Entrapped: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 3)

by Tracie Delaney

  “Well, don’t just stand there.” I held out my hand for the manila folder she clutched so tightly her fingers had turned white. “Give it to me.”

  She tottered over on a pair of heels she clearly couldn’t walk in. I raised my eyes heavenward. Who the fuck was she trying to impress? She looked like Bambi on drugs, staggering her way across my office.

  As if to prove my point, she’d almost reached me when… Splat! Over she went, face-planting right in front of my desk. The folder of papers scattered everywhere, and she let out an “Oomph” as the air was knocked from her lungs.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, getting to my feet. I crouched in front of her, slipped my hands under her armpits, and hoisted her to her feet.

  She bobbed and weaved, reminding me of a punch-drunk boxer, then found her balance by gripping my upper arms. The horror of what had happened hit her fast. Her eyes widened, and then her head bowed as she took in the mess strewn around her feet like confetti.

  “Oh God, I’m s-sorry Mr. Gau-Gauthier,” she wailed, dropping to her knees, her arms flailing as she scooped up bits of paper and shoved them back into the folder. “P-please don’t fire me. I really n-need this job.”

  I stood there, watching her desperately try to recover the situation. A gentleman would have helped.

  I wasn’t a gentleman.

  “Next time, I suggest you wear sensible shoes when visiting my office,” I bit out, taking the folder from her trembling hands. “That way, you might have a chance of staying upright.”

  I strode back around my desk and sat down while whatever-her-name-was blushed bright red and tucked her chin into her chest, eyes on the floor. Her elevated breathing was the only sound in the otherwise quiet space. I could tell she was trying to get her shuddering breaths under control—and failing miserably.

  I expelled a sigh, drawing a sob from the intern. I raised my eyes to find her furiously blinking to prevent her burgeoning tears. Had to give the girl credit where it was due. Lesser women would have dissolved into hysterics by now. Maybe there was hope for this one yet.

  I scrawled my signature on the bottom of the marked pages. “What’s your name?”

  “Tulip,” she whispered.

  That’s right. Fucking Tulip. What kind of idiotic parent names their kid Tulip?

  “Okay, Tulip, I’m going to give you some free advice, so listen up. This is a place of work, not a nightclub. When you finish your shift today, pay a visit to the mall on your way home and buy yourself a pair of sensible fucking shoes. I do not need one of my interns breaking their leg on my watch. Got it?”

  Relief that I hadn’t fired her swept across her face. “Yes, Mr. Gauthier,” she said, her nodding reminding me of a spring-loaded bobble head found in tacky gift shops. “I absolutely will.”

  I signed the last form, closed the folder, and handed it to her. She tucked it under her arm, took two steps, then stopped and turned around to face me again.

  “You’re not nearly as horrible as they said you were,” she offered and then, realizing she’d spoken completely out of turn, clapped a hand over her mouth as if she was trying to shove the words back in.

  I gave her a blank, cold stare. “Yes, I am. And if you want to keep your job, you’d do well to listen to your coworkers.”

  Her face flushed with embarrassment, and then she bolted from the room, closing the door behind her.

  I smiled.

  That was fun.

  My desk phone rang, and I picked it up. “Gauthier.”

  “Mr. Gauthier, it’s Shana in reception. I have a Miss Landry here. She’s demanding to see you, sir, and won’t take no for an answer.”

  Oh, but this will be more fun.

  I tapped a few keys on my keyboard, and an image appeared on my screen showing a view of the lobby of my building. I’d never met the Landry woman, preferring to leave the dirty work to the likes of James, but as she came into view, I realized I’d made a mistake not handling this myself.

  Catriona Landry was nothing like I expected. For some reason, the fact that she ran a ballet school meant I’d pictured a woman in her fifties, tall, thin, with gray hair scraped back into a bun and a pair of half-moon glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  Instead, what filled my screen was a beauty with dark, wavy, waist-length hair and creamy smooth skin. She wasn’t dressed in anything fancy, just jeans and a tangerine sweater, but dang, I’d like to explore her body. Slim hips, a firm ass, tapered waist, and tits that were the perfect handful.

