The Billionaire's Bidding (3 page)

Had she missed his point entirely? This whole thing was all about his reputation and his image.

“I care,” he stated flatly. Sass was one thing, but she needed to understand his interests. “You're getting one sweetheart of a monetary deal, and I'm getting some good PR. The
how
matters. The
ruse
matters.”

She opened her mouth to rebut, but he was done debating.

“Make no mistake about it, Emma. You and I are going to convince the world we've fallen in love or die trying.”

 

“I don't know how I'm going to do it,” Emma said to Katie as they walked off court number twelve at Club Connecticut. Distracted by Alex's plan, she'd lost decisively to her sister, game, set and match.

She wasn't an actress. And she wasn't a public person. While some hotel socialites hit the club scene and made the front pages of the tabloid press, Emma jealously guarded her privacy.

“Is he being a real jerk?” asked Katie, sympathy in her voice as she gestured to an empty umbrella table with four white deck chairs.

“No jerkier than we expected,” said Emma honestly. “Problem is, he's got this whole fantasy, fool-the-press thing planned. And I'm definitely not up for playing the simpering Wall Street bride.”

Katie frowned for a minute as she took her seat. “Well, I suppose he has to get something out of it.”

“He's getting our hotels.”

“Only half.”

Emma raised her eyebrows at her sister. Did Katie honestly think Alex was being reasonable? “We promised him a wife, not a trophy bride for the front page.”

Katie shrugged. “So he wants to show you off a little. Why not go with the flow?”

Emma peeled off her sweatband and shook out her hair. “Because the flow will be trite and embarrassing. And, if you'll recall, the flow is also one very big lie.”

Katie smirked. “No harm in looking good while you're lying.”

Emma pulled a bottle of water out of the acrylic ice bucket in the center of the table. “Quit laughing at me.”

“I'm sorry. It's just—”

“That it's me and not you?”

Katie's tone changed. “Of course not. I'm grateful. You know I'm grateful.”

Emma sighed. “I have to find a way to convince him to keep this low-key. A justice of the peace. A small announcement in the classified section.”

Katie reached for a bottle of water, cracking the cap. “Or I could lend you some clothes and you could hit the party circuit on his arm.”

“You're not helping.”

“Wouldn't hurt you to get out and about. You know you work too hard.”

“Not hard enough to save the company.”

“Hey, you're saving the company now.”

Emma sat back in her chair. She wasn't saving the company through her guile and business acumen, that was for sure. “It feels like prostitution.”

“Without the sex?”

“Without the sex.”

“Then it's not prostitution, is it? Lighten up, Emma. We'll go to Saks.”

“Oh, yeah. Saks will solve the problem.” Because as long as Emma had the right wardrobe, she could easily prance through uptown Manhattan casting mooning looks in Alex's direction.

She shuddered.

“Oh my,” Katie muttered, her attention shifting to a spot over Emma's shoulder.

“Oh my, what?”

“He's here.”

“Who's here?” Emma twisted her neck, trying to get a look.

“Alex,” said Katie.

Emma froze.
“What?”

“Alex is here.”

She turned to face Katie. “He's not a member.”

“Maybe not.”

“It's a private club.”

“Like the desk clerk's going to tell Alex Garrison he can't have a day pass.”

Emma's chest tightened to a tingle. “What's he doing?”

“Coming this way.”

“No.”

Katie nodded. “Yes.” Then she smiled broadly. “Hello, Alex.”

Emma felt a warm palm come to rest on her bare, sweaty shoulder. Her muscles hummed beneath the touch, jumping to some bizarre rhythm. Like she'd never been touched by a man before.

She resisted the urge to shrug him off.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Alex's voice rumbled in her ear.

Then his lips branded her temple, and the breath whooshed right out of her body. In fact, it was a light, insubstantial touch, but it jump-started her pulse and sent her nerve endings into a frenzy.

She had to tell herself in no uncertain terms to
calm the heck down.

Giving her shoulder a final squeeze, he eased his big body into the vacant chair next to her and casually helped himself to a bottle of water. “So, how was the game?”

