunity. Freedom from her well-planned life. From her routines and her expectations of herself.

Tonight she could do whatever she wanted with no consequences. She could allow herself to do what she would normally never do. She could be stupid and reckless.

Without giving herself the chance to harbor second thoughts, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. His mouth moved over hers with a heated intensity. The sensual promise in his kiss made her shiver. She arched against him, letting her body answer the call of his. She slipped her hand into his and walked off the dance floor, tugging him along behind her.

As she wove her way through the crowd, the tempo of her blood picked up. After a lifetime of carefully planning, of controlling her actions and emotions, he could be her one rebellion. Tonight could be a vacation from her life.

And even if this was a mistake, he’d make sure she didn’t regret it.

Two

Two months later

“You’ve got to stop moping around,” Jonathon Bagdon said, then added, “And get your feet off my desk.”

Ford, who’d been sitting with his work boots propped up on the edge of Jonathon’s desk while he scraped the tip of his pocketknife under his nails, looked up for the first time since his business partner walked in the room. “What?”

Jonathon swatted at Ford’s boots with the leather-clad portfolio he’d been carrying. “Keep your feet off my desk. Christ, it’s like you’re ten.”

Ford’s feet, which had been crossed at the ankles, slid off Jonathon’s desk. He lowered them to the floor and ignored the insult.

“The desk is worth twenty thousand dollars. Try not to scuff it.”

Finally Ford looked up at his friend, taking in the scowl. He glanced over at Matt, the third partner in their odd little triumvirate, who sat on the sofa, with one leg propped on the opposite knee and a laptop poised on the knee. “Who shoved a stick up his ass this morning?” Ford asked Matt.

Matt continued typing frenetically while he said, “Ignore him. He’s just trying to bait you. He doesn’t give a damn about the desk.”

Ford looked from one to the other, suddenly feeling slightly off-kilter. Together the three of them formed FMJ, Inc. He’d known these men since they were kids. They’d first gone into business together when they were twelve and Jonathon had talked them into pooling their money to run the snack shack at the community rec center for the summer. One financially lucrative endeavor had led to another until here they were, twenty years later, the CEO, CFO and CTO of FMJ, a company which they’d founded while still in college and which had made them all disgustingly rich.

Jonathon, though always impeccably dressed and by far the most organized of the three, might impress some as overly persnickety. But those were only the people who didn’t know him, the people who were bound to underestimate him. It was a mistake few people made more than once.

In reality, it was unlike Jonathon to care whether or not his desk was scuffed, regardless of how much it was worth.

Still, to mollify Jonathon, Ford abandoned the chair he’d been sitting in and returned to his own desk. Since they worked so closely together, they didn’t have individual offices. Instead, they’d converted the entire top floor of FMJ’s Palo Alto headquarters to a shared office. On one end sat Jonathon’s twenty-thousand-dollar art deco monstrosity. The other end was lined with three worktables, every inch of them covered by computers and gadgets in various stages of dissection. In the middle sat Ford’s desk, a sleek modern job the building’s interior designer had picked out for him.

With a shrug, he asked, “Is Matt right? You just trying to get a rise out of me?”

Jonathon flashed him a cocky grin. “Well, you’re talking now, aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t before?”

“No. You’ve been picking at your nails for an hour now. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“Not true,” Ford protested. “You’ve been babbling about how you think it’s time we diversify again. You’ve rambled on and on about half a dozen companies that are about to be delisted by the NYSE, but that you think could be retooled to be profitable again. You and Matt voted while I was in China visiting the new plant and you’ve already started to put together the offer. Have I left anything out?”

“And …” Jonathon prodded.

“And what?” Ford asked. When Jonathon gave an exasperated sigh and plopped back in his chair, Ford shot a questioning look at Matt, who was still typing away. “And what?”

Matt, who’d always had the uncanny ability to hold a conversation while solving some engineering problem, gave a few more clicks before shutting his laptop. “He’s waiting for you to voice an opinion. You’re the CEO. You get final vote.”

FMJ specialized in taking over flailing businesses and turning them around, much like the snack shack they’d whipped into prosperity all those years ago. Jonathon used his wizardry to streamline the company’s finances. Matt, with his engineering background, inevitably developed innovations that helped turn the company around. Ford’s own role in their magic act was a little more vague.