  I moved my mouse, zooming closer into her face. She bent her head and looked right into the camera, almost as if she knew I was watching. Her eyes were a stunning green, and swirling in their depths lay an indignant rage.

  My cock hardened. Hello, Miss Landry.

  “Sir, are you still there?”

  I went to answer her, but the words wouldn’t come. What the fuck? I’m never tongue-tied. A warmth crept up the back of my neck, and I palmed it, feeling dampness there. I swallowed, pulled myself together, took a deep breath.

  “I’m here,” I replied. “Tell Miss Landry I’m busy.”

  I hung up and waited for the receptionist to relay my message. Catriona’s head snapped back, and she cut her gaze to the camera in the corner. Her hands curled into fists, and then she spun on her heel and strode outside.

  I raced to the window, catching sight of her as she disappeared down the street. She walked with graceful, precise steps and a straight back, her fluid hips swaying with the kind of natural sensuality that couldn’t be faked as she weaved through the pedestrians.

  A smile touched my lips, the brief moment of awkwardness long forgotten.

  From now on, the only person dealing with Miss Catriona Landry is me.

  3

  Catriona

  Too busy? Too busy! The damned gall of the man. I’d give him too busy when I laid my hands on him. What a complete prick. Who the hell did he think he was? Why did rich people always think normal world rules didn’t apply to them?

  I stomped down the street toward the bus stop. If he thought this was the end of it, then he was sorely mistaken. I’d tried the polite approach, and it had fallen on deaf ears. One way or another, I’d get an audience with Sir Stuck Up Gauthier and drive my message through his thick skull.

  In fact…

  An idea took hold. I circled around and returned to his tall, imposing, glass-fronted building. He must be inside. The receptionist had spoken to him directly. All I had to do was wait for him to leave and then accost him in the street. So what if I embarrassed him? It’d serve him right, and maybe, just maybe, if I rammed my point home hard enough, he’d realize I couldn’t be bought and he’d back off.

  A little voice inside my head murmured something about a pipe dream.

  I ignored it.

  I took up residence under the awning of an Italian restaurant that gave me a perfect view of the front of Gauthier’s building. I waited and waited, my eyes locked on the sliding glass doors, scared to even blink in case he slipped by unnoticed. The cold ground seeped through my shoes, and I fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, my irritation mounting the longer I hung around with no sign of him.

  Oh, hell. I hadn’t thought to let Grams know I’d be late.

  Fishing my phone from my purse, I dropped her a quick text. I asked about Aiden, my heart twisting as my mind turned to him. He hadn’t been well these past few weeks and on Monday he’d finally undergone some tests. Waiting for the results was killing me. God only knew what it was doing to Aiden.

  Grams replied to say she’d keep some dinner warm and to travel safely, and that Aiden was asleep on the couch, but she’d managed to get a bit of food into him, thank goodness. He’d scarcely eaten in days, his already too-thin body losing weight he couldn’t afford to shed. I tried to swallow any panic that threatened to consume me until we knew exactly what we were dealing with, but most nights I lay awake staring at the ceiling and imagining the worst.

  If anyth
ing happened to Aiden… I couldn’t bear to think of it. After our parents were torn so cruelly from us, to lose him as well would probably kill my grandmother, leaving me all alone.

  I shook my head. Stop those thoughts, Catriona.

  A sleek black limousine with blacked-out windows and blinding headlights glided to a stop in front of Gauthier’s building. I straightened, my heart rate ramping up. This had to be his ride. I glued my eyes to the entranceway, waiting for the man himself to appear. A uniformed driver alighted from the vehicle and opened the rear door, then stood at attention as if he was one of the Queen’s royal guard.

  I snorted a laugh.

  A full minute passed, and then Gauthier strode outside, briefcase in hand and a jet-black pea coat buttoned up as a defense against the stiff wind swirling down the street. Canada only had two months of good weather in an average year, really. July and August. Apart from those times when the warmth of the sun bathed your face, and the days went on forever, our weather consisted of chilly, cold, bitter, and fucking freezing.

  I’d filed today’s weather under ‘chilly’.

