The Backdoor Billionaire's Bride

by Roz Lee

  “If we’d gone on the air last week the way B.— Ms. Parker wanted, we would have been sunk. The woman has vision, but she can’t act.”

  Ford chuckled at the accurate description. “This whole thing was her idea, so yeah, she has vision. I think once she sees the public doesn’t want robots selling them sex toys, she’ll be onboard with this fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants style.”

  “Are you saying you threw out this week’s script, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thank you, God.”

  “You’re welcome, but just Ford will do.” He kept a straight face until Justin caught the joke and burst into laughter. They were both brushing tears from their eyes when the door opened and Becky Jean stepped inside.

  No. Not Becky Jean. B.J. Parker walked through the door.

  Her auburn hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders—the complete opposite of the tight bun she’d worn earlier. Her makeup was heavier than he’d seen her wear, but flawlessly done. Her eyes sparkled, and the shade of red on her lips matched the dress hugging each and every one of her generous curves. His rational mind knew the garment would pass the HR test for work-appropriate clothing, but damn, it had to be the most unconsciously sexy thing he’d ever seen. The clinging red number screamed look but don’t touch in a way that made his fingers itch to peel it off her.

  Justin’s low, appreciative whistle snapped Ford out of his lustful haze.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She tossed her purse on one of the conference room chairs lining the walls out of camera range. “My hair appointment ran late.”

  “Damn, B.J.— I mean, Ms. Parker. You look—”

  “Perfect,” Ford interrupted before the younger man said what both of them were thinking. “You aren’t late. We were just talking about the videotaping equipment you ordered.”

  Justin gave him a puzzled look but took up the conversation. “In addition to taping during the day, we’ll be able to do several weeks’ worth of shows in a short period of time. As it stands, we only get one shot at doing it right, but once we start advance taping, we can edit out blunders.”

  Ford joined Becky Jean on their designated spots.

  “Jacket on or jacket off?” she asked.

  Hell, he hadn’t even noticed the dress had a matching jacket. She dropped the short blazer off her shoulders to reveal the sleeveless dress beneath. His brain leapt into action, conjuring up images of all the ways he could assist her in removing the cover-up. “On. Leave it on.” For now.

  “If you say so. I like the dress either way.” She shrugged the fabric over her shoulders then pulled her hair free from her collar and smiled at Justin. “I don’t think I’ll be as nervous when we can edit out mistakes. If I’d known how popular the show would be, I would have purchased the taping equipment in the beginning.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ms. Parker. A few mistakes make you human, and people relate to flaws.”

  She laughed. “Well, they must, because we made plenty of mistakes last week. If we stick to the script tonight, it should go better.”

  “About the script—”

  “Did you try the product, Becky Jean?” She didn’t need to know he’d decided to ditch another carefully worded script in favor of pushing her buttons on live television. Nothing good could come of it, but good things did happen when she responded to him without artifice. Last week’s sales were proof enough.

  “No, I did not,” she said. “I’ve used flashlights and key rings before.”

  He raised an eyebrow at the one function of their product she’d left out. “Have you ever used a vibrator?”

  Color bloomed on her cheeks. “I have a massager. Does that count?”

  He had no business imagining the things popping into his head. “I suppose it does.” Lord, she’s going to be the death of me. He glanced at the clock—thirty seconds until air-time.

  “On your spots,” Justin said. “Ford, a little closer to Ms. Parker.”

  Ford moved closer. She always smelled good, but maybe because she’d been to the salon to get her hair done her scent seemed more tantalizing than ever. Every breath he took made him more aware of the Siren standing next to him. And like every wise sailor, he knew he needed to steer clear.

  Justin held up five fingers. “On in five. Four. Three. Two. One.” He pointed his index finger at them.

  “Good evening, folks. I’m K. Ford Adams, and this is my partner, B.J. Parker. Thanks for tuning in tonight.” Ignoring the exasperated vibes coming from his partner, he thanked everyone who placed orders the previous week then mentioned the availability of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System for those who hadn’t yet ordered. After repeating the 800 number, he turned to Becky Jean.

