At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? (5 page)

Visions of being alone with him suddenly filled her mind—in the cab on the night of their date; in the alcove of her apartment building where he'd kissed her—and her heart tripped over itself at the thought of being locked away with him again. But reason quickly took over. They were beyond that now. He'd laid his offer on the table and she'd refused. They were no more than employer and employee, and she'd ensure they stayed at that level.

She shut the door behind her.

Ryder still didn't look up as she sat in a chair that placed her directly opposite him. She crossed her legs. He continued to sign papers and move them to another pile. “I'll be with you in a moment. Bernice needs these for the courier who'll be here soon.”

“That's fine.” She watched him repeat the distinct signature over and over, noticing for the first time that he was writing with his left hand. She thought back and couldn't remember seeing him write before, but he'd both held and typed into his BlackBerry with his left hand.

Writing was a different animal though. There was something almost sexual about the way his square palm and long fingers curved around on the page as he signed his name, almost as if it were shaping her breast. Her breaths began to come a little faster. She'd never thought of left-handedness as being particular sexy, but on Ryder, something deep inside her wanted to reach out and grab him, link her fingers through his, bring them to her skin…

He dropped his pen and grabbed the completed pages, striking their ends against the desk to align them. The sharp noise brought her attention back to the office. Had she just been thinking they were like a regular employer and employee? She smothered a self-deprecating laugh.

He hit the intercom button on his phone and told Bernice the forms were ready, and within seconds, Bernice bustled in and took them, giving Macy a friendly greeting on her way out.

Ryder leaned back in his high-back chair and stretched his arms, which only served to highlight the breadth and muscularity of his shoulders. She took a deep breath and held it. She had to stop letting her mind drift to sexual thoughts about her boss. He was attractive, sure. Exceedingly. And he could kiss like the devil himself. But he wasn't like other men. He wanted her hand in marriage to buy a company. Things were far too complicated to let herself be sidetracked by attraction. The stakes were too high to let her guard down in case she found herself married to him before she realized it had happened. If anyone could do that to her, it would be this man.

He finished stretching and lifted his feet to rest his crossed ankles on the corner of his desk. “How are the plans for the trip to Sydney?”

“They're on track. I'd write you a report, but…”

“I wouldn't read it,” he finished for her and smiled. “Macy, I know you were reluctant to take this trip with me, but I assure you, I'll be a perfect gentleman.”

“I know you will,” she admitted. She knew it was the truth—not that it would help with her own reactions.

“However,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “if you change your mind during the trip, I'll be ready and waiting.”

She hesitated, not quite trusting that gleam. One thing
wasn't in doubt—he had a remarkable ability to surprise her and she was quickly learning not to take anything at face value where her boss was concerned.

She cocked her head to the side and met his gaze. “Change my mind about marrying you?”

He shrugged one of his well-muscled shoulders. “That, or about your rule of keeping my distance. I'd be more than happy to repeat our date. Or,” he said, voice deeper, “our kiss.”

Images of that kiss came flooding back once more and filled her mind, her body, but she pushed them away and lifted her chin as she replied. “What would be the point of becoming involved when you want it to lead in a direction that I'll never go?”

“I can think of several reasons.” His warm brown eyes smoldered. “Starting with how mind-blowing that kiss was.”

It was as if champagne had been let loose in her bloodstream—despite her efforts to hold it back, now the effervescence flowed from her fingers to her toes and all the places in between. If he hadn't made that deal with her father, she could stop fighting and let their attraction take its natural course. But he had. And she couldn't give in. Once again she banked the fire that he so easily lit inside her and brought her body back under control.

That deal between Ryder and her father was creating grief on so many levels. She'd thought about it endlessly, and one thing still intrigued her.

She uncrossed her legs and sat a little straighter. “Will you tell me something?”

“Anything,” he said, not bothering to hide that he was drawing his attention from her legs back to her face.

“You've put your wedding vows,
yourself
on the market
for the sake of your business, for money. Why would you let yourself be sold like that?”

His body snapped to attention. “Sold?”

“To get access to my father's company, you're willing to give up your chance to find a wife you love. Or—” she tapped a finger against her cheek “—are you thinking that our marriage would only last until the company is yours?”

He stood and moved to the front of his desk, leaning his weight back on it as he took her hands. His eyes—which only moments before had sizzled with sensual intent—were now serious. “Marriage vows are sacred. Once given they shouldn't be broken without a damn good reason.”

She'd suspected he'd think that way after growing up with a father who hadn't taken his own vows seriously. Which made it all the more strange that he'd agreed to this plan.

She retracted her hands from his and stood, pacing to the other side of the room, giving herself a little distance so she could focus on the conversation, and not him. “You're willing to blow your chance of finding love. Blow it on me, and on getting that company?”

His shoulders went back and his brow furrowed. “That's not how I see it.”