Ford had a way with people. Inevitably, when FMJ took over a company, there was resentment from the ownership and employees. People resisted, even feared, change. And that’s where Ford came in. He talked to them. Smoothed the way. Convinced them that FMJ was a company they could trust.

He flashed a smile at Matt. “I can do my part no matter what the company is. Why do I need to vote?”

While he spoke, he absently opened his desk drawer and tossed the pocketknife in. As if of their own accord, his fingers drifted to the delicate gold earring he kept stored in the right-hand corner.

The earring was shaped like a bird, some kind of sea bird, if he wasn’t mistaken. Its wings were outstretched as if it were diving for a fish, its motion and yearning captured in perfect miniscule detail.

Ford’s fingertip barely grazed the length of its wingspan before he jerked his hand out and slammed the drawer shut.

It was her earring. Kitty Biedermann’s. The woman from the bar in Texas.

He’d discovered it in the front of his rented pickup when he’d gone to turn the truck in. Now he wished he’d left it there. It wasn’t like he was going to actually return the earring to its owner.

Yes, when he’d first found the earring, he’d had Wendy, FMJ’s executive assistant, look Kitty up, just to see how hard it would be to hunt her down. But then Kitty Biedermann turned out to be a jewelry store heiress.

What was he going to do, fly to New York to return the earring? He was guessing she didn’t want to see him again any more than he wanted to see her. But now he was stuck with this stupid bird earring.

As much to distract himself as anything, he rocked back in his chair and said, “Okay, let’s buy a company. What do they do again?”

“What do you mean, what do they do?” Jonathon grumbled. “This is the company you researched.”

Ford nudged his foot against the edge of the desk and set his chair to bobbing. “What are you taking about? I didn’t research a company.”

“Sure you did.” Jonathon held out the portfolio. When Ford didn’t take it, Jonathon settled for tossing in on Ford’s desk. “The same day I sent out that first list of companies to consider, you e-mailed Wendy and told her to dig up anything she could find on Biedermann Jewelry. Since you seemed interested in them, Matt and I voted and …”

Listening to his partner talk, Ford let his chair rock forward and his feet drop to the floor. With a growing sense of dread, he flipped open the portfolio. And there was the proposal. To buy Biedermann Jewelry.

His stomach clenched like he’d been sucker punched.

Had Wendy misunderstood his casual, Hey, see what you can find out about Kitty Biedermann? But of course Wendy had. She was obsessively thorough and eager to please.

With forced nonchalance he asked, “Have you put a lot of work into this deal yet?”

“A couple hundred man hours,” Jonathon hedged. “Biedermann’s is circling the drain. We need to move fast.”

Matt normally wasn’t the most intuitive guy. But he must have heard something in Ford’s voice, because he asked, “What’s up, Ford? You having doubts?”

“It’s a pretty risky deal,” he said simply. Maybe he could gently redirect their attention.

But Jonathon shook his head. “It isn’t really. Biedermann’s has always been a strong company. They’ve been undervalued ever since Isaac Biedermann died last year. But I can turn them around.” Jonathon’s lips quirked in one of his rare grins. “Kind of looking forward to the challenge, actually.”

Ford had seen that look in Jonathon’s eyes before. Jonathon was ready to gobble up Biedermann’s. Any minute now he’d be picking his teeth with the bones of Biedermann’s carcass.

Unless Ford stopped him.

Which he could do. All he’d have to do is explain about Kitty. And the earring.

But what was he really supposed to say? Don’t buy the company because I slept with her? He usually preferred relationships to last a little longer than one night, but he wasn’t above the occasional fling when the chance presented itself. He’d never had a problem walking away the next day. He just wasn’t a long-term kind of guy. He wouldn’t even remember her name if it hadn’t been for that lost earring.

“So what do you say?” Jonathon asked. “We all in?”

“Sure.” And he sounded convincingly casual about it, too. He pushed his chair back and stood. “Hey, I’m going to the gym. That damn chair makes my back hurt.”

“Don’t be gone long. We’ve got work to do.”

“When do you leave for New York?” he asked.

“Not me, we,” Jonathon corrected. “As soon as I can get the board to agree to a meeting.”

“Great.” It looked like he was going to be able to return that earring after all.