He was wearing a white polo shirt with a single blue stripe over one shoulder. The open collar showed off his strong neck and tanned skin, while the knit weave delineated his broad shoulders and well-defined pecs.

When Emma didn't answer, he raised a dark brow in her direction.

“Fine,” she ground out. Now that she was starting to recover, her anger was bubbling up. A kiss at Club Connecticut was almost as bad as the JumboTron. And Alex knew it. The stares from the surrounding table were penetrating.

He nodded easily. “Good.”

“I took her in straight sets,” said Katie, her tone far too friendly for Emma's liking.

Emma leaned closer to Alex. “I thought we were going to
talk
about this?” she hissed.

He draped an arm casually over the back of her chair. “I'm through talking,” he said.

“Well, I'm not.”

“Really? That's unfortunate.” He glanced around. “Because I think it's too late.”

“Cheat,” Emma muttered, knowing he'd won through brute force. At least a dozen people had seen that
oh so calculated
kiss.

Alex laughed. Then he raised his voice and looked at Katie. “Congratulations on the win.”

Katie grinned in return. “Emma seemed to be having trouble concentrating this morning.”

“Really?” Alex gave her shoulder another annoying squeeze, and her body responded with another annoying crackle. She didn't like it. She refused to like it. It had to be revulsion, because it couldn't be anything else.

“Have anything to do with last night?” he asked her loud and clear.

Two tables away, Marion Thurston's stenciled eyebrows shot to her dyed hairline. It seemed to take the woman a moment to gather her wits, but then she reached for a cell phone and hit a speed dial button. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who she'd called. It was a very poorly kept secret that Marion Thurston fed stories to society columnist Leanne Height.

Emma leaned close to Alex again. “I am definitely going to kill you.”

“You're still not in the will.”

“I no longer care.”

Alex laughed again. “Are you busy tomorrow night?” He looked at Katie. “You, too. I booked a table for the Teddybear Trust casino event.”

“I don't gamble,” said Emma.

“Well, it's time you learned,” he said easily.

“I'm in,” said Katie. “Is there room for David?”

“Ahhh. The elusive David.”

“I don't want to learn,” Emma grumbled.

“Blackjack,” said Alex. “I'll bankroll you.”

“You're not going to—”

His voice turned steely. “I'll bankroll you.”

“Fine. You want to put a tattoo on my forehead while you're at it?”

He lifted her hand for a fleeting kiss, his gentle voice at odds with the steely look in his eyes. “No. Just a diamond on your finger.”

 

“We've got trouble on the wedding front,” said Ryan, plunking down in a guest chair in Alex's office.

Alex looked up from the McKinley Inns prospectus. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that starts with one archrival DreamLodge and ends with Kayven Island.”

An adrenaline shot hit Alex's system. “Old man Murdoch knows about Kayven?”

“He has to,” said Ryan, sitting forward in the leather chair. “There's no other explanation.”

Dread crept through Alex's system. “For what?”

“He's putting together a bid for McKinley.”

“Son of a bitch.” Alex rocked to his feet, the possibilities winging through his mind. “The whole chain?”

Ryan stood with him. “Just the Kayven property.”

Alex closed his eyes for a split second, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck and squeezing hard. “And the women would keep the rest?” It was a dream come true for Emma.

“Yeah,” said Ryan.

“How long've we got?”

“He's presenting the offer start of business Monday.”

“Who's your source?”

“Adam down in accounting mentioned that his brother-in-law over at Williamson Smythe was looking at the same geologicals as we were.”

“He put it together from
that?
”

Ryan shook his head. “Adam doesn't know a thing. I pieced it together myself from six different sources. We're still the only player with the big picture.”

Alex's mind clicked through potential scenarios. All of them ended with a DreamLodge win and a Garrison loss. “I can't let him make that offer.”

Ryan nodded.

Alex had to shut Murdoch down. So how did he shut Murdoch down before Monday morning? Marry Emma was the obvious answer. “I wonder how she feels about Vegas….”

