Torn:Billionaire Bachelors Club #2(5)

Now I guess it's my turn.

"He's just trying to impress me with his money," I joke, making her  smile. "Probably hoping I'll fall to my knees and praise him for his  lavish gifts."

"Now that sounds like an interesting scenario," a man's voice said from behind her.

Gasping at the sound of the faintly familiar, velvety deep voice, I  glance up to find Gage Emerson himself standing in the middle of the  bakery, looking disgustingly gorgeous, clad in another one of those  perfect suits he owns. The man dresses to perfection. And why didn't I  hear the bell ring over the door? "Oh my God," I whisper, absolutely  mortified. His suggestive tone said he found my words . . . titillating.  Great.         

     



 

And while we're standing in the presence of my very overprotective and slightly angry aunt.

"I take it this is the rat?" she asks, making me groan inwardly.

"At your service, ma'am." Gage goes to her, his hand outstretched. Gina  eyes it warily, as if it was a snake that might strike her at any  moment. "Gage Emerson, aka The Rat."

She laughs and takes his hand, charmed. Just like that. It might not  last, knowing my aunt, but come on . . . everyone seems to fall for him.

Why does her positive reaction rub me the wrong way? Why does Gage rub me the wrong way?

If I'm being honest with myself, I could get on board with him rubbing  me the right way. And I don't normally fall for smug assholes. I'm  attracted to confident men, but there's something about Gage I don't  like. His arrogance is over the top. He seems like he'd be bad for me.  And I've never had a bad-boy fetish.

Not that he's a bad boy, per se. But he's definitely trouble. Trouble I don't want.

Yeah, you do.

I'm arguing with my own self inside my head. Clearly, I've lost my mind. I don't get it. I don't get my reaction to him.

Correction. I don't want to react to him, and I can't seem to help myself.





Chapter Three




Gage

THE TWO WOMEN eye me carefully, the older woman-who I assume is Marina's aunt-relaxing somewhat.

At least someone has a sense of humor around here. You could cut the  tension in this cute little European-style bakery with a cake knife.

"How are you, Marina?" I walk toward the counter, noting how she grips  the edge so tight she's white-knuckling it. Do I make her that angry? Or  maybe . . . that nervous?

I know she makes me nervous. She's all I think about, which can't be healthy.

For once, I really don't give a damn.

"Good." She lifts her chin, her expression neutral. Only her eyes give  her away, a hint of nervousness fluttering in their depths. This woman  standing before me is completely different from the one I first met a  few nights ago. This version looks younger, sweeter. More like the woman  in the photo on the Autumn Harvest website. Not quite as poised as the  elegant siren luring me in with her dangerous smile and sweet voice.  "I'm surprised to see you here."

"My conscience wouldn't let me stay away. I had to seek you out and  apologize for how I offended you." I gesture toward the flowers that  cost me a shit-ton of money. Cost doesn't matter though, since I believe  she's worth it. Getting me an in with her father, her entire family?

Even more worth it. Plus, I can eventually write off the expense.

Christ, you're a jackass.

I can't even admit to myself that I really wanted to buy her those  flowers. That the bright, colorful arrangement made me think of her.  Hiding behind it in the hopes of getting an in with her father is only  part of the reason I'm here.

Marina Knight. She's the true reason I'm standing here worried I'm going to make a complete ass of myself.

"How did you find me?" she asks warily.

Now she probably thinks I'm a stalker. I can't give away my source. Yet.  Archer's the guy I want to hook her with eventually. If I can't charm  her, I need to find another way to make her see me again. "I figured out  who you were and put it all together."

"Hmmm." That's her reply. She sounds like she doesn't believe me.

Great. I wouldn't believe me either.

"Do you like the flowers?" I ask when she still doesn't say anything else.

"They're beautiful," she admits grudgingly, making me smile. She doesn't  return it, screws her lush mouth into a little scowl instead. "Thank  you," she mumbles.

"So." I offer her my best, most humble smile in return. "Am I forgiven?"

"You think it's that easy, Rat Boy? That you can just waltz in here and  have yourself declared forgiven all because you threw your credit card  at the most expensive flower shop on this street and bought the biggest  arrangement they've got?" Her aunt snorts and shakes her head. "I don't  think so, young man."

