“Seattle is a lovely area,” Connall said, “but my job doesn’t allow me nearly enough time to get out and enjoy it.”
Ah. Another workaholic like yourself. “And there’s so much to see and do that if you haven’t started by now, you’ll never see and do it all.”
“And tonight, I was hoping we could at least see part of it from a new angle.” Connall sent her a sexy grin, one that made her thighs clench. Deprivation of interesting human companions was one thing; the touch of a man was another. For far too long, she’d relied instead on her own trusty fingers to do the job she convinced herself she could do best. But suddenly, under the penetrating gaze of Connall Beaumont, she realized she desperately wanted him to touch her. In any way he saw fit.
“This angle is certainly breathtaking,” she said softly, unable to look away from him. They watched each other for a few timeless moments, suspended in a sweet pause. Connall’s gaze flicked over her shoulder, his face lighting up.
“Here’s my surprise.”
Bernadette twisted in her seat as Connall waved in a small man in a tuxedo and carrying an instrument case in one hand. He gave a small bow and a curt greeting before unpacking in the corner of the room.
“I’ve hired one of the most esteemed violinists in the region to perform for us tonight,” Connall said in response to her raised brow. “Mr. Lucas Grisaldi, performing on a 1717 Stradivarius.”
She blinked, looking back at the violinist as he pulled out the gleaming wooden instrument. “Y…You can do that?”
“He was honored to perform for our special evening.”
Bernadette’s heart fluttered. Connall was just too good at this wooing thing. “You are something else.” She smoothed her hair back, feeling more than flustered by the planning and forethought something like this would entail. Dinner in a private suite was nice enough. But hiring a world-renowned performer? “Most men settle for a nice dinner in a restaurant for a first date.”
Connall wet his bottom lip, giving her the most heartbreakingly boyish look of innocence. “I’m just making sure you agree to a second date when I ask you.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. A second date is out of the question. She’d be returning to Montana soon enough, and besides, one harmless, exploratory date seemed the best course of action. That way, neither of them would be operating under any illusions.
Before she could respond, the warbling, woody undertones of the music began. Bernadette stilled, eyes fluttering shut as she listened. Good lord, a private performance. This was heavenly. How much does something like this cost? She couldn’t help but wonder. Connall was way beyond her father’s level, she understood now. He was like billionaire level. Somewhere far, far away from her regular life.
“What are you thinking?” Connall’s voice was firm, his gaze serious when she looked up. She blinked a few times, unsure where to begin.
“That this is the most fantastic thing someone has ever arranged for a date with me,” she whispered, hesitant to break the spell of the music. A grin twitched at his lips, just as the waitress let herself in with the bottle of pinot noir. She poured two glasses and then took their order. Nothing had a price on the one-sided piece of parchment, so she couldn’t even guess what sort of cost the evening might have. Don’t even think about it. Just enjoy this prince sweeping you off your feet…
As long as she remembered to put her feet back on the ground once the evening ended.
Their evening progressed between lighthearted banter, heartbreaking violin chords, and four courses of food so delicious that Bernadette thought her mouth might melt from sheer pleasure. Their plates featured strange compilations of meat and veggies—rice porridge butting up against kohlrabi, wrinkled grape skins hugging a medium-rare slice of strip loin—but every single thing she put in her mouth was decadent and perfect.
After the last plate of fascinating food, she folded her napkin into her lap and looked at Connall with wide eyes.
“I can’t eat another bite or my palate will be ruined for the rest of my life.” She took a healthy sip of pinot noir, shaking her head. “I won’t be able to return to the meals of mere mortals.”
Connall looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Good. You’ll be forced to depend on me for food. My plan is working.”
She threw her head back, laughing. “And here I thought you were harmless.”
“Oh no. I’m quite sinister when I want to be.” He flashed an endearingly wicked grin, reaching for her hand on the table. He covered it with his, his thumb scraping across her knuckles. Warmth shot through her, and she was glad to be sitting. If she’d been upright, she might have fallen over.
The violinist finished his song with a flourish, which left the room in pleasant echo of Bach. Connall leaned back, clapping loudly. Bernadette joined, smiling at the musician, who bowed slightly before packing up his instrument.
“Simply marvelous,” Connall said. “You made that Stradivarius weep.”
After the violinist excused himself and the plates had been cleared, Connall and Bernadette watched each other in a pleasant wine haze. When Connall suggested they head for the car, Bernadette knew this was the crucial moment. Overcome the raucous desire for more. Appreciate a nice evening with a nice man, and leave it at that.
Because if she somehow ended up sleeping with him, the outcome would either be regret or more regret. She knew herself well by now, and that was part of what made it so easy to eschew society. She fell too deeply for people, trusted too much, wanted too much to be part of an immutable partnership that would always care for her, look out for her best interests.
And unfortunately, men just didn’t tend to be able to give that to her.
Though sexing Connall in the backseat of a limo or in the broom closet of the restaurant might be memorable, it certainly wouldn’t taste very good in the light of the following day.