“You can't marry Emma in the next forty-eight hours.”

Alex snorted. “The jet's at JFK—I could marry her in less than five.”

“You don't think a quickie Vegas wedding would look
slightly
opportunistic?”

Alex's voice rose. “I'd rather look opportunistic than screw the whole deal.”

“And what happens when Murdoch talks to her?”

“By the time Murdoch talks to her, she'll be Mrs. Alex Garrison.”

Ryan shook his head. “Not good enough. We don't want Murdoch talking to her at all.”

“We can't stop him from talking to her.” It was a free country, and DreamLodge owned as many communication devices as anybody else.

Ryan eased back down in his chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “We can if he thinks there's no point in talking to her.”

“There are hundreds of millions at stake.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed quietly. “And we're going to make him think it's all ours.”

Alex recognized the cunning gleam in Ryan's eyes. A renewed calm came over him, and he took his seat behind the desk, picking up a gold pen to twirl between his fingertips. “How?”

“We need four things,” said Ryan.

Alex was all ears. There was a reason he'd taken Ryan on as a partner. The man was a strategic genius.

“McKinley's financial statements,” said Ryan. “Some serious intel on DreamLodge, a quick and dirty marketing mock-up, and a diamond ring on Emma McKinley's finger.”

Alex could take care of the ring and the marketing plan. He supposed he could come up with some kind of rational explanation for wanting Emma's financial statements over the weekend. But he didn't have a single contact at DreamLodge. “What kind of intel?”

Ryan hesitated for a single beat. “Can you call Nathaniel?”

Alex blinked at the sound of his cousin's name. “That's a pretty big gun.”

“There are hundreds of millions at stake.”

Right. Nathaniel it was.

E
mma slipped a thick, white McKinley-crested robe over her damp body, slipping on her glasses and flicking back a wisp of hair that had escaped from her clip. The hot tub motor whirred softly in the background as she padded across the penthouse from her bedroom to the living area.

She'd long since gotten past the strangeness of living in a hotel. Now she just enjoyed the view, the expert cleaning service and the convenience of hot meals at any hour of the day or night. McKinley's head offices were on the third floor of the Fifth Avenue Inn. So on blustery winter days, she was only an elevator ride from work.

She pushed the on button on the television remote and curled up in one corner of the wine-colored sectional sofa, tossing a brocade pillow out of the way. It was eleven-fifteen, Friday night. She'd skipped dinner, and she was thinking a cheese tray and a glass of Cabernet would go well with
Business Week Wrap-up
on ANN.

She called an order in to the concierge, then settled back to watch Marvin Coventry interview the CEO of Mediterranean Energy. The company was under scrutiny following a merger with a British company and an alleged payout to a UN envoy's nephew.

A knock sounded a few minutes into the interview, and Emma watched over her shoulder as she headed for the door to let in Korissa.

“Did they remember to add extra grapes?” she asked, while the CEO squirmed under the reporter's questions. Good. His shareholders deserved an explanation.

“I have no idea,” came a male voice.

Emma twisted her head to come face to face with Alex Garrison. Her eyes went wide, and she jerked the lapels of her robe together. “I thought you were Korissa.”

“I'm Alex.” His gaze took in her robe, her haphazard hair and her clunky glasses.

“What are you
doing
here?” She hadn't expected to see him again until tomorrow night at the Teddybear Trust fundraiser, and she definitely wasn't ready to go another round with him. She tugged at her lapels, especially not dressed like this.

He glanced down at the briefcase in his left hand. “I thought you'd like to see my financial records.”

“At eleven-thirty at
night?
”

“You said you wanted a prenup.”

Sure she wanted a prenup. But not
now.
Right now she wanted to sleep, and to regroup before facing him again. “I'm not—”

“No time like the present.” He glanced pointedly at the room behind her, then shifted almost imperceptibly forward.

Emma stepped sideways to block his path as the nearly soundless whirr of a room service cart announced Korissa's arrival.