“Tell me then,” she said, wanting to understand. Every time she unpeeled a layer, he showed her another, each one more intriguing than the last. “Explain how else this could be seen.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if steeling himself. “Love is not an option for me. I'm simply not put together that way.”

He'd said something similar on the day he'd proposed, but she hadn't quite believed him. She could see now
that he was very serious about it. What would make a man believe love wasn't an option for him? It had to be something buried deep. And, although he'd said he'd answer anything, to ask him
this
question felt like an invasion of his privacy. An intimacy too far.

Instead, she drifted back to stand beside her chair and stuck to the impact his belief about love had on their current situation. “So you'd always planned to marry without love.”

He nodded. “Or not marry at all. But I'd prefer to marry, to have that companionship, children. A home. And when your father laid out his condition of sale, I have to admit, the thought of being married to you appealed, regardless of the business deal.”

She felt her eyes widen. He really expected her to buy that? A stranger? He'd gone right past honesty, charm and believability and headed straight for trying to pull the wool over her eyes. He must think she was naive.

She arched an eyebrow. “Tell me how I could appeal when we'd never met?”

His gaze flicked from her lips to her eyes. “This might sound crazy, but whenever your photo is in the paper—usually old photos they recycle when there's a story on your mother or sister—” he paused to clear his throat “—something in your eyes always haunted me.”

She blinked at him. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say. No, beyond last—it was preposterous. “From a photo?”

“Yes,” he said with certainty.

Macy swallowed hard. It was true. She saw it in his every feature. Ryder, a man with the world at his feet, had been fascinated by an old photo of her. Her knees wobbled and she sank back down into the chair. It didn't make sense, yet his gaze was solemn.

She thought back to something else he'd said the day he proposed. “You really did choose to pursue me over my sister when you had the option?”

A deep frown line appeared between his brows. “I told you I did.”

Yet, it'd been the day after she'd met him in person for the first time. “I didn't believe you,” she admitted.

“I mightn't have given the full story at times, but I've never once said something to you that's untrue. I would never lie to you, Macy.”

She felt her mouth curve in a cynical smile. “Although, in the time we've known each other, there have been quite a few instances when you haven't given me the full story. Buying my apartment block. Wanting to buy my father's company. I just wonder what other ‘full stories' there are yet to come out.”

His eyes seemed to pierce hers, but then Bernice knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Your next appointment is here,” she said to Ryder.

He nodded. “I'll be right out.”

Macy rose. “I'll leave you to your appointment.”

As she turned to leave, he grasped her hand and his warmth flowed from his hand to hers, heating her body. “I meant what I said. About you changing your mind.” His gaze came to rest on her lips. “Say the word, Macy.”

Her skin prickled with unwanted heat. He was so close. His mouth was so close. She shut her eyes for a long moment against his power. Then she took a deliberate step back and he released her hand.

At the door she turned. “I appreciate the option. But we both know it will never happen.”

Then she walked on unsteady legs back to her own office to focus on something besides her boss and the trip they were taking alone in only a few days.

M
acy swallowed away the tightness in her throat, clenched her fingers around her briefcase strap and stepped onto the chartered jet. Her fear of flying meant each plane trip was a leap of faith, but she would never give in and let anxiety rule her life. She was stronger than her fear.

Seeing Ryder up ahead, already settled into his spacious seat, she made her legs move and ignored the turmoil in her belly.

“Good morning, Macy,” his deep voice rumbled.

“Good morning,” she said through stiff lips.

His eyes changed, suddenly alert and focused. Had he guessed? The last person she wanted to know about her phobia was her boss. Between him being her employer, and her body's uncontrollable reaction to his, she already felt too vulnerable around him. Handing him knowledge of her weakness would be a step too far.

She stopped at a seat away from his and put her bag down to take off her coat. But Ryder indicated the seat beside him.

“Sit with me. You can brief me on what we'll see in Sydney.”

Macy hesitated but covered her pause by folding her bulky jacket. If she sat beside him, she might be able to conceal her fear of flying for most of the trip, but the landing would be harder to bluff. She hated landings.

“I've already briefed you on the trip and I can't explain much more until we arrive in the shop space. Surely you'd like the time to catch up on reports from your other holdings?” She'd seen Bernice pack a pile of them in his briefcase.

Ryder stretched out in his seat, his long legs crossing at the ankles. “Why would I want to read reports about companies Bramson Holdings owns, when I can speak face-to-face about this one?”

Macy held back a sigh as she collected her bag and coat and moved across to the recliner seat beside him. She'd be fine. She'd covered her anxiety from the world for years, and no one had ever guessed. Why would Ryder be any different?

She settled in, buckling her seat belt firmly, then glanced across at her boss.

He watched her with his heavy-lidded gaze. “Tell me about your time in Melbourne.”

