by Anna DePalo
“So I should be flattered?” she demanded, looking outraged. “Is it a compliment that I merited the same full-blown investigation you might accord to a prospective business partner?”
“In or out of bed,” he added to get a rise out of her.
Her face flushed with color. “I see.” She gave him a sweeping look. “And I suppose none of your…girlfriends were infuriated by having to pass muster? Was the privilege of sleeping with you just too great a prize?”
He gave her a slow grin designed to incense. “No complaints yet.”
“Oh!”
For a moment, she looked as if she was speechless with outrage, fishing around for the right words for a proverbial clobbering.
Finally, she bit out, “I suppose that’s why you’re here today—to order a trinket for one of the lucky winners?”
He cocked his head to the side, and then raised his hand to slowly brush a tendril back from her face.
She stilled.
“You could characterize it that way,” he said in a deep voice that held just a hint of laughter.
She brushed his hand aside. “Fine,” she huffed, her voice nonetheless holding a hint of breathlessness. “It’s not my business why my clients come to me—or how.”
“Not too discriminating to do business with the devil?” he baited her.
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Let’s step over to my desk to discuss what you’re looking for.” She paused, and then added emphatically, almost warningly, “In a necklace and earrings coordinate set, of course.”
He gave a low laugh as he followed her.
This sale was costing her, but she was gritting her teeth and bearing it since she needed the money. Pink Teddy Designs meant a great deal to her, and he planned to exploit the attachment to his every advantage. Shamelessly…ruthlessly…unrepentantly.
Because if there was one thing he knew, Sawyer acknowledged as he admired Tamara’s backside and shapely legs, it was that Kincaid News was worth the effort…and so was Tamara. And certainly, it would be no hardship to bed Tamara along the way to getting what he wanted.
At her desk—which was actually the large, glass-topped table he’d seen earlier—he sat in a bar-height chair at a right angle to her.
“So describe to me what you’re looking for.” She set aside some metal boxes so they sat out of her way, and added belatedly, “In earrings and a necklace.”
“In earrings and a necklace, of course,” he murmured, echoing her words.
In fact, he’d love to describe what he was looking for—in and out of bed.
The truth was, he acknowledged to himself with some degree of surprise, if he’d ever let himself really look over the years, he’d have said Tamara wasn’t too far off the mark from what he usually looked for in a woman, though he’d never dated a redhead.
She had inherited her mother’s model looks and figure. She had generous breasts and hips, but still managed to look willowy and statuesque. And she had amazing bone structure. Her lips were full, balanced by an aquiline nose and delicately arched brows over crystalline green eyes. She was good enough to grace the cover of any glamour magazine, if she chose. That she didn’t choose said a lot about her.
Physically, she fit his type. But he’d always envisioned someone who embraced his aristocratic heritage as his bride.
Tamara pulled a white paper pad in front of her, and then reached for a pencil. “Describe to me what you’re looking for. If the design isn’t to your liking, we can always play around with it. Computerized design technology is an amazing thing these days, but I prefer to start with an old-fashioned sketch.”
He cocked his head and regarded her. “Something unique. Something that will have people take a second look.”
“That’s a wide universe,” she replied archly, her pencil hovering.
He shrugged. “Let your imagination run wild.”
She gave him another narrow-eyed look, as if she was thinking of hitting him over the head, or wondering at his audacity—the equivalent of asking the wife to pick out a gift for the mistress.
“I’m thinking of a choker,” she said sweetly.
He laughed softly, and she put down her pencil and reached for a three-ring binder.
“Here,” she said. “These might give you some ideas. They’re some computerized drawings I’ve done.”
“Great,” he said, taking the binder from her.
While he paged through her drawings, she occupied herself with arranging objects on her desk and pointedly ignoring his study of her designs.
Finally, he set the binder on the table with deliberate casualness. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook too easily. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got it.
“These are good, but I need more,” he said.
She looked nonplussed. “More?”
“Yes. It would be better if you modeled some of your designs for me.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in, but then her eyes flared, and their gazes clashed.
He shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. “Call it a singular lack of imagination.”
He watched as she seemed to grit her teeth. How much was she willing to do for a lucrative commission?
He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. How far would she go to indulge his whims?
“Which one?” she finally asked with exaggerated patience.
He had little doubt her use of the singular was deliberate. She had no intention of modeling any more than the bare minimum for him.
Ignoring her hint of impatience, he picked up the binder again and thumbed through it.
Her designs were good. Better than good. He’d inherited the Langsford family jewels, and in addition, he’d bought his share of pricey jewelry over the years, so he was no novice buyer. And to his practiced eye, these designs looked fresh and different.
“This one,” he said, stopping at a page and showing it to her.
She shook her head. “That piece has been sold. I don’t have another one here like it.”
Unperturbed, he moved on to another page. “What about this one?”
“That’s topaz. The yellow gold setting wouldn’t be right for diamonds and emer—”
“Humor me,” he said with all the assurance of someone used to calling the shots—and being right. “I’m not looking at the metal but at the design.”
