His Billion Dollar Baby

by Lea Nolan

  He nodded. “I understand.” His voice was hushed.

  Gwen’s heart ached for Judith. She was in pain. And lonely. No wonder he worried she could be taken advantage of. He was right. If he wasn’t careful, an unscrupulous person could swoop in and rob her blind. Luckily, Gwen was principled and had no intention of taking a dime from the Andersons.

  Judith pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and sniffed her nose. “Do I have your word, Carter? Will you cease the hostilities? I know if you search your heart you’ll realize this is what Ben would have wanted.”

  …

  Carter gritted his teeth. It might have been what Ben would have wanted, but his brother had never concerned himself with what was best for their family or Work it Gear. Instead, Ben had catered to his own whims, traveling the world and fighting foreign wars while leaving Carter holding the reins of both the company and family. And once again, he’d left a mess for Carter to clean up.

  His conversation with Devon sprang back, inspiring a plan. Gwen’s sob story was good, even a bit heart-tugging, but what if she torched her house herself? It was the perfect excuse to accept his mother’s offer. And even if the fire was an accident, why couldn’t she simply find her own place? If Gwen wanted to play dirty, manipulate, and connive, so could he. It wasn’t in his nature, but his experience with Deandra had taught him well. Women weren’t to be trusted, especially those who angled for money and control of your company. And though his mother didn’t recognize it, by accepting Judith’s invitation, Gwen had revealed her true intentions.

  Work It Gear was his company. He’d built it into what it was today. She might only be entitled to a third of the shares now, but after his mother passed on and her shares were split, he’d be forced to share the company fifty-fifty with her. His concern wasn’t about money. If she was indeed carrying an Anderson, he or she was entitled to share in the profits. But he’d be damned if he’d let a total stranger storm in and wrestle control from him or force him to compromise on his vision for the corporation.

  He needed Gwen’s proxy and he’d use any means necessary to get it.

  It would take a considerable amount of backtracking, and maybe a little groveling, but he wasn’t Washington’s sexiest man for nothing. He’d mount a charm offensive so persuasive, she’d have no choice but to melt at his feet and sign over control of her baby’s shares free and clear. Hell, he’d even convince her it was her idea to offer it.

  Bolstered by his plan, Carter plastered on a smile and turned to Gwen. “Truce?” He extended his hand.

  Gwen stared at it for a moment, assessing the gesture. Her eyes flitted to his face and searched his gaze. He could almost see her weighing the pros and cons of accepting his olive branch.

  “Truce,” she finally answered then added, “thanks for catching me.”

  He grinned. “Any time.”

  Chapter Eight

  The phone extension in the treatment room rang. Stepping away from her patient, Gwen picked it up. “This is Gwen, how may I help you?”

  “You could join me for lunch this afternoon.”

  She blinked. The voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t be sure. “Carter?” Cradling the phone on her shoulder, she wiped some excess massage gel on a hand towel.

  He laughed. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just surprised to hear from you. I didn’t realize you knew my work number.”

  “There’s only one physical therapy unit at Walter Reed. It wasn’t hard to find.”

  “Right. Of course.” She nodded.

  “So how about lunch? I’ve got a meeting nearby and, since I’ll be in the area, I thought it might be nice to sit down and get to know each other.”

  It sounded harmless. Even reasonable. And she had agreed to a truce just a couple days before. Perhaps if they spent a little time together he might come to realize who she was and her true intentions. “Sure, why not? My last morning patient should be done around twelve-thirty.”

  “Great, I’ll meet you out in front of your building.”

  “See you then.” Gwen hung up, squelching a strange giddiness that bubbled in her stomach. It was only lunch. With Carter, of all people. Nothing worth getting excited about.

  Four hours later, she raced down the stairs to the lobby, late. Corporal Johnson’s appointment had run long and there wasn’t anything she could do to speed it up. Anxiety rose in her throat. Carter had probably given up, peeved that she’d made him wait. He might be a condescending jerk, but he was also a busy executive. If time was money, she’d just cost him a bundle. Bursting into the lobby, she jogged across the vestibule, squinting out the glass doors. Her heart skipped.

