At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? (11 page)

“Yes.”

“Does it involve clothes?”

She grinned. “Definitely not.”

“And it's set in the office?”

“Yes.”

“Then I love it. You can tell me the details as I need to know.” Maybe they wouldn't make it back to her apartment. Maybe they'd use his desk—it'd seemed fairly solid.

He smiled, marveling at his luck to be marrying this woman with her business exterior covering a burning passion underneath. He couldn't wait for the wedding.

He kissed the top of her head and spoke with his lips against her hair. “Have you thought about what sort of wedding you'd like?”

“Not really,” she said. “Remember, I only agreed to this a few hours ago.”

“True, but I want to get moving on it quickly.” He needed that marriage certificate ASAP to buy Ashley International and get the Bramson Holdings stock. “Do you have a preference for Australia or the States?”

She considered a moment. “I have no real ties to either. Will you want your mother at the wedding?”

He imagined his mother's reaction to the news. “She'd never forgive me if we did it without her,” he said dryly. “She'll want to plan it and welcome you into the family properly—probably even want to host it but I'll talk her out of that if you want.”

“I don't mind. I think it's sweet that she loves you that
much.” There was something in her eyes that he couldn't define. Perhaps wistfulness. Perhaps longing.

He thought again of the young girl she'd been when she'd lost her own mother. A knife twisted in his gut, thinking of his Macy struggling through something like that. Especially when she'd been so young. And alone, without her father's support.

He traced a pattern on her arm where his hand rested. “I wish I could have met your mother.”

A deep pain flashed in her eyes, though she masked it quickly. “She would have liked you.”

If she'd been anything like Macy, he'd have liked her, too. But the rest of her family was another matter. A sister who'd probably been the one to leak the story of the sale condition to the press, and a father who'd made the condition of sale in the first place. How that excuse for a family had produced a gem like Macy was beyond him.

But they were still her family, and so he asked, “Will you invite your father and sister to the wedding?”

She didn't say anything for a long time, then said softly, “Yes. But not many people. I don't want anything grand.”

“Or involving the media.”

“Definitely not.” She shuddered.

“I have a house on Long Island. The grounds are large and private, we could have the ceremony there.”

She smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

“We could live there after we're married if you want. It's a good place to raise a family.”

Macy opened her mouth to reply, hesitated then shut it again.

“Is something wrong?” he murmured.

She drew in a shaky breath and shrugged. “It's just…
everything seems to be going so fast. This morning I was running a project in Melbourne and now I'm considering where I'll get married, and moving to New York to raise kids. Things are changing quickly.”

He pulled her as close as the seat belts would allow. “The only things that have to change are the ones you're comfortable with. And if things are moving too fast, hold on to me.”

She searched his eyes and he wondered what she was looking for. And if she would find it.

Breaking the eye contact, she turned her head to the side and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “How about I finish the project, we get married and after that we decide where to live?”

“Fine with me.” In fact, it was more than fine with him. He knew he was getting the better end of the deal—the shares in Bramson Holdings that Ashley International owned, and a wife as incredible as Macy. He'd have children and a wife who understood he couldn't give the love most women expected. For all that, he'd live anywhere she wanted. With current technology, he could pretty much live in any city and run his company, and his private jet would ensure he was available for board meetings.

Their limousine pulled up at their office building and Ryder jumped out, and beat the driver to the other side to hold Macy's door open, ignoring the two paparazzi who'd guessed their destination.

He walked her to her office door, still holding her hand.

“Oh, good,” Macy said and walked to her desk. “The chocolate arrived while we were gone.”

“We need more chocolate?” he asked.

She pulled a letter opener from her top drawer and
began slitting the packing tape. “It's our own chocolate modified for the Australian market.”

Curious, he took a step closer. “Modified?”

“We're experimenting.” She lifted a block from the packing. “I'll heat some of each and show you.”

“Sure.” He left Macy pulling out packages and walked down the hall to his own office. He fell back into his chair and booted up his computer, scanning the messages Bernice had left on his desk. Then his attention snagged on his desk and he grinned. He thumped it a couple of times, testing its strength. Yep, it was solid enough to take his and Macy's weight. His pulse picked up speed and he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. He was going to enjoy being married. He had a solid desk in New York, too.