His personal car waited outside for them as they stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night air. She drew her shawl tighter around her, shivering when Connall’s warm hand found the small of her back, helping her into the back seat of the car. When he joined on the other side a moment later, his eyes shone in the dim moonlight.
“I do hope you’ve enjoyed yourself tonight,” he said.
“Too much,” she said, clutching her handbag tightly, as if it might help stop the swell of desire between her legs. “You’ve ruined me for life.”
His throaty chuckle rippled through her, sent goosebumps prickling up and down her forearms. He shifted closer, his heat sinking into her.
“I could say the same about you.”
“Oh?” Her heart rate ratcheted up as she sensed him leaning closer, his face growing imperceptibly nearer. One kiss should be fine. You can do one kiss only. “How is that?”
“Now I’ll never be able to engage a beautiful woman at the corporate bar again. I’ll only be disappointed.” His warm hand covered hers, sending a surge of moisture between her legs. “You’ve ruined me for life.”
The most girlish squeak-giggle she’d ever heard escaped her lips, but the dark car hid the flush in her cheeks. “Oh, please. Now you’re just being smooth.”
“Only now?” He tutted. “Pity, I thought I’d been smooth all along.”
She laughed, leaning her head against the head rest, struggling to catch a glimpse of his gaze. Passing streetlights illuminated him in flashes, quick glimpses that did nothing but make her desperate for more.
“Bernadette.” His grip on her hand tightened, his voice low, as if he was about to tell a secret. “May I kiss you?”
A gush of air escaped her, and she whispered, “Yes.”
Connall’s hand found the dip of her neck, and a moment later the heat of his mouth pressed against hers, prompting a kiss as sweet as it was savory. He was gentle, so incredibly soft and tender that Bernadette reached for him, knotting her hand in the lapel of his coat, bringing him closer.
They kissed again and again, each one deeper an
d juicier than the last. When his tongue pressed inside her mouth, she made a small noise, unable to sense anything other than the blazing desire between her legs, the wild need for more of this man.
When they broke apart, Bernadette was breathless. And at home. Already.
“Oh my god. That was fast,” she whispered, gazing at her parents’ house through the back window.
“Quickest fifteen minutes of my life,” Connall murmured at her ear, nipping at her earlobe. She shivered. “Are you sure you want to get out?”
She steeled herself. Of course she didn’t want to get out. Which meant that she should. “I need to get to bed.” Lamest excuse ever. “Thank you for an amazing night.”
Connall grunted softly, making his displeasure clear. “You were the most amazing part of it.”
She giggled, squeezing his hand before pushing on the door. He made her wait until he got out to open the door for her, then he bowed primly, his grin ever more mischievous and boyish in the faint lighting of her parents’ landscape spotlights.
“Sleep well, sweet Bernadette,” he murmured against the back of her hand, before he placed a kiss there.
“You are such a gentleman,” she said, not trusting herself to walk away from the car. “How rare are you these days?”
“Hopefully rare enough that you’ll consider answering my texts from here on out,” he said, lifting a brow.
She squeezed his hand. Not a chance. “Goodnight, Connall. Thank you for everything.”
And with every ounce of willpower in her body, she strutted to the front door like a woman in control of her destiny. A woman who was perfectly fine without hunky, perfectly proportioned British men who also happened to kiss like a god.
She didn’t have room for someone like him in her life.
3
On Monday morning, Connall fought the urge to count the hours since he’d last seen Bernadette. It was definitely more than twenty-four, and tonight would mark forty-eight, but he didn’t want to count the in-between hours, because then he might have a problem on his hands.
Problem being he wanted to see her again. Badly.
He hadn’t expected to like her so much. Part of him had expected the daughter of his grandfather’s stodgy lawyer to be at least halfway as stodgy as him. But no. Not an ounce of stodginess in her.
And those kisses still burned in his mind. Had led him straight to the shower when he got home Saturday night, where he’d fisted himself into swirling heights of pleasure, imagining plump, ruby-red painted lips and those soft curves beneath her dress that he’d been dying to trace with his hands.
Connall checked his watch. Barely eight a.m. and already he was keyed up. If he saw Bernadette again, he might back her into a corner, have his way with her immediately. But when would that be? He needed to figure out a game plan. Despite how attracted he was, courting the daughter of his grandfather’s lawyer also seemed like a risk. Ticking him off was all well and good until it interfered with future legal matters.
The Seattle morning was gray but bright as he headed toward the manufacturing end of B3 Engines. He started every day this way, instead of heading directly to the corporate end where his and Gregor’s office lay. Seeing his workers was a critical part of the business plan. If it weren’t for them, none of this would exist.
He stepped onto the manufacturing floor, the loud whirr of machines greeting him. He tugged down his safety goggles, waving to a few workers nearby who were gathered around a machine, admiring some laser work. They waved back as he walked through. Those particular workers had been here since the beginning. One had recently married. Another had a daughter who was poised to enter college.
Connall kept tabs on the life events of everyone he could, made it a point to be interested and involved. Otherwise, how else could their company culture entice so many people to stay? B3 had a reputation for longevity and low turnover. People fought for open positions here, and usually new hires came with an existing employee’s recommendation.