  There he was, casually leaning against the passenger side of his car, studying his smart phone. She’d thought he looked good in his living room on Saturday. Today, in the warm, late September sun, he was glorious. God, how he wore a suit. And his car wasn’t just a vehicle. It was a sleek, black Jaguar XK convertible, a gorgeous machine. No wonder he hated her little Civic. Reminding herself that looks weren’t everything, she drew a deep breath and exited the lobby, anticipating a lecture on her tardiness.

  Looking up, Carter caught her eye and smiled. Imagine that. “Hey, you.” Straightening, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment as she ran her fingers through her hair. “My appointment ran late and I tried to push him through but he’s a double amputee and his prosthetics are new—”

  He lifted his hand. “No worries. Things happen. I understand.”

  “Really?” She searched his eyes for any hint of annoyance but found none. Maybe he really didn’t mind. Amazing.

  “Yes, really.” He nodded, then reached into the car and pulled out a bouquet of pink foxglove and lavender sprigs amid lush, long-stemmed shamrocks. “These are for you.”

  Her jaw swung open as she stared at the lovely bundle, trying to make sense of why they were in his hand, extended toward her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Carter chuckled. “How about thank you?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. Great, now in addition to thinking she was a gold digger, he’d also think she was rude and inconsiderate. She took them from his hand. “Thanks, really. It’s just that I’m surprised. No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

  His brow creased. “That is unforgivable. Beautiful women should always get flowers.”

  She snorted. “Wow, does that line usually work?”

  He sighed. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I passed a florist on my way out of my meeting and saw these in the window. They reminded me of Ireland. And that made me think of you.”

  Oh, yeah. She definitely had the whole Irish-coloring thing down. Since she didn’t look a thing like her long-departed mother, it probably came from her father, though she’d never know for sure. When Gwen was young, her mother had made some fleeting remarks about her father’s appearance, but after the mental breakdown and electric convulsive therapy, her mother’s memories weren’t always the most reliable. Forcing the painful memories aside, Gwen studied the flowers. They really did look like Ireland. Or at least what she imagined it must look like. “They’re nice. And so was the thought.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, I’m starving. Let’s eat.” He opened the passenger door for her and she slipped in, her palm soaking up the delicious suppleness of the leather seat.

  After walking around to the driver’s side he got in and turned on the engine. It roared to life. “I’ve made a reservation at Bezu that we can probably still make. I’ve wanted to try that restaurant for ages.” He pulled away from the curb, navigating through the parking lot.

  She gulped. It was one of the area’s finest French restaurants, way too rich for her entry-level physical therapist’s wallet. Even if she did magically find a pot of gold to pay her share, there was still the problem of her attire. Looking down at her new black yoga pants and short-sleeved athletic top,
she winced. “I don’t think I’m dressed for it.”

  He glanced in her direction, then shrugged. “Nonsense. You look great.”

  “No, you look great. I’m sure that suit didn’t come from Target.”

  Carter smirked. “Uh, no.”

  “And no one else in there will be dressed like me. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

  For a split second, she noticed his hands tighten on the leather-bound steering wheel. But then they eased and he turned to her, an easy smile on his face. “Is there somewhere else you prefer to eat?” His voice was open and accommodating, but she couldn’t help wonder if she’d pushed him too far.

  “There is one place,” she said hopefully. “And it’s really close by.”

  …

  “A falafel cart?” Carter worked to keep the distress from his voice as he eyed the bright silver box in the quad between two buildings on Walter Reed’s campus. He’d endured her egregious lateness with good humor, then tolerated her suggestion that they eat somewhere other than the critically acclaimed Bezu because, in fact, she would look tacky in that outfit, but this, this was unforgivable.

  “Carter? Are you okay?” Gwen asked. “You look at little…I don’t know. Disgusted.”

