At the Tycoon’s Service

by Maya Banks

  By two in the afternoon, she was tired and hungry and told Theron so. He suggested they eat at the hotel again. She was thrilled that he didn’t seem intent on rushing back to Alannis as soon as the shopping was done.

  When they got back to the hotel, they were met by Reynolds who told Theron he and the others would stand by in the restaurant while they ate. Already, she was growing used to the small entourage of people who followed Theron wherever he went.

  If he was this protective over someone he deemed “under his care,” then how much more so would he be when it came to someone he loved?

  She smiled dreamily as they were escorted to Theron’s table. She could handle his overprotective tendencies if it meant he loved her.

  “You look well pleased with yourself, pethi mou.”

  Theron’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  “Are you happy with your purchases?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Thank you for going with me.”

  “It was my pleasure. You shouldn’t be alone in such an unfamiliar place.”

  After placing their orders, Theron sat back in his seat, glass of wine in hand and stared over the table at her.

  “So tell me, Bella. Why New York? Did you not have friends in California you preferred to stay close to? And have you given more thought to what you will do now that you’ve graduated from university?”

  She smiled patiently. “My indecision must drive someone such as yourself insane, but I really do have a well-thought-out plan for my future.”

  “Such as myself?” he asked. “Dare I ask what that’s supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I imagine your life is planned out to the nth degree and that you have no patience for people who aren’t as organized as you. Am I right?” she asked mischievously.

  He struggled with a scowl before finally relaxing into a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with having one’s path planned out in advance.”

  “No, there isn’t,” she agreed. “I have mine quite mapped out, however, things don’t always go according to plan. The real test is how you manage when your plans fall apart.”

  “Very wise words coming from someone so young.”

  She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. “Do you keep reminding yourself of my age so that you aren’t tempted to do something outrageous like kiss me again?”

  He blinked at her, his mouth falling open. Then he snapped it closed and his jaw tightened. “I thought we agreed to forget that ever happened.”

  “I agreed to do no such thing,” she said lightly. “You can do as you like, however.”

  He was saved from making his response when the waiter returned bearing their food. Isabella watched Theron all through the meal. His agitation was evident in his short, jerky motions as he dug into his food and ate. Several times he looked up and their gazes connected. There was such fire in his eyes. He wasn’t immune to her. Not by a long shot. If she had to guess, he was very affected.

  She’d already shoved her plate aside when she heard Theron’s name called from a few tables away. She glanced over to see a handsome man approach their table. He was well dressed, he screamed wealth and refinement, and he looked at her with undisguised interest even though it was Theron’s name he spoke.

  Theron looked less than pleased by the interruption, but it didn’t seem to bother the man who now stood at their table.

  “Theron, it’s good to see you. I was happy to receive your invitation for Thursday night.”

  He glanced over at Isabella as he spoke and she stared back, wondering if this was one of the men on Theron’s infamous potential husband list. She cocked her eyebrow in question but Theron ignored her.

  “Are you coming?” Isabella spoke up, offering the man a bright smile. “I have it on good authority that Theron is using Thursday’s little soiree to find me a husband.”

  She grinned at the man’s look of surprise. Then he laughed while Theron scowled even harder.

  “You must be Isabella Caplan. I’m Marcus Atwater, and yes, I’ll be attending. Now that I know my attendance puts me in the running, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Isabella smiled and extended her hand. “Please, call me Bella.”

  Marcus took her hand but instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips and kissed it.

  “All right, Bella. A beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman.”

  “Is there something you wanted, Marcus?” Theron asked pointedly.

  His glare could melt steel, but Marcus didn’t seem to be too bothered—or intimidated.

  Isabella sat back. Maybe Theron seeing another man openly flirt with her would bring out those protective instincts. Maybe, just maybe if he suddenly had a little competition…

  “Nothing at all,” Marcus said congenially. “I saw you with a beautiful woman, and I merely wanted to make her acquaintance and see for myself if this was the mysterious Isabella Caplan, the same woman you were throwing the party for. I’m glad now that I came over.” He glanced back at Isabella again. “Save me a dance Thursday night?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

  She watched him walk away before turning back to Theron. “So tell me, how did he rate among the other men you considered for my husband?”

  Theron gave her a disgruntled look. “He’s toward the top,” he mumbled.

  “Oh good, then you won’t mind if we spend time together at your cocktail party.”

  “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “He would be a good choice. He’s successful, doesn’t have any debt, he’s never been married before, and he’s healthy.”

  “Good God, tell me you didn’t hack into his medical records,” she said in disbelief.

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t suggest you marry a man who was in ill health or had defects that could be passed on to your children.”

  He seemed affronted that she’d ask such a question.

  She stifled her laughter and tried to look serious and appreciative. “So can I assume that any man at your party has been carefully screened and has your stamp of approval then?”

  He nodded slowly but he didn’t look happy about the fact.

