by Holly Hart
To the best of my knowledge, there isn’t a how-to guide that a guy can use as a kind of blueprint when he asks an attractive woman to marry him and bear his first-born child simply so that the guy can gain controlling interest in the family company. But I don’t need a book to tell me I’m messing this entire situation up.
Caitlin’s green eyes grow so huge, they seem to take over her entire face. She touches the base of her throat, her dark green nail polish striking a sharp contrast with her pale skin. The tip of her tongue moistens her lips. I stare at the damp skin, wondering what it will taste like. Hoping I get the chance to find out.
“Excuse me?” she whispers.
As much as I don’t want to explain the situation, I know I don’t have much of a choice.
“Have you heard of my brother, Evan?”
“He’s your twin, right?” Her brow furrows as she searches her memory banks for information about Evan. “He was arrested a few years ago. Assaulting an officer or something like that.”
I grimace and nod. “That and drunk driving, which is what started the whole thing, and then resisting arrest. I’m pretty sure there was also a contempt of court and one or two other charges as well by the time they threw his ass into a prison cell.”
And then there was what I found when I took over Caldwell Industry. I’d never reported it. I should have, but every time I picked up the phone to talk to the authorities, I remembered the expression on my mom’s face when the judge read Evan’s final sentence. The pain and shock of knowing what he was capable of when he was blind drunk and angry had almost destroyed her. There was no way I could live with what would happen to her if she ever found out what he was really like.
Sticking to the bare minimum, I give Caitlin the details of what I’ve just learned about my father’s will. I fully expect her to bolt long before I finish the story—it’s what I’d do if I were in her shoes—but she doesn’t. She hears me out.
“That’s insane. You’d really go through such a huge-life changing thing like getting married … having a child, just for two percent of one company. Isn’t owning forty-nine percent of it enough? Will the two percent you get really make you that much richer?”
I move the hand that’s on the back of her chair and catch hold of her ponytail, playing with the soft ends. “It’s not about the money.”
“Really?” Skepticism flashes in her almond-shaped emerald eyes. “’Cause from where I’m sitting, this sounds like a money thing. That or a pissing contest between you and your brother, one with really high stakes.”
“I can see how you’d think that, but my brother, he didn’t do a very good job with this company when he had the opportunity to run it. He wasn’t the best boss to the employees.” If I could bring myself to tell her all that he’d done she’d have a better understanding of what she was dealing with, but I can’t. I’ve never told anyone. “The only way I can protect them from being put through that kind of stress again is by making sure that I maintain a controlling interest in things.”
Caitlin rubs her temple. “And how the hell did I get dragged into this scheme? You saw me in the elevator and thought, hey, she looks like just the kind of sap that makes for a perfect bride and mother?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the tension in the room, I can’t help myself. I laugh.
Something about the fact that she’s able to be witty and poke a little fun at the situation causes something in my chest to relax and warm. Something that feels just a little, I’m almost afraid to think it, like hope.
“Not quite, though I certainly noticed you. You’re too pretty not to be noticed.”
She blinks. “Really?”
Whoa! She honestly has no idea that she’s attractive, even dressed in an ugly suit and wearing minimalistic makeup. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about my little fantasy while we were traveling together, but my instincts warn me that those words will be too much for her and she’ll bolt.
“Really,” I assure her. I stroke her cheek with the back of one finger, enjoying the way my knuckles slide over her silky skin. “You’re very pretty.”
For a split second, her eyes glaze over, like she’s falling under a spell, but she gives herself a shake and leans away from my touch.
“Why me?” she demands, her tone firm.
“Janet told me about your financial situation.” I wince inwardly, wishing I’d thought of a way to be more tactful as she pales. “She said that you were considering becoming a surrogate mother in order to earn some more money. She thought you’d find this option to be more appealing.”
Caitlin leaps to her feet, the sudden movement sending her chair toppling over backwards. “I can’t do this.”
“Caitlin, wait.” Before she can bolt past me, I grab her hand, pulling her so close to my side our body heat mingles. “I know this is a lot to ask, but don’t write me off right away. I think that this is a situation that, as long as we approach it with cool heads and reasonable expectations, we’ll both get what we want … what we need. So give it some thought, weigh your options. Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get together tonight and see what you think.”
I fully expect her to tell me to go to hell. I think that’s what she expects to say, but when she opens her mouth, the words “I’ll consider it, but that’s all I can promise” tumble past her lips.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Rather than releasing her hand, I lift it and bow my head. Knowing she’s expecting a chaste, old fashioned kiss on the palm or knuckles, I rotate it at the last second, touching my lips, followed by the tip of my tongue, to the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist. My eyes hold hers captive the entire time. She gasps and a flush stains her cheekbones. After a second, she tugs her hand free and bolts from the room.
The salt from her skin tickles my tongue as satisfaction wings through me. Her reaction soothed me, assured me that I’m not the only one being blindsided by unexpected lust.
63
Jeremy
I don’t have to set foot inside Caitlin’s shop to know that I like it.
