The Magnate's Manifesto(26)
He allowed himself to enjoy the view while she toweled off. He’d had his fair share of women in his life. Some would say gone through them much more carelessly than a man should. But he’d never seen a woman look so utterly…goddess-like in a bathing suit.
The spotlights on the beach rendered those never-ending legs of hers a work of art. The product of gently rolling hips, they were slim enough to look delicate, curved enough to be irresistible. His hungry gaze moved upward, over her slim waist and more than ample chest, the perfection of which made his mouth go dry. She might not be a D cup, but she was exquisite.
She reached up and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, squeezing the water from it. It threw her delicate, unforgettable beauty into perfect spotlight. She looked untouchable…haunted.
It reminded him why he was here. He started toward her. She bent over to dry her calves. Her mouthwatering backside was not something to be missed. The round, dark mark on the curve of her buttock wasn’t either. He froze. It was unmistakably a mole. A mole Alexander Gagnon knew intimately enough to call out.
He was across the sand and in her face so fast it made his own head spin. Bailey looked up, her pale face catching the moonlight. Her hands slapped the towel around her hips but he was faster, spinning her around and pointing at the mark.
“You lied to me,” he snarled. “You don’t know him but he knows about intimate marks on your body? What exactly is going on?”
She tried to twist out of his hold, but he was stronger, his fingers digging into her upper arms. Her eyes flashed dark, almost gray in the moonlight, contrasting with her chalk-white cheeks. “Get your hands off me, Jared. Or are you no better than him?’
He let her go then, fury singeing his nerve endings. “We are negotiating a deal worth tens of millions of dollars a year, Bailey. I want the truth and I want it now.”
She took a step back. Wrapped her arms around herself. “I told you the truth. I don’t know him. I met him once when I lived in Vegas. He came on to me, I turned him down. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” He slapped his palms against his temples, biting out a curse. Seconds passed, three, maybe four. Then he pinned his gaze on her face. “How did he know about the mole if you turned him down?”
She went even paler. “There’s nothing further you need to know that has anything to do with this deal.” Her chin came up. “That’s all I’m answering and this conversation is done.”
His blood fired. Raced in his veins. And he realized his fury had nothing to do with the deal. He wanted to know why that snake had an intimate knowledge of Bailey’s behind. “I don’t think so.” He took a step closer, and this time she didn’t back up. She stood her ground, eyes flashing. “You turn every man in Silicon Valley down. You act like you are untouchable…and yet that arrogant jerk, known for his womanizing, has had his hands on you… I don’t get it.”
She stepped up to him, her heat fusing with his until they were in danger of a spontaneous combustion. “What’s the matter, Jared? You can’t stand that it wasn’t you? That Mr. Manifesto has met his match?”
He raked his gaze over her. “You know what, Bailey? You’re right. I can’t. Because if it had been me, you wouldn’t have walked away.”
She opened those luscious lips of hers to say something not very nice. He kissed her before she made it there. And by God, she was the sweetest female he’d ever tasted. Hot, honeyed perfection he savored for about two seconds before she raised her hand to slap him. He caught it in his and slid his other behind her nape, tangling it in her wet hair. Changed the kiss into a persuasive, seductive assault on her senses. The kind that always, without fail, worked.
Bailey wanted to fight but somewhere along the way, somewhere along the edges of the soul-destroying assault Jared was laying on her, she found escape. Needed it.
When he cupped the back of her head and angled her to take the kiss deeper, she let him. Moaned her approval when he brought his tongue into play and stroked her deeply. He smelled insanely good and he tasted better. Of cognac and expensive cigars. And she wanted more of him. A lot more.
He muttered something under his breath. Slid his hard thigh between her wet, shaking ones and brought her closer. So close his heart pounded beneath her palm. His hand at her back dragged her against his chest, urged her softness against his hardness. Her cool, air-tightened nipples brushed against him through the fine material of his shirt, and the heat that flooded her core came hot and hard. Like nothing she’d ever felt before.
He cursed again and dragged his mouth down the column of her throat, pressing openmouthed kisses against her damp skin. “Bailey,” he breathed. “Who is he to you?”