  “I’d like a word, please, Mr. Gauthier.”

  He paused mid-step and twisted his head in my direction. At first he frowned, and then recognition smoothed his features. Gesturing to his driver to wait, he stood there, waiting for me to go to him, one perfectly shaped eyebrow curved in query.

  Prick.

  “Have you been out here all this time, Miss Landry?” he asked. “I’m honored.”

  “Don’t be,” I replied, riffling through my purse for the offending offer letter. “I came to bring you this.” Three strides took me to him. I thrust the cream envelope against his chest, suppressing a tremor as I came into contact with the taut muscles lying beneath his outer clothing.

  His hand closed over mine, and the tremor morphed into a full-on shudder. I slid my hand out from beneath his, leaving him holding the envelope.

  “You could have mailed your acceptance,” he drawled, a sardonic curve to his lips that meant he knew very well I hadn’t accepted his offer. “Rather than coming all this way.”

  My jaw flexed, teeth gnashing together. “Aren’t you business types supposed to be smart? You know damn well I haven’t signed that agreement, just like I didn’t sign any of the others.” My chest rose and fell too fast, oxygen battling for access to compressed lungs. “And don’t insult me by adding more zeroes to your next offer. It doesn’t matter how much money you offer me. The answer remains the same. No. Got it?”

  His gunmetal-gray eyes bored into mine. My knees wobbled at the fierce determination swirling in their depths. This man was used to getting his own way, and he wouldn’t take kindly to losing. Well, too bad. He’d have to deal with it.

  “Everyone has a price, Miss Landry,” he murmured, his eyes on my lips as he said it.

  “Not me.” I shoved trembling hands into my pockets. “Face it, Mr. Gauthier. You might have gotten almost all the other business owners to sign, by fair means or foul, but I will never sell my business to you, and neither will Jeff.”

  His eyebrows drew inward toward the bridge of his nose. “Jeff?”

  I breathed through my nose, my nostrils flaring. “The butcher.”

  “Ah.” His wry grin grew in size. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Landry, but…” He canted his head, and his flat cold stare reminded me of a shark’s eyes. Lifeless, deadly.

  A despairing flush of heat swept through me. No. Jeff wouldn’t sell, not without telling me. Would he?

  “You’re lying,” I gritted out.

  “While I’m not averse to lying to get my own way, on this occasion I’m not. Your friend, Jeff, signed earlier today.” He put the envelope I’d thrust at him in the inside pocket of his coat. “See, he’s a smart man. Knows when he’s beaten. You, on the other hand,” he ran his gaze up and down my body, “You, Miss Landry, might need a different kind of persuasion.”

  A bolt of fear hit me right in the gut, and I glanced around to make sure there were people in the vicinity.

  “Is that a threat?”

  He moved forward, his far superior height looming over me, despite my five-feet-eight-inch frame. “No, Miss Landry.” He paused and ran his tongue along the underside of his teeth. “It’s a promise.”

  He whirled around and climbed in the back of his limousine. The car glided away. I stared until I lost sight of it, and even then I didn’t move, unease gluing my feet to the ground.

  Garen Gauthier wasn’t a man to trifle with. I’d yanked the tiger’s tail, and now he was on the hunt.

  With me as his prey.

  4

  Garen

  I twisted in my seat and peered out through the blackened rear window, watching as Catriona Landry shrank smaller and smaller until she disappeared completely. I faced forward once more, my lips curving upward. What a little firecracker. I had a colossal urge to add fuel to the flames and see which of us escaped unharmed.

  Slipping a hand into my coat pocket, I withdrew the cream envelope. I lifted it to my nose, smelling a faint trace of her perfume. Unpretentious and beautiful, just like her. I opened the flap and removed the letter inside, even though I knew exactly what it said. I turned over to the signature page and laughed.

  She’d written ‘Hell to the fucking no’ right across the bottom.

  The tips of my fingers traced the indentation on the reverse side of the contract. She must have scrawled those words so deep and with such rage, the nib of her pen had almost ripped the paper.

  My smile widened. Oh, Catriona.

