What The Millionaire Wants.... Brenda Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ realization that he thought she’d already lost only fed her temper. And it was her temper that had the words falling off her tongue as she declared, “Believe me, I won’t be the one hoofing it to work or sleeping on a couch, Hawke.”

      “You won’t have to. After all, it really wouldn’t be fair of me to foreclose on your hotel, then take your car and home, too.”

      Suspecting that he was trying to bait her, Laura kept a rein on her temper, determined not to let it get her into any more hot water. With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, she said, “Well, since you ruled out dinner, I guess the bet’s off.”

      “Not necessarily,” he said.

      “We can’t agree on the stakes,” she pointed out.

      He stared at her for a long moment, long enough for Laura to see his enjoyment in sparring with her turn to something else, something hot, something sexual. “I have another idea on what the stakes could be,” he said finally. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like it.”

      Laura knew at once what those stakes were. She’d seen it in his eyes the very first time he had looked at her, felt it the other night when he had almost kissed her. He wanted to have sex with her. That he would even suggest such a thing infuriated her. It also made her stomach tighten, her skin heat. “You’re right. I don’t like it. And despite what you might think, going to bed with you just isn’t my idea of a prize.”

      He laughed. “That’s a pretty big assumption you’ve made.”

      Laura could feel the color rush to her cheeks and cursed her fair skin. Refusing to back down, she said, “All right. So what did you have in mind?”

      “Never mind my idea,” he said, his amusement fading. He inched a step closer. That dark and hungry look was back in his eyes, in his voice, as he said, “While it’s not what I had in mind initially, I like your idea better. A lot better.”

      “The bet was a stupid idea in the first place. Let’s just forget the whole thing,” she told him, hating the fact that just having him move closer made her heart start racing again.

      “Why? Don’t think you can pull it off after all?”

      Pride had her spine stiffening and the words firing from her lips. “I know I can pull it off.”

      “Then the bet stands. When I win, you spend the night in my bed.”

      Laura’s pulse scattered. “And what do I get when I win?” she demanded, wishing she had never started this thing, wishing she could figure a way to get out of it without losing face…or something more.

      “Your mother’s promissory note—free and clear—and you get to keep or return the money you borrowed.”

      Laura blinked. “You can’t be serious. That would mean you’d lose the fifteen million dollars you paid for the note.”

      “I won’t lose,” he assured her.

      His words set her competitive juices stirring once again. She so wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. “Like I said, there’s a first time for everything.”

      He grinned. “If you’re right, then you have nothing to worry about. But if you’re wrong and you can’t come up with the money in time, then I foreclose on the hotel and I get you—in my bed for an entire night.”

      It was crazy. No, it was beyond crazy, she thought. It was insane. He was insane. Because only a madman would make such a bet. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But don’t you think the stakes are a bit lopsided? At least for you. I mean, it hardly seems fair that I stand to have a fifteen-million-dollar loan wiped out whereas all you stand to gain is a night of sex.”

      He ran his eyes down the length of her in a way that made her skin feel as though he had touched her. “I’m satisfied with the stakes.”

      “I should think a man with your ego could satisfy his sexual needs for a lot less money,” she tossed back, annoyed by her reaction to him.

      “Oh, but I’d much prefer to have those needs satisfied by you, Ms. Spencer,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent a shiver along her nerve endings. “So, do we have a deal?”

      For a moment, Laura said nothing. She was every bit as crazy as he was to even consider such an outrageous thing, she reasoned. The man was a corporate shark. Every article and interview she had been able to dig up on him all proclaimed his genius as a businessman. He hadn’t lied. He seldom lost. When it came to doing business—or in the Contessa’s case, engineering a hostile takeover—Jackson Hawke would be a lethal opponent. And regardless of how good she was at her job, she’d be lying to herself if she thought that finding the money she needed to cure the defaulted loan would be easy. At best it was a long shot. But if she could pull it off, somehow raise enough money in time, she would win the bet, get the Contessa and be able to pay back the loans. “You’re really serious? You’d risk fifteen million dollars against a night…a night of sex?”

      “A night of sex with you,” he amended. “And, yes, I’d risk it.”

      Still, she hesitated. She’d be a fool not to accept the deal he was offering her. And if she lost?

      “Of course, if you’re ready to concede that you can’t come up with the money and dispense with the thirty days so I can foreclose, we can call off the bet.”

      Laura yanked up her chin. “I’ll do no such thing. You’ve got yourself a bet. And if I were you, Hawke, I’d get ready to lose fifteen million dollars.”

      He smiled, a knowing smile that made the air in her lungs grow shallow. “And if I were you, Spencer, I’d get ready to spend a night in my bed—without the benefit of sleep.”

      Four

      Jack stood on the corner outside the restaurant where he’d gone for dinner and waited for the light to change. Still restless despite the long walk, he hit the speed dial for Fitzpatrick Investigations. When it went to voice mail, he grimaced. “It’s Hawke. I need you to get me whatever you can find on Matthew Peterson, both personal and business. And I need it ASAP. Send whatever you find to my e-mail address.”

      Hitting the off button, he considered calling his assistant at home, then opted against it. Unless it was an emergency, Dotty would not be at all happy to have him calling her at home on a Sunday night. As she’d told him often enough, weekends were for family.

      Instead, he holstered his cell phone and when the light changed, he headed back down Saint Charles Avenue in the direction of the hotel. The air was cool, but not cold like New York. Not that you could tell by the way the people were dressed with their gloves and heavy coats, he thought. And given the number of red-and-green scarves he’d seen, people were already into the Christmas frenzy. December was still a few days away, but the storefronts and restaurants were already trimmed in lights. Christmas trees filled several windows and wreaths hung from doors. Even the lobby of the Contessa sported pots of red and white poinsettias and a huge tree.

      Jack frowned as he thought of how all the Christmas craziness was going to impact him getting business done. He hated the distraction the holidays caused almost as much as he hated weekends. And he really hated weekends, Jack admitted. Nobody wanted to work on weekends and unless you were in the retail or service end of business, nobody СКАЧАТЬ