Janet was right. I’ve walked past it a thousand times since taking over Caldwell Industries. What she didn’t know was that I took note when the previously grungy little brick building went through a stunning transformation. Decades of grime was removed from the bricks, the cracked windows were replaced, a pretty porch was added, and a cheerful yellow door was installed.
That must have been about two years ago. At the time, seeing the changes made me proud. Not only was I pleased that a new business was moving into the area, but also that the new owner seemed confident that the business would do well. I felt it had a lot to do with the way that my efforts with Caldwell Industries had helped improve this section of Denver.
Ever since then, I’ve always kept an eye on the little place.
Right now, the front porch is empty, the windows bare, but at Christmas time the porch sparkles with Christmas lights and poinsettias are lined up on the wooden benches. In the summer, huge, pretty hanging baskets are displayed. In the fall, heavy pumpkins and gourds spill out of artful cornucopias.
Despite how much I’ve always admired this place, this is the first time I’ve ever walked into it. A small, cheerful bell announces my presence as I push the door open. Hot, moist air that smells like flowers and potting soil blasts me, removing the faint chill I developed on my walk over from the Caldwell building.
I immediately spot Caitlin standing behind the front counter. Her head is the only part of her visible past the enormous clay pot and cactus she’s messing with. She’s freed her dark red hair from the ponytail, letting it fall loose around her shoulders, and at least half of her pea-green suit has been replaced by a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“I’m closing the place down in five minutes,” she calls out without looking up.
“That’s okay. I’m not interested in the plants, just the owner.”
“Oh.” Caitlin’s head snaps u
p. “Mr. Caldwell. I … thought. Nothing.”
“You thought what?”
Caitlin scoops a little more soil into the pot and pats it down. Her hands are protected by bright purple latex gloves.
“Nothing, it’s silly.”
Intrigued, I move closer. “I want to know.”
“When I didn’t hear from you at all today, I guess I assumed you’d found someone … I don’t know, more suitable, and decided to pretend our … discussion this morning never happened, that you decided to forget about me.”
Her voice is steady, the tone light, like the idea of me changing my mind isn’t a big deal. But I swear, something in her eyes shifts, a momentary flash of vulnerability that disappears almost instantly.
I pin my hopes on that flash, silently praying it means she’s considered my suggestion and doesn’t think it’s quite as insane as it sounds.
“One way or another, I’d let you know.” I shove my hands into my pockets and look around the shop. Plants and flowers cover every available surface. It reminds me of the business trip to Brazil that I just returned from. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thank you.”
I wait a beat, hoping she’ll expand on the statement, give me something I can use to build a conversation, one that might help cut through the thick wall of tension that went up between us the second she recognized me.
“Do you run this place by yourself?” I finally ask, inwardly wincing at the awkwardness of the statement.
“For the most part.”
That’s it. I refuse to spend my entire evening standing here, trading polite, generic comments with her. Better to cut straight to the chase. “Would you have dinner with me? Give me a chance to discuss our…” I hunt for the right word. ‘Proposal’ is too romantic, too optimistic, but ‘business arrangement’ sounds so cold.
“Very strange adventure that you think I should take part in,” Caitlin picks up where my sentence trails off.
I grin. She has some spark in her. Good.
“Precisely.” I take a step closer to the counter. Caitlin raises her hands, placing one on either side of the pot the cactus is in. There’s something self-protective in the motion, like she’ll throw the plant at me if I make a single false move. Considering the sharp spines and the plant’s massive size, it’s a pretty good choice in weaponry.
“So, what do you say to dinner?”
Caitlin chews on her lower lip. “I’m not sure. This whole thing is just so … bizarre. And I don’t understand how I got sucked up into it.”
I can’t help noticing that for as much as she keeps commenting on how weird things are, she’s yet to give me a flat-out no, which most other women would.
“Tell you what. Come to dinner with me and hear my sales pitch. If by the end of the meal, I haven’t convinced you to say yes, we’ll go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”
Her fingers tap a random rhythm against the clay pot. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten. And I may have forgotten to go to the grocery store.”
I remember from my college days how ‘forgot to get groceries’ is not-so-subtle code for ‘can’t afford to eat’. “I can promise you something hot and delicious.”
Caitlin’s gaze flicks from my suit to down at her own body. “I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”
There’s no way I’m letting her use such a flimsy excuse. “Don’t worry about it. It’s casual.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but her grip on the plant loosens, her hands falling to her side as she steps around the end of the counter.
Even in the cheap pea-green suit, she was attractive, but that was nothing compared to her in a pair of distressed jeans with potting soil stains on the knees and a heavy long-sleeved T-shirt with the name of a local band scrawled across the chest.
She’s a little leaner than I generally prefer, but based on the way her jeans sag around her hips, the leanness is new, probably brought on by stress and cutting back on calories in an attempt to save money. If she’ll let me, I’ll be more than willing to put some meat on those bones…
She’s wiped all the makeup from her face, which makes her not only seem more vulnerable, but also more approachable and prettier than she looked when we met at my building.