B3 was family and would always be family. As long as Connall had anything to say about it.
He made his familiar rounds through the plant and then pushed through to the quiet hallway of the corporate end. He tugged his safety glasses down, letting them hang around his neck as he hurried toward his office, his shoes tapping out a quick pace against the wood floors. Elaborate potted palms dotted the hall, crisp white walls accented with slate gray. He smiled at his assistant Deb on his way through the door, her chair creaking as she launched up to follow him.
“Morning, sir!” she chirped. “I have a message already.”
“Dear Lord. It’s scarcely a breath past eight, and people have called?” He feigned shock. “Lay it on me.”
She straightened her posture, looking down at the note in her hands. “Mr. Abergine from Abergine and Finch called; he would like a call back at your earliest convenience.”
Connall sighed. “Very well. Thank you, Deb.” She excused herself, and Connall sank into his chair, staring at the phone to mentally prepare himself for the call. Dale Abergine was the Beaumont brothers’ lawyer, responsible for navigating them through the strange headlock of their grandfather’s last will and testament. They’d been talking more frequently as the deadline loomed nearer. And each call was progressively less fun.
Dale picked up on the second ring. He sounded winded. “I hoped that was you.”
“It’s me,” Connall confirmed, seeing a flash of Bernadette in his mind. What was she up to? “So, any good news?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Something creaked on the other end, like maybe Dale was sitting down. “I was hoping you’d have some.”
“Not me either,” Connall said. They’d been brainstorming ways for Connall to find that much-needed wife, but everything felt too smarmy or underhanded. Both his brothers had tried unconventional approaches and lucked out. But lightning couldn’t strike three times. “Though I did run into Mr. Rowland over the weekend.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Your grandfather’s lawyer?”
“Yes. Well, I saw him, rather. We didn’t speak. I actually spoke with his daughter. And then I took her out on a date.”
“Hm.” Heavy breathing, and then Dale tutted. “She know anything about her dad’s work?”
Connall snorted. “I didn’t ask. I was a bit too preoccupied with other aspects of the evening.”
“Sure, sure.” Dale paused. “You know, that man is ruthless. Even if you found your soul mate but didn’t get married before the due date, that jackal would laugh your company right into the ground. He’s crazy for shit like that. Loves to get those dramatic wins. It’s all for his website testimonials, you know.”
Connall gnawed at the inside of his lip. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I guess, since I don’t even have a fiancée to not marry in six weeks.”
A loud slap from the other end sounded. “You should marry his daughter! Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”
“Brilliant,” Connall said. “I’ve thought of it myself. How terribly ironic. But there’s no way I could bring up my situation with her, much less ask her to help me solve it. She’s too nice. I actually like her.”
Dale grumbled low. “But maybe she can find something out for us?”
Connall’s stomach knotted strangely. “Like what?”
“Like what loopholes exist.” Dale’s breathing picked up. “That’s all we need to know. What loophole there might be. Whatever last-ditch effort we can make to get you out of this damned agreement.”
“I can see that going over well,” Connall said. “So, what, I take her out for a date, then casually ask if she’s brought along her father’s client documents?”
“No. Of course not. You’d be much slyer than that.”
Connall shook his head. “I actually like her, Dale. I couldn’t do that.”
“You wouldn’t be doing anything. If you’re already getting close to her…it might come about naturally. She could find out…pass the informat
ion your way…voila.”
Connall sighed tersely, working his jaw back and forth as he considered the proposition. The idea was outlandish, yet they were mere weeks away from the possible dissolution of his entire life’s work.
“It’s the only shot you have at getting out of this thing,” Dale added when the silence had stretched too thin. “Otherwise, we might as well kiss the business goodbye right now.”
His words crashed down around him, igniting that telltale twitch behind Connall’s left eye that appeared anytime he seriously considered the possible ending of B3. “What if I sell my shares to Gregor? Like Alistair did. Then once the will is executed, I’ll just buy them back.”
Dale tutted. “If that changed anything for Alistair, it’s only because he completely separated from the company. You wouldn’t be doing that. You’d be coming back on board like a hot potato. So unless you have plans on finding a wife sometime soon…we have to find the loophole, or you lose the biz.”
All the workers who had invested so much in this business, in him…he couldn’t stand to let them down. Couldn’t fathom being that harbinger of bad news. Destroying college funds. Ruining holidays. Casting uncertainty and stress onto the lives of so many families.
“I’m planning on spending more time with her,” Connall said carefully, clenching and unclenching a fist as he thought. “I’ll see what I can learn…but if I can’t, I can’t. I’m just not comfortable using someone like that.”
“Hey. That’s fine. But give it the ol’ college try,” Dale said. They chatted about a few other matters before hanging up, promising to reconnect later that week for an update.
In the stillness of his office, Connall stared at the metallic swirls on his desk top, letting Dale’s proposition cycle through him.
It would be stupid of him not to do whatever he could to save his company. Even if Bernadette couldn’t help, he didn’t want the demise of his start-up to include the lurking what if of never having asked.
The Beaumont Brothers: The Complete Series Page 22