At the Billionaire's Beck and Call?

by Rachel Bailey

  Despite her ambivalence, one thing he’d said intrigued her. “Personal?”

  He slipped his sunglasses from his jacket pocket, put them on and took in the expansive view. “I’ve never been to Sydney. My one previous Australian trip was also to Melbourne. There’s something I’d like to see while I’m here.”

  Macy folded her arms under her breasts and studied his face. It didn’t seem right—The Machine taking time out for sightseeing. She was sure his American staff would never believe her if she repeated the story.

  She found her own sunglasses in her bag and slid them on. “I wouldn’t have picked you for the tourist type.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “You weren’t listening to my holiday description on the plane?”

  She felt the heat rise up her chest and throat and turned away to the sails of the Opera House to obscure his view of her embarrassment. Except this wasn’t simply embarrassment, the heat flowed through her veins to every square inch of skin. Her body was responding to the mere suggestion of his kiss, whether she wanted it to or not. And she hated that loss of control.

  She tilted her chin up. “Ryder, I—”

  “Before you say anything,” he smoothly interjected, “I’ll show you what I have in mind.” He slipped an arm around her waist and gestured to the thirty-foot cruiser waiting at the jetty.

  It was beautiful—large, sleek and white; its proud elegance easily outstripped the craft around it. But she’d be trapped alone with Ryder. Again. At the mercy of her own flawed ability to resist him. Again. The sweet pull of the heavenly and the allure of the dangerous had never been so strongly interlaced.

  She took a small but symbolic step back from his arm. “I’m not sure we have time for a cruise. I have a lot of work to do at the hotel.”

  He dropped the arm she’d evaded and—seemingly unconcerned by her reluctance—dug both hands into his trouser pockets. “You have to eat, and lunch has been prepared for us on board. Think of it as your lunch break.”

  She looked at the gleaming cruiser. She’d never been out on the Harbour. Her trips to Sydney had always been quick business visits, but each time she’d promised herself that one day she’d explore this, the heart of Sydney. Maybe today was that day, and Ryder had handed her the opportunity. Could she do it? Ignore work for an hour or two, indulge herself, spend social time with her boss and not let it lead anywhere? She bit down on a secret smile, not willing to let it free, but ready to live in the moment for once.

  A man in a white uniform waved to them from the cruiser and Ryder returned the greeting. She watched the exchange and suspicion pricked. “You already have a booking, don’t you?”

  He grinned in approval as he started walking her down to the jetty, obviously aware she’d made her decision. “I made it from Melbourne.”

  She shook her head as the smile she’d been restraining tried again to break free. Of course he had. This wasn’t an unplanned detour—she’d just been unaware it was part of the schedule. Even the security men, leaning back against their car, seemed to know this was the next stop.

  However, that didn’t make her relax—now the question was, had he organized this to get her alone in a romantic setting? Or was it really just about him wanting a chance to see a world-famous landmark, the same way she’d been curious?

  He guided her onto the cruiser and left her to speak to the captain. Macy looked around the Harbour, trying to sort out the competing thoughts tumbling around her head. She hadn’t made much progress a few minutes later when she heard Ryder’s footfalls on the deck come up behind her and then he joined her, leaning against the rail and looking over the view as the crew eased the boat out into the waterway. Despite being dressed in a handmade suit and polished shoes, he looked strangely at home. None of this made sense.

  “What are you planning, Ryder?” she asked, an edge creeping into her voice.

  “People talk about Sydney Harbour, they say it’s beautiful. Some say the most beautiful harbor in the world.” His sunglasses concealed his eyes but she could feel the truth in his words. “I’ve seen it on television, especially during the Sydney to Hobart yacht race, but I’ve never seen it in person.”

  The breeze fluttered around her as she leaned on the rail next to him, her head turned to watch the man beside her instead of the view he described. “You watch boat races?”