The woman halted her brisk steps and glanced questioningly at Alex. “Shall I bring another glass?”

“That would be nice,” said Alex. And before Emma could protest, he slipped through the door beside her.

Emma wasn't about to make a scene in front of Korissa, but the man was
not
staying. She moved out of the way of the cart.

“Nice,” Alex murmured, glancing around at the Persian carpet, the marble fireplace and the Tiffany chandelier.

“Thank you,” Emma said stiffly, while Korissa transferred the cheese tray, wine and fresh flowers to the dining table.

Then Korissa left the penthouse and closed the door behind her.

Emma yanked the sash of her robe tight. “This is not a convenient time.”

He set the briefcase down on the dining table and held up his palms in surrender. “I apologize. But I just got out of a meeting.”

His gaze seemed to snag on her outfit once again.

“I take it you had a free evening?”

“No, I did
not
have a free evening. I had a conference call, three supply contracts to approve and an accounting meeting that lasted past ten.”

“But you're free now.” He opened up the case.

She stared pointedly down at her robe. “Do I look free?”

He fought a grin. “You look…”

“Forget it.”

“I was going to say cute.”

“You were going to say awful.”

His brow furrowed for a split second. “Why do you always—”

“What do you want, Alex?”

He shook his head, then he lifted an envelope from his briefcase. “I want to swap financial statements.”

“Call me in the morning.” She wanted to sleep. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I'm booked up all day.”

“Well, I'm booked up all night.”

He stilled. His glance shot to her bedroom door. “You have company?”

It took a moment for his meaning to set in. Of all the nerve. “
No,
I do not
have company.
”

“I thought maybe you were having a final fling.”

“I'm not a final fling kind of girl.”

He checked her out one more time. “Really?”

“And if I was, would I dress like this?”

“I told you, you look cute.”

She groaned in frustration.

He abandoned his briefcase and moved toward her. “Seriously, Emma. I don't know where all this insecurity comes from.”

She had no idea how to respond to that. Zero.

His voice went soft. “You're a beautiful woman.”

“Stop it,” she rasped. He was obviously practicing his lines, spinning his lies, trying to put her off balance for his own reasons.

He came to a halt directly in front of her, the intensity of his perusal causing waves of reaction through her body. “Don't sell yourself short, Emma.”

She tried to breathe normally, tried to squelch the unmistakable creep of desire working its way along her limbs. “You have…surprising taste.”

His mouth curved into a slow grin.

It was a smooth mouth, a shapely mouth, a very sexy mouth, set under a luminous laserlike gaze that surrounded a woman and made her feel like the only person on the planet. Emma felt herself being dragged under his spell.

“You think I prefer silk and satin?” he asked softly.

“I think you'd prefer black lace and heels.” As soon as she spoke, she regretted the impulse.

His nostrils flared ever so slightly.
“Really?”
And his eyes telegraphed his thoughts.

“Not on
me.
”

He glanced at her cleavage. “Why not?”

This was getting crazy. “Alex.”

He nodded to her bedroom door. “You got something back there I might like?”

God help her, she did. A little teddy and matching panties that Katie had bought her on her birthday.

Not that Alex would ever see them.

A trace of laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Still waters run deep?”

“I have nothing,” she lied.

He reached up and smoothed a stray lock of her hair. “Sure you do. Go ahead, Emma. Let me in on your deep, dark secret.”

She blinked into the polished obsidian of his eyes, steeling herself against his pull, promising herself she wouldn't let him take control of their relationship. She needed to stay strong. She needed to stay focused. She had something he wanted, and the transfer was going to be on
her
terms.

But then his palm paused on her temple, distracting her thoughts. His fingertips brushed her hair, and every reluctant nerve in her body zeroed in on his point of contact, zinging hormonal messages that flushed her skin and softened her lips, and pushed her body in toward him.

His hand slipped down to her neck, cupping her hairline, pulling her slowly, inexorably toward him. His head tipped to one side, and she followed his lead, accommodating his advance, waiting, wondering, coming up on her toes in anticipation.

