It Happened in Manhattan: Affair with the Rebel Heiress / The Billionaire's Bidding / Tall, Dark & Cranky

Her voice was so emotionless, he almost believed she meant it. But his body had been inside hers. He’d watched her face as she climaxed. Women didn’t forget that kind of thing. Sure, he could let her go on pretending they had no past, but that would just make things worse down the road if this blew up in both their faces.

“There was something between us back in Texas. I’m betting there still is.”

She hesitated, her feet missing the rhythm for a moment. But then she picked up the beat again and fell into step. “You’re wrong.”

“And you’re avoiding the obvious,” he said. “You’re acting like we didn’t have hot, steamy sex in the back of my truck.”

Her gaze narrowed into a glare. “And you’re acting like a sixteen-year-old girl who put out on prom night and now wants to hear the quarterback still respects her.”

He nearly chuckled at the image, but that seemed to only irritate her more.

She leaned closer to whisper vehemently, “You want to know the truth? Yes, the sex was hot and steamy. But it was just sex. Sex with a nameless, faceless stranger. It was never meant to be anything more than that. If you’d wanted a long-term relationship you should have put an ad up on one of those Internet dating sites.”

“Trust me. I’m not a relationship kind of guy. I’m just not willing to be whipped. Least of all by you. Why would I? So far, you’ve been insulting, arrogant and generally a pain in the ass.”

Surprise flickered across her face and he might have felt a twinge of guilt if every word he said wasn’t true. Possibly even an understatement.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “It’s kind of cute. In a spoiled brat kind of way.”

“Cute? Spoiled brat?” She sputtered as if searching for a response. “How da—”

“How dare I? I dare because whether you like it or not, we have to work together. Whether I like it or not, for that matter. I thought talking about what happened in Texas might make things easier for you.” Though the music continued to play, they’d slowed to the point they were no longer dancing. “Apparently I was mistaken. You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. Just make sure you don’t bring any of this baggage into the boardroom when we start negotiations.”

She pulled her hand from his. Her gazed narrowed to a venomous glare. “Thank you for clearing that up for me. Here I was worried FMJ’s offer might have been motivated by some chivalrous impulse on your part.”

“Sorry, sugar.” He softened his words with a grin. “I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my body.”

“I’m glad you’ve disabused me of that notion. Now I can go about being my normal … what was that phrase you used? Oh yes, pain in the ass … without feeling bad about it. That makes things much easier.”

Shooting him one last haughty look, she spun on her heel and left the dance floor.

“I ‘disabused her of the notion’?” he muttered to the empty spot where she’d been. “Who the hell talks like that?”

He stood there for a minute until he realized the couples around him were staring with interest. He flashed his best charming rogue smile and shrugged. “Women.”

Several men tried to hide their smiles. A couple laughed outright. The women either rolled their eyes or just looked away. But he could see in their eyes that they were more amused than they wanted to be.

If the audience was keeping score, it looked like he’d won another round. It didn’t feel that way, though. If only he’d believed her when she said she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him. Hell, he’d even be satisfied with believing himself.

Kitty’s heart pounded in her chest as she maneuvered through the maze of bodies on the dance floor. Nausea clung to her, sticky and thick. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain any semblance of calm around Ford. Her nerves were frayed to the point of exhaustion.

Selling Biedermann’s was something she’d never thought she’d consider. Just meeting with FMJ to discuss it had been abhorrent. But she’d done it. She’d dug deep to find strength she’d never known she had and she’d done the right thing for the company. And this was how fate had punished her.

Why, oh, why, did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the F of FMJ? Six billion people in the world and the one she never wanted to see again just happened to be the one who held her future in his hands. It was cruelty piled on top of humiliation. It was completely … nauseating.

She flattened her hand against the restroom door and shoved her way inside. The room was thankfully empty. A fact that she only had a second to appreciate before another wave of nausea washed over her. She bolted for the closest stall just as bile mixed with the rich appetizers she’d been so hungry for when she’d first arrived.