Kitty sat at the head of the conference table, concentrating all of her considerable acting skill on looking relaxed. Today was the first of what would probably be many meetings to negotiate the deal with FMJ. She would never feel good about this, but what choice did she have? Everything she’d tried on her own had blown up in her face. Marty, Biedermann’s CFO, had assured her this was her only option. Her last, best hope to salvage anything from Biedermann’s.

Still, the thought of selling the company twisted her gut into achy knots. Beidermann’s had been in her family since her great-great-grandfather had moved to New York from Germany and opened the first store in 1868. For her, Biedermann’s wasn’t just a company, it was her history, her heritage. Her family.

But it was also her responsibility. And if she couldn’t save it herself, then she’d hand it over to someone who could, even if doing so made her stomach feel like it was about to flip itself inside out.

She should be more comfortable sitting at this table than most people were in their own bedrooms. And yet she found herself strumming her fingers against the gleaming wood as she fought nausea.

Beside her, Marty rested his hand over hers. He seemed to be aiming for reassuring, but his touch sent a shiver of disgust through her.

He stroked the backs of her fingers. “Everything will be all right.”

She stiffened, jerking her hand out from under his. “I beg your pardon?”

“You seemed nervous.”

“Nonsense.” Still, she buried her hand in her lap. She didn’t handle sympathy well under normal circumstances. Now it made her feel like she was going to shatter. He looked pointedly at the spot on the table she’d been drumming on, to which she replied, “I’m impatient. They’re seven minutes late and I have a reservation for lunch at Bruno’s.”

Marty’s lips twitched. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Something like panic clutched her heart. So, he thought he saw right through her. Well, others had thought that before. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marty. I’ve been pretending to be interested in your conversations for years. I’m certainly not going to stop now.”

For an instant, a stricken expression crossed his face and regret bit through her nerves. Dang it. Why did she say things like that? Why was it that whenever she was backed into a corner, she came out fighting?

She was still contemplating apologizing when the door opened and Casey stuck her head through. “Mr. Ford Langley and Mr. Jonathon Bagdon are here.”

Awash in confusion, she nearly leaped to her feet. “Ford Langley? Is here?”

Then she felt Marty’s steady hand on hers again. “Mr. Langley’s the CEO of FMJ. He’s come in person for the negotiations.”

She stared blankly at Marty, her mind running circles around one thought. Ford Langley.

He was here? He was the CEO of FMJ? Impossible. Ford Langley was an ignorant cowboy. She’d left him in Texas and would never see him again.

She must have misheard. Or misunderstood her assistant just now. Or misremembered the name of the stranger she’d slept with. Or perhaps through some cruel trick of fate, the CEO of FMJ and the stranger shared the same odd name.

Each of these possibilities thundered through her mind as she struggled to regain her composure. Mistaking her confusion, Marty must have spoken for her and told Casey to show in the people from FMJ.

She barely had time to school her panic into a semblance of calm before the door to the conference room swung open and there he was. Fate had pulled a much crueler trick on her than merely giving two men the same name. No, fate had tricked her into selling her beloved company to the same man to whom she’d already given her body.

What had he expected?

Okay, he hadn’t thought she’d jump up, run across the room and throw her arms around him. But he sure as hell hadn’t expected the complete lack of response. The coolly dismissive blank stare. As if she didn’t recognize him at all. As if he were beneath her notice.

Her gaze barely flickered over him as she looked from him to Jonathon. Then she glanced away, looking bored. Someone from Biedermann’s had stood and was making introductions. Ford shook hands at the right moment, filing away the name and face of Kitty’s CFO.

She looked good. Lovely, in fact. As smoothly polished as the one-dimensional woman in the Nagel painting poster he’d had on his wall as a teenager. Beautiful. Pale. Flat.

Gone was the vibrant woman he’d danced with in The Well two months ago. By the time the introductions were done, one thing had become clear. She was going to pretend they’d never met before. She was going to sit through this meeting all the while ignoring the fact that they’d once slept together. That he’d touched her bare skin, caressed her thighs, felt her body tremble with release.

Which was exactly what he should do, too. Hell, wasn’t that what he had planned on doing?

Just as Jonathon was pulling out his chair, Ford said, “Before we get started, I wonder if I could have a word alone with Ms. Biedermann.”