  “Yacht races,” he corrected, with a pained expression on his face. Then he flashed her a smile. “I learned to sail as a child, and always try to catch the best events. The America’s Cup, Admiral’s Cup, the Sydney to Hobart.”

  She tucked the strands of hair that had escaped her French knot behind her ears. Suddenly, she could see him on one of those yachts, commanding the crew to victory as effortlessly as he commanded his staff to financial success. Yet she suspected he usually didn’t make time in his schedule for sailing or boat trips. And that he was granting her a rare insight into the inner sanctum of himself—he really did want to see Sydney Harbour on a boat.

  Her heart relaxed its guard a little, honored that he’d wanted to share this with her. “This is all about you seeing an exquisite harbor, isn’t it?”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “If you get to see me away from the office for an hour and realize I’m not so bad, that wouldn’t hurt, either.”

  She hesitated. Had she read the situation wrong? “You said you’d keep your distance. That you’d be a perfect gentleman on this trip.” The kiss on the plane had already broken his rules, but she was positive he hadn’t planned that. This cruise however…

  “And I will be a gentleman.” He laid a hand over his heart, the picture of innocence. “This is only lunch. On what’s rumored to be the most spectacular harbor in the world.”

  The boat picked up speed a little and she leaned against the guardrail as she assessed his rugged features. “Nothing more?”

  He clenched his hands around the waist-height metal bar, leaning out into the wind, his shirt billowing, his closely cropped hair tousled. Then he looked back, and even through his sunglasses she could tell his eyes were full of the devil. “Unless you ask.”

  “I won’t,” she said with certainty. It wasn’t fair to give him mixed signals on this point.

  He shrugged. “Then nothing more.” He turned back to watch the water as it whipped past.

  They traveled for a couple of minutes in companionable silence, only broken when Ryder pointed out Clark Island, one of the green bumps of land he said he recognized from watching Sydney Harbour on television. For a moment, Macy forgot about the undercurrents of their banter and was simply absorbed in sharing the beauty of her adopted country.

  The steward emerged and handed them each a glass of champagne before showing them to a mammoth platter of tropical fruits and cheeses on the shaded upper deck.

  Macy took her seat and eyed the mouthwatering choices, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. She took star fruit and an assortment of melon slices first, and as she sampled a sliver of honeydew melon, she realized Ryder was watching her. She stopped chewing and lowered the rest of the piece. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m watching you eat.” He said the words innocently enough, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

  A shiver of awareness erupted across her skin and she placed the melon on the plate. “You said you’d be a gentleman.”

  “I am. Mostly.” He grinned and scooped a piece of honeydew from the platter for his own plate. “It’s hard not to watch when you’re enjoying your food so much. It’s compelling. Sensual.”

  She refused to blush. Instead, she arched an eyebrow. “A gentleman wouldn’t notice.”

  “A gentleman would have no blood in his veins not to notice your mouth and that fruit. But point taken.” Within two bites he’d devoured his slice of melon. “Tell me, have you been on the Harbour before?”

  Macy looked out across the blue, blue water. “No, I’ve never been to Sydney for more than a couple of days at a time.”

  “You’ve
always worked in Melbourne?” He cut several wedges of brie, placed them on wholegrain crackers and put them on her plate before making some for himself.

  She smiled her thanks and selected one as she spoke. “When I first moved to Australia, I studied for a business degree in Melbourne. Straight after I graduated, I took a six-month project in Brisbane.”

  “That’s in the north?”

  She nodded. “The capital of Queensland.” It had been a great place to start her career—a city big enough to support large businesses, but small enough to make her mark. She’d had an apartment downtown that overlooked the botanical gardens, close to good eating places, and within walking distance to work. Just how she liked it.

  “They have great beaches up there,” Ryder said.

  “So I’ve heard.” Many of her colleagues had raved about their holidays on the coast either north or south of Brisbane. She took a bite of the creamy brie, then followed it with a sweet red grape.

