Millionaire's Wedding Revenge / Stranded with the Tempting Stranger. Brenda Jackson

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      “Too bad,” he murmured.

      Yes, too bad. Then she caught herself.

      No, not too bad. He was lying, cheating vermin, and she’d be three kinds of fool to fall under the spell of his seductive charm—again. What was wrong with her?

      He looked at her hair. “Why is your hair up?”

      “It’s hot.”

      Outside. It’s hot outside. But she felt as if she was burning up right in here.

      Before she could stop him, he reached up, and with an efficient move, released the barrette holding her hair in place.

      A cascade of dark red hair followed.

      “Much better,” he remarked. “I always liked it better down.”

      “Stop it.” She didn’t know whom she was angrier with, him for putting the moves on her, or herself for her breathless reaction.

      “It was good four years ago,” he stated.

      “Yes, and it’s over now.”

      “Easily rectified. Have dinner with me.”

      Stephen being Stephen, it was more a command than a request.

      “I can’t. I need to go—”

      She clamped her mouth shut. He’d gotten her so discombobulated, she’d almost said she had to go relieve the babysitter. It was an excuse that came effortlessly to her lips. She’d grown accustomed to using it over the past three years.

      “You have to go, what?” he asked.

      “Nothing,” she responded. “When I have something down on paper for this project, I’ll call you.”

      Then she grabbed her purse and brushed past him in her haste to get out of the room.

      Stephen stood looking out his office window, his suit jacket hanging open and bunched above the hands shoved in his pockets. He had a rare moment for calm introspection.

      He’d come on strong with Megan earlier. Maybe too strong, he admitted to himself now.

      She’d reacted like a deer caught in headlights. It was far different from the way she’d reacted to his pursuit four years ago. Then she’d flatly refused to go out with him, but the unaccustomed taste of rejection had simply spiked his interest.

      He’d made up reasons to show up at Garrison, Inc. headquarters, even recruiting Parker so he would know when Megan was due to show up there.

      He’d engaged her in casual conversation, and eventually discovered they’d both been captains of their high school swim teams and they were both football fans, though she followed her hometown Indianapolis Colts while he was a Miami Dolphins fan.

      More importantly, he’d liked the fact she was ambitious without taking herself too seriously. It was something he could relate to.

      He’d discovered she’d left her home in Indiana and come down to Florida because of the career opportunities in the interior design field. She dealt with the aesthetics of workplace and hospitality environments, while his aim was to make his hotel the premier accommodation in Miami by focusing on cutting-edge design.

      To his chagrin, he’d also discovered his reputation as a player had preceded him and Megan was understandably wary.

      “Why won’t you go out with me?” he’d asked her one day, bestowing one of his trademark killer smiles. He’d found from experience that the direct approach often worked best. “It’s been rumored I’m actually a reasonable dinner partner, decent arm candy and even a fairly good kisser.”

      Her lips had twitched. “Yes, and that’s not all apparently. I know about your reputation.”

      “Rumors of my prowess have been exaggerated,” he parried, not averse to shamelessly self-serving comments.

      She laughed. “Can I quote you? It’s rare to hear a guy like you argue for once that his image has outstripped the reality. Still, I noticed you didn’t say greatly exaggerated.”

      “A guy like me?” he repeated, pretending to look wounded.

      “Mmm-hmm. Exactly like you,” she said archly, turning back to her work.

      Still, he’d eventually caught her at a weak moment one day and coaxed her into having an overdue lunch with him at a corner bistro. She’d relented, and their affair had taken off from there.

      Yet, back then she’d never had that apprehensive quality around him that she’d exhibited earlier today.

      People changed, of course, but he wondered what could have triggered it in this case.

      Still, he didn’t intend to let the pressure off Megan.

      He wanted her—sooner rather than later.

      Three

      When Stephen showed up at her office two days later, Megan was prepared to act as if their encounter in the Garrison Grand’s conference room had never happened.

      She gritted her teeth now as she led the way down the hall to Elkind, Ross’s storage rooms, where they kept fabrics, carpets and wall coverings.

      She was determined to keep this an all-business relationship even if it killed her.

      She could feel his presence behind her—authoritative, confident, all male—and wished now she’d worn something more severe than a wrap dress and heels to work today.

      They stepped into the secluded and very empty storage room, and Megan couldn’t help thinking that there were some requirements of her job that she could easily do without right now.

      Stephen looked around at the shelves surrounding them. They were all piled high with materials.

      “So this is what things really look like around here,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I was beginning to think, judging from your austere office, that this was a place where even a paper clip wouldn’t dare to be out of place.”

      “I haven’t had a chance to settle in yet,” she responded.

      Let him think what he liked, she thought. She didn’t want him getting any hints of her life as it was now.

      She walked toward the back of the room to search for the samples she was looking for, and he followed, then stopped beside her. In his dark pinstripe suit, he pulled off the look of restrained power effortlessly.

      Retrieving a small chip from a cardboard box, she said, “This is a sample of the type of wall covering I’d like to use in the conference rooms.”

      As he took the chip from her, their hands brushed, sending awareness shooting through her.

      “As you can see,” she went on, determined to ignore the sensation, “it’s not quite white, but СКАЧАТЬ