Not the Marrying Kind(12)
Because that’s what she was, fire and ice wrapped in a delicious, petite package. He hadn’t banked on the uncharacteristic, almost visceral reaction and it unnerved him.
He’d expected sour and acrimonious, not sizzling and defiant. And her damned voice: rich, teasing, tempting. Brought to mind visions of smoky nightclubs, smooth bourbon, and sultry nights made for sex.
That’s what annoyed him the most. He never mixed business with pleasure, and the fact she made him think of sex had him re-evaluating the wisdom of meeting with her. He should’ve thrown cash at her online and let her do her worst.
The snark didn’t help, either. He liked feisty, a woman to challenge him. He’d never found one yet. Once they discovered who he was, women tended to accede to his judgment or attempt to sway him with vamp factor. Both plays grew tiresome after a while.
Poppy was neither. She’d confronted him about his email demand and issued a subtle warning she wouldn’t put up with it again. He admired her bluntness. It bode well for getting this party happening ASAP.
She was definitely the diva behind the website—it didn’t take long for her natural impudence to surface in person. And it was a better aphrodisiac than any near-naked showgirl. Or naked one, for that matter.
The instant she’d started matching wits with him, he’d been turned on. Go figure.
He preferred his business dealings to be hard-on free and the fact she’d crept under his guard rankled. He didn’t have time for distractions.
“Problem?” She pinned him with a narrow-eyed glare.
“No.” Discounting the one where he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d bet his last dollar that crimson silk shirt with a hint of cleavage was the real her, bold and flamboyant, and she’d been unable to resist hiding her true self behind a business suit designed to impress.
He was impressed, all right, but it had more to do with the whole package than her suit. Not strictly beautiful, but she had an inherent fire that made her caramel eyes glow with that indefinable something that turned guys’ heads.
Heart-shaped face, pert nose, slightly wider than average mouth—he wouldn’t go there—shoulder-length layered just-out-of-bed brown hair equaled a striking combination, and that was on top of her enticing curves.
So he was attracted to her. Big deal. Didn’t mean he’d act on it.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
And just like that, his hard-on deflated.
“Before or after she overdosed on coke?”
Stricken, she paled and he silently cursed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not.” He’d given up mourning his parents—or lack of—a long time ago. Wasted energy. His folks had never given a damn about him, had indulged in the selfish lifestyle of druggies who didn’t care about anything except their next hit, neglecting their kid in the process.
He’d attended their funerals out of obligation and respect for Pa, who’d been as stoic as him. The Blackwoods were confirmed realists, what was left of the family. Beck respected straight shooting, and Pa was one of the best at it. To this day, Beck believed he’d got into so many fistfights as a kid just so he could listen to Pa dole out his dry commentary on life as he patched him up.
It’d been too long since he’d visited Pa. He’d rectify that once this deal went through.
He glanced out the window as the limo eased along the Strip, the twinkling lights and streaming crowds a comfort. He preferred desert silence over big-city bedlam, but every time he cruised through this town, he knew he’d made it.
Size mattered in Vegas, and he’d gone all out when he’d made his first millions, gambling on property investments rather than slots, ensuring every single person who’d ever doubted him sat up and took notice. Blackwood Enterprises was renowned for its luxury constructions, and he intended for everyone in America to know it.
He gestured out the window. “Been to Vegas before?”
“Twice.” She wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s okay if you like flashy.”
“Don’t be fooled by the glitz. If you look beneath the surface, there’s more on offer.”
She eyeballed him and he didn’t know what made him more edgy—her ability to undermine him with a glance or the strange feeling she could see down to his soul. “We’re talking about the city, right?”
Damn, she was good.
“Of course. Making idle chitchat.”
“I have a feeling you never say anything without an end game in sight.”
There she went again, pinning him down with an intuition that left him squirming.