  He sipped his champagne and watched her over the rim. “You didn’t see the beaches?”

  “I’d just graduated.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t afford to waste time.”

  “That’s why weekends were invented,” he said slowly.

  “True.” She nodded casually and popped a chunk of dragon fruit into her mouth. Some people may want to play at the end of the week, but weekends were perfect for making progress on deadlines and working from the comfort of home.

  Ryder watched her for a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t take weekends, did you?”

  “No,” she admitted with a reluctant smile. He had a surprising ability to read her. It wasn’t something she was used to—when she’d been younger, no one had watched her long enough, not with her mother or sister nearby. And once she’d struck out on her own, she’d quickly developed an aloof facade that had kept everyone at bay.

  Everyone but this man.

  Under the cover of taking lychees and cubes of matured cheese from the platter with the silver tongs, she observed him. Sunglasses hid his eyes as he slowly slid a piece of moist pawpaw past his lips. Her pulse spiked. Now she could see his point about watching someone eat fruit.

  He blotted his mouth with the napkin then reached for the Swiss cheese. “Where else have you been?”

  She pushed the lychees around her plate, bringing her pulse back under control. “I’ve flown into Perth a few times for meetings.”

  “And let me guess—” a teasing grin spread across his face “—all you saw was the inside of the car and a meeting room?”

  “I did take in a couple of sunsets. It’s on the west coast of Australia and the sunsets were spectacular. The best I’ve seen.”

  She found room for one final piece of kiwifruit, but then edged her plate away and wiped her fingers on her napkin.

  “Had enough?” Ryder asked.

  “Probably a little past enough, but the flavors were too tempting to leave.”

  He pushed back his chair and stood, then came around to pull her chair out. “Let’s go back to the lower deck.”

  “You like being closer to the water,” she guessed.

  He rewarded her with a smile and held out an arm for her to lead the way. Once they were positioned again at the guardrail, where the wind danced through their hair and the smell of the sea was stronger, he turned to her. “Have you been to Tasmania?”

  “Not had an opportunity.”

  “I’d like to go one day,” he said, looking up to follow the path of a low-flying seagull.

  Tasmania might have beautiful old growth rainforests and stunning mountains, but she knew the claim it would have on Ryder. “At the time of the Sydney to Hobart, I assume?”

  “It’d be a sight to see, those yachts coming up Storm Bay.” His voice was wistful and his gaze sought the yachts that dotted the Harbour. His staff might call him The Machine, but deep inside, something in Ryder didn’t want to be a workaholic. It was as obvious as the bright sun in the sky that part of him wanted to stop and smell the roses. Or, more accurately, watch the yachts.

  From observing her father, she knew that being a workaholic didn’t bring joy, and she wanted happiness for Ryder.

  “You should do it,” she said softly. “Take some time for yourself and see the race firsthand.”

  His head whipped around to face her again, dark eyebrows raised. “Do you want to be the pot or the kettle in this scenario?”

  Macy laughed and leaned her elbows on the rail, submitting herself to the breeze and the sound of the water rhythmically hitting the hull.

  Time had flown by so quickly, she was surprised a few minutes later when they pulled back in to the jetty near the Opera House. She watched the crew work to secure the cruiser and felt an unwelcome pang of sadness that it was over already. Definitely time to switch back into work mode and leave the casualness of their “lunch break” behind.

  She looked at Ryder who was watching the activity of people on the shore. “Thank you,” she said. “It was a memorable lunch.”

  He turned his back to the view and, after pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head, leaned his elbows on the rails behind him. “I hope memorable for more than the scenery.”

  She glanced at Ryder’s profile. He looked better than any preened male model on a nautical photo shoot. The deck beneath her rocked with the movement of the water, but her legs fought more than the motion as they locked to avoid swaying. She clenched her jaw, her muscles, and brought her body back under control.

  Then she tossed him the reply his comment deserved. “Are you fishing for a compliment, Mr. Bramson?”