His Web home page welcomed him and he clicked on his usual round of U.S. newspapers, focusing mainly on the financial pages, but one story in the sidebar caught his attention. His name. And Macy's. And a photo of them leaving Sydney only a few hours ago.

He clicked on it, his stomach sinking. Surely the papers had more famous people to stalk. Yet here in glorious color was the photo of them kissing in her apartment foyer two weeks ago. And them in Sydney this morning along with the heading, Bramson and Ashley Emerge From Love Nest.

He scanned down, seeing the usual rumors and gossip that were associated with their names, including one on Jesse's death and another one headed Macy Finally Gets Her Man and an old photo of a teenage Macy looking painfully shy beside her sister, who was glammed up and posing for the camera.

“Bottom feeders,” he muttered. These sorts of stories were one of the reasons Macy hadn't wanted to get
involved with him. He was a lucky man that she was willing to put up with it for his sake and he'd make damn sure she suffered as little as possible on his account after they were married.

He stood and stalked to the window, sinking his hands deep into his pockets. “I'll protect her,” he vowed to the city below.

There were only two important things in this situation—getting the Bramson Holdings stock and protecting Macy.

R
yder headed down the hall and found Macy in the lunchroom's kitchenette, stirring two pots on the stovetop with a wooden spoon. She looked the same as when he'd left her only a quarter of an hour before, yet her beauty still hit him hard and fast in the chest. Her glossy dark hair hung free over her shoulders, her shapely legs visible beneath her above-the-knee skirt. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, just watching. Wanting.

But there would be time for that—right now he had to show her what he'd found. He cleared his throat and pushed off the doorframe. “Macy, there's something you need to know.”

She looked up, her eyes cautious. She must have noticed the serious note in his voice. “Yes?”

“There are more headlines about us—the papers are scraping the bottom of the barrel to get stories. And I
expect the frenzy to increase leading up to the wedding. But I'll do what I can to protect you.”

She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch. “I appreciate the thought, but I'll be all right.”

He didn't doubt it. She was a strong woman. But he'd still do all that was humanly possible to protect her from as much media exposure as he could.

His cell phone rang in his pocket. He recognized the number on the screen as that of the executor of his father's will, Pia Baxter. It was early in the morning in New York, which was unusual for a business call.

As unusual as receiving three calls in two days from her.

“Excuse me,” he said to Macy, then braced himself and thumbed the button. “Good morning, Ms. Baxter.”

“Good morning, Mr. Bramson. I'm afraid I have more unwelcome news.”

Ryder winced. “Go ahead.”

“I've received correspondence from the lawyers of a man claiming to be a fourth son of Warner Bramson.”

He swore low and hard. “I suppose he's planning to challenge the will?”

“It appears that way.”

“Why now?” he asked, frowning. The will had been read more than a month ago.

“I'm sorry, but I don't know.”

His gut clenched tight. If the will was held up by a court case, it could be years before he got the stock his father had left him. “Have you spoken to him yourself?”

Pia hesitated. “I've received a letter from his legal team overnight. I think it might be better if we keep the correspondence contained to those channels at the moment. Unless you specifically want me to speak to him.”

“No, that sounds reasonable.” Ryder rubbed a finger across his forehead and sighed. “Have you told Seth?”

“He'll be the next phone call I make after this one.”

It seemed it was time he finally had a conversation with his half brother. If there was to be a claim—either from the real, biological offspring of his careless father, or some money-grabbing opportunist—it'd be better dealt with by a united front. “Ask him to ring me when you're done. We need to discuss this.”

“Not a problem,” she said.

Strategies and tactics swirled through his brain, and the odd thought that he and Seth were on the same side for the first time in their lives. He let out a breath. “Thank you for letting me know straightaway.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Bramson.”

He disconnected and dropped the phone with a clatter onto the lunch table. Macy looked up. “Problem?”

“It's possible my father sowed his wild oats farther and wider than we realized. Either that or the fortune-seekers are coming out of the woodwork.”

Her brows rose. “Someone's making a claim on his will?”

He rolled his neck from side to side, releasing the tension that had taken up residence there. “It looks that way.”

