by Day Leclaire
DAY LECLAIRE
THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY NEGOTIATION
To Hazen F. Totton. Thanks, Mom!
You’re always there when I need you most.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
One
Enough was enough! One way or another all this nonsense ended today.
Rosalyn Oakley approached the pair of gigantic double wooden doors leading to Joc Arnaud’s inner sanctum and paused to gather her self-control. She wiped her damp palms on the seat of her jeans. Steady. She could do this. She just needed to remember how much was at stake. Security wouldn’t have let her get this far if Arnaud hadn’t approved it. A humorless smile touched her mouth. Maybe he was as curious to meet the one woman who refused to cave to his demands, as she was to meet the one man who never gave up.
The thought helped fortify her, and she thrust open the doors and stepped into Arnaud’s conference room and into another world. An endless sweep of tinted glass surrounded her, offering a dazzling panoramic view of the city of Dallas. Heat and humidity shimmered on the far side of the windows, while inside all remained cool and quiet and rich.
Rich in possessions. Rich in design. Rich with people.
An inlaid conference table stretched before her, the strips of wood that made up the surface a kaleidoscope of type and color. The craftsman had employed every variety of wood imaginable from a deep masculine mahogany to the blush white of red oak to the plummy tones of cherry. She sensed a design present, but didn’t have the opportunity to examine the table, not with the several dozen people seated around the circumference, their papers littering the surface.
At her advent, all eyes swiveled to clash with hers and she took a moment to sweep her gaze over each person in an attempt to identify which was Arnaud. For an instant she keyed in on the person seated at the head of the table before dismissing him. And then she noticed the man standing to one side of the room, leaning against a sideboard, steaming coffee cup in hand. She focused her attention on him.
Business Executive was written all over him, from the tips of his Gucci shoes to the black Armani suit stretched across impressive, broad shoulders. He topped her by a full nine or ten inches, every one of his sculpted inches packed with lean, solid muscle. She tilted her head back and peered out from beneath the brim of her Stetson. His height forced her to look a long way up to meet his gaze, and put her at an instant disadvantage.
Deep-set obsidian eyes stared at her from one of the most striking faces she’d ever seen. Lean and golden, with high, sharp cheekbones, the blood of his Native American ancestors had left an indelible stamp on that impressive bone structure. His hair was black and longer than conventional, which surprised her considering this had to be Joc Arnaud—the top honcho.
He returned her look with an open once-over that felt less offensive than something more discreet. He lifted a sooty eyebrow. “Lost your way?”
“On the contrary. I just found it.” She approached him. “Do you know who I am?”
“Rosalyn Oakley,” he answered promptly. “Age, twenty-eight. Born April 5. One hundred eighteen pounds. Sole heir to Longhorn Ranch.” A hard smile flitted across his mouth. “Which, I believe, is where I come in. You own the ranch. I want it.”
His swift summation of the facts threw her off stride, no doubt the purpose of his little recital. She recovered with all due speed, getting straight to the point. “Your two henchmen just paid me a visit. I’m returning the favor.” She spared a glance at the suits-and-ties grouped around the conference table, who were listening with avid curiosity. She jerked her head in their direction. “You want to do this in public? Or would you rather we settle our differences in private?”
Without taking his gaze from her, he issued a single word, “Out.”
There was a dignified scramble after that, one that would have left Rosalyn laughing if the circumstances had been different. The instant the door closed behind the final underling, she squared off against him. She’d spent the entire trip into Dallas planning what she’d say and she gave him chapter and verse in a single, direct volley.
“You’ve approached me—or rather your employees have approached me—about selling my ranch to you. And I’ve been civil with them each time they’ve turned up on my doorstep. I’ve told them no as clearly and politely as I know how. But it’s gotten to the point where I can’t turn around without tripping over them. It’s going to stop and you’re going to make it stop.”
To her dismay, the only change in his expression was a deepening intensity in the way he watched her, and a slight smile that added immense appeal to an all-too attractive face. The distraction cost her. It took her a split second to remember where she’d left off in her script and get back on point.
“Anyway,” she continued doggedly, “I’ve come to tell you in person that I’m not selling, in the hopes that you’ll finally get the message and leave me alone. I don’t care what you do, I don’t care how many thugs you send, I’m not leaving my land.”
At the end of her recital, he returned his coffee cup to the sideboard and faced her. She could tell from his expression she wouldn’t like his response. Before he could speak, a discreet buzz emanated from a nearby phone. With a brief apology, he took the call. “No interruptions,” he said without preamble. He listened for an instant before grimacing, then glanced at Rosalyn and said, “This will only take a minute.”
“Do you want me to wait outside?” She hated making the offer, but common courtesy had been bred into her bones.
He shook his head, before addressing the caller. “Hello, MacKenzie. What can I do for my least favorite sister?”
Rosalyn could hear the furious blast from clear across the room and winced. Someone wasn’t happy.