  She jumped in on cue. “Tonight, we’d like to introduce you to one of our newest products, the KeyP Me Safe Light.”

  Ford followed her lead, moving to the display table. He took up the dialogue, describing the tiny vibrator in his own words while B.J. held one of the miniature marvels up for the camera to capture. So far, she’d gone along with his non-scripted version of the show—mostly because she had no choice on live television. Lifting the small device from her palm, he prayed she’d go along with his next idea.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, last week we promised we wouldn’t show you a product we couldn’t personally recommend. And since I have it on good authority B.J. has not tried out the KeyP Me Safe Light, I feel obligated to show you, and her, the benefits of this little jewel.”

  “Oh no!” Becky Jean placed her hand on Ford’s chest to hold him at bay. She shook her head. “No. No. No. No. No.”

  “Just a little demonstration for our audience, B.J.” He smiled at the camera then back at her before moving to stand behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her from running, he addressed the viewers. “In case you don’t know, B.J. is the Marketing Director here at Adams Manufacturing. She works hard at her job, and I often see her at her desk, late in the day, rolling her head, trying to loosen the tight muscles in her neck. Sound familiar to anyone out there? I thought so,” he said amiably, hoping to draw the audience, and Becky Jean, in. He’d only guessed she rolled her head to reduce stress, but from the way she turned to glare at him, he’d nailed her behavior.

  “Though there are many uses for the KeyP Me Safe Light, this is one of my favorites.” He held his hand up to show the key ring around his middle finger and the mini-flashlight/vibrator lying along the length of the digit. With a flick of his thumb against the switch embedded in the end, the device hummed to life.

  “B.J. seems a little tense right now. Let’s see if we can fix you up.” Before she could get a protest past her lips, he brushed her soft-as-silk hair over one shoulder and pressed the humming cylinder to her racing pulse. She moaned as he worked the vibrator up and down her slender neck. No words were necessary. The way her body responded to the sensual massage said it all.

  Ford crooned soft words in her ear, imagining what it would be like to have her beneath him, to feel her body respond to his in bed. He shouldn’t have to share her responses with anyone, let alone the entire world. If this episode proved anything like the first one, millions of people would be witness to Becky Jean’s surrender.

  No woman had ever turned to putty in his hands the way she did. Knowing they were not alone, he still couldn’t bring himself to stop. Slipping his hand lower, his lips followed the path he’d blazed. His hand trailed down the slope of her neck to her shoulder where he pinched her jacket between his thumb and index finger, slowly easing it off her shoulder.

  He managed to repeat the process on the other side, but when he eased back to see what he’d done, the sight of her bare upper arms trapped in the confines of her jacket nearly sent him to his knees. Giving himself a mental shake, he removed the jacket. Just her jacket. Nothing more. But there was something about the demure neckline of her sleeveless dress, it made removing the outer garment seem like a sensual act.

  He’d been inside
his share of clubs where the dancers had no problem removing what little clothing they wore while moving provocatively. None of those shows had ever affected him as much as seeing Becky Jean’s bare arms.

  Thanking the heavens the viewing audience couldn’t see him below the waist, he smoothed the vibrator along the length of her right arm, massaging and caressing every inch of skin. When he reached her hand, he stroked each finger before pressing the digits together. As he dragged the toy from fingertip to palm, her fingers closed over his like tulip petals folding in for the night.

  Becky couldn’t take her eyes off Ford’s hands. One of hers lay in his open palm while he did all manner of wicked things to it with the vibrator attached to the middle finger of his other hand. She should be taking Ford to task for ignoring the script again, but from the moment he’d swept her hair off her neck, she’d forgotten why she should be pissed at him. When he touched his lips to her neck, she’d turned into a puddle of goo and lost the ability to think at all.

  Yes, the vibrator hummed over her skin, but she couldn’t blame it for her mental shutdown. No, she blamed it entirely on Ford. Sure, the tiny trembles made her skin tingle, but they were overshadowed by the feel of his hand trailing along behind, leaving fire in its wake.