  Damn. That was definitely not the sentiment he was going for. He was supposed to seduce her, not repel her. The only way to do that was to go along, be reasonable, and get her to like him. Even if that meant eating unhygienic street food. Plastering his lips into a half-hearted grin he said, “No, of course not. I’ve just never had falafel. You threw me.”

  Gwen gasped, her lush pink lips rounding a perfect ‘o.’ “You’ve never had it? Holy crow, then this is your lucky day because if ever you were to eat it, it should be from Ari the Falafel Guy. He’s the best, hands down.” She headed toward the shiny falafel mobile.

  Reluctantly, he forced his feet to move forward, but his brain and stomach still weren’t on board. “But it’s from a cart.”

  “And?” Gwen laughed.

  “Didn’t you see that Dateline segment on food carts not meeting health department standards? I’m not interested in food poisoning.”

  She stopped short. “Oh, please. Are you serious?” Arching her perfect brow, she looked as if he’d just suggested the planet was made of candy corn.

  He nodded. “Yes. Improperly prepared food can have disastrous results. You may have looked a little out of place at Bezu but at least salmonella wouldn’t be on the menu.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Listen, I eat here every day. It’s great. Smell the aroma coming off that cart. It’s amazing.”

  He sniffed the air. Damn if she wasn’t right. The combination of grill-fired kabobs and other spicy flavors was mouthwatering.

  Leaning close, she said, “I think you’re afraid to try something new.” Tucking her hands under her armpits, she made a clucking sound.

  That was all his competitive side needed to hear. He wouldn’t let her get away with calling him a chicken. “Okay, fine. But if I get sick, it’s on you.”

  She grinned. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” Hooking her arm around his, she tugged him forward. “Besides, if you do get sick, I’ll personally deliver ginger ale to your bedside. And rub your back as you puke.”

  Carter’s mind filled with the image of Gwen in his bedroom, leaning over him as he lay prone, stroking his hair. Sick or not, he envisioned taking hold of her small, soft hand and guiding her onto the mattress beside him. Running his palm over her breasts, then, sliding his way down to caress the gentle curve of her hip.

  Hold up. What the hell was he thinking? Shoving the surprisingly enticing images from his mind, he forced himself to focus on his plan. She needed to fall for him. Not the other way around.

  At the cart, Gwen joked with Ari as she ordered for them. A few minutes later Falafel Guy handed over two pita sandwiches brimming with fried chick pea patties, lettuce, and tomato and dripping with two kinds of sauces—a white yoghurt sauce laced with dill and a second one made from crushed sesame seeds. They settled on a bench across the quad, under a large oak tree whose leaves had just begun to yellow.

  Flinging his tie over his shoulder, he unwrapped the foil package and assessed the messy, sauce-laden pita. Laying out several napkins across his lap, he grunted a little as he tried to pick it up without spilling its contents. The back of the bread split open, dripping a trail on the foil. “Does it have to be this messy? It’ll ruin my suit.”

  She laughed. “First of all, you don’t unwrap the whole thing. Keep it bundled like this.” She put down her own sandwich, reached for his, and re-wrapped it, expertly folding down the top flap so he could take a bite. “Here you go, Mr. Shoulder-Tie.” She winked as she handed it back.

  “This tie is Italian. And worth about fifty of these sandwiches.”

  She shrugged. “And you’ve probably got a hundred more like it.”

  So what if she was right? “And your point is?” With so many back ups in his wardrobe, she probably assumed he didn’t care about his things. But she was wrong. He cared about a hell of a lot of things, and not just the kind of food he ate, or his clothes. There was his company, of course. And his charitable causes, though besides writing ungodly large checks, he hadn’t quite found a way to make his mark and create a real impact.

  “You should lighten up a little. You’re wound a wee bit tight.”

  That was unexpected. No one had ever said that about him. At least to his face. He wasn’t sure if he liked her honesty or should be offended by it.