  A laugh seemed to roar up from his chest before he threw his head back and it erupted into the air around them. It took a few moments before he could reply. “Just wondering if my plan to get you to accept my proposal is moving forward.”

  The captain appeared and told them it was safe to disembark; Ryder thanked him and offered Macy his hand as they walked down the gangplank. Once they were on solid ground, she released his hand and headed for the waiting limousine. Ryder checked his long stride to fall into step beside her.

  “Your plan?” she said, as they walked. “I think, instead of discussing your not-so-secret agenda to use me to buy a company, we should go back to the hotel so I can keep working on the job you pay me to do.”

  They reached the car, he opened the limousine door for her and offered his hand. “I can live with that. For now.”

  As he closed the door and circled the limo, Macy realized it was the for now that was the problem. He’d made his clearest signal yet that he hadn’t given up. That he still intended to marry her.

  The thought made her quiver.

  Ryder stepped out of his shower and toweled off to the sound of the blues station he’d found on the hotel room radio. He’d told Macy to be ready at six because he was taking her out to dinner, but in truth, he’d organized a far more elaborate evening including a show at the Opera House, then a table at the city’s most exclusive restaurant, followed by a walk along the moonlit Harbour shore.

  And during the stroll, he’d propose properly.

  She’d practically acknowledged this afternoon on the cruiser that they were compatible companions. And he had enormous respect and admiration for her—add that to the sexual heat they generated, and it was more than he’d expected to find in a wife. He had a good feeling about this marriage. She would, too, once he explained.

  He pulled on boxers and black trousers, listening to the sounds of Macy’s hairdryer in the second bedroom of their presidential suite. He paused by his open door, appreciating the intimacy of knowing his future wife was nearby, perhaps in a bathrobe. His blood heated and his body began its ascension to the aching need he always felt for her. He couldn’t remember this desperate wanting with another woman. Usually, if a woman wasn’t interested in a sexual relationship for whatever reason, he moved on, no harm, no foul. But not with Macy. Knowing she was in a bathroom on the other side of the wall was next to mad
dening.

  His cell phone rang and he glanced around before remembering he’d left it on the coffee table in the sitting room. He strode out, not worried about his bare chest or feet since she was still busy in her bathroom.

  Thumbing the button, he answered. “Bramson.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Bramson, it’s Pia Baxter.”

  He greeted the executor of his father’s estate as his gaze roamed to the door of Macy’s room. What would she be wearing now? Would her body still be glistening with water from her shower?

  “Mr. Bramson, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Instantly, Ryder’s attention was one hundred percent on the phone. He turned to face the wall of glass overlooking Sydney Harbour.

  “Go on.” He then realized this was an odd hour for someone in the U.S. to ring. Early morning, New York time. His spine stiffened.

  “There’s been an accident involving your half brother, Jesse Kentrell.”

  He sighed heavily. From what he knew of the spoiled brat, accidents weren’t uncommon. Although…this must be bad to warrant a phone call to an estranged brother. Or perhaps it affected the will. “What sort of accident?”

  “A car crash. I’m afraid he died at the scene.”

  For one awful moment, dark, clawing emotions rose in his chest, but without examining, or even naming them, he pushed them back down before they could affect him. They served no purpose; he’d learned that years ago. They only clouded judgment and distracted.

  He heard Macy’s door open but didn’t turn, remaining focused on the information Pia Baxter was sharing. “Were others involved? Seth?”

  “Seth Kentrell wasn’t traveling with him. It was a single car accident and it seems Jesse was the driver. There was one passenger who was taken to hospital unconscious.” Pia paused. “April Fairchild.”

  Ryder sucked in a breath. Jesse had dated minor celebrities in the past, but April Fairchild was the big leagues. America’s favorite jazz singer was famous, talented, gorgeous…and unconscious. His stomach dipped as he comprehended the enormity of the situation.