by Abby Green
Xander glared at him, not looking so aloof now. ‘That’s none of your business, Mancini. Just trust me when I say that if anyone can set us up with the right women, she can.’
The Italian mogul held up a hand. ‘Fine—keep your pants on.’
Ben, who’d been absorbing all this, looked to Sheikh Zayn. ‘Well?’
The Sheikh looked as if he’d prefer to sign up to a knitting class, but he finally said heavily, ‘I think it might be the best option... If we’re doing this, time is of the essence—for all of us.’ He punctuated that with an expressive look at each of them.
Dante eventually said, with palpable reluctance, ‘Fine. I’ll take her details but I’m not promising anything.’
Ben held out his phone to Xander Trakas and tried to ignore the sensation of his collar tightening around his neck. ‘Put her number in there. I’ll call her next week.’
As Xander added the contact details to Ben’s phone Sheikh Zayn sat forward and said, with another glimmer of wry humour, ‘Do you know, I’ve actually forgotten what it was that set us off against each other in the first place...?’
Ben quirked a rueful smile. ‘I think we have to admit that perhaps we liked being adversaries too much to give it up.’
Xander put Ben’s phone down on the table. He held up his glass. ‘Well, then, maybe it’s time to concede a mutual defeat for the benefit of a bigger victory. Restoring faith in our reputations, which in turn will restore confidence in our businesses and profit margins. Because, as we all know, that’s what’s most important.’
Dante Mancini lifted his glass and drawled, ‘Hear, hear. To the start of a beautiful friendship, gentlemen.’
Ben looked around at each of the men and thought that in spite of the slightly mocking tone of Mancini’s words something had shifted here tonight. These men were not foes any more. They were allies and, yes, possibly even friends.
Ben raised his glass to join the others. Nothing was going to get in their way now. Not even the women they would take as their convenient wives.
CHAPTER ONE
BEN CARTER STOOD near the main window in his office, with its impressive views over downtown Manhattan. The thing that usually pleased him most when he took in this view was seeing his construction cranes high in the sky, dotted around the island. Right now, though, he had his back to the view and every line of his body was in defence mode, from his crossed arms to his tense stance.
‘So, I think that about covers it.’
He bit back the urge to ask snarkily if she wanted to know what colour underwear he was wearing today.
The woman seated by his desk glanced at him and observed wryly, ‘You don’t like answering personal questions, do you?’
Ben bared his teeth in a forced smile. ‘Whatever gave you that impression?’
Elizabeth Young, the matchmaker, shrugged nonchalantly as she tapped something into her palm tablet. ‘I think the fact that you look about ready to jump out of the window gives it away.’
Ben scowled and walked back over to his desk. With every question she’d asked—from innocuous ones like, What’s your favourite holiday destination? to more edgy ones like What is it you want from a relationship?—he’d put more and more space between them. As much as he recognised his need for a convenient wife, the quantum leap from a life of no-strings encounters with beautiful women to a committed relationship—albeit for convenience’s sake—was making Ben’s skin prickle uncomfortably.
After witnessing the collapse of his parents’ marriage, which had fallen like a deck of cards at the first sign of trouble, Ben had never entertained notions of domestic bliss.
The matchmaker was right: if he could have jumped from the window he might just have tried it.
He scowled harder as he sat down—who the hell’s idea had this been again? Xander Trakas. Recalling the Greek man’s reaction that night, when Mancini had asked if this woman was an ex-lover, made Ben assess the slim and elegant blonde on the other side of his desk.
Hair that looked as if it tended towards being curly was tied back in a low bun. She was casually dressed, yet smart, in tailored trousers and a loose unstructured top under a fitted soft leather jacket. She oozed elegant style and, he had to admit, discretion and professionalism. Xander had been right.
As she looked at him now, he noticed that her eyes were an unusual shade of amber. Ben waited a beat to see if he had any reaction to her on a physical level. Nothing. He told himself that was good—the last thing he needed now was the distraction of someone he actually desired. Which brought him neatly back to why she was here.