Then he stopped. She felt his hesitation as if it were her own.
Yes,
her primal brain screamed.
No,
her rational mind answered.

His breath puffed against her skin. “My own deep, dark secret is…” He paused. “That I…” Another pause. “Want…” Then he sighed. “Your financial statements.”

The words were a dose of cold water.

And she was glad.

Truly.

Kissing Alex would have been a supremely stupid move. Not that she wouldn't be forced to kiss him at some point during this escapade. But it didn't have to be in her apartment, while they were alone, while she was half-naked.

What was she
thinking?

She pulled determinedly away. “Okay. But then you do have to go.”

He gave her a sharp nod of agreement, blinking away a funny glow that simmered deep in his quick-silver eyes.

She wasn't going to explore that glow. She wasn't even going to think about that glow. This was business.

All
business,
she told herself as she crossed to her computer. She clicked a link to the financial server and brought up the last quarter rollups, hitting the print button.

Alex watched in silence as the printer whirred to life and rapidly spit out twenty pages.

She scooped them from the tray and briskly handed them over.

“Thank you,” he said, as he reached for the doorknob.

“You're welcome,” she replied, calculating the seconds until he'd be gone.

But then he paused, and his flinty eyes narrowed. His lips parted. “Emma—”

“Good night,” she prompted with finality.

He sucked a breath between his teeth, but he didn't persist. Instead, he gave a brief nod of resignation. “Good night.”

And then he was gone. She twisted the door lock behind him, her fingers clamping hard on the metal bolt. Okay
that
—whatever it was—could
not
happen again.

She'd made a deal with Alex. It was no different than her staffing the front desk in Hawaii or taking a stint as a cocktail waitress in Whistler. Her father had always been proud of Emma's ability to roll up her sleeves and pitch in.

In this case, maybe she was rolling up her lips. But it was the same thing. She'd kiss Alex eventually, but it would be a business kiss. It would be for show, and it sure wouldn't happen while they were alone and she was half naked and lusting after his body.

She shivered, stepping back from the door, telling herself she was doing exactly what her father would have done. She was making the best of a bad situation.

When her mother died, and he was left with two bereft little girls, he'd picked himself up and dusted himself off. He'd learned to braid their hair, wallpaper their rooms and bake chocolate chip oatmeal monster cookies. When their Montreal hotel burned to the ground, he'd made the best of that, too. With fearless, unflagging optimism, he'd buried his remorse, swept up the ashes and rallied the troops.

Well, Emma could be fearless. And she could bury whatever knee-jerk hormones were messing with her reaction to Alex. She'd make her father proud or die trying.

 

Emma was on guard Saturday night.

When they pulled into Tavern on the Green, she waited until Alex stepped out of the limo before she moved across the back seat. Mindful of the reporters waiting on the other side of the red rope line, she smoothed her champagne cocktail dress, and readied herself for a graceful exit.

Next to the open door, Alex turned to face her. He gallantly offered his hand, and she bit back a protest. She didn't want to touch him at all, definitely not first thing. But there was no way to refuse the invitation.

Surrounded by the tiny white tree lights and the glowing lanterns of the portcullis, she took a breath and reached out. As soon as their fingertips made contact, a warm glow whooshed up her arm. She smiled bravely as cameras flashed in all directions.

Her gaze caught on Alex's soft, gray eyes. But she quickly blinked her attention away as he played out his role for the cameras. She tried to appear adoring without actually looking at his face—bad enough he was holding her hand. Bad enough she was imagining some cosmic connection between them as they strode the gauntlet of reporters firing questions.

Then Alex wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her to a halt for the photographers. They were pressed together, from knee to shoulder, and she could feel every single breath he took.

“Act like you adore me,” he muttered under his breath.

“I'm trying,” she returned, holding a smile, cursing her traitorous body that was cataloguing every nuance of Alex.

“Try harder.” He gave the photographers a final wave, then propelled her toward the entrance.

Emma resisted the pressure of his hand on the small of her back. “Katie and David were right behind us.”