Talk about humiliation.

As if throwing up—in public—wasn’t bad enough. As Kitty knelt on the bathroom floor with one hand propped on the toilet paper dispenser and the other wedged against the wall, she heard footsteps outside the stall.

“Oh, my, are you all right?” asked a wavering voice from behind her.

The voice sounded kind—benevolently maternal. Kitty wasn’t taken in. Too many “kind” women were starving for gossip.

“I’m fine,” Kitty managed. She raised her left leg, felt around in the air a bit for the door, then kicked it shut.

“Is there something I can get you, dear?”

Hmm … a cool washcloth? A glass of water? Retrograde amnesia? Any of the above would do.

Kitty shoved the hair out of her face and straightened, wiping at the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Perhaps I could notify your date that you’re not feeling well?”

Nosy and persistent, then. Kitty stood, smoothing down her dress. In her haste, she stepped on her hem and pulled it out. But that couldn’t be helped. Praying she looked better than she felt, she left the sanctuary of the stall. Kitty turned to see an elderly woman hovering by the sinks. Though she had to be nearing ninety, the woman was well-dressed and obviously took pains with her appearance.

Kitty remembered something her grandmother had often told her. There’s no situation that can’t be improved with a fresh coat of lipstick.

Sayings like that had made Kitty roll her eyes as a teenager. Inexplicably, Kitty chuckled. “I think I’ll just freshen my makeup.”

The older woman smiled. “Always a good idea, if you ask me.”

Kitty faced the mirror. Her hair had lost its smooth sheen and now looked tousled beyond repair. Her face was ashen, her lips dry. Even her eyes seemed to have developed dark circles. She could only suppose they’d darkened to match her exhaustion.

And here she’d thought she looked pretty good just a few hours ago when she’d left the condo.

She sighed. By the sink there was a selection of hand lotions and perfumes, along with a bottle of mouthwash and a stack of tiny cups. She filled one of the cups with water to rinse out her mouth.

Spitting as delicately as she could, Kitty said, “This is quite embarrassing. I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up in public before.”

“Think nothing of it, dear. Every woman goes through it.”

Kitty raised her eyebrows. “Every woman—” she started to ask in confusion.

“Well, not every woman. But when I was pregnant with Jake, my second, I couldn’t keep anything down, either.”

“Oh, I’m not … That is, I’ve just been under a lot of stress.”

The woman gave her a pointed look. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I’m not—” But Kitty’s protest died in her mouth. “Pregnant.”

Her vision tunneled, fading to black at the edges but staying piercingly bright in the center, where she could see her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Frightened. Terrified.

What if she was? She couldn’t be. But even as she thought it, reality came crashing back.

She was losing Biedermann’s. Ford was back in her life. Running her company. So why wouldn’t she be pregnant?

Ford stood in the grand ballroom of The Pierre, scanning the room one last time as the nasty truth sank in. Kitty had left him standing on the dance floor, dashed off for the bathroom and then—somehow—sneaked past him on her way out.

As unpleasant as the idea was, there was no other explanation. Kitty was nowhere to be found. Hell, he’d waited long enough for her to put in an appearance.

Maybe he had it coming. After all, this wasn’t an actual date. He’d pushed his way in. Bullied her into agreeing, to use her word.

Still, he wasn’t going to let her get away with this.

Forty-five minutes later, he was standing at her door, a lavish bouquet of orchids in his hands.

Her hair was loose about her shoulders, no longer sleek, but tousled as if she’d been running her fingers through it. Her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup, leaving her cheeks rosy. Her mouth was still impossibly pink, though.

She’d changed out of her dress and had a long silk robe cinched tight around her waist. The result was that she looked like one of those forties movie starlets. Somehow, even devoid of makeup and expensive clothing, she still exuded class. As if she’d been simmered in wealth since childhood and now it fairly seeped from her pores.

She eyed him suspiciously, her gaze dropping to the orchids and then back to his face. “What are those for?”