He said, ‘So, now that you’ve mined my soul for every tiny detail, who do you suggest is my best prospect for a partner?’
He saw the unmistakable flash of cynicism in her eyes, and a small smile tipped up her mouth at one side.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’m under no illusions. I know that you’ve told me only as much as you want to reveal. I know men like you, Mr Carter, that’s why I’m good at my job.’
Ben decided to ignore the urge to ask exactly what she meant about knowing men like him. If it helped him to achieve what he needed to survive this crisis then what of it? He steepled his hands under his chin and admitted to a grudging respect for the way she wasn’t intimidated by him, as so many were.
‘Xander Trakas recommended you.’
And just like that this woman’s composure slipped slightly, just as Xander’s had that night in the bar, almost a week ago. She wasn’t so sanguine now.
She avoided Ben’s eye, fussing with the tablet. ‘I have lots of connections, he’s just one of them.’
Ben was intrigued by the button he’d obviously just pushed, but not intrigued enough to lose sight of his own goal. He became businesslike and sat forward again. ‘Forget I mentioned it. So, do you have anyone specific in mind?’
She turned her tablet around to face him, laying it flat on the desk, and pushed it towards him. ‘There are some possibilities here. Look through them and see if anyone piques your interest.’
Ben took the tablet and did as she had bid, scrolling through the pictures of women along with a few lines of their bios. They were all stunning in their own ways, and obviously accomplished. He scrolled past a human rights lawyer, the CEO of a software company, a UN interpreter, a supermodel...but none of them jumped out at him. He was about to hand the device back when one last woman appeared on the screen and something inside him went very still.
He didn’t even look at her bio. He was transfixed by her. In the picture her shoulder-length dark brown hair was being blown around her shoulders and face by a breeze and she was laughing into the camera, revealing two dimples. She had high cheekbones and a lush mouth. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d noticed dimples on a woman. Dark blue eyes, long-lashed. She was innocent and sensual all at once. And exquisitely, vibrantly beautiful.
For a second Ben found it hard to breathe. He also had a sense that she was somehow familiar.
Elizabeth obviously sensed his interest. ‘Ah, that’s Julianna Ford. Stunning, isn’t she? She’s British, and based in London, so that could prove a bit of a challenge, but as luck would have it she’s actually in New York this week for a charity benefit.’
Ben frowned sharply and looked up. ‘Ford? As in Louis Ford’s daughter?’
Elizabeth cocked her head. ‘Do you know her?’
He glanced at her picture again before pushing the tablet back towards Elizabeth. ‘I know of her. I met with her father a few years ago. I tried to persuade him to sell his business to me. He spoke of her, and I saw her pictures around his house, but she wasn’t there at the time.’
Ben struggled to remember. She’d been away on holiday...skiing? Whatever her father had said about her, it had reinforced the impression he’d formed of her at the time: she was the spoiled and pampered only daughter of a doting billionaire father.
Ben had experienced that scene while in London, where the rich partied alon
gside royalty and to excess. He’d hated it. It had been a forcible reminder of the fact that if his father hadn’t been so corrupt Ben would have still been part of that world too. Still living a blinkered life, blind to harsh reality. The harsh reality that had reshaped him into the man he was today. Answerable to no one and with his astronomical success bedded so firmly into the earth that he would never suffer the same fate as his parents—being at the mercy of volatile markets with no solid investments to speak of.
Ben diverted his mind from old and painful memories and focused on the matchmaker. And the future. Not the past. What she was handing him here was an opportunity not to be missed. The Ford construction company, with its solid black font signage against a dark green background, was a ubiquitous sight on construction hoardings in Britain.
Ben knew what a coup it would be to gain a foothold in Europe by acquiring one of its most respected companies—which was why he’d gone after it once before. Louis Ford had resisted his advances then, in spite of his rumoured ill health, but Ben had been keeping an eye on him ever since, and he realised now that Ford had gone quiet in recent months. Very quiet.