  “No, I’m not. I’m just fastidious.”

  “Oh-kay.” She grinned then pointed to his sandwich. “I thought you were starving.”

  He was. And in the time it’d taken to get their food, he’d only grown hungrier. Hungry enough to eat from a hygienically-suspicious food cart. One hesitant bite later, delicious flavors converged, dancing on his tongue. The falafel was good. Great, even. The crunchy outsides were the perfect counterpart to their warm, moist insides. And the much-maligned sauces were divine. Despite the fact his lunch cost only a few dollars, it was the best meal he’d had all month. No wonder she ate here so often.

  “You like it.” Gwen teased with a laugh, her bright green eyes sparkling. They were beautiful. Though not nearly as beautiful as she. Feeling his resolve slip a notch, he breathed deep, inhaling her sweet perfume. Perhaps admitting his attraction, if only to himself, wouldn’t be the end of the world. In fact, it might make it easier to enact his plan. Even though she was already proving to be a giant pain in the ass.

  Refusing to admit defeat, he shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  She huffed. “It’s better than okay and you know it. I saw your eyes close when you took that bite. It’s a slice of heaven. You were savoring it.”

  He chuckled as he swallowed a long swig of soda. “Okay, you got me. It’s great. And I was wrong.” He tilted his head. “Happy now?”

  “Yup.” She nodded. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Your first impression isn’t always correct. Sometimes, it’s exactly the opposite of what you assume.” She propped her elbow on the back of the bench.

  It was obvious she was talking about more than fried chick peas. As if introducing him to a Middle Eastern sandwich was supposed to allay his suspicions about her motives for announcing her pregnancy and encamping in River View. Irritation flickered in his gut, threatening to sour the delicious food he’d just eaten. They’d been getting along fine. Why did she have to open that entrancing mouth of hers and remind him of his misgivings? Well, two could play at that game. He angled toward her. “I suppose that’s true. Though my gut has generally served me well.” He took another bite.

  “Not in this case.” Her gaze locked on his for a moment before she glanced at his half-eaten sandwich. “You love falafel.”

  He swallowed. “I do. But I hate other things.” He nudged closer, silently daring her to ask what it was that he despised. Because if she did, he might be tempted to forget his
plan and show her just how loose he could be, giving her an earful about how wrong it was to steal a man’s company out from under him, then force the proxy papers on her right here and now.

  A soft breeze blew, carrying her peaches and cream scent past his nose. Luscious, he wanted to taste it. Reminding himself of his mission and its importance, he searched her flawless, porcelain skin, then flashed back to when he’d caught her lithe body in his arms. His hands remembered the feel of her flesh, soft yet toned, and how beautiful and vulnerable she was in his embrace. Arousal sprang in his core.

  She was tempting, no doubt, but below that beguiling exterior lay the heart of a woman like any other. One who couldn’t be trusted because she would, indisputably, exploit you and rip out your heart. In that instant, he both loathed and desired her. A perplexing combination, no doubt brought on by her good looks, proximity, and the challenge she presented. He’d go along, maybe even allow himself to enjoy the hunt, but ultimately, she’d be no match for him.

  Taking a deep breath, her eyes flitted to his mouth. “I hate things, too.” She edged closer.

  Was it going to be this easy to kiss her? He’d expected her to feign at least some token resistance, put up the pretense that Ben had meant something to her, but obviously she realized where the Anderson bread was buttered. She wanted him, bad. He might as well help her along.

  Bending toward her, he closed his eyes and parted his lips.

  Chapter Nine

  Gwen raised her napkin and wiped the tahini sauce that pooled at the corner of his mouth. Carter’s eyes flew open in surprise. For a second, she’d thought he looked like he might kiss her, but that was absurd. It was just her imagination, fueled by his unbelievable hotness. No, Carter in his decidedly non-Target suit would never be interested in her. Not to mention he was the most arrogant jerk she’d ever encountered. Even if he had wanted to kiss her, there was no way she would have.