“Sorry. Half sister. Is that better?” Apparently it wasn’t, because the angry diatribe continued until he cut it off. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve called to ask me a favor. Instead of bringing up old history, I suggest you get to it.”
He listened at length and Rosalyn shivered at the cold bitterness of his expression. Is that how he really felt toward his sister? She didn’t understand it. So what if they were half siblings? Family was family was family. Something hideous must have happened between them to cause this serious a rift.
“I’m not selling it, MacKenzie, and that’s final. Your mother sold the property to me, and if you’re not happy with Meredith’s decision, I suggest you take it up with her.” A wintry smile swept across his face. “At least you and my brothers—excuse me, half brothers—can comfort yourselves knowing it’s still in the family, even if it’s the illegitimate branch.”
With that he hung up. Though he appeared calm and collected on the surface, she observed a raw quality gnawing at the edges of his restraint, a ferocity struggling for expression. He focused his inky gaze on her and she met it head-on. Slowly the anger eased and when he spoke it was with impressive composure. “Why don’t we start over and do this the right way?” He held out his hand. “Joc Arnaud.”
She hesitated a brief second. Unable to help herself, she offered her hand in return. “Rosalyn Oakley.”
He captured her in his grasp and suddenly the spacious conference room became a suffocating box. Everything about him overwhelmed her. His grip. The dichotomy of callused fingers and palm attached to the hand of a white-collar exec. His size. His innate power. Even the crisp, masculine scent that clung to him invaded her senses an
d threatened to rob her of her will.
It became hard to breathe, let alone think, especially when he stood so close. She shouldn’t have this sort of physical reaction to a complete stranger, especially when that stranger was her worst nightmare. Unfortunately he’d just proven beyond all doubt that she had no control whatsoever over her visceral response to him. Maybe it would have been easier if he weren’t so drop-dead gorgeous. And even though she’d handled gorgeous on occasion in the past, one small problem tripped her up when it came to this man.
The face.
This particular face was organized into a masculine toughness, the sort that had most men maintaining a wary distance while women stumbled over themselves to get closer. It also happened to be the most attractive—not to mention dangerous—of all the faces she’d ever encountered. Worse, underpinning his toughness was a blatant appraisal, almost sexual in nature, that challenged her on some instinctive level.
What had she been told about this man? Black eyes, black hair, black heart. Why, oh why, hadn’t anyone warned her about the equally black desire he could arouse with one simple touch?
He continued to hold her hand in his. “Let’s start from the top,” he suggested. “I want to buy Longhorn Ranch. What will it take to make that to happen?”
That one question freed her from his spell and had her tugging her hand from his grasp. She managed to resist the urge to wipe her palm against her jeans—just—and took a swift step backward to give herself some breathing room. She didn’t care if her retreat gave him a slight edge in whatever game he’d set in motion. Distance was more important right now than gaining a negotiating advantage.
“I’ll make this easy for you, Arnaud. I won’t sell.”
He swept her claim aside as though it were inconsequential. Maybe in his book it was. “I don’t think you understand. I win. Always. No matter what it takes.”
A chill shot up her spine and she fought to keep the apprehension from showing in her expression. “Not this time.”
“Every time.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Now explain it to me. Why are you being so stubborn? I’ve offered you a generous price, haven’t I?”
She stared at him in disbelief. Whipping off her hat in a “getting down to business” gesture, she tossed it toward the empty conference table where it landed with a soft thud. “This isn’t about money! That land has been in my family since before Texas became a state. The only way I leave it is in a box.” She tilted her head to one side. “Is that how you plan to steal it away from me, Arnaud? Do your goons take matters that far, or are they limited to simple threats and warnings?”
“I’ve never resorted to physical violence.” A frown crept across his face. “Have they touched you? Harmed you in any way?”
“Neither of them has actually touched me, but—” She shrugged, remembering the implied threat in both word and look. “Men like that say a lot without saying a lot, if you understand what I mean.”
“I’ll take care of it. Violence is never necessary. Why would it be? Everyone has a price.” His expression grew knowing. “What’s yours?”
“There is no price,” she insisted.
A hint of amusement gleamed in the rich darkness of his eyes. “Of course there is. You just don’t realize it, yet. But I’ll find your weakness. And when I do, you’ll sell.”
He shot her a smile and she froze. How was it that with one simple smile he could melt all that was most feminine in her, while at the same time turning her blood to ice? It was like confronting a grizzly. One was awed by the power and beauty of the animal, wanting to somehow embrace such magnificence, while at the same time knowing that one did so at their own peril. One swipe of his paw, and the bear could end your existence.
She swallowed. Hard. “And if I don’t sell? What then?”
“I up the ante until you do.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
Anxiety had her voice growing soft and unsteady. Damn it! She couldn’t afford to show this man any hint of weakness. Based on his expression, she’d done precisely that. Great. Just great. Now that he’d picked up on her vulnerability, he’d never back down.
