Beauty and the Bachelor(9)

With a bite of cynicism, he swept his gaze over the sensual swell of her  hips. She probably detested their roundness, as most of the women he  knew craved to own the body of a prepubescent child rather than a grown,  real woman. His uncle, the man who'd raised him after his father's  death, had a saying: "Only dogs want bones. And they bury them." He and  Uncle Duncan had disagreed on many subjects, but this one thing-the  beauty of a woman's curves-wasn't one of them. Staring at Sydney's small  waist, full hips, and firm ass, he didn't see fat.

He saw his fingers digging into her flesh, holding her still for a wild,  raw fucking that would leave them sweaty, sore, and wrecked. He saw a  gorgeous, sexy body that could take the fierceness, the roughness, the  untamed lust he often had to leash with his sex partners. With those  soft thighs wrapped around his hips, she would take every bit of his  cock, every hard thrust.

He'd even let her keep those sexy-as-hell knee-high black boots on.

"Oh." She drew up short as she noticed Aiden. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were busy."

"We're not," he said shortly. "He's leaving."

Aiden scowled at Lucas, muttering under his breath. Lucas caught "dumb"  and "ass" before his friend turned and extended his hand toward Sydney  with a warm smile. "Please forgive him his manners. They left for lunch  some years ago, and unfortunately, we're still looking for them," he  drawled. "I'm Aiden Kent, COO of Bay Bridges and his"-he jerked his head  in Lucas's direction-"best friend. My canonization for sainthood should  be coming through any day now."

She chuckled. "Sydney Blake."

"Don't you have a meeting to attend?" Lucas snapped, not as irritated by  his friend's sarcasm as by the sight of Sydney's smile at Aiden's  humor.

With a dramatic sigh, Aiden released Sydney's hand. "I suppose I do.  Nice meeting you, Ms. Blake." He stalked across the room but not before  pinning Lucas with one last glare as he shut the door behind him.

Sydney faced him, all traces of amusement ebbing from her lovely features until a polite mask remained.

"Mr. Oliver. Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

The husky, sensuous timbre so at odds with the cool reserve was a  temptation in itself. The contradiction taunted him. He wondered which  epitomized the true woman-the sex-and-sin voice or the aloof society  princess aura.

Damn, he wanted-needed-to peel back the layers and uncover the reality for himself.

"Lucas," he smoothly corrected, but with a hint of steel. The previous  night-before he'd blackmailed her on the back of a marriage  proposal-he'd been Lucas to her. She might consider him an adversary  now, but hell if he'd allow her to lodge this particular barrier between  them. Some people said pick your battles …  Screw that. Win every one of  them, and no one will have to worry about who won the war. Because he  would be the only one left standing. "Considering the circumstances,  formality is a little ridiculous."

Other than the slight tightening of her mouth, she didn't display a  reaction. He rounded the desk and approached her, pausing only when mere  inches separated them. The combination of honeysuckle and skin teased  him, urged him to bury his face in the soft crook between her neck and  shoulder and inhale. The sweet scent probably came from something as  mundane as lotion. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if that  tantalizing aroma would be thicker, richer in the hidden places. The  shadowed valley between her breasts. The sensitive, tender skin behind  her knee. Between her thighs. He fisted his fingers. Yeah, it would  definitely be stronger and more intoxicating near the pretty, swollen  folds of her sex.         

     



 

"Why are you here, Sydney?" he murmured, deliberately using her given  name. He shifted closer, invading even more of her space. Curious to see  what she would do. And was surprised when she didn't retreat.  Admiration curled in his chest. Not many people dared to stare down the  Beast of Bay Bridge.

"You know why I'm here," she replied, her attention trained on some  distant point over his shoulder. "To discuss the … arrangement you  proposed last night."

He slid his hands in the front pockets of his slacks. "Look at me when  you speak to me, Sydney," he ordered softly. She obeyed, and the anger  her aloof manner and careful voice hid so well blazed at him from her  hazel stare. "Now. What about it?"

A humorless smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "You're going to make me beg, is that it?"

