by Anna DePalo
“Of course,” Sawyer said drily.
Kincaid couldn’t have put it more baldly. Sawyer would have to entice Tamara into his bed.
“Naturally,” Kincaid said, “I won’t breathe a word to Tamara about this new condition to the merger.”
“Thanks for the small favor.”
Kincaid chuckled. “I wouldn’t want her to lock you out of the bedroom just out of spite.”
“Thwarting you has been a favorite pastime of hers,” Sawyer observed with a jab.
The viscount’s face darkened briefly. “Yes, but those days are past now…as long as you get her to the altar.”
Kincaid’s new condition on the merger presented a complication that Sawyer hadn’t anticipated. He’d bargained with Tamara for a marriage of short duration. Once they both got what they wanted, they could go their separate ways. A baby had never been part of the equation.
He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having a child with a divorce envisioned in the future. But then again, he was thirty-eight, his life was destined to become only busier after the business merger with Kincaid News, and he had a duty to the earldom to produce an heir. Sure, he could wait for a woman suitable for the duties of a countess, but right now that prospect seemed highly indeterminate.
On the other side, there was the very concrete reality of Tamara, who, however unsuited and averse she might be to being a countess, made his blood sizzle.
His body tightened as images flashed through his mind of just how pleasurable it could be to try to conceive an heir with Tamara.
“So, do you agree to the terms?”
Viscount Kincaid’s voice brought Sawyer back from his mental calculations.
Sawyer knew without hesitation what his answer was. “Yes.” He reached for his glass and raised it in mock salute. “To the merger of the Kincaid and Melton lines, corporate and otherwise.”
Tamara waltzed into Balthazar at noon. It had been an easy walk from her loft. She’d been surprised when Sawyer had called and proposed that they meet at a restaurant in her area.
Now, inside the restaurant entrance, she spotted Sawyer immediately. He looked impeccable, as always, in a red tie and pinstripe suit, even if his hair was a little tousled from the wind outside.
Unconsciously, she smoothed her own hair as he approached her.
“You look fine,” he said, his deep voice flowing over her like warm honey.
When she stopped in midmovement, Sawyer’s mouth lifted.
“More than fine,” he amended. “You look great.”
The frank male appreciation that suddenly fired his gaze sent sexual awareness washing over her.
“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” she responded, surprised at the hint of breathlessness that crept into her voice.
She’d tried not to care when dressing this morning, but she’d given up and finally settled on a short-sleeved heather-gray sweater dress cinched by a thin purple belt and paired with magenta patent platform heels.
She was a rebel with a cause, she’d thought defiantly. She didn’t care what a countess was supposed to look like. This is what she looked like.
Sawyer clasped her hand and brushed his lips across hers.
At her surprised reaction, he murmured, “We have to make it look good in public.”
Of course. She steadied herself. “I’m surprised you came downtown. I’d have thought Michael’s or 21 was more your taste.”
Michael’s was favored by the media crowd, and 21 was a clubby bastion famous for the jockey figures that adorned its facade.
“I was looking for a place that was a little off the beaten trail,” Sawyer returned equably, and then winked. “And I thought I’d show you I can be flexible.”
“Well, don’t expect me to convene at La Grenouille with the ladies who lunch.”
“Perish the thought,” he said with mock solemnity, and then smiled. “But I’ll turn you into an uptown girl yet.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she returned drily, even as a frisson of electricity danced across her skin at their repartee.
“It may be pleasurable, too,” he murmured with a glint in his eye, and then cupped her elbow and steered her forward.
She was disconcerted by how attuned she was to Sawyer and their most casual contact. Had the sexual awareness been caused by their recent kisses, or had it always been there—the unacknowledged reason she’d always kept her distance from him?
A restaurant hostess materialized beside them, and without a word, they were guided to a quiet corner table.
This, Tamara thought, was the kind of service Sawyer was used to by virtue of his wealth, title and high profile. It was the type of service she’d likely be accorded as his wife. She was afraid she could easily become accustomed to the red-carpet treatment.
Tamara slid into her booth seat, Sawyer’s lingering touch at her elbow facilitating her way, and Sawyer followed, sitting to her left.
“I’m assuming this meeting is to settle details?” she asked without preamble, settling herself more comfortably on her seat.
“You could say that.”
She studied him. “I could—but would it be correct?”
Sawyer’s lips twitched. “You mean your father hasn’t called you to celebrate his Machiavellian victory?”
She shook her head. “Amazingly, no.”
“An admirable and uncharacteristic show of restraint.”
She looked at him shrewdly. “Perhaps he was afraid of undermining you.”
Sawyer merely laughed, and then reached up to smooth back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
She stilled as he touched one of her dangling earrings, set with amethyst stones and Swarovski crystals.
“Is this another of your creations?”
She nodded, and then asked boldly, “Examining your investment?”
He caressed the line of her jaw. “Yes, and it’s lovely.”
Oh.
