The Bravo Billionaire. Christine Rimmer

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      “I’m sure you’re right. But if something did happen, you and I both know that Jonas is not emotionally equipped to bring up a child. He would need help, Emma.”

      Emma crunched another chip. “Now, come on. You weren’t listenin’ to me, were you? I said that nothin’ is going to happen to—”

      “Would you be there? That is what I’m asking you, Emma. It’s a great deal to ask, and I know it. But it’s very important to me. To think that I could count on you to help out, to give Jonas a little…guidance, if something happened to me.”

      On the bed, Mandy sighed again and turned her darling little face toward the far wall. Emma stared at the curve of her beautiful cheek.

      Would you be there?

      Emma had looked across the booth at her friend and said, “Yes. You know that I would. If it ever comes to that—which it will not—I will be there to help out.”

      Emma had said yes. Yes, after all, is what a person should always try to say to a friend. It had been a promise. A promise she’d been foolishly certain that she would never have to keep…

      Emma turned from the sleeping child. Jonas was waiting for her in the shadows. She nodded. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. She did, as far as the upstairs hall. Then he took the lead again. They went back the way they’d come, down the curving stairway, through the grand foyer, along another hallway to the room the butler had called the study, with its beautiful rugs, inviting velvet-covered chairs and pretty jewel-paned windows.

      Jonas shut the door. “Take off your coat. Have a seat.”

      “No. I won’t stay long.”

      He stared at her, a probing, knowing look that caused her stomach to go all jittery. She shivered.

      One corner of his mouth lifted the tiniest bit in the Jonas Bravo version of a smile. “You are nervous.”

      Why deny it? “You bet I am.”

      “Why? What’s going on?”

      Lord, give me strength, Emma thought.

      She wrapped her raincoat closer around herself, yanked her shoulders back and announced, “All right, Jonas. I’m willin’ to do what Blythe wanted me to do. I will marry you. For one year.”

      Chapter 6

      Jonas found, surprisingly, that he was relieved. It wasn’t the best decision she could have made. He would have liked it a lot better if she’d simply agreed to stay the hell out of his and Mandy’s lives.

      But it could have been worse. At least this way, in a year when they divorced, there would be no doubt that Mandy would stay with him.

      “No more stalling,” he said. “We’ll get married right away.”

      Those eyes, moss green at that moment, widened. She didn’t speak, but she did nod.

      Fine. He’d take that nod as a yes. “And another thing…”

      She frowned. “What?”

      Jonas did not consider Emma Lynn a gold digger. She might have platinum hair and a wardrobe straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, but in the past week, the woman had shown herself to be burdened with an excess of integrity.

      Still, a man in his position couldn’t be too careful. “I’ll expect you to sign a prenuptial agreement. I’ll settle a few million on you, but that’s all you’ll get out of me.”

      She stiffened. And her soft red mouth became a firm line. “I don’t need a few million from you, Jonas Bravo. You make out those papers to say I get nothin’—and you get nothin’ of my fortune, either.”

      He couldn’t help it. He laughed. As the sound escaped him, he realized it was something he didn’t do all that often. He composed himself, asked, quite seriously, “What fortune is that, Emma Lynn?”

      She had that cute little turned-up nose of hers aimed at the ceiling. “The fortune I’ll earn soon enough, you watch me.”

      He was watching. And he was thinking that she did possess a certain spunky charm. She had just succeeded in amusing him. And that was a rare thing. Women so seldom amused him anymore.

      Maybe he’d become jaded. There had, after all, been an excess of women in his life during his mid-to-late twenties. All of them had been beautiful and bright and so clever. But sooner or later, they all wanted more than he wanted to give them. He would move on.

      The endings of affairs tended to be unpleasant—all those tears and impassioned recriminations. Gradually, he’d come to the conclusion that the great sex at the beginning of a romance just wasn’t enough to make up for all the big emotional scenes at the end. So he had dated less and less until, in the past two or three years, he found that he wasn’t dating at all.

      But he had to admit that sometimes he missed having a woman in his life. He missed the feel of a soft, warm body beneath him in bed. He missed kissing. Yes, he really had liked kissing. He liked the taste of women, the sweetness of their mouths beyond the soft boundary of their lips.

      Emma Lynn, he couldn’t help but notice, had a very pretty mouth, not too wide, but with full lips. Her mouth was slightly open at the moment. He could see her nice white teeth, which were just the slightest bit overlapping in front—not perfect.

      Strange. He liked that.

      He also was finding that he’d begun to like that mole above her lip on the right side, the way it slid into shadow when she smiled.

      He moved a step closer to her, took in a careful breath.

      Yes. A fresh, sweet, scent. Like roses—roses wet with morning dew.

      It probably wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant to have her in bed. In fact, having sex with his wife…that could be an interesting diversion. He doubted the attraction would last the entire year, but why not make the most of it while it did?

      He wanted to touch her, to reach out and run his finger along her cheek.

      Had he ever touched her? He didn’t believe so. He didn’t believe he’d ever so much as taken her hand.

      That was odd, wasn’t it? It had been five years since his mother had first introduced them. He remembered that introduction clearly. He had heard them, the two of them, laughing together in the living room off the grand foyer. Or perhaps laughing wasn’t the word for it. They were giggling, like a pair of teenage girls sharing secrets. He’d decided to investigate.

      He’d pushed open the tall double doors. And there was his mother in her Chanel and pearls, sitting on one of the striped silk sofas with a way-too-sexy blonde. The blonde wore a very red, very revealing pair of shorts and a skimpy halter top.

      His mother had glanced over at him in the doorway. “Jonas, come in. You must meet Emma Lynn…”

      He had not come in. He had nodded a curt greeting and bowed from the room, pulling the doors shut as he went.

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