"Beg?" Slowly, he shook his head. "No, that's not my intention." He  paused, his scrutiny briefly dipping to her mouth. "At least not here."

He caught her low gasp as the implication behind his words sank deep,  and she shifted back a step. Hmm. His physical presence hadn't made her  retreat, but a sexual innuendo did.

Interesting.

Maybe she realized her error in allowing him to witness her discomfort,  because she hurriedly recovered the space she'd placed between them. But  it was a little too late for that. He'd seen the chink in her armor.  And like any good businessman, he intended to take advantage of it.

He smiled.

The small catch in her breath didn't escape his notice. Neither did the  flutter of her pulse in the shallow bowl at the base of her throat.

"You asked me to marry you," she murmured.

"Yes."

"If the offer is still open, I'd like to talk about the terms."

After a long, heavy moment, he nodded and gestured toward one of the two  visitor chairs flanking the front of his desk. Sydney lowered to the  seat with the grace of a queen, her spine ramrod straight, shoulders  back, chin tilted up. The perfect socialite. The perfect lady.

Aiden would've caustically added, "The perfect sacrifice."

Maybe. And a shade of guilt might've tinged the victory bubbling in his  blood. But he smothered it. There were always wounded and collateral  damage in battle-hell, he should know. He'd been a casualty in the  cowardly ambush Jason Blake waged on Lucas's father.

In this war between Jason and Lucas, Sydney was an unfortunate, but necessary, martyr.

After moving to perch on the edge of the desk, he crossed his arms, his  legs spread wide, feet bracketing her chair. Caging her between the seat  and his body.

"I made the terms clear last night," he said, voice flat. "Marry me, and  keep your father out of jail and his business solvent for future Blake  generations." He twisted his mouth into a bitter smile, unable to keep  the derision from his tone. Hell, he didn't try. "Or marry Tyler  Reinhold, and watch your father suffer the ruin of his reputation and  the loss of his company, face federal charges and jail. Those are your  options."

She tried to contain the small flinch but failed. Again that damned  guilt reared its stubborn head, and again he squelched it. He couldn't  afford sympathy or remorse. Not with his revenge so close he could taste  the cold bite of it. Could already feel the fifteen-year-old weight of  the promise to his father lightening from his shoulders.

"Having a heart that's three sizes too small must be really convenient  for business," she said. Surprise darted across her features, as if the  sarcastic words had shocked her as much as him.

He barely managed to swallow his bark of laughter. He'd bet his left nut  she hadn't meant to let the comment fly. Not the poised, flawlessly  polite Sydney Blake. That he'd apparently ruffled her enough for that  damn composure to slip sent a warm slide of pleasure through him.

"You'll turn my head with such flattery," he drawled. "Most people just claim I don't have a heart."

A muscle along her delicate jaw flexed, and he had the impression of her  clenching her teeth and imprisoning a particularly impolite retort.  Probably started with fuck and culminated in you. "How will you keep him  from being charged? If you know about his"-her fingers curled into  fists on her lap, the knuckles paling-"practices, then surely others do  as well. How do I know after I marry you, he won't still end up in  court?"

"As of now, his crimes haven't been discovered by the public or the SEC. I have certain sources within the Blake Corporation-"

"Spies," she snapped.

He shrugged. "-who have kept me informed. No one outside the company knows about the fraud your father has committed. Yet."         

     



 

Greed. Power. Money. Those were Jason Blake's gods. Worshipping at their  altars, he'd shattered Lucas's family, broken his father. Before  Jason's betrayal, Robert Ellison had been a proud, commanding man, his  only blind spot his selfish, spoiled, and unfaithful wife. Robert had  expected backstabbing and perfidy from his business competition-not from  his best friend.

She stared at him with something that resembled pity, a faint half smile  curving her lips. "I hate to disappoint you, but if you think marrying  me will hurt my father, you're sorely mistaken. Will he be angry over  the embarrassment of me publicly abandoning Tyler? Yes. But ultimately,  one wealthy, connected son-in-law will be just as fine as another."