“You lose a brother one day and might get a new brother or sister the next.” She smiled with sympathy. “That's certainly a roller coaster.”

“A brother, assuming there's a genetic basis to the claim. It's a man. Or a boy, I guess. Who knows when the old man went out and procreated? Or how many times.” Ryder shook his head, his blood beginning to simmer. “There may be claims yet to come in from all over the country.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You're angry at your father.”

“You bet I am.” Ryder felt resentment rise up from low in his gut until he had to clench his jaw to hold it back. “He humiliated my mother for years with his mistress Amanda Kentrell. Having two sons with her and spending more time with that family than he ever spent with us.” He shook his head—he'd never understand that man's actions. “My mother has lived in a constant state of shame over a man who was never capable of love and yet pretended to marry for love's sake.”

“That's why you think you're not capable of love, isn't it?” Her hazel eyes zeroed in, evaluating.

“I'm self-aware enough to know I'm more similar to him than I'd like to be,” he said, voice tight. He hated that knowledge, hated admitting it.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a quick twist of her wrist and stepped forward. “What is it that you think you and he are missing that means you can't love?”

He didn't hesitate, didn't blink. “The capacity.”

“And you think you're somehow genetically different from the rest of the planet?”

He scrubbed one hand through his hair. This was the last topic he wanted to be talking about, ever, let alone when there was a threat to his inheritance. But she'd agreed to marry him and she deserved an answer to this. And it was only fair that he be very clear so she didn't harbor illusions about him.

He leaned a hip on the lunch table and focused on his future wife. “Maybe I was born this way, maybe I learned it young from him—it hardly matters at this point. But I'm not the only one. Have a look around at the world—there are lots of people without an open heart.”

A frown line creased her forehead but she nodded in understanding. “I can see you believe it.” He
knew
it. But he wouldn't argue semantics. “My father tricked my mother by pretending to love her, when he only wanted her money. She's from an old and wealthy family and he used her money for his first expansion of BFH.”

Macy's eyes widened. “That's awful.”

It was beyond awful—it was one of the worst wounds a person could inflict on another human being. He caught her hand. “The difference is I've been up-front with you, Macy. I've never promised you what I can't deliver—love.”

She gave him a sad smile and nodded her agreement. “I appreciate your honesty.”

That smile ate at his heart. He pulled her to him, holding her tight, allowing himself the indulgence of having her in his arms even as his cell phone buzzed against the lunch table.

After several rings, he kissed the top of Macy's head and stepped back. “That should be my half brother. I need to take it.”

Macy turned to the chocolate, her hair spilling to the side and covering her face. “Go ahead.”

He grabbed the cell and thumbed the answer button. “Bramson.”

“It's Seth Kentrell.” The voice was unfamiliar but there was still something recognizable in the tone. Though perhaps that was his imagination.

Ryder looked out the window at the stormy Melbourne skyline. “You've heard.”

“I wondered if the gold diggers would emerge with their hands out,” Seth said wearily. “I rang my lawyers
after Pia Baxter's call, and I've given them a quick heads-up.”

Ryder drew in a controlled breath as he put aside a lifetime of memories and feelings. “You and I should meet. We need to be on the same page on this.”

There was a heavy pause and Ryder wondered if his brother would rebuff the olive branch, but finally Seth cleared his throat. “I suppose it couldn't hurt to liaise. When are you thinking?”

He glanced at Macy as she stirred the chocolate, not meeting his eyes.

“I'm in Australia, but I'll see if I can get on a flight tomorrow. I'll ring you when I land and we'll arrange something.”

“I'll ensure there's room in my schedule.”

“One more thing.” Ryder's jaw clenched. Should he even be asking this? He closed his eyes and asked anyway. “Have you had Jesse's funeral or will I make it?”

There was a quick intake of breath down the line. “If you get a flight tomorrow, you'll make it,” Seth said slowly. “Our mother's been in England with her sister, so we delayed the funeral.”

“Right.”

Ryder had a moment's hesitation, wondering how to end the first call he'd had with his half brother, but settled on a simple “We'll talk then.” He thumbed the button off, then scrolled through his list of numbers until he came to Bernice.