Caitlin’s eyes meet mine and her steps falter. She swallows. “Um, I just need to get my coat and purse.”
“No problem.”
I watch the gentle sway of her backside as she walks away from me and lets herself into a room marked employees only.
A second later she reappears and shrugs into a bright orange puffer jacket. She tugs her hair free of the collar before reaching for the zipper.
“Will those be warm enough?” I give her feet, encased in a pair of cheap canvas sneakers, a pointed glance.
She looks down and wiggles her toes against the canvas. “Depends on how far away your car is.”
“It’s nice out. I thought we could walk.”
This gets her attention. “You? Walking?”
“What’s so shocking about that?”
She shakes her head and hooks the long handle of her cheap leather purse over her shoulder. “Nothing. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing billionaire playboys do. I thought they took fast cars, jets, and I don’t know, hoverboards, whenever they need transportation.”
I love these brief flashes of humor. One way or another I’m going to figure out a way to cut through this tension, to put this weird marriage and baby deal behind us so she can lighten up and relaxe enough to let the real Caitlin come out and play.
“One, I’m a billionaire, but not a playboy. These days I’m too busy and getting too old for that kind of nonsense.”
“Uh huh.” Caitlin raises a skeptical brow and moves toward the door. “If you say so.”
I hustle to beat her across the space and hold the door open for her. “Plus, my hoverboard happens to be in the shop at the moment. Until my mechanic finishes with it, I’m stuck using my own two feet.”
“Too bad,” Caitlin says as she walks past me out into the cold. Snow has started falling, large, lazy flakes that catch in her red hair. For some reason the sight of the delicate, gleaming flakes on the silken strands makes me think of fairy princesses. “I’ve been looking forward to riding on a hoverboard for a long time. I was sure this was going to be my chance.”
I stand back, giving her space as she locks up. As soon as she tucks her keys into her purse, I reach out, catching her bare hand with my gloved one, and pull her close to my side. Something about having her so near, savoring the soft clasp of her hand around mine, feels perfectly natural.
“Looks like the only way you’re going to get that chance is by going out with me again.”
64
Caitlin
We walk in silence, snow lazily falling all around us as half-frozen slush crunches beneath our shoes. To everyone we pass, I’m sure we look like a pair of perfectly normal lovers who decided to take a late evening stroll in the snow. They have no idea that it’s been about five years since any man has held my hand or paid any attention to me at all. They have no idea how torn I feel, caught between wanting to pretend this is real, and wanting to jerk away and make a hasty retreat to the sanctuary of my shop.
I should have pulled away the second he took my hand. At first I didn’t, because I was just so surprised by the gesture. After that … Having contact with another human being just feels nice.
Instead of turning right at the end of the road, heading to a stretch of town where several popular fast food restaurants are located, Jeremy turns left, leading me into a part of town that has several shops and a few apartment buildings, but as far as I know, nowhere to eat.
Before we’ve walked an entire block, Jeremy tugs me to a tall, square building that was built in the seventies.
I glance up at him. “There’s a restaurant in here?”
I know that the bottom floor is home to a thrift sto
re I really like, an antiques store, and a cell phone store, and that the rest of the floors are used as apartments, kind of like a Vegas casino but with apartments instead of hotel rooms. I come here every few months to shop; the thrift store has become my go-to place when I need jeans, but I wasn’t aware of any place that served food. But maybe something was added since my last visit.
“There’s not.” Jeremy pulls the door open for me.
I look over my shoulder at him as I walk into the Spartan, but clean lobby. “Then why are we here?”
“I live here.”
That statement stops me in my tracks. “What?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy runs a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “I probably should have mentioned this sooner, but I wasn’t thinking. Do you mind if we eat here instead of going out somewhere?”
“I …” Unsure of what to say, I let my voice trail off. “You cook?” I finally manage to squeak.
Jeremy shrugs. “I’m nowhere near as good as most of the chefs in this city, but I’ve never been sick as a result of something I’ve cooked.”
“That’s a good sign, I guess.”
“So, are you okay with going to my place for dinner?”
The quick clutching sensation in my gut startles me almost as much as his words did when we were in the break room. Anxiety bubbles in my blood stream, making my heart pound. I shove the hand Jeremy isn’t holding into my pocket in a desperate attempt to hide the subtle tremors.
I try to cover my reaction by bending my lips into a teasing smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Is this your subtle way of trying to get out of being seen in public with me? I’m not that hideous, am I?”
I meant the words in jest, but Jeremy’s eyes widen. “Oh God, no. That’s not it at all.” For the first time since leaving my shop, he releases my hand. His eyes dart around the lobby as if searching for an escape route. “It’s just that I’ve spent my entire day in complicated business meetings and dealing with a variety of people. And for the five days before today, I was in Brazil, where I spent nearly every waking minute in meetings. The thought of staying in tonight was so appealing. But I don’t have to. I’m happy to take you to a nice restaurant.”