Since she didn’t seem inclined to invite him in, he elbowed past her into the apartment. “They were my excuse to get in the building. One of your neighbors was leaving. I told him I was here to apologize for a date gone bad so he’d let me in.”

“And he believed you?”

“What can I say? I was persuasive.”

After a moment of indecision, she closed and bolted the door. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. I’ll hunt him down and kill the jerk.”

“Don’t do that. If you’re mad at me, take it out on me.” While she considered his words, he surveyed her apartment. A dingy kitchen led off from the living room and he headed there with the flowers. “Do you have a vase?”

“I thought the flowers were just a ruse.”

“That’s no reason not to enjoy them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find flowers at midnight on a Friday night?”

He grabbed a vase out of one of the cabinets. It was an ornate job with elaborate curlicues. As he filled it with water, he waited for her response. She always seemed to have some snappy comeback.

It was her silence that alerted him something was wrong. He dropped the flowers into the vase and turned, thinking maybe she’d retreated to her bedroom or even left the apartment. Instead he found her sitting on the living room’s sole sofa with her elbows propped on her knees and her face buried in her hands.

His nerve endings prickled with alarm.

He sent up a silent prayer. Please don’t let her be crying. Between his three sisters, Patrice and Suz, he’d faced down his share of weepy women.

The one thing his vast experience with crying women had taught him was that running like hell would only make things worse.

“Hey,” he began awkwardly. “What’s—”

Then Kitty stood, her eyes red, but dry.

No tears. Thank God.

She crossed to stand before him, her posture stiff with anger. “What’s the matter?”

She got right in his face, stopping mere inches from him. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter.”

She shoved a hand against his shoulder. Surprise bumped him back a step. “You are the matter.”

She bopped him on the shoulder again. This time he was ready, but she was stomping forward, so he backed up a step anyway. “You come here and push your way into my company. Into my life. Into my apartment. You push and you push and you push.”

With each push she shoved against his chest and with each shove he stepped back, trying to give her the room she needed. But she followed him step for step.

“Maybe it’s time someone pushed back.”

By now he was—literally—up against a wall. With his back pressed to the living room wall, he had nowhere else to go. She stopped mere centimeters away from him, her hands pressed to his chest, her eyes blazing with anger.

“I’m—” he began.

But she didn’t let him finish. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Sorry won’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it.”

“I—”

“Well?” she prodded.

He gripped her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. “Stop. Interrupting. Me.”

Her chin bumped up and she glared at him through stormy eyes. “Well?” she demanded again.

“I—” What?

Suddenly, he couldn’t remember what it was he’d been about to say. All he could think was that this was what he’d wanted for the past two months. He wanted to see her again. To sleep with her. To strip her clothes off her, lay her bare before him in a proper bed and spend hours worshipping her body.

“‘I—I—I—’” she copied, mocking his stammer. “Is that the best you can do?”

Man, she was annoying sometimes.

“No,” he said. “This is.”

Cupping her jaw in his hands, he shut her up the best way he knew how. He kissed her.

Five

What exactly did she have to do to insult this man? She’d sneered at him. She’d acted like a tease. She’d ditched him in the middle of their date. She’d insulted him and made fun of him. And now he was kissing her?

What was wrong with him?

Worse still, what was wrong with her?

A hot and heavy make out session with Ford was the last thing she needed right now. She wanted peace and quiet to process the events of the night. She wanted to kick Ford out of her apartment. She wanted him out of her life. She wanted to go on kissing him forever.

After months of living on memories, he was actually kissing her. Months of pretending she’d forgotten him, of believing she’d never see him again, of shoving him out of her mind during the day, but then dreaming of him when she slept. After months of waking in the middle of the night, panting, heart racing, body moist and heavy with need. After months of that, he was here. In her apartment. Kissing her.

His tongue nudged into her mouth, tracing the sensitive skin behind her lip. She shuddered, opening herself fully to him. He tasted of smoky Scotch and heat, of neediness and lust. So familiar, even though she’d only been with him once. Her body sparked to life beneath his touch.