Jonathon sent him a raised-eyebrowed, do-you-know-what-you’re-doing? kind of look. Kitty’s CFO hovered by her side, like an overly protective Chihuahua.

Ford gave the man his most reassuring smile while nodding slightly at Jonathon. He knew Jonathon would back him up and get the other guy out of there. Jonathon wouldn’t question his actions, even if Ford was doubting them himself.

Something was up with Kitty and he intended to find out what it was.

Kitty watched Marty leave the conference room, fighting the urge to scream. An image flashed through her mind of herself wild-eyed and disheveled, pulling at her hair and shouting “Deserter! Traitor!” like some mad Confederate general about to charge into battle and to his death, all alone after his men have seen reason and fled the field.

Clearly, she’d been watching too many old movies.

Obviously her time would have been better spent practicing her mental telepathy. Then she could have ordered Marty to stay. As it was, she couldn’t protest without Ford realizing how much the prospect of being alone with him terrified her.

The moment the door shut, leaving them alone in the room, he crossed to her side. “Hello, Kitty.”

She stood, nodding. Praying some response would spring to her lips. Something smart. Clever. Something that would cut him to the bone without seeming defensive.

Sadly nothing came to mind. So she left it at the nod.

“You look …” Then he hesitated, apparently unsure which adjective best described her.

“I believe ‘well’ is usually how one finishes that sentence.” Oh, God. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Well, you seem to be having trouble finishing the sentence,” she supplied. “Since I’m sure I look just fine and since I’d much rather get this over with than stand around exchanging pleasantries, I thought I’d move things along.”

He raised his eyebrows as if taken aback by her tone. “You aren’t curious why I’m here?”

That teasing tone stirred memories best left buried in the recesses of her mind. Unfortunately, those pesky memories rose up to swallow her whole, like a tsunami.

As if it were yesterday instead of two months or more, she remembered what it had felt like to be held in his arms. Cradled close to his body as they swayed gently back and forth on the dance floor. The way he’d smelled, musky yet clean against the sensory backdrop of stale smoke and spilled beer. The way her body had thrummed to life beneath his touch. The way she’d quivered. The way she’d come.

She thrust aside the memories, praying he wouldn’t notice that her breath had quickened. Thankful he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart or see the hardening of her nipples.

Hiding her discomfort behind a display of boredom, she toyed with the papers on the table where she’d been sitting. She couldn’t stand to look at him, so she pretended to read through them as she said, “I know why you’re here. You came here to take control of Biedermann’s.” Thank God her voice didn’t crack as she spoke. It felt as if her heart did, but that at least she could hide. For the first time since he walked into the room, she met his gaze. “You can’t honestly expect me to welcome you. You’re stealing the company I was born to raise.”

His expression hardened. “I’m not stealing anything. FMJ is providing your failing company with some much-needed cash. We’re here to keep you in business.”

“Oh, really. How generous of you.” She buried all her trepidation beneath a veneer of sarcasm. As she always did. It was so much easier that way. “Since that’s the case, why don’t you just write out a nice hefty check and leave it on the table on your way out. I’ll call you in a decade or so to let you know if it helped.”

“A big, fat check might help if all you needed was an infusion of cash. But the truth is, Biedermann’s needs a firm hand at the helm and you can’t have one without the other. You know that’s not how this works.”

His words might have been easier to swallow if he’d sounded apologetic instead of annoyed. No, wait … there wasn’t really any way that anything he said could be easier to swallow.

“No. Of course that’s not how it works. You’ll go over the company with a fine-toothed comb. You’ll tear it apart, throw out the parts you don’t like and hand the rest back in pieces. In the end, everything my family’s worked for for five generations will be gone. All so you can turn a quick profit.”

“Tell me something. Is that really what’s bothering you?”

Of course it wasn’t what was really bothering her. What was really bothering her was that he was here at all. Her safe, what-the-hell-I’m-stuck-in-Texas fling hadn’t stayed where it was supposed to. In Texas. What was the point of having a fling with a stranger if the man ended up not being a stranger at all?

But she couldn’t say that aloud. Especially given the way he was looking at her. With his expression so intense, so sexual, so completely unprofessional, it sent a wave of pure shock through her system.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Come on, Kitty. This anger you’re clinging to isn’t about Biedermann’s at all. This is about what happened in Texas.”