 

Macy listened to Ryder ask Bernice to get him on a plane to America as soon as possible and felt as if she was falling. He was going back to the U.S. so soon…and alone.

As he talked she absentmindedly kept stirring the
chocolate on the stovetop with her free hand. Of course he wouldn't think to ask her along on family business—they were planning a marriage of convenience, nothing more. He'd told her not more than five minutes ago that he wasn't capable of love. Any illusions she'd been harboring about finding a true partnership in the marriage were just that—illusions. And the thing was, she'd expected it. She'd
known
she shouldn't get attached to him,
known
people always pull away, distance themselves. Her father and sister had, and here was Ryder doing it before they were even married.

Ryder hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket.

She moved back to the stovetop to stir the chocolate, using the opportunity to look at the pots instead of Ryder's face, gaining a modicum of space to think.

“Why are you melting chocolate?”

She blinked and looked down at the pans. “To show you the difference in the original chocolate and a modified version we're testing for the Australian market. It has a higher melting temperature.”

“Well, I'm here.” He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Show me.”

She leaned back into his solid warmth, his musky scent surrounding her, and for one moment she wished the rest of the world would evaporate, leaving just the two of them. Like it had been in Sydney, where they could make love all day, share meals, talk, laugh.

But she needed to change the rules of their relationship. She straightened away from him, missing his warmth already. “I hardly think now is the time.” She switched both stovetop elements off. “You must have things to do—pack, make plans.”

“Nothing I can't handle. Show me the chocolate.”

She surveyed his face. No signs of strain despite the stress he must be feeling. If he was willing to go as far as marrying her for the stock to get control of Bramson Holdings, then having an extra claimant to the will must be devastating. He was blocking out the problem. Perhaps he even wanted a distraction for a few minutes before facing the disaster awaiting him.

But—her heart clutched tight—she could barely get her mind to focus on anything except the fact that he was leaving in mere hours without her.

“Macy, show me the chocolate.” His tone was deep and hypnotic.

She swallowed hard and nodded, not sure she could trust her voice. She checked the thermometers in both pans and gathered herself. “They're at the same temperature.” She dipped a spoon in one pot and let the chocolate run off back into the pan, feeling Ryder watching over her shoulder. “This is the original Diva chocolate as it's sold in the U.S.”

“Right.”

Then she lifted the spoon in the other pot and let the more viscous chocolate run off. “This is the modified version. It's thicker because it has a higher melting point. It can keep its structural integrity better on the retail shelves in the hot Australian climate.” She dropped the spoon back in. “But I don't want to talk about this. I want to talk about your trip.”

He leaned in beside her ear and whispered, “I don't.”

A delicious shiver ran down her spine and she bit down on her lip to hold back a moan. “You need to pack and sort through the things on your desk. You're leaving in a matter of hours.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “And I'll
miss you while I'm gone. I won't be thinking of much of anything else but you.”

Part of her wanted to believe him. The part that loved him, that couldn't imagine being without him. But her rational mind wouldn't be fooled—he hadn't even considered taking her with him. “You'll survive just fine.”

He took the spoon from her and dipped his finger in the chocolate, coating the end, then he turned her in his arms and smeared the thick chocolate on her bottom lip. “That depends on your definition of survive.”

His face descended and he licked her lip, before sucking it into his mouth. She went dizzy for a moment but then made herself lean back.

“I'll miss you, too.” She'd miss him more than she'd ever missed anything or anyone. The thought left her lost, adrift. In the short time she'd known him, he'd become like an anchor in her life.

Her stomach hollowed. Was she crazy? She'd fallen in love with a man who, like her father, could turn his emotions on and off at will. Who could say he didn't know how he'd survive without her, but hadn't for a second considered taking her with him.

Sure, he desired her now, but how long would that last? And then what would they have left? She had a vision of her loving him, yearning for him, and watching Ryder change back to The Machine in their home, and tears stung the back of her eyes.

He took a smudge of chocolate from the spoon in the second pan and wiped it on her lip. “I don't know how I'll last. I need you so much right now I'm ready to explode. If the trip wasn't for this funeral and meeting my brother, I'd whisk you away and take you with me. Now hold still while I test the difference between the two versions.”