  I returned the letter to my jacket pocket and spent the rest of the trip to my house in Shaughnessy Heights thinking about the dark-haired, tall, graceful, green-eyed beauty with a plump mouth made for fucking. I hardened inside my pants as my mind threw up an image of Catriona on her knees sucking my cock.

  Then again, right this second, if I put my cock anywhere near her delicious mouth, she’d likely bite it off, such was the venom I’d seen fizzing in her eyes. I almost rubbed my hands together in glee. For me, the fun was in the chase. Once a woman capitulated, and I’d fucked her a few times, the attraction wore off pretty damned fast, and I’d move on to the next. The problem was I had a very low boredom threshold driven, according to doctors my parents had taken me to in my teenage years, by an I.Q. in the top two percent of the country and a mild form of ADHD.

  Maybe Catriona would keep my interest slightly longer than most. I hoped she fought me tooth and nail. The harder the better as far as I was concerned. The thought of conquering her, of watching her submission, Christ, I could get off on that for days.

  My driver-slash-bodyguard nosed the car through the gates of my home and swept up to the front of the house. He glided to a stop, killed the engine, and climbed out. I waited for him to open my door.

  “Will you need me again tonight, sir?” he asked, standing back to give me room.

  “No, thank you, Darryl,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

  My housekeeper opened the door, smiled in greeting, and held out her hand for my briefcase.

  “You’re late,” she said. “I kept your dinner warm.”

  I chuckled under my breath as I walked inside. Margo had been with me for years, and I didn’t know what I’d do without her. She reminded me of my mother; strong, assertive, direct, didn’t take any shit. I needed that. My life was too full of people who bowed to my every whim. With my parents living on the other side of the country, Margo was the one who ensured my feet remained firmly planted on the ground.

  “You’re a marvel, Margo.” I leaned down to kiss her weathered cheek. “Marry me?”

  She blushed and shoved at me. “Go away with you, crazy man,” she said, bustling off in the direction of the kitchen.

  I followed, and my stomach growled with hunger at the smell of freshly baked bread and a casserole. I’d skipped breakfast and only managed half a sandwich at lunchtime. The expansion plans the ROGUES board had sanctioned for
the hotel chain—my baby—resulted in insane amounts of work. I regularly pulled fourteen-hour days. Add to that the scheduled workouts with my personal trainer, screwing the latest woman I’d met, and snatching a few hours’ sleep, it didn’t leave a lot of time for very much else.

  Margo heaped a serving of beef casserole into a bowl and set it down in front of me. I tore off a hunk of bread, dipped it into the gravy, and shoved it into my mouth. My eyes closed as I savored the rich flavor.

  “God, Margo, you’re a genius.”

  She fetched me a beer from the fridge and unscrewed the top. “I know.” She placed the bottle on a coaster then picked up her purse and set the strap diagonally across her body. “It’s time I went and got Frank his supper. Man’s incapable of buttering a slice of bread, let alone cooking a meal.”

  “Give him my apologies for making you late,” I said. “Next time I’m late getting home, just go, Margo. You don’t have to wait here for me.”

  She shot me a mothering look. “Someone has to take care of you. You work too hard, Garen. Hopefully, one of these days, you’ll meet a good woman and she can take my place.”

  “Not likely,” I muttered.

  Margo rolled her eyes. “Come now,” she said. “You don’t want to die a lonely old man, now, do you?”

  I chuckled. “I’m twenty-nine.”

  She patted her gray hair, then tucked a stray lock back into her messy bun. “I was twenty-nine once. Feels like five minutes ago. Time passes, young man, and before you know it, poof, your knees have given out, your hips ache, and it takes a monumental effort to roll out of bed in the morning.”

  I shook my head at her. “You’re a bundle of joy this evening, Margo.”

  “Mark my words,” she said, making a beeline for the door to the hallway. “Don’t let the grass grow under your feet.”

  She left before I came back with a retort. Not that I had one ready. For some unknown reason, these last few months Margo had started nagging me about settling down. Every time I went on a date, she metaphorically dusted off her wedding hat, only to put it back in its box a week later when I’d dumped my latest conquest.