Tamara looked away in confusion, and was saved by the approach of a waiter who asked if they would like anything to drink.
After inquiring if wine was her preference, Sawyer smoothly narrowed the choices with the waiter to one, and then turned back to her and settled his hand on her thigh beneath the table. “Does that meet with your approval?”
Feeling the warm weight of Sawyer’s hand moving along her thigh, she stuttered assent.
Sawyer looked at her innocently. “Is there something else you’d like, Tamara?”
“What?”
Sawyer’s eyes laughed at her. “Is there something else you’d like to drink?”
She looked up at the waiter. “No—thank you.”
When they were alone again, Tamara frowned at Sawyer. “What are you doing?”
“You mean this?” Underneath the table, Sawyer’s hand clasped hers, and then with his other hand, he slid a ring on her finger.
Tamara felt her heart slow and beat louder.
“A gift from the family vault,” Sawyer said. “I hope you like it.”
She swallowed and searched Sawyer’s gaze, but she read nothing but unadulterated desire there.
She knew, of course, that she and Sawyer were engaged—in a manner of speaking. But the weight of the ring brought the reality of it forcefully back to her.
Slowly, she lifted her hand and rested it on the tablecloth. A beautiful diamond ring in an open-work setting twinkled in the light. Two sapphire baguettes and two accent diamonds adorned either side.
It was a breathtaking piece of jewelry. The diamond was large and undoubtedly flawless, and the open design gave the ring a deceptively modern feel.
“It’s a good complement to the earrings you’re wearing,” Sawyer said with studied solemnity. “It’s not a modern piece, but I hope you like it.”
She looked up. “Really, it isn’t necessary for a pretend marriage—”
“Yes, it is,” he said firmly. “The only question is whether you like the ring. I know your tastes tend to the con
temporary.”
“I love it,” she confessed. “It’s a creation that any designer would be proud of. The lattice work is timeless and beautiful.”
Her response seemed to satisfy him. “I’m glad. The ring was a gift to my great-grandmother, but I had it reset. The original center stone was a sapphire.”
Tamara looked down at her hand again. The ring was a tangible sign of her bargain with Sawyer.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
Startled, she glanced up.
He appeared amused for a moment. “I meant the ring. You’ll get used to the weight of the ring.”
Tamara rued the fact that Sawyer looked as if he’d guessed what was on her mind.
She angled her hand back and forth. “It’s exquisite.”
“As is its wearer.”
She shifted in her seat. She was uncertain how to handle Sawyer. Was he just practicing his romantic technique for the benefit of onlookers?
She wanted to make some acerbic reply about leaving his false devotion for an occasion when they had a real audience, but somehow the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she found herself succumbing to the effect of his nearness and seductive words more than she cared to admit.
“What was the occasion for the gift originally?” she asked, striving to keep the conversation on an even keel.
Sawyer looked suddenly mischievous. “Do you really want to know?”
She raised her brows inquiringly.
“The birth of my great-grandmother’s sixth and last child.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, well…”
“Quite.” His eyes laughed at her. “One doesn’t get to be the twelfth in a direct line of successive earls without ample fertility along the way.”
“Perhaps you should be seeking a woman who will better accommodate you in the…fecundity department.”
His eyes crinkled. “Perhaps you suit my needs just fine.”
She was unsettled by his cryptic reply, but before she could respond, he picked up her ring hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing the pad of each finger individually.
Her eyes widened as a shiver chased through her.
“Someone I know just walked into the restaurant,” he murmured, a twinkle in his eyes.
She shot him a skeptical look. “Of course.”
“You doubt me?”
She extracted her hand from his loose grip. “Should I?”
Sawyer chuckled, and just then a waiter materialized with a bread basket, followed by their regular server with their wine.
When they were both sipping Pinot Grigio, Tamara attempted to put their conversation on a more businesslike footing. “Tell me about the details that you’ve obviously called me here to discuss.”
He arched a brow. “Your patience has run out? Very well, let’s start with Pink Teddy Designs. How much is your lease costing you?”
She relaxed a little, lowering her shoulders. So Sawyer had come here to make good on his promises.
“Too much,” she repeated.
“It’s a fashionable address—an astute business move.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll cosign your lease renewal.”
Her eyes widened. “How did—?”
He looked at her quizzically. “How did I know the lease was your most pressing concern, you mean? A few discreet inquiries to the landlord netted information on current rents—and the fact that they were going up.”
“Lovely,” she said acerbically. “I didn’t realize my lease was information available to the press!”
Sawyer’s lips twisted wryly. “It’s not, but I happen to know the head of Rockridge Management.”
She made a disgruntled reply.
“You’ll also need a cash infusion.”
Tamara compressed her lips. Knowing it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, she forced herself to hold her tongue.
Sawyer considered her. “How does two million dollars for initial financing sound?”
Tamara swallowed. She’d only fantasized about having that kind of cash on hand.
“No strings attached?” she queried.