She quickly buried her shock beneath a veneer of disdain. “Texas. I’m surprised you’d have the guts to bring that up.”

“You are?”

“Of course.” She strolled to the other side of the conference table. “I’d think you would be the last person to want to hash that over. But since you brought it up, maybe you can answer a question for me. Was anything you told me true or was it all pretense?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know. That whole charade you put on to pick me up back in Texas. That aw-shucks, I’m just a simple cowboy trying to make a living act.”

“I never said I was a cowboy.”

“No. But you had to know that’s what I thought.”

“How exactly was I supposed to know that?” His facade of easy charm slipped for a moment and he plowed a hand through his hair in frustration. He sucked in a breath and pointed out in a slightly calmer tone, “You weren’t exactly forthcoming about who you were, either.”

“I did nothing wrong.” True, she hadn’t exactly presented him with her pedigree when they’d first met, but surely it didn’t take a genius to see she didn’t fit in at that bar. If there had been an obvious clue he didn’t, either, she’d missed it entirely. She refused to let him paint himself the victim. “I don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m not the one who pretended to be some down on his luck cowboy.”

“No, you’re just the one who gave me a fake phone number instead of admitting you didn’t want to see me again.”

“If you knew I didn’t want to see you again,” she asked, “then why did you go to the trouble of hunting me down?”

“I didn’t hunt you down. What happened in Texas has nothing to do with FMJ’s offer.”

“Then how exactly did the offer come about anyway?” she asked. “If you didn’t go back to work and say, ‘Wow, that Kitty Biedermann must be really dumb to have fallen for my tired old lines. I bet we could just swoop in and buy that company right from under her.’”

His gaze narrowed to a glare. “You know that’s not how it happened.”

“Really? How would I know that? What do I really know about you other than the fact that you’re willing to misrepresent yourself to get a woman into bed with you?”

“I never lied to you. Not once. And despite the fact that you’re acting like a brat, I won’t start now.”

“Maybe you didn’t lie outright, but you certainly misled me. Of course, maybe that’s the only way you can get a woman into bed.”

Ford just smiled. “You don’t believe that. The sex was great.” He closed in on her, getting right in her face as if daring her to disagree.

God, she wanted to. That would serve him right.

But when she opened her mouth, she found the denial trapped inside her. Between the intensity of his eyes and the memories suddenly flooding her, she just couldn’t muster up the lie.

Instead she said the only thing that popped into her mind. “You can’t convince me that FMJ is prepared to buy Biedermann’s solely so you can get laid.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Boy, you think highly of yourself.”

“You were the one who brought up sex,” she pointed out.

“You didn’t let me finish. I was going to close with the suggestion that we both try to forget it happened.”

“Oh, I won’t have any trouble with that,” she lied easily, barely even cringing as she waited for the bolt of lightning to strike her down.

“Excellent.” He bit off the word. “Then you agree from here on out, it’s all business?”

“Absolutely.” Her smiled felt so tight across her face she was surprised she could still breathe. But she kept it in place as she crossed back to the door.

Jonathon and Marty were waiting in the office outside the conference room. If they’d picked up on the tension, neither commented. Thank goodness. She simply wouldn’t have had the strength to come up with any more lies today. Between the lies she’d told Ford and the lies she was telling herself, she was completely out.

“Everything okay?” Jonathon asked, more to Ford than to her.

However, she didn’t give the treacherous bastard a chance to answer. Instead, she dug deep and pulled out one more lie. “Mr. Langley was just assuring me Biedermann’s is going to be in great hands with you.” She held out her hand to gesture him back into the conference room. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk money.”

Kitty’s head was pounding by the time she finally made it back to her office alone. The simple truth was nothing could have prepared her for this.

She thought she’d been ready, but she hadn’t, really. Not to sit in a conference room and listen politely while strangers discussed her beloved Biedermann’s—while they calmly talked about compensation packages. While they talked about key positions in the company they’d need to replace.

Oh, they’d started by reassuring her that she would stay on as president of the subsidiary, but she knew she wouldn’t have control. Not really. She’d be a figurehead, at best. A pretty adornment to make things look good. It’d be pathetic if it wasn’t so sad. But the really pathetic thing was she would let herself be used that way.

She loved Biedermann’s. She’d do whatever it took to save it. Even if she had to sell her soul to the devil. Or in this case, Ford Langley.