His smile flashed again, unnerving her. “There’s always a way to get what I want if I’m patient. It’s a matter of finding which option will work best. I keep trying different ones until I find the right lever.” He took a step in her direction, that single stride bringing him to within a foot of where she stood. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me which lever would work best with you?”
He was too close. Far too close. More than anything, she wanted to fall back another pace. Instead she dug in her heels. “I’d rather not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So you’re not going to call off your goons? You’re going to keep harassing me?”
“I’ll call them off. They won’t bother you again, I promise. As for harassing you…” He dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head. “That’s such a negative word. I prefer to think of it as getting better acquainted.”
She blinked at that. “Why would you want to get better acquainted? Why would I, for that matter?”
He appeared surprised by the question. “So you’ll be in a better position to negotiate, of course.”
Enough was enough. “I’m not interested in getting to know you any better than I’d want to become better acquainted with a rattlesnake. I don’t negotiate with them any more than I would with you.”
He lifted an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Off with their heads?”
“If that’s what it takes. As for you, well…Everyone has a price.” She parroted his own words back to him. “Even you. You just don’t realize it, yet. But I’ll find your weakness. And when I do, you’ll go away. Permanently.”
She’d said all she needed to. Coming here had been pointless. It was clear Arnaud wouldn’t give up on trying to buy her land. That didn’t mean she had to sell. He seemed to think he had something she wanted. He didn’t. There was nothing she wanted or needed that she didn’t already have. The sooner he realized that, the better.
She spun on her heel and marched toward the door. Her gaze shifted to the table as she passed it and what she saw almost had her breaking stride. Without all the papers to clutter the surface she could make out the design of the inlaid wood—a huge, magnificent wolf.
Her analogy had been dead wrong. Arnaud wasn’t a grizzly, but a timber wolf. She’d seen one once, had been riveted by the keen intelligence glittering in its golden eyes. A loner. A predator. Proud and protective. She could understand why the animal had been deified by various cultures over the millennia. She didn’t dare look back at Arnaud. But an acute awareness filled her.
She’d just pitted herself against the legendary Big Bad, himself. And unlike in fairy tales, this particular wolf didn’t lose.
Joc watched Rosalyn cross to the far side of the room, her stride long and loose. It spoke of a woman comfortable in her own skin. He also saw her glance at the table and the hitch in her step when she caught a glimpse of the wolf motif. He smiled at that telling reaction, amused all the more by the fact that his table had intimidated her more than he had.
She reached the exit and stood there for a split second as she opened the door, captured by the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. It embraced her with its heavy rays and set her hair on fire. The view held him spellbound. Well, hell. He’d roped himself a redhead, the red so deep and rich he hadn’t noticed it until the sun had betrayed her secret. The instant she left the room, he pushed a button in the console by his chair.
“Yes, Mr. Arnaud?”
“Lock down the elevators.”
“Right away, Mr. Arnaud.”
Joc crossed to the end of the table and picked up the hat Rosalyn had forgotten to retrieve on her way out the door, no doubt because she’d been knocked off-kilter by the wolf design. The Stetson had seen serious wear. It was the hat of a working rancher, not an accessory to demonstrate state pride or as a fashion
statement, but for vital protection against the elements. It told him a lot about its owner…and how he might handle her.
He left the conference room and started toward the elevators. His executive assistant’s desk was on the way and he paused long enough to give Maggie a list of instructions and have her release the elevators. That done, he tracked down Rosalyn.
He found her stabbing at the button for the elevator. Joc slowed, taking the time to study her. He’d had the impression of height when they’d talked, a false impression he realized now. Maybe it had been her subtle perfume that had distracted him, or the striking shade of her Texas Bluebonnet eyes, but he could see now that she was a compact package, not nearly as long and lanky as he’d first thought. She’d also committed a serious crime against mankind by scraping her hair back into a tight little knot at the base of her neck. No wonder he hadn’t noticed the true color. He itched to release that knot and run his fingers through the silken mass. To feel the texture and see the vivid color fanned across her pale shoulders.
Years of hard ranch work had honed her body into lean, tempered strength and contributed to the appealing curve of her legs and backside. She’d also been blessed with ideal-sized breasts, neither too small nor too large, but the sort that filled a man’s palms to perfection. When it came to her face, though, nature had gifted her with true beauty.
She had the type of bone structure that would accentuate her loveliness even at ninety, with the pale, creamy complexion of a true redhead. The winged eyebrows, soaring cheekbones and full lush mouth, would have made her features too flawless for his taste if it weren’t for the redeeming crook in her otherwise straight nose. He almost grinned. Now how had that happened?
The elevator pinged behind her and she whipped around with an exclamation of relief and swept into the car. Joc followed her in, sparking an interesting combination of reactions—alarm, wariness and a feminine awareness that roused an intense, masculine urge to pursue. The door closed and they began their descent.