  “B.J.?”

  She tore her gaze away from her fingers clamped down on Ford’s. Dazed, she studied his face for clues.

  “What do you think of the KeyP Me Safe Light?”

  “Huh?”

  He smiled so bright it was like looking into the headlamp of an oncoming train. Something in the back of her mind told her to run, but the message got lost somewhere between her brain and her feet. She stood rooted to the spot, staring up at Ford, their hands intertwined, her heart thumping out an erratic beat. He spoke to someone—not her.

  “There you are, folks. If that’s not a raving endorsement of the product, I don’t know what is! Remember, the number is 1-800- BUT-PLUG. Operators are standing by to take your order.”

  “And, we’re out!” At Justin’s triumphant shout, Ford yanked his fingers from Becky’s grip, severing their connection. She shook her head and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple. The young tech went around shutting off the hot lights. “Tonight was even better than last week. Man, oh man, we’re going to make a fortune if this keeps up.”

  “I think you may be right.” Ford held something out to her. Becky stared at the lump of red fabric for a moment before reaching for it. “Sorry about dropping your jacket on the floor, but I didn’t know what else to do with it. Put the dry-cleaning bill on the production expense report. In fact, I think we should add a clothing allowance to the expenses.”

  Becky jammed her arms into the sleeves and resettled the jacket on her shoulders. She felt shaky and not at all in charge of her faculties. As the lights dimmed, she shivered in the suddenly cool air.

  “Are you all right?” Ford took her by the elbow and led her to the nearest chair. She dropped heavily. “You don’t look so good.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced up at him. “I’m fine, just got a little overheated, I think.”

  “When you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.”

  She grabbed her purse and stood. “That’s not necessary. I can drive.”

  “You might be right”—he took the purse from her hands, slung the strap over his shoulder then reached for her elbow again—“but why take chances when I have to go past your place anyway?”

  “I suppose.” She couldn’t think when Ford touched her, couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to tell him to mind his own business. “We should check in with the phone bank, make sure they have it covered.”

  “We hired a dozen people this week and installed enough lines to handle the load, plus an elaborate call-holding system. They don’t need us distracting them.”

  She acknowledged the truth in his statement. They’d spent an exorbitant amount of money on the upgrades as well as converted the old supervisor’s office on the production floor to accommodate the new order takers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ford snuck another glance at his passenger. Becky Jean hadn’t said a word since they’d left the factory. He’d hoped some fresh air would do her good, but in the glow of the passing streetlights, she appeared as dazed as he felt. He couldn’t leave her alone in her present condition. He’d worry himself sick if he did.

  She waited for him to open the car door for her—another sure sign she wasn’t herself tonight. For a moment, she reached out to take his offered hand, but snatched hers back before their fingers touched.

  Ford stood back, allowing her to stand under her own steam. He followed her to her door where she dug in her purse, eventually producing a key attached to a KeyP Me Safe Light. He glanced around, but all he could see in the weak light coming from the porch light were a few clay pots with some sort of flowers bubbling out of them. Her hand shook, but with the aid of the flashlight on her keychain she managed to fit the key in the lock. In case she had ideas about leaving him outside, he trailed close behind her, pausing to remove the key from the lock and shut the door.

  As she stepped out of those fuck-me pumps that had been driving him insane for the last hour, he reminded himself he’d brought her home in order to care for her, not to take advantage of her.

  When she slipped the jacket off her shoulders and tossed it on a nearby chair, he fisted his hands in his pockets and reminded himself he had no business thinking about how soft her skin had been beneath his fingertips.

  And when she turned and faced him, eyes dark with arousal, lips parted in invitation, he forgot everything except how much he wanted to kiss the beautiful woman standing before him.

  He closed the distance separating them in two strides. Her scent overwhelmed him. Out of necessity, he’d blocked it out on the set, but they were alone here so he opened himself to her every nuance. Her beauty went beyond the physical. There was a wholesome quality about her that made her radiant in a way he’d never seen before. It both intrigued and scared the hell out of him. He’d never been attracted to wholesome. All the women in his life had been worldly and sophisticated—complicated. They played the relationship game on the same terms he did—without any expectations.