  “Well then, this should be fun,” she said brightly. “A room full of wealthy, good-looking men to choose from.” She leaned forward and pretended to whisper conspiratorially. “Did you also find out if they were good in bed?”

  Theron choked on his drink. He set it down and growled in a low voice, “Of course I didn’t question their sexual prowess.”

  “Pity. I suppose I’ll have to find out myself before settling on one man in particular.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Theron snarled.

  Her eyes widened innocently as she viewed his obvious irritation. He looked near to bursting a blood vessel.

  His phone rang, and he looked relieved as he fumbled for it. After a few clipped sentences, he rang off and looked over at her.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, but I have to go. I have an important meeting I can’t miss.”

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t mind me. I was going up to my suite anyway.”

  Theron motioned for Reynolds and then rose from his chair.

  “Your security detail will see you up to your suite. And Bella, don’t try to go anywhere without them.”

  Chapter Eight

  Theron’s admonishment still rang in Isabella’s ears the next morning as she plotted her path past her security team. It wasn’t that she minded them going shopping with her. They might even be able to offer a male perspective on which dress looked best on her. She wanted to look good for the cocktail party, and not because of the men Theron had invited with her in mind.

  As soon as she stepped out of her room, Reynolds fell into step behind her.

  “Good morning,” she offered sweetly.

  “Good morning,” he offered in return. “Where would you like to go this morning?” He pulled out his cell phone to call for the car.

  “I want to do a little sight
seeing,” she said. “I don’t know my way around the city very well, so I’ll have to rely on you.”

  “What interests you?” he asked politely.

  She pretended to think. “Museums, art galleries, oh, and I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty.”

  He nodded even as he relayed her wishes to the driver.

  The elevator opened into the lobby where they were joined by Davison and Maxwell. She halted in front of them, took one look and shook her head.

  “Is there a problem?” Reynolds asked.

  “Look, if you guys are going to shadow me, I’d prefer you didn’t look like something out of a mafia movie. Not to mention, I’d rather not broadcast the fact that I’m going around with three bodyguards. That will only make me more conspicuous.”

  “What do you suggest then?” Maxwell muttered. He didn’t look entirely pleased with her assessment.

  “Well, you could lose the shades. They make you look like secret service wannabes.”

  Maxwell and Davison both removed the sunglasses, and Davison glared at her. She grinned in return.

  “Now get rid of the tie and the jacket.”

  All three men shook their heads. “The jackets stay.” Davison spoke up for the first time. To get his point across, he pulled the lapel, opening the jacket enough that she could see the pistol secured by a shoulder holster.

  Her mouth fell open. She wasn’t a screaming ninny about guns. She well understood the need for them. She just hadn’t realized that Theron was that concerned over her safety. For a moment she wavered. Maybe breaking away wasn’t such a great idea. But then in her mind, having three hulking men made her much more noticeable than if she zipped to the department store and back for her dress.

  “Okay, definitely leave the jackets,” she muttered.

  They walked outside where the car had pulled around. Davison got into the front while Maxwell walked around to the opposite passenger door and climbed in. Reynolds opened the passenger door closest to her and waited for her to get in.

  She faked exasperation and slapped her forehead with her open palm. “Wait right here. I forgot my purse,” she said.

  “I’ll get it for you. You get in,” Reynolds said.

  But she was already striding toward the hotel entrance. She turned back holding up a finger. “I won’t be a minute.”

  Reynolds started after her, but she quickly rounded the corner and ducked into the men’s bathroom. He’d most definitely search the women’s room when he figured out she’d disappeared, but hopefully he wouldn’t think to look in the men’s.

  She cracked the door just enough that she could look out. Reynolds hurried by and then he barked into a small receiver that hung from his shirt.

  Seconds later, Maxwell and Davison ran by the bathroom, their faces grim. She slipped out with no hesitation and ran for the hotel entrance, hoping they didn’t look back in the time it took her to get to a taxi.

  She slid into the cab at the front of the line and offered the driver double his fee if he got the hell out fast. Only too happy to comply, he peeled out of the entryway and rocketed in front of two other cars. Horns sounded and angry shouts filled the air but the driver shook his fist and then grinned.

  “Where you going, miss?”

  She glanced up to see him staring at her in the rearview mirror.

  “I’m not completely sure,” she admitted. “I need a dress. A really gorgeous dress that’ll make a man drool at a hundred yards.”

  “I know just the place,” he said, nodding his head.

  Not completely willing to forego any precautionary measures, she asked if he’d wait while she shopped, meter running of course.

  He dropped her off in front of the upscale department store then gave her his cell number.

  “Give me a ring when you’re checking out, and I’ll pull up and pick you up here,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said as she climbed out.

  Making sure to keep in a clump of people, she entered the store. She wasn’t a complete idiot when it came to safety. She avoided corners, anything off the beaten path and stayed in plain sight of the security cameras. When it was time for her to try on her dresses, she had the extremely helpful saleslady accompany her to the dressing room. After all she needed an opinion.

