Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss(34)

Something shifted inside her. She had dangled that possibility in front  of him that night in bed, hoping he would see he had alternatives. But  he had shut her down so completely she had given up hope. "And Markovic?  What did you do with him?"

His jaw hardened. "I put him on notice that if his behavior ever gets  beyond my tolerance, I will take him apart. Meanwhile, I left him enough  lifelines to stay alive."

"Why?" She could hardly get the word past the lump in her throat.

"Because one tragedy does not equal another. Of all the crimes Anton  Markovic has perpetrated on my family, killing my father was not one of  them. My father was teetering on the edge. I needed someone to blame  instead of facing my own rage. My sadness."

She saw for the first time the vulnerable edge to his decisive, steely  exterior. It was there just behind the blazing confidence in his eyes,  that soft amber light she'd discovered in the office that day. She  swallowed hard as she digested it all. The things he'd done had proved  beyond words that he did want to move beyond the darkness. That he meant  what he was saying.

But she had no idea where to start. He did. He put the roses on the bar, took her hand and dragged her from the room.

"Harrison..."

"Where?" he growled. "I've had enough of an audience today."

"The staff room," she offered weakly, pointing at a door past the  kitchen. He opened the door, but there was someone in there. Cursing, he  found the next available door and yanked it open. It was a supply  closet. He pulled her in and closed the door behind them. She was too  full of emotion to do anything but stand there, back against the wall in  the tiny space as he curled a hand around her nape and brought her to  him. The glitter in his eyes made her insides contract. "I love you,  Francesca Masseria. Your goodness, your passion, everything about you.  You have healed a broken part of me I thought forever lost."

Her heart leaped into her mouth and stayed there. She couldn't get a word past her lips. Not one.

"The next year is going to be crazy," he continued, "and I know it's a  lot to ask of you, but I want you by my side during this. Actually," he  amended, "that's not true. I want you by my side always."

Her breath escaped in a long, harsh expenditure of air. "Harrison-"

He let go of her, reached inside his jacket and came out with a box. Her brain went haywire. "You aren't going to-"

"Propose in a supply closet?" He dropped to his knee. "I tried to go somewhere private."

"Yes, but-"

He flipped the box open. A sparkling sapphire winked back at her,  surrounded by the most perfect row of white fire. She stared at it.  Stared at the powerful, ruthless man at her feet who'd just declared his  intentions to run this country.

"Marry me," he murmured. "Be my anchor in this storm because I need you there."

Could she be a Grant? Could she be a politician's wife? He was asking  her to take a leap just like she had asked him that night in Long  Island. And although the idea scared the hell out of her, her heart  wouldn't let her do anything but follow it.

"The answer is yes," she said softly, "if you promise me that when things get dark, you won't shut me out. You will talk to me."

She thought she saw moisture build at the corner of his eyes. It made  hot tears gather in hers. "I promise," he said, his voice steady and  sure.

She stuck out her hand. Held her breath as he slid the sapphire on her  ring finger. Because it had to fit. They fit perfectly. She was strong  where he was weak and he was all-powerful in the spaces between.

It fit.

He rose to his feet. She threw herself into his arms, every bit of  pent-up emotion bursting out of her as he anchored her against him and  kissed her. Sure and never-ending it was heaven.

His palms moved lower on her hips, settled her more intimately against  him. Frankie drew in a breath at the white-hot heat that consumed her at  his blatant arousal. "We are not doing this here."

"No," he murmured against her lips, "I value my life. But I need five more minutes."

When way more than five minutes had passed, they emerged from the  closet, clothes intact, a bloom in Frankie's cheeks that made  Salvatore's face darken when they walked back into the dining room. She  held up her left hand and the glare faded. "You are a lucky man, Grant.  By the skin of your teeth."         

     



 

Her brother's face relaxed into a beaming smile as he stepped forward  and shook Harrison's hand. The bubbly came out and the night devolved  into a restaurant-wide celebration, on the house.

Her father and Harrison spent the night talking politics while her  mother plied her about dress choices between customers. But Frankie  wasn't ready to think about any of that. She wanted to savor every  minute of the weight of Harrison's ring on her finger.

She heard her father say something about hosting a rally here at the  restaurant for Harrison's campaign. "We've created a monster," she said  rolling her eyes.

Salvatore gave their father an amused look. "He should have run a long time ago. Let him live vicariously through your fiancé."

Fiancé. The glow lasted all the way home to Harrison's penthouse. In the  elevator where they almost lost control completely, then in the bedroom  where her fiancé disposed of her clothes so fast her head spun. She lay  back on the bed, watching him as he prowled toward her. "Maybe you  should come work for me on my campaign. I can live out my fantasy.  Daily..."

She dug her fingers in his hair as he pressed a kiss to her throat. "I  have never dropped a drink in my life until tonight. I'm done working  for you, Harrison. You have me entirely on edge."

His gaze glittered. "Actually," he murmured, "I completely agree. The only place I want you off balance is here. Under me."

She could offer her full cooperation on that. Her insides contracted  with the need to have him after a week full of misery. But it was his  clear, unclouded gaze that touched her the deepest. In that moment, she  knew she could do it. She could be a Grant, and maybe, if the stars  aligned, she could be a president's wife. Because she was the woman  who'd conquered the heart of the beast. The woman who'd helped heal him.

She smiled and closed her eyes as he dragged her down into the tempest  with him. They'd said it was impossible. What did they know?

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from SEDUCED INTO THE GREEK'S WORLD by Dani Collins.





CHAPTER ONE

HER LAUGH WAS so pure and spontaneous it caused Demitri Makricosta to  look away from the Italian beauty flirting with him and seek out the  source of the sound. As a connoisseur of fake laughter, often given to  offering imitations himself, he found the naturalness of the woman's  chuckle utterly engaging. It was feminine without being girlish or  giggly, warm and sexy without being a put-on.

For a moment he didn't take in anything else but her. Short blond hair  swung and fell as she tipped the precision cut backward. Her skin held a  pale, translucent quality that made him think her cheek would feel cool  but downy soft against his lips. He wondered how her skin smelled. Like  summer fruit, maybe. Her profile was feminine and cute, right up to the  tilt of her nose, while the rest of her was a study in mouthwatering  curves.

Encased in a Makricosta uniform.

Damn, damn and damn.

The disappointment that flooded through him was surprisingly acute.

He took a more thorough tour of her uniform, wishing he didn't recognize  it. It wasn't the pencil skirt and wispy red jacket over a bowed white  top that the French staff wore here in Paris, which gave him a beat of  hope. But if she'd been corporate, she'd have only a scarf or tie in  company colors as part of her business ensemble.

Unfortunately, those long pants and the warm blazer belonged to one of  the Canadian outfits. The Makricosta Elite in Montreal, if he wasn't  mistaken-and he shouldn't have any doubt because he had final say on  every marketing decision in the family hotel chain right down to the  front-line image of the staff.^^

He didn't want to recognize it. That was the problem. His male interest was seriously piqued by the woman wearing it.

Which wasn't like him. Women were fairly interchangeable for him. He  never wondered, "Who is she? What's her story?" Especially when he  already had a female hand resting on his cuff and a voice murmuring,  "Bello? What is it?"

"I thought I recognized someone," he prevaricated, sending his companion  a placating smile before glancing once more at the laughing woman-his  employee-across the lobby.

She was nodding at someone, tucking her hair coquettishly behind her  ear, saying something about email that he read on her lips as noise from  different sources echoed across the foyer's marble floor and pillars.

Curious what kind of man was keeping that bright look on her face,  Demitri leaned back on the velvet settee, losing the touch of his  prospective afternoon delight as he did.