  Becky Jean had expectation written all over her face.

  He planned to leave Butte Plains as soon as he could find a buyer for his and his mother’s share of the factory and negotiate a fair price. Becky Jean deserved someone who would stick around. Someone who would give her the fairy tale.

  Before he did something they’d both regret in the morning, he took a step back. Becky Jean followed. He lifted his hands, intending to push her away, but moving with purpose, she wrapped her hands around his head and drew his face down to hers. Her lips were warm and pliant, her kiss more experienced than he would have believed. She nipped his lower lip. He gasped and opened for her.

  Damn. Her tongue swept in, dueling with his. His blood turned to molten lava slaughtering cells in his upstairs brain. Thinking with his downstairs brain, he cupped her ass and dragged her hard against him. She was soft in all the right places, and fuck if he didn’t want to take everything she offered. Her fingers tickled the pulse at his throat then went to work on the top button of his shirt. The fastener slid free. Cool air brushed his skin bringing sanity with it.

  “Whoa.” Backing away took every ounce of decency he possessed. There were at least a million reasons not to peel her out of her dress and sink into her warmth. They were business partners. Never mind she was the hottest thing west of the Mississippi. She didn’t strike him as a casual sex type of woman. “We have to stop, Becky Jean.” He held his hand up—a stop sign between them.

  If he’d actually thrown a bucket of ice water on her head, he couldn’t have done a better job of breaking the spell between them. Becky Jean blinked a few times then focused her gorgeous blue eyes on him. Another blink washed away the last traces of arousal, replacing the tender emotion with anger. Cold. Hard. Anger.

  Ordin
arily, he reveled in pushing her buttons, riling her up to see blue flames in her eyes and a rosy blush on her cheeks, but her anger tonight was different. Sharper. Deeper. If looks could kill, he’d be wearing a toe tag.

  “Go, Ford.” She pointed at the door. “Get out of my house.”

  “I’m sorry, Becky Jean, but you know as well as I do—”

  “That you’re a snake oil salesman? Because you are.” She pointed at the door again. “Get out. Now.”

  “Can’t we talk—?”

  “About the way you seduced me on camera? About the way you touched me? About the way I—”

  The way you felt in my arms? The way your skin feels like satin and your hair feels like silk? The way that dress makes me want to tear if off to see your luscious curves? The way I think about you morning, noon, and night? The way I wish to hell we weren’t who we are? “About us?”

  “There is no us, Ford. There’s me, and there’s you. For a minute there, I lost my head. Thought maybe I was wrong.” The vixen who’d all but attacked him had disappeared, replaced by the shy and all-too innocent woman he’d come to admire.

  He’d gone too far during the broadcast, let his desire for her show, and they were both going to suffer for his mistake. “I’m sorry.” He inched toward the door. “I’m really sorry.”

  He knew he should be thanking her for throwing him out of her house. She’d done the right thing. He’d done everything she’d accused him of, and more. As he drove up the hill to his temporary home, he cursed himself for a fool. Not once since Becky walked into their makeshift studio, glammed up to the nines, had he given a single thought to the consequences of acting on his desires. He’d allowed his hormones to overrule his common sense, and Becky had suffered for his stupidity. He owed his partner an apology.

  ~~~

  Oh. My. God. Becky fell face-first on her bed. She’d wanted to prove to him she wasn’t some backwoods mouse—that she could be sexy and sophisticated like the women he undoubtedly dated on the East Coast. For once, she’d wanted him to look at her with desire in his eyes. The dress, shoes, and makeup she’d let Roseanne talk her into had done the trick. She’d turned the tables on Ford, saw the way he’d looked at her when she entered their makeshift studio. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, but he’d turned the tables right back on her, reducing her to a puddle of goo in front of God-only-knew how many viewers. And she’d fallen for his seduction. Fallen so hard she’d flung herself at the man, even knowing he couldn’t offer her more than a romp in the sack.