Suddenly it didn’t matter that he’d sneaked back into her life uninvited. It didn’t matter that he’d deceived her. That he pushed too hard. That she couldn’t intimidate or control him. All that mattered was that he just keep kissing her.

Her body remembered his touch as if it were yesterday. No matter what lies she’d told him earlier, she remembered. She remembered every second of their time together. As if for those few hours they’d been together she’d been more alive than at any other time in her life. As if she’d been more herself than she was in real life. The way he’d kissed her then. The cool night air on her skin when he’d kissed her in the parking lot of that god-awful bar. The heat of his hands against her flesh. The cold metal of his truck door pressed against her back.

His fingers had fumbled as he pulled her shirt over her head. She’d lost an earring. Yet when he’d touched her breasts, he hadn’t been clumsy. His touch was deft. Gentle. His fingertips rough as they’d pinched her nipples, sending fissures of pleasure through her body.

He’d shoved her skirt up to her waist and his jeans had been rough against the insides of her thighs. He’d shoved her panties aside, touched her there. A slow, rhythmic rasping of his thumb that had driven her quietly wild. By the time he’d plunged into her, she was already on the brink of climax. The feel of him pumping inside of her combined with the chafing of his fingers had sent her over the edge.

Now, kissing him in her living room, with memories flooding her, his touch was so achingly familiar. Her body trembled with need. Moisture seeped between her legs as desire pulsed through her. She was ready for him already.

His arm snaked around her back, holding her body to his as he walked her backward, one step, then two, still kissing her. His mouth nibbled hers as if he would devour her one tiny bite at a time. And she felt powerless to stop him.

The backs of her knees bumped against the arm of the sofa just as his hand cupped her breast through the bodice of her robe. The silk provided little protection against his roaming hands, not that she wanted any. She felt her nipple tighten, hardening to his touch. Heard a groan stir in his chest.

He pulled his mouth from hers. “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.”

But he poured kisses along her neck as he said it. Proof that he was as powerless against her as she was against him.

Her hands clutched the lapels of his jacket. Pulling back, she tried to glare at him. Which was hard to do through the fog of her desire.

“How you wanted it to happen? What about what I want?”

He grinned wickedly, his hand flicking open the folds of her robe. Brushing the outside of her panties, he said, “I think I know what you want.”

Her panties were damp with her need for him. She knew it. Maybe it should embarrass her, this desperate lust for him, the way he only had to kiss her and she went wet for him, but it didn’t. Not when she knew he felt the same way. She may be wet, but he was hard. Panting. Pulsing against her hand when she ran it down the front his pants.

“You do, don’t you?” Her voice came out husky. “Know what I want, I mean.”

“I do.”

His gaze was disconcertingly serious as he muttered the words. For an unsettling second, she considered the possibility that maybe this was about more than just sex for him. For both of them. But she shoved the concern aside.

Sex was all they had. All she wanted.

Because she couldn’t think about anything else. Anything beyond this minute. This very second. She couldn’t think about the mistake she might be making. Or the mistake she’d already made.

She couldn’t think about the pair of pregnancy tests she’d hastily thrown out when the doorbell rang. Couldn’t think about the twin pink lines on those pregnancy tests. She couldn’t think about the baby already growing in her belly.

Logic told him to slow down, but she didn’t let him. One minute he was merely kissing her, the next she was tumbling over the arm of the sofa, pulling him on top of her. He barely caught himself in time to keep from squashing her. He braced one hand on the back of the sofa and the other right beside her head.

For all her height, she felt tiny beneath him. He didn’t want the weight of his body to pummel her. “That was close,” he muttered.

“Not nearly close enough,” she purred, bucking against him. Her hips rocked against his. Not in a light and playful way, but frantically, as if she were seconds from losing all control. One of her legs crept up the outside of his thigh, hooking around to anchor her hips to his.

Then she bucked against him one last time, rolling him off the sofa altogether, following him down onto the floor. Thank God for plush carpet, though even that hadn’t been able to keep the breath from being knocked out of him.