Sawyer inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Of course, she reminded herself, they both knew that Sawyer wouldn’t expect repayment of the money. She had bargained away something else. She’d agreed to a sham marriage.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you…I think. I can promise I’ll put the money to good use.” And then because she didn’t want him to have the impression that she was completely without resources, she added, “I just met with a client this morning, actually.”
When Sawyer looked at her inquiringly, she elaborated, “It was a hedge-fund wife who recently opened her own boutique in the Hamptons. She bought a bracelet for herself and selected a few other pieces to carry in her store.”
Just then their waiter reappeared, and asked if they were ready to order.
Tamara belatedly realized she hadn’t even looked at the menu, but because she’d been to Balthazar before, she ordered the smoked salmon from memory. Sawyer, after a few idle inquiries of their waiter, ordered the grilled branzini.
Afterward, Tamara braced herself and looked at Sawyer squarely. “I suppose we should discuss the wedding itself.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ll leave the details to you. I understand many women have preconceived ideas of what their wedding should look like.”
Yes, and in her case, the idea had never been a sham marriage contracted to a very proper British earl.
On top of it all, Sawyer was also a press baron in her father’s mold. She could hardly get any closer to exactly what she didn’t want.
Sawyer studied her. “It seems only fitting, though, that the marriage of the Earl and Countess of Melton occur at Gantswood Hall, the ancestral home of the earls of Melton.”
Tamara resisted pointing out that it was hardly necessary to go to such trouble for what would be a short-lived marriage. But then again, she’d been half expecting Sawyer’s proposition of a proper British wedding. “Very well. I suppose the sooner, the better.”
Sawyer’s lips quirked. “Anxious, are you?”
“The sooner we begin, the sooner the corporate merger will occur and we can be done with this.”
“How about next week then?”
Tamara shook her head. “Pia would have a heart attack. I already asked her to help plan the wedding. Three weeks.”
“You and Pia Lumley are close.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Tamara nodded anyway. “Pia is a dear friend and one of the best bridal consultants around. She also needs all the help that she can get now that—” her voice darkened “—your fiendish friend the Marquess of Easterbridge ruined Belinda’s wedding day.”
Sawyer laughed. “‘Fiendish friend’? You certainly have a way with alliteration.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Tamara snapped back. “Your friends seem to come in one stripe only—namely, villainous.”
Sawyer arched a brow.
“I suppose you’re chummy with the Duke of Hawkshire, too?”
“Yes, but not with his alias, Mr. Fielding.”
“Very funny.”
“Since we’re on the subject of our marriage,” Sawyer said drily, “what have you told your friends?”
“Pia and Belinda?” Tamara responded. “They know the truth, and they’ve already said they’ll be at any wedding to support me.”
“Splendid.”
“We’ll need a referee if, as I assume, your titled compatriots will make an appearance, too.”
Sawyer inclined his head. “I imagine Hawk and Colin will be there, schedules permitting.”
“Everyone else, including my mother and sisters,” Tamara said determinedly, “will believe that for reasons known only to me, I’ve decided that you are Mr. Right.”
“Since Hawk has already claimed the moniker Mr. Fielding, I’ll settle for Mr. Right without qualm,” Sawyer quipped.
“Since you mention it—”
Tamara tensed. “Yes?”
“There is the small matter of where we’ll reside after the wedding.”
Tamara felt her stomach plummet. Why hadn’t she thought of such an obvious and all too important detail?
“I’ll keep my business in SoHo,” she said automatically.
“Right,” Sawyer agreed, “but we won’t convince anyone that we’re serious about this marriage unless you move into my town house after the wedding.”
Share a roof with Sawyer? They could barely share a meal without sparks flying.
“I suppose I can bear it for a short while,” she responded in a disgruntled tone. “Will I have my own wing?”
Sawyer laughed at her sudden hopefulness. “Why don’t you come see? It occurs to me you’ve never been to my home, and that’s a detail that should be rectified as early as possible. In fact, what are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”
She wanted to lie. She wanted to say she had a slew of meetings. But if Sawyer could make time in his busy CEO schedule, her demurral would hardly ring true. And besides, he had a point about her becoming familiar with the place where she’d soon be living.
“I’m free,” she disclosed reluctantly.
Sawyer smiled. “Fantastic. We’ll ride up there right after lunch. My car is outside.”
The waiter arrived with their food, and as the conversation turned to more mundane topics, Tamara had time at leisure to reflect on what she’d gotten herself into.
Was it too late to back out now?
Seven
Tamara wanted to hate everything about Sawyer’s life, but she was finding it impossible to do so. Instead, she clung tenaciously to indifference—was it too much to ask?
It was bad enough that Sawyer himself was demonstrating remarkable skill at seduction. Must his lifestyle be an added lure?
Tamara discovered that Sawyer’s town house was a four-story structure on a prime block in the East 80s. The limestone facade was set off by black wrought-iron flower boxes at the windows and a matching black front gate. Shrubbery concealed from prying eyes the garden that ran along one side of the residence.