And now the man’s daughter was here. Looking for a date.
Suddenly Ben realised that Julianna Ford represented the solution to all his problems. If he was to take the drastic step of committing to one woman for the sake of his reputation and business, then why not pursue a marriage that came with solid potential for business expansion? If she agreed to marry him Ben’s empire would extend into Europe and he would have reached the very pinnacle of everything he’d set out to achieve. All with a stunningly beautiful wife by his side.
He looked at Elizabeth and a sense of delicious anticipation coiled through his gut. He said, ‘She’s the one I want to meet. You can set up the date.’
* * *
Lia Ford was trying to curb her mounting anger, but it was hard. Her stiletto heels clacked sharply along the wide Manhattan pavement, as if to underscore her volatile mood.
First she was angry with her father for his meddling ways, even if his heart was in the right place. And then she was angry with her father’s secretary, for following her father’s instructions to give all of Lia’s information to Leviathan Solutions. She was even angry about the photo that had been given to the agency—one her father had taken, catching Lia off-guard during a happy sailing trip. A far too personal memento for a dating website!
As the Leviathan agency’s global operations were based in New York, Lia had gone to Elizabeth Young’s Manhattan office earlier that day, as soon as she’d found out—thanks to her father presenting it to her as a fait accompli over the phone. ‘See, my darling? I’ve done it all for you! Now all you have to do is meet some nice young man!’ Lia had been ready to demand that all her details be removed...only to be informed that someone had already signalled his interest in dating her.
And Elizabeth Young had surprised Lia. She’d been expecting... Actually, she hadn’t been sure what she’d been expecting of a billionaire matchmaker, but it hadn’t been a beautiful young woman of around her own age, whose style reflected Lia’s preferred classic relaxed elegance. Elizabeth Young had also personified professional discretion, which Lia had responded to in spite of herself.
And somehow, while acknowledging Lia’s reluctance to accept the date, Elizabeth had somehow skilfully managed to persuade her to give this one date a chance. And then she’d shown Lia a picture of the man in question.
It had taken Lia a few long seconds to look past the piercing blue eyes and the boldly handsome and very masculine features. With his thick dark hair, he oozed sexy confidence and virility. Exactly the kind of man that Lia instinctively shied away from—because a personality like that brought up all her most secret vulnerabilities. And a reminder of another too confident personality who’d had no time for Lia’s innate shyness—her mother, who had walked out on Lia and her father when Lia was just ten years old.
And yet she’d felt a disconcerting flutter of very feminine awareness at the man’s sheer masculinity. It was most unwelcome. She wasn’t interested in dating. She’d tried to please her father before—even going so far as to consider marriage, becoming engaged—but that had ended in abject humiliation when she’d surprised her fiancé in his office one day and found him with his face buried between his secretary’s spread legs as she’d lain back across his desk, moaning loudly, her hands locked in his hair.
‘You’re frigid, Lia,’ he’d hurled at her afterwards. ‘I can’t marry a woman who doesn’t like sex!’
That experience had only reinforced her insecurities, and she’d vowed since then to focus on her career and prove to her father that she could stand on her own two feet. Unfortunately his habitual ill health meant that she’d spent more time shoring up the family business than focusing on her own ambitions...
Elizabeth Young had brought Lia back to the present with a bump, though, when she’d revealed who the mysterious man was and recognition of his name had made Lia’s gaze narrow on the woman on the opposite side of the desk. ‘Benjamin Carter? As in Carter Construction?’
Elizabeth Young had nodded. ‘Yes, he said he knew of you, actually, even though he’s never met you. He had some business with your father a while ago?’
Every protective hackle inside Lia had risen. It had been a couple of years ago when Benjamin Carter had come to the UK and tried to take over Ford Construction. Her family business. Her father had rebuffed Carter and his very generous offer, but his health, which had always been weak, and particularly weakened at that time, thanks to a nasty bout of pneumonia, had worsened.