His voice, so deep and resonant, seemed to travel through her body. She'd been trying not to let it affect her in the past week—an unrealistic goal at the best of times—but now he was so near, it felt as if his voice was caressing her skin, filling her senses, stirring her blood.

In an attempt to stem the tide, she blinked slowly. “There's nothing to tell.”

He turned in his seat, squaring his shoulders to her, a teasing glint in his eye. “I can't believe there's nothing. You must have something you can tell me.”

His body was close, so close, making her think of the night they kissed, and it made her a little light-headed. She could almost feel his hard chest under her palms again, his warm breath on her cheek.

She swallowed. “There is nothing about my life you would find interesting.”

“I beg to differ.” He folded his arms, waiting.

Her pulse picked up speed. How would he react if she leaned over and kissed him now? He hadn't tried to kiss her since the night in her building, but he'd made the offer in his office that he'd be ready and waiting if she changed her mind. And every so often she'd caught him looking at her. Perhaps he might return the kiss and she could sink into the heaven she'd found in his embrace….

He still sat with his arms crossed over his broad chest, waiting, but something in his expression changed. Deepened. As if he was reading her mind. Slowly, his arms unraveled and he reached across to smooth a wisp of hair that had escaped her French twist.

The breath stalled in her lungs. Her body heated. The feel of his hand finally making contact with her skin again—one simple touch—aroused her more than any other man could achieve with a concerted effort.

For one uninhibited, perfect moment, she leaned into his palm as it lingered on her cheek. She watched his pupils dilate and his chest expand with his indrawn breath.

Then she shored up all the willpower in her possession and moved away from his hand. Ryder Bramson was
dangerously attractive. She wasn't the only one to notice—the tabloids loved to run pictures of him. What she felt wasn't anything more than what any woman would feel sitting beside him. And her father was counting on that to help him gain a son-in-law and sell his company.

Ryder must know his own appeal to women, too. And his plan mirrored her father's—he wanted her to marry him so he could buy Ashley International. He wouldn't be above using his appeal when the stakes were high.

Such a simple trap.

One she couldn't afford to fall into.

Heart still racing, Macy looked down at her lap, and smoothed her hands over her taupe linen trousers, ironing out the wrinkles from sitting. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ryder's hand drop and she fought with herself not to reach for it, to reach for
him
.

Without saying a word, he leaned back into his seat, looking out the window, just as the seat belt light went on and the copilot ducked his head out the door.

“We're ready for takeoff, Mr. Bramson.”

“Thank you, Brent,” Ryder replied.

Macy needed to get them back onto a professional footing. Needed to be able to talk to her boss without her imagination pulling her in futile directions.

She cleared her throat and grabbed the first topic that came to mind. “The retail space we'll be seeing has only recently come onto the market.”

Ryder searched her face, his gaze resting on her mouth for a moment, then nodded. “Tell me why you think it's better for our needs than the others on your list.”

Macy relaxed. She was back on solid ground—business. She could do this. Work side by side with a boss she was attracted to.

If she could just survive the plane trip without losing her head, she'd make it.

 

Ryder checked his watch. They'd be landing soon.

He'd had a fruitful discussion with Macy about potential policies and directions that Chocolate Diva Australia could take, but there had been something different about her. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but it was almost like she was on edge.

Had it just been from when he'd given into sweet temptation and smoothed her hair from her face, or was it more?

As they prepared to land, the seat belt sign lit up and Ryder buckled himself in. Macy had no need to—she'd been buckled in the whole journey—but she reached for the armrests. Her grip was a little tighter than necessary. Looking across at her, he saw the slightest tension in her jaw, the empty look in her eyes as she stared straight ahead. As if she was anxious but trying to cover it from him.

“Not fond of landings?” he asked.

She shrugged casually, belying the rigidity of her body. “They're not my favorite part of the flight.”

She didn't elaborate, and knowing Macy she'd never admit a weakness. But her body language drew him in. “Had a bad experience with a landing?”

Her eyes flicked to his then back to the front. They were starting to slowly descend now and her knuckles whitened on the armrests. “No.”

He placed his hand over hers and stroked the back with his fingers. Then something clicked in his brain. Her mother had been relatively famous, with her acting career just taking off, when she'd been killed in a plane crash.
He kicked himself for not thinking ahead and connecting the dots. For not realizing this could be hard for her.

The world had seen the images of the crumpled plane, had been flooded with photos of her mother on a movie set one week before her death, and had moved on. But this was Macy's private pain—completely removed from the public circus. He was almost reluctant to pry into something so personal. But another glance at her clenched hands and he knew he couldn't leave her as she was.

“Your mother?” he asked softly.

She nodded once, still staring ahead, her body radiating tension now—as if his insight had given her permission to feel the fear more fully.

