The Millionaire's Christmas Wife. Susan Crosby

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СКАЧАТЬ dinner with him, as a courtesy to him as David and Noah’s brother, anyway, and a potential client. She could better match him with someone from her staffing pool that way, too.

      She linked her fingers and set them on the desktop, all business. “You’ll have to wait or come back. I’ve got appointments at four and four-thirty.” She didn’t get to see his reaction, because he stood and grabbed his jacket off the hook, keeping his back to her.

      “I’ll be here at five, if that works for you,” he said. He picked up the tube and passed it to her. “Can I leave this with you for now?”

      “Sure.” She walked him out. “Maybe I should just order Chinese here? We could use my conference room.”

      He put a hand on her elbow, stopping her, then looked into her eyes, into her soul, in that way he had. “Let me take you out, Denise. Please.”

      You couldn’t have asked me out a month ago? “All right.”

      He slid his hand up to her shoulder and squeezed. The simple gesture kick-started her hormones again. Was her face as red as it felt? Could he tell what he was doing to her?

      “See you at five,” he said.

      She nodded, then walked back to her office window and waited until he emerged from the building. Instead of getting on his motorcycle he headed toward the Capitol Mall nearby. He didn’t strike her as much of a shopper, but then it was almost Christmas, and he did have nieces and nephews.

      “Hel-lo?”

      Denise snapped to attention at the sound of her assistant’s voice right next to her. “What, Stacy?”

      “I said he’s cute.” She gestured out the window. “Your Mr. Falcon. I assume he’s David and Noah’s brother.”

      “Yes. The middle brother.”

      “Is he looking to hire someone, too? Wouldn’t it be funny if he also found the love of his life like his brothers did?”

      “I would say that’s a long shot.”

      Stacy shrugged, her short black hair bouncing a little. At twenty-eight, she was a year younger than Denise, six inches shorter, and a size two to Denise’s size twelve. Stacy had been Denise’s first hire when she’d started the business, and was being groomed to take over when Denise went ahead with her expansion/franchise plans. They’d also become good friends.

      “What’s he looking for?” Stacy asked.

      “Me.”

      “You? Oh, I see. It’s not business. It’s personal.”

      Was it personal? Didn’t he know anyone else who could play the role of his wife? “We met at the wedding,” Denise said, not knowing whether it truly was business or personal. Maybe both?

      “You could do worse,” Stacy said.

      “And have.”

      Stacy laughed. “So, are you going out with him?”

      “Yes, for dinner tonight.”

      “I’ll bet he’s a good kisser.” She sighed.

      Denise hadn’t gotten the chance to find out, even though he’d had opportunities at the wedding, especially when he’d walked her to her car at the end of the night. There was something about him that said he knew how to please, that he gave every experience his all. She’d felt it a month ago, and had been staggered by it again now.

      “Let me know,” Stacy said over her shoulder as she left the office.

      “You’ll be the first,” Denise answered, but she knew it was a lie.

      She’d learned her lesson. This time she wouldn’t kiss and tell.

      In a quiet restaurant a block from her office, Gideon sipped a beer as he waited for Denise to finish reading his business plan. He admired her all-black, all-business outfit of silk blouse, slim skirt and three-inch heels, which brought her almost eye-to-eye with him. She was exactly as he remembered—and had been trying to forget—five feet eight inches of perfect proportions, deep green eyes that were too serious most of the time and hair a shiny brown that flowed over her shoulders…

      Hair whose roots told another story. A blond story. He’d been wondering for a month why she dyed her blond hair brown. Hiding something? If so, what?

      Their server brought their salads. Denise set aside the papers. “So,” she said. “You’re trying to buy a crosscountry ski resort.”

      “The Trails. It’s on the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe.” He stabbed a tomato and gave his spiel. “It has hugely underutilized potential, as you can see. Except for during the snow months, it’s being used as grazing land. The owners, Ed and Joanne Baker, built fifteen cabins on the property in the mid-sixties. I want to tear down everything and start new, create a year-round recreation site—cross-country skiing still, but also hiking and mountain-bike trails, horseback riding, even wilderness packing and camping, guided trips. And then there would be the accommodations. A spa, of course. Can’t not have one these days. Maybe a conference or retreat area. Plus a great restaurant and hotel.”

      Something flickered in her eyes, but she looked at her salad so fast he couldn’t read it.

      “How much time do you have?” she asked.

      “I have to present my offer to the Bakers in ten days. As you can see, I’ve got everything lined up except complete financial backing. I’ve been scrambling for a couple of months since Max Beauregard died. He was going to partner with me on it. I would buy the land and build the trails. He would build the hotel. Did you know Max?”

      “I didn’t know him personally, but he was pretty young when he died, wasn’t he?”

      “Thirty-seven. Made a killing in the tech business early on. He was one of my first clients when I started my business, then he spread the word to his friends and associates. Plus he gave me great financial advice through the years. Incredible advice that changed my life.”

      “So, what happened? Did he die before you signed contracts?”

      “No, it was a done deal. His widow, Ann, can’t follow through.”

      “Isn’t she legally bound?”

      “Yes—except for a particular requirement the Bakers have. They will only sell to a young married couple who will keep The Trails name and family-friendly environment. The Beauregards qualified us for that requirement, even though the project was really mine. With them out of the picture, I tried to find another couple, but I need a couple with a whole lot of money who are also interested in this project. They don’t grow on trees. Ann gave me some leads that didn’t pan out. Then last month she said it was too bad I wasn’t married, because I was the one with the interest, after all. Then all I had to do was find a backer for the hotel. Not an easy thing, either, but easier.”

      “Why couldn’t she still be your investor?”

      “It was Max’s project, really. And I don’t feel like forcing her to adhere to the contract when she doesn’t have СКАЧАТЬ