Not the Marrying Kind(20)
No effing way. He was blackmailing her into marriage?
Red spots of rage danced before her eyes and she almost swayed, wishing she could punch him.
How many times had she seen guys like him coerce their way in and out of situations? Her dad had been a classic example, buying his way into the local country club, paying off a patient who threatened to go to the media when she wasn’t happy with his work, throwing lavish gifts at her to assuage his guilt at being a lousy dad.
His friends had been the same, too, assuming money gave them the right to control anything and anyone. It made her sick, and now she could add Beck Blackwood to the Rich Pricks Society.
Poppy dragged in several deep breaths, wisely waiting until the red spots faded before speaking. “I take it planning the party’s off the table if I refuse?”
“Smart girl.” He took a step closer and she forced her feet not to instinctively back away. “So what’s it going to be?”
“Honestly? I’m over the blackmail routine you have down-pat.” She tilted her head up to eyeball him. “So you can take your dumbass proposal and—”
He kissed her, effectively shutting her up. A novel silencing technique, one she had no intention of submitting to. But as her brain sent a snappy message to her knee—aim for the groin—a strange thing happened.
“Please,” he murmured against her mouth. “This deal is everything to me.”
She heard a hint of vulnerability beneath his surprisingly honest declaration and it resonated like nothing else. She knew the kind of desperation that made people do crazy things, was doing it for Sara in turning up here in the first place.
“I can’t—”
He coaxed her lips apart, confident and demanding and oh so delicious. There was no sweet seduction, no hesitation, as he plied her with a skill that left her breathless and reluctantly clinging to him.
She’d never been the helpless female type, taking as good as she got, but there was something about Beck’s take-charge attitude that made her weak-kneed and a little off-kilter.
His arms slid around her waist and pulled her flush against his erection at the same time his tongue invaded her mouth, sending a jolt of pure lust shooting to her core.
She shouldn’t want him, shouldn’t want this…whatever this was.
He plundered her mouth, long, hot, moist kisses that had her boneless and mindless with desire, until all she could do was sag against him, soft and pliant and wanting. So much wanting.
An eternity later his lips eased away, lingering long enough to place a surprisingly sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth.
“One last time.” He traced her bottom lip with a fingertip, the residual tingle from his kiss intensifying, as he stared at her with the determination of a guy used to getting his own way. “Marry me?”
She wanted to say no.
She wanted to tell him where he could stick his proposal.
But he’d left her no choice. Sara had been the only parent she’d ever known, and now it was Poppy’s turn to do the protecting. She owed Sara and she’d do whatever it took, including giving in to this incredibly infuriating guy.
Hating how he’d bullied her into this, hating herself for succumbing to that scintillating kiss more, she nodded, a reluctant “Yeah” tumbling from her lips a second before he claimed them again.
“You’re not wearing heels.” Ashlee stared at Poppy’s feet, her eyes wide. “Did you botch the Blackwood pitch?” She placed a hand on Poppy’s forehead. “Fever? Not feeling well?”
With a resigned sigh, Poppy flopped onto the ergonomic chair and propped her ballet-flat clad feet on the desk. “Leave me alone, I’m exhausted.”
“Ah…it’s like that.”
“Like what?”
“Would The Hottie have anything to do with your exhaustion?” Ashlee rubbed her hands together. “Spill.”
Poppy winced behind her sunglasses. Yeah, Beck Blackwood had everything to do with her bone-deep tiredness.
She hadn’t slept all night. It had little to do with the exceptional espresso she’d drunk on the jet before touching down just after midnight, and everything to do with what he’d done.
Blackmailed her into marriage.
And used his damned kissing skill to seduce her into saying yes.
Okay, so she hadn’t put up much of a fight once her hormones overrode her anger but jeez, did he have to be so goddamned sexy? As a fury-diffuser and distracting technique, his kisses had done the trick, and once they’d broken the lip-lock and come up for air, they’d sat down and worked out the logistics—what the prenup entailed, a generous settlement of the half-a-million figure she’d thrown at him expecting refusal, and the terms of their business arrangement.