He peeled her fingers from the armrest and gripped her hand tightly in his, his heart ripping open for the little girl whose mother hadn't come home. For the woman here and now. He wanted to shield her, gather her against him and tell her she'd be all right.

But he couldn't let her see that—his pity would only make her feel more vulnerable, a fate worse than death to Macy.

He cast around for a way to take her mind off the situation. Something…distracting. She desperately needed a life raft. No question, she'd hate grabbing onto it, but she needed one nonetheless. And he was the only one here.

He looked at the scenery out the window, and found an idea. “Have I told you about my ideal Australian holiday?”

Her eyes darted to his, confused, then back to the front of the plane.

“Obviously I've failed to mention it. Perhaps I'll get time for it after we've finished with the business from your project.” He settled into his seat, bringing her
hand—still wrapped in his—to lie on his thigh. He liked it there. “You might like to come with me. It starts with a field of grass surrounded by mountains.”

Her eyes turned to him, lingered a moment this time, a corner of her mouth twitching before she returned her scrutiny ahead.

“We'll be there alone with a picnic basket. No one for hundreds of miles. The grass is peppered with bluebells and the sun is warm.” He tried to assess her reaction. How thick should he lay it on? “Surrounding the field is a rainforest and—”

Without turning, she interrupted, a reluctant smile on her face. “What planet has rainforest and a field of grass with bluebells growing beside each other?”

Okay. Perhaps he'd gone too far. But at least she was smiling. “I said it was an
ideal
holiday, Macy. Work with me.”

The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay, keep going.”

“As I said, we'll be alone and we'll run through the field toward the clear lake. When we reach it we strip off to our bathing suits and dive in.”

“Do we check for crocodiles? Because if we're in the north of Australia where a lot of the rainforest is, I think we should check for crocodiles first.” She faced him as she asked and the tension around her face had softened.

His chest swelled. It was working. He nudged a little closer and whispered, “There are no crocodiles in my lake. It's safe and the water's always warm.”

“Good.” Her hand released its death-grip on his to a more companionable clasp.

“We swim lazily until we've had enough.” This near, he could smell the scent of her skin, wanted to lean across
that last space separating them and kiss her neck. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath. “Then we drag ourselves from the water and lie on towels on the grass, letting the sun dry our skin.”

The plane slowed for the final approach, engines straining and Macy jerked back into the tense position of earlier, her hand almost cutting off the blood supply in his.

“The setting looks good, but you look better in your bathing suit. It's red.”

Ryder could see the battle in her body, between the fear and interest in his story. He decided to give his side an advantage over the enemy. Leaning that last inch, he whispered in her ear, “You roll over and run a hand down my bare back and I invite you onto my towel.”

He felt it, he was winning—there was a change in the energy her body emitted.

“Do I go?” she breathed.

“You do. And you lie so close I can't think straight. All my mind registers is the feel of your body.”

The plane's wheels hit the tarmac and the plane wobbled as it found its balance. Macy didn't jerk away, instead seeming to lean into him.

“I wrap my arms around you, wanting you so badly—”

Macy turned to claim his mouth as the plane raced along the tarmac, her tongue plunging in to meet his and he matched her move for move. He clasped her face with both hands, having turned himself on as much as her with his story.

He pulled at the pins in her hair and let it tumble gloriously down around his hands. The silken feel raised his blood pressure another notch.

He tasted her lips, her mouth, not able to get enough.
Both of them were jostled as the plane pulled up but he barely felt it. Barely noticed a thing other than Macy until the lights came back on and the door to the cockpit opened.

“Macy,” he said against her lips. “We need to leave.”

The fog of lust in her eyes gradually cleared and then she bit down on her swollen bottom lip.

“Thank you.” She said it quietly, but the heartfelt meaning in the two words couldn't have been clearer.

“You're welcome.” He stood and they both collected their carry-on luggage. He grabbed her hand and squeezed before they filed out of the plane and across the tarmac to their waiting limousine.

He knew she'd probably erect more barriers between them now he'd seen her vulnerable. But he'd be damned if he'd regret that kiss. It'd been incredible.

And he couldn't stop thinking about how to make it happen again.

 

The driver Macy had engaged for their trip dropped them in front of the shopping plaza downtown, then took their bags to the hotel. A dark car sent by the security firm Ryder hired in Melbourne had met them at the airport and now pulled over to let two men out. They stood on the pavement, a few feet away. Macy's shoulders tensed involuntarily, but she forced them to relax—far better to have the security there than not.

She edged closer to Ryder, amongst the people jostling and rushing, and pointed to the empty shop in front of them. “This is the one we've come to see.”

Ryder lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and stepped forward. “Main street, ground floor, corner with double frontage. Looks ideal.”

The front was all glass, which would give great views
of the chocolate products, though it had been covered in newspaper from the inside so they couldn't see in.