“Right. Of course.”
He hid a smile. The client was always right. She couldn’t argue there, much as she obviously wanted to.
Tamara pushed back her chair and marched over to a safe across the width of the loft. After opening the safe door, she removed two velvet boxes.
Sawyer watched her intently, his body stirring.
Without looking at him, she stepped over to the gilded full-length mirror mounted on the nearby wall.
From the smaller of the two boxes, she retrieved one earring and then another, putting them on one by one.
Sawyer shifted in his chair.
“You need to put your hair up in order to show them off properly,” he said, his voice resonating in the quiet room.
Tamara compressed her lips, but then, with a show of impatience, as if she found all this ridiculous, and still refusing to look at him, she reached into a nearby drawer. She removed a plastic clip, and proceeded to put up her hair.
Sawyer parted his lips and sucked in a deep breath as heat shot through him.
The image in the mirror was enticing, enchanting even. When was the last time he’d seen Tamara with her hair up?
The earrings were about two inches long, the large, multifaceted topaz stones at the ends of them catching the light. They moved fluidly along with Tamara, brushing the tendrils of hair that had failed to find a home in her plastic clip.
Sawyer resisted the urge to go to her and press his lips to the tender curve of her neck. He knew he was playing a dangerous game that he was at risk of getting caught up in himself.
Tamara b
ent to the larger of the two velvet boxes and lifted out an exquisite and elaborate fringelike necklace with topaz stones.
Sawyer stood up abruptly. “Let me help you.”
Before she could argue, he was behind her, taking the necklace from her unresisting fingers.
“I’m an expert at doing and undoing clasps,” she protested weakly.
“Nevertheless, let me make the gallant gesture.”
“Practicing for the real moment?” Tamara tossed out, her words belying her response of sexual awareness, her nipples outlined against the fabric of her dress.
Sawyer let his lips curve lazily. “If I were, then I’d do this next.”
He didn’t think. He just gave in to temptation.
Fortunately, in this case, business and pleasure were one and the same.
Five
Tamara felt a sizzle shoot through her as Sawyer nuzzled her ear, and then bit down gently on her earlobe, the large topaz stone of her earring rocking between them as he did so.
She swallowed, holding back a small gasp. Sawyer’s body, hard and unyielding, brushed against hers, igniting a simmering heat in her.
Tamara was mesmerized by their image in the mirror.
Sawyer toyed with the delicate shell of her ear, and then his mouth closed over her earlobe again and gave a gentle tug. All the while, his breath sent small shivers coursing through her.
Tamara closed her eyes. It was her only defense. The image in the mirror was just too erotic.
Sawyer’s hands gently kneaded her shoulders.
“Relax,” he said in a low voice.
Tamara struggled against the undertow of his seduction.
She already knew the power of his kiss, and a part of her couldn’t believe she’d allowed him to get this close—again. What had she been thinking?
She’d reached with greedy hands when he’d offered the enticement of a hefty sale. His down payment alone would be enough to cover her monthly rent. But then what?
This was the road to ruin.
“Sawyer…”
But before she could say more, he turned her to face him, and his mouth came down on hers.
His lips were warm and supple, and he deepened the kiss before she had time to marshal her forces.
The kiss washed over her like a warm summer rain, making her feel vital and alive. In her head, she was spinning, her head thrown back with laughter, her nipples plastered to her wet clothes.
Sawyer kissed the way he did everything—confidently, decisively…persuasively. And more importantly, the effect of his kiss on her was powerful and shocking.
His hips pressed against her, making her want to rub against him. With very little effort, he had her restless and aroused.
The kiss that Sawyer had stolen at the fashion party hadn’t been a fluke. And wasn’t that the real explanation for why she’d let things progress to this point? Because the question had been dogging her?
He was in the wrong field, she thought absently. He should be hawking kisses instead of news. Then he’d be even richer than he was.
Sawyer’s arms, all hard muscle, banded around her, and one hand settled on her backside, molding their bodies together. Her arms crept around his neck, drawing him to her. She wiggled closer, brushing against his arousal and eliciting a throaty growl from Sawyer.
Tamara knew if she was honest with herself, she’d admit she’d never experienced a kiss like Sawyer’s. But then forbidden fruit was a powerful aphrodisiac.
Still, a shred of reason intervened. This was her last chance.
With a last bit of resolve, she tore her mouth from his. “Wait a minute!”
She flattened her hand on his chest, but the steady, strong beat of his heart, his warmth and solidness, seemed to brand her, and she snatched back her hand.
Sawyer’s eyes glittered with golden fire.
Summoning a determination she didn’t feel, Tamara opened her mouth.
“Don’t lie to yourself, and don’t lie to me,” Sawyer said softly, his tone nevertheless conveying a note of implacability.
Her brows snapped together. Well, she wasn’t going to engage in any hollow denials. But she didn’t like the way he’d thrown her off balance.
“What do you want?” she said.
“I think you already know.”