Or maybe it was just her that took his breath away. Kitty. Demanding. Arrogant. Unapologetic. And sexy as hell.

She walked her hands down his chest, slowly pushing herself into a seated position astride his hips. Her robe gaped open, barely covering her breasts as it caught on her nipples. The sash was still tied at the waist, but the robe revealed enough for him to see she was naked except for her underwear. A little scrap of fabric that felt silky and damp beneath his touch. Just kissing him had made her wet. His erection leaped at the very idea, straining against the front placket of his pants.

Head thrown back, she shifted her hips forward, grinding herself against him. She groaned low in her throat, a sound both erotic and unbearably tempting. How could he resist her? Why would he even try?

He slipped his thumb under the hem of her panties and found the nub of her desire. He stroked her there and the moan turned into a chorus of yeses. The steady chant echoed through his blood, pounding against the last of his restraint.

When she reached for his zipper, it didn’t even occur to him to stop her. With a few quick movements, she’d freed him. He lifted his hips as she pulled at his pants, not even bothering to take them all the way off.

She nudged the fabric of her underwear out of the way, then lowered herself onto him. With one smooth movement, he was inside of her. Hot, tight, and unbearably sweet. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, trying to reign in his pure lust. Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he narrowed his focus. Pleasure rocked through his body, but he stayed just ahead of it. He didn’t want to come too quickly. He wanted her right there with him.

He moved his thumb in slow, steady circles, matching the rhythm of her rocking hips. With his eyes still closed, he focused on the sound of her breath, the quick gasps and low moans. The yeses had dissolved to a series of meaningless guttural sounds.

He felt her muscles clenching around him. Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes. He looked up to see her poised above him, her back arched, her breasts thrusting forward as her hands clutched her heels. With her neck arched her hair fell down her back in wild disarray. He’d never seen anything more primitive, more primal, more gut-wrenchingly erotic.

And then she focused her groans into a single word that sent him spiraling beyond control.

“Ford!”

Sleeping with Ford just about topped the list of stupid things she could have done. Ford had said she’d had a hard day and he didn’t know the half of it.

And as if sleeping with him wasn’t bad enough, she’d slept with him. When he’d picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, she’d actually tugged him down onto the bed with her, draped her body over his and promptly fallen asleep. She’d snuggled with him, for cripes sake.

When she’d peeled herself off him in the morning to sneak away for a shower, she prayed he’d at least have the common courtesy to disappear. But no. Not Ford. He made coffee.

How the hell was she supposed to defend herself against a man who’d made her coffee?

“Oh,” she said joylessly. “You’re still here.”

“We have to talk.”

“So you keep saying.” She crossed the narrow kitchen to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “Maybe you think we’re ready for couples’ therapy.”

He cut to the chase. “We didn’t use a condom last night.”

Ah. So that was why he’d stuck around.

Hoping to antagonize him into storming out, she said, “I suppose you blame me for that.”

“I didn’t say that. I just wanted to let you know you don’t have to worry about your health. I get tested annually for anything that—”

“I know,” she interrupted him. “When I got back from Texas I had myself tested. Yes, we were pretty safe, but as we both know condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective at anything.”

She broke off sharply. Please don’t do something stupid. Like cry. Or tell him the truth. “So,” she continued. “I knew that wasn’t a concern.”

Just keep sipping your coffee. He’ll leave soon and you can do all the stupid things you want.

He pinned her with a heavy stare. “Do I need to worry you’ll get pregnant?”

It took all her willpower not to spew coffee all over the kitchen. Instead she equivocated. “Do I look worried?”

“That’s hardly the point. You never look worried.” Well, at least she still had someone fooled. With a self-effacing shrug, she said, “When you’re raised the way I was, you learn to keep your emotions to yourself.”

“Well, you learned well, then.” There was a hint of something dark in his voice. Bitterness maybe, but she didn’t want to consider what he might mean by that. She couldn’t let herself think too much about his emotions just now.