Raising my brows, my gaze meets Marina's. Guess the aunt has no problem  letting her opinion be known. "It was an honest mistake," I say. "And  well, you sort of jumped to conclusions, you have to admit."

Marina's expression hardens in an instant. Jesus, what is with me  constantly saying the wrong thing to this woman? I'm usually a  smooth-talking motherfucker-direct quote from Archer-and if anyone is an  expert at that subject, it's him. I put women at ease, I make them  laugh, and if I'm lucky-on certain, especially rare occasions, at least  lately-I get them to agree to come home with me.         

     



 

"You're two seconds from getting kicked out of here," she whispers fiercely, her eyes shooting fire. Aimed right at me.

"Sorry! Shit." I throw my hands up in front of me defensively, her  aunt's mutterings of "stupid Rat Boy" coming from somewhere behind not  going unnoticed. "I just . . . I'm sorry."

Marina crosses her arms in front of her chest, the movement plumping up  her breasts, drawing my attention. I can't help it, I'm a guy and she  has nice ones. She's wearing a black T-shirt with AUTUMN HARVEST written  across the front in elegant gold script, her long blonde hair pulled  into a high ponytail, minimal if any makeup. She looks tired. There are  dark smudges under her eyes and her mouth is tight. "Go on," she  prompts.

Hell. I have to say more? Breaking out in a light sweat, I forge on. "I  was rude. And I didn't mean to offend you. I had no idea who you were-"

The aunt makes a harrumph noise, but I ignore her.

"-and my friend had to point out who exactly you were a few days later."  Stuffing my hands in my front pockets, I shuffle my feet, feeling all  of about ten years old and having to confess everything I'd done wrong  to my dad. Waiting for the inevitable punishment that was sure to come.

"Who's your friend?" she asks, her voice curious.

What? No ‘you're forgiven,' or ‘thanks for the apology'? I'm boggled.  And I may as well reveal my secret source. I have the distinct feeling  she's ready to tell me to get the hell out.

"Uh . . . Archer Bancroft."

Her arms drop to her sides, curiosity written all over her pretty face.  "I know Archer. Vaguely. He owns the Hush and Crave hotels, right?"

Slowly I nod, wondering at the sudden gleam in her eyes.

"So how do you know him?" she asks.

"Where you going with this, girly?" her aunt pipes up.

"Gina. Don't you have a cake to check on?" Marina asks pointedly.

"Crap! I do. Oh my God, I hope it's not burning. I'll be back." Aunt  Gina gives me the evil eye as she passes by and pushes through the door I  can only assume leads to the kitchen, disappearing in an instant.

"Sorry about that," Marina says, taking a deep breath and exhaling  loudly. "So do you mind telling me? How you know Archer Bancroft?"

Hmm. Someone wants something. I can see it in the way she's looking at  me. Like her question shouldn't matter but it definitely does. I wonder  what she wants from Archer? "We go way back," I drawl. This could be  fun, making her work for it.

"Really? So are you two close?"

Best friends since high school, but like I'm going to give her that info. Yet. "Close enough," I say, purposefully vague.

"Hmm. You know, I had this idea I wanted to propose to him, and I keep  forgetting to give him a call, I've been so busy. Maybe you can help me  with that," she says hopefully, her eyes wide, her expression open.

Is she serious? I can't tell. But I haven't even earned her full forgiveness yet. "I can help you with whatever you want."

Her gaze narrows. "You say things like that, and it sounds sexual."

Guess this attraction between us isn't all one-sided. Good news. Just  looking at her and I want to touch her. Run my fingers through her hair.  Drop a soft kiss to her very kissable mouth. She might punch me if I  try though. Can't push her too hard. "I guess I can't help but think of  sex when I'm near you."

Her mouth drops open. "Are you serious?"

Shit. Yep, there I went, pushing too hard like I can't help myself. I  need to change the subject quick. Most women who flirt with me have no  problem talking about sex. This one acts like I just asked her to commit  a crime. "So, what sort of idea were you thinking?"