“You came in here for a necklace,” she persisted.
“Among other things.”
How could he seem so rational when she was still trying to recover from the effect of their kiss?
“Don’t think you can seduce me into changing my mind about your proposal.”
“Fine,” he said, gimlet-eyed. “But I’m offering a way for you to save Pink Teddy Designs. I thought that would appeal to the small-business owner in you.”
She hated that he knew what straits she was in. She hated that he had well-honed instincts and knew her weak spots.
“I see,” she said coolly, striving to match her tone to his. “I suppose if you’re going to torpedo my social life, you feel you owe it to me to at least help me professionally?”
He arched a brow. “Are you talking about Tom?”
“Yes!”
“There was no passion there.”
“How do you know?” she retorted.
“The cutesy moniker says it all. ‘Tam and Tom.’ You sounded like pals.”
“Meaning you’d never be caught dead dating someone who was worthy of a cutesy little tandem name?”
“Correct,” he said, and then added bluntly, “Did you sleep with him?”
A note of belligerence had entered his tone. She knew Sawyer’s purpose was to dismiss Tom as inconsequential.
“It’s none of your business,” she snapped.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Sawyer said. “Poor bastard. I thought so.”
She wanted to wipe the satisfied expression off his face. “Tom is one of the good guys. He isn’t after control of my father’s company.”
“Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. Tom isn’t a saint.” Sawyer’s eyes swept over her. “On the other hand, since he kept his hands off of you, maybe he is.”
Tamara felt a strange thrill. Had Sawyer just admitted to finding her hard to resist?
She pushed the question away. She reminded herself that Sawyer was simply trying to get his way. He’d say or do anything to sway her. He was ruthless. Just like her father.
With that thought, she scoffed, “What could you possibly have to pin on Tom?”
Sawyer looked her in the eye. “Maybe he was dating you because of your connection to Kincaid News.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re despicable!”
“He jumped at the opportunity to go to L.A., didn’t he?”
“Only because you arranged to make him an irresistible offer!”
Tamara reluctantly recalled that Tom had asked her about Kincaid News, even after she’d explained to him that help was unlikely to come for his band from that quarter. Still, she refused to see his interest in her as less than genuine.
“He was quick to sell you out with information about your current financial situation,” Sawyer pointed out ruthlessly. “When it became clear how I could help his career, he was eager as a puppy.”
“And you’re a puppy in need of obedience training!”
Sawyer’s lips quirked with amusement. “Volunteering for the job?”
“No, thank you.”
Sawyer’s expression became enigmatic. “At least I’ve been clear about what I want.”
“Yes,” she retorted disdainfully. “Kincaid News.”
“No, you and Kincaid News,” he contradicted, and then his look softened. “I’m offering you a final chance to salvage your dream. Isn’t becoming a jewelry designer what you’ve always wanted to do?”
She was like Eve being tempted by the apple, Tamara thought. How had he known she’d always wanted to be a designer? Even though she knew it was part of his persuasive ploy, it was refreshing to have someone at least pretend to take her dre
am seriously.
“I remember visiting Dunnyhead once,” he mused, naming her father’s estate in Scotland. “You were wearing a bead bracelet that you’d made yourself.”
Tamara was surprised Sawyer remembered. Her father had given her a jewelry-making kit during her stay at Dunnyhead. She’d just turned twelve, and it had been one of the few times after her parents’ divorce her father had seemed aware of her interests and hobbies.
She’d strung together translucent green beads from the kit into a fair semblance of a hippie bracelet. Her father, she recalled, hadn’t been particularly impressed. Still, she’d kept her beaded creation for years afterward.
During that stay at Dunnyhead, she recalled she’d played with her younger sisters, Julia and Arabella, who’d been five and two. But until this moment, she hadn’t remembered Sawyer’s visit.
“Who did you want to be when you grew up?” Sawyer probed, his tone inviting. “You must have had someone you aspired to be like.”
“I wanted to be an original,” she replied, her defenses lowering a notch.
Sawyer gave a low laugh. “Of course. I should have guessed. Tamara Kincaid has always been unique.”
Despite herself, a smile of shared amusement rose to her lips. “After the divorce,” she divulged, “my mother kept some pieces from Bulgari, Cartier and Harry Winston that my father had given her.”
“And I bet you loved putting them on,” he guessed.
“My father wouldn’t let me play in the family vault,” she deadpanned.
“I’d let you play with the Melton jewels,” he joked, but his eyes gleamed like polished stones. “Hell, you could wear them to your heart’s content.”
“Trying to bribe me?” she said lightly.
“Whatever works.”
Her eyes came to rest beyond Sawyer. She saw her workbench scattered with the implements of a jeweler’s trade.
All of it, however, was in danger of disappearing from her life. And suddenly, inexplicably, what Sawyer offered was so very tempting.
Would it be so bad?
“It wouldn’t be terrible,” he said, as if reading her mind. “A short-term marriage of convenience gets us what we both want, and then we go our separate ways.”
