The Billionaire Bargain #1(14)
I twisted around but not entirely out of his grip; he was pressing me up against the copier, he was far too close to be safe, the scent of him, suntan lotion and aftershave and clean sweet sweat, those sparse bronze hairs along his muscular chest and arms, strong powerful arms that could grab me harder and pull me to him and press his lips against mine— “Do you realize how serious this is?!” I snapped, and if my voice was shaking with lust he must have interpreted as fear, because he let go.
“All these people’s jobs are on the line,” I continued, my fury mounting. How dare he toy with my emotions like that! He knew what he looked like, he knewwhat it would do to me.“You have a choice: either shape up, or lose the company. Your call, boss.”
He took a step back, gaping at me.
I whirled on my heel and stormed off.
“Some of us have work to do!” I shouted over my shoulder– and ran straight into an intern who was carrying a dry-cleaning bag with a fresh shirt.
“He’s in there,” I jabbed my finger.“Get him covered up before we get a damn harassment lawsuit!”
Or a riot.
EIGHT
I couldn’t sleep.
I’d tried everything to relax. I wore my comfiest pink silk pajamas festooned with yellow ducks (and Kate’s lingerie under them, which was surprisingly comfortable), and my childhood blanket was wrapped all comfy and toasty around me. Lavender aromatherapy candles were burning around me, suffusing the air with their calming scent. The TV flickered with the light of the DVD menu for my favorite cheesy spy show. A mug of hot chocolate with plenty of milk was in one hand, and a well-worn copy of my favorite romance novel—don’t even ask about the questionable art of a kilted Scotsman with an unexplained Maori tribal tattoo on the cover, please—in the other. I’d even put on the CD of‘soothing nature sounds’ that my folks had gotten me for my last birthday, because it’s never too late to try to distract your daughter from her dream of running a successful business by turning her into a hippie. Birds chirped, leaves rustled, brooks burbled gently.
And I wasn’t even a little bit sleepy.
Maybe because I wasn’t used to getting to bed as early as eleven? I was trying to take it easy, though. I was still in a bit of a tizzy about all the attention Grant had been showing me. He…he couldn’t really be interested in me, right? Or was I being paranoid? Was this just the memory of too many high school *s and college frat boys who thought it was funny to flirt with the big girl and then laugh with their friends when she took it seriously?
My phone rang, and I snatched it off the sideboard. Maybe it would be Kate and we could talk about— The caller ID said Grant Devlin.
I flipped it open immediately.“What happened? What did you do? Do the papers know yet, or—”
“Nice to know how high your opinion of me is, Miss Newman,” Grant said dryly.“Can’t a man just be looking for some intelligent conversation with a lovely lady?”
“I’m sure you’ve got six dozen of them on speed-dial,” I shot back, my heart rate slowing down as I processed that the company wasn’t going to tank after my first day in the new job.“Seriously, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he stressed.“I’m just bored.” His voice took on a pouty tone that I’d bet serious money had brought out the maternal instinct in all his previous relationships.“It’s your fault, you’re the one who’s clipped my wings. I’m housebound now, and there is nothing to do here. You should entertain me.”
I rolled my eyes mightily, wishing he could see it.“Not in my job description.”
I heard a clicking sound, then the background noise shifted. “Did you know how terrible television has become in the last ten years?” Grant mused as if I hadn’t spoken.“It’s heartbreaking.”
“That’s why I only watch the classics.”
“Watching any of those classics tonight? You could come over and watch them in my private theatre.”
“I’ve had my John Steed ration for the night, thanks,” I said, glancing at my own TV screen—doubtless several orders of magnitude smaller than the one Grant was watching—where the spy in question sighted the episode titles along the line of his umbrella gun.
“You like a sharp-dressed man, eh?” I swore I could hear that smirk. How did that man have an audible smirk? Had he had it specially engineered?“Will you come over and tuck me in if I promise to wear a suit and tie?”
Oh, now there was a mental image…Grant in a suit and tie, and me in my new lingerie—or nothing at all—sprawled out across his great big bed…wait a second. How many other women had fallen for that exact line before? And how many of those women had been left in the wake of his ravenous appetite?
“I’m not your babysitter,” I deflected, and hung up.
? ? ?
Twenty minutes later, I was still trying and failing to concentrate on the romance novel—the love interest is supposed to be this swarthy guy with dark green eyes, but guess who kept picturing him with gold-kissed brown hair and eyes like a stormy sky?—when the doorbell rang.
I took my hand out from between my thighs—hey, a girl’s gottado what a girl’s gotta do—and looked at the clock to check. Yup, it was dark-as-f*ck-thirty.