If she’d met Benjamin Carter then she would have told him where to go and saved her father that relapse. Louis Ford was so proud, though, that he would have died before he’d let anyone see how frail he really was. Especially someone like the American construction mogul whom her father had described as ‘formidable’.
And now Benjamin Carter wanted to meet her for a date? If this was mere coincidence then she was the Sugar Plum Fairy.
Lia stopped at a pedestrian crossing and forced herself to regulate her breath. She knew she could have just called the date off—instructed Elizabeth Young to inform Benjamin Carter that she wasn’t available for any dates while she was in New York as she didn’t live there—but she’d felt the compelling urge to inform the man emphatically and in person that there would be no route for him to get to her father. And certainly not through her.
On the other side of the street the majestic beaux arts Algonquin Hotel soared into the sky. They were due to meet in the darkly seductive Algonquin bar. And now all she could seem to think of was his boldly handsome features and those blue eyes. She found herself feeling slightly breathless, wondering how tall he would be. How big.
The pedestrian lights said Walk and Lia stepped into the road, assuring herself fiercely that Benjamin Carter would undoubtedly prove to be a disappointment in the flesh, as so many public figures did. Not, she hurriedly assured herself, that she was going to be hanging around long enough to check him out. No, she was going to waste no time informing him that—
Smack!
Lia’s thoughts were scattered to pieces as she ran into a brick wall just outside the hotel. Gasping for air, she looked up to find that this particular brick wall was actually a very tall human. And very male. And very broad. With piercing blue eyes.
So not a wall at all. Dimly she registered that Benjamin Carter wasn’t a disappointment in the flesh. Far from it. He was...more. He smiled, and she noticed the sculpted sensuality of his lips.
‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t planned on a collision as our introduction. I saw you crossing the street and recognised you from your photo, so I thought I’d wait for you. Are you okay?’
His voice was rich and deep enough to impact on her on a physical level. Lia felt a bit stupid, and put it down to the momentary shock and lack of breath. She nodded and managed to get out, ‘Fine...just fine.’
She’d been so preoc
cupied with meeting him that she’d walked right into him. She realised then that her hands were wrapped around his arms to steady herself, obviously having landed there instinctively. She could feel hard biceps, even through the material of his overcoat, and she snatched her hands back as if they were burning.
He looked at her for a long moment and then stood back, indicating with a hand. ‘Please—ladies first.’
Irritated that the wind had been knocked out of her—literally—Lia had no choice but to proceed to the front door, where a doorman was waiting, holding the door open, tipping his hat to her as she entered.
She heard him say to the man behind her, ‘Welcome back, Mr Carter.’
‘Thank you, Tom, always a pleasure.’
Lia felt like scowling at his smooth delivery, even though she had to acknowledge that her first cataclysmic encounter with the man didn’t make her think of smooth at all. It had brought to mind lots of things—none of which were smooth. Big, powerful, strong. Immovable. That was what came to mind.
He was behind her now and she could smell his scent—as masculine as he was, and evocative more than overpowering.
The maître d’ came forward to greet them at the entrance to the dark and lushly decorated bar, clicking his fingers for a staff member to come and divest them of their coats. Lia wanted to protest that she wasn’t staying long, but before she could speak their coats had expertly been taken and she was being led further into the seductive space, to an intimate table for two at the back.
Giving in to the inevitability of at least explaining herself to this man, she slid into the velvet banquette seat at the wall and watched as Benjamin Carter folded his tall frame into a seat opposite her. She sucked in as much oxygen as she could, desperately hoping that her sense of equilibrium would return after the shock of that impact.
Now his coat was gone she saw that he wore a three-piece suit. Dark grey tie. She also recognised with a disturbing flash of heat, that in spite of his very suave exterior there was an unmistakable edge of something dangerous and uncivilised about the man. It was in the way his muscles pushed against the fabric of his jacket. As if he was more warrior than urbane businessman.