  After trying on six dresses, she found the one. It slipped over her body, hugging every curve like a second skin. The genius of the dress was in its simplicity. There weren’t any ruffles or frills, nothing to take away from the shape of her body. It was sheer with spaghetti straps, and it fell two inches above her knee. With a pair of killer heels, she’d have the men eating out of her hand.

  She frowned as she realized it didn’t really matter what the other men did. Theron was the only one who mattered, and it was anyone’s guess how he would react.

  She stepped out of the dressing room to show the saleslady. Her entire face lit up.

  “It’s perfect, Ms. Caplan. Just perfect. With the right shoes, you’ll be a knockout.”

  Isabella smiled. “Would you happen to have a pair of black shoes in a three-inch heel that would go well with this dress?”

  The saleslady smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

  A few minutes later, Isabella twirled and glanced down her legs at the shoes. The heels were basically toothpicks, but they did look gorgeous on her.

  Not content to sell her an outrageously expensive dress—the shoes were nearly as expensive—the saleslady also insisted she accessorize with just the right jewelry—and handbag of course.

  Two hours after she’d ditched her security team, Isabella settled into her cab and headed back to the hotel. When they pulled up, she collected her bags and leaned up to pay the driver.

  “Thank you so much. I truly appreciate you waiting for me.”

  “It was no problem, miss. Good luck at your party tonight. I’m sure you’ll knock their socks off.”

  She smiled and got out then waved as he drove away. With a smile, she entered the hotel and headed for the elevator. The absence of her security team gave her pause, and then guilt crept in. She’d been so caught up in her shopping that she hadn’t even considered phoning Reynolds to assure him that she was okay, and she hadn’t ever provided him or Theron her cell number, so it wasn’t as if they could have called her.

  With a sigh, she pulled out her cell as she inserted the key to her hotel room. She entered, punching Reynold’s number. Then she looked up and saw four very angry men staring at her from inside her room.

  Theron rose from where he was sitting on the couch, his eyes sparking. He motioned to the other three men. “Leave us,” he said shortly.

  Isabella let the bags slide from her fingertips as the three men filed by. Reynolds shot her a disapproving look, and she smiled tentatively.

  When they were gone, she glanced over at Theron who had closed the distance between them. He glowered menacingly, his face a veritable storm cloud.

  “You didn’t fire them, did you?” she asked uneasily.

  “Rest assured I know exactly where the blame lies,” he gritted out.

  She bent down to collect her bags and walked around him toward the couch.

  “Taking off from your security team was a foolish thing to do, Bella. Did I not impress upon you the need for them? What were you thinking?”

  She turned and regarded him thoughtfully. “I had my reasons,” she said simply.

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “What reasons?” he demanded.

  She smiled. “Nothing you would approve of. I didn’t stay long, and I took precautions. The very nice cabdriver looked out for me quite well, and the saleslady never left my side. Well, except when she went to get me shoes.”

  Theron’s face went gray. “Cabdriver? You entrusted your well-being to a cabdriver?”

  “Relax,” she said with a grin. “He was a perfect gentleman. He drove me to the department store and waited for me until I was through.”

  Theron swallowed and looked as though
he was fighting to keep his temper in check. Hmm. Theron losing his cool. That might be worth the price of admission.

  “Why did you leave without your security team? What was so important that you would risk yourself in this manner?”

  She held up her shopping bag. “I needed a dress for the party tonight.”

  He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes and then reopened them. He strode over to where she stood and gripped her shoulders. “A dress? You gave me the fright of my life for a dress?”

  He shook her as he spoke and she gripped his waist to keep her balance.

  “It wasn’t just any dress,” she murmured as she tried to keep the smile from her face. She probably shouldn’t bait him as she was, but making him lose his composure had suddenly become her mission. “I could hardly meet my future husband in anything but a truly spectacular dress.”

  “You are the most infuriating, frustrating woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” he growled.

  And then he crushed her to him, slanting his lips over hers in a forceful kiss that took her breath away. She moaned as his hands gripped her arms then slid over her back like bands of steel.

  He tasted her hungrily, like a man starving, as though he couldn’t get enough. Tingling awareness snaked up her spine. Her breasts throbbed, and her nipples became taut points, pushing at his chest.

  The sounds of their kiss, hot and breathless filled the room. One of his hands slipped to the waist of her jeans, and he yanked at her shirt until it came free. Then he slid his fingers over the bare skin of her lower back, right where her tattoo rested. He traced patterns over the small of her back as though he was aware of what was there.

  Eager to taste him, she traced his lip with her tongue until he reached out to duel delicately with his own. Warm. So masculine, he tasted of strength, of heady power.

  She lost herself in his arms, melted against his mouth. Her pulse sped up and bounced erratically. How she craved him.

  His hand crept higher until it collided with her bra strap. He fumbled over the clasp and then he froze.