The Tycoon's Outrageous Proposal
Now, if anything was certain to annoy Cleo—as well as dampen any unwanted desires—it was a man who didn’t consult. She had little appreciation of chauvinism; of men who thought they knew better than women. There’d been a time when she’d been happy to play the compliant little woman, deferring to Martin in all matters. But those days had long passed. Any man these days who dared to make decisions for her did so at his peril. Only the fact that she was supposed to be winning this man over for her boss had her holding her tongue.
But she suspected already that Byron Maddox was not a suitable investor for McAllister Mines. Scott wanted a hands-on partner, not just a money man; someone to take some of the day-to-day load off him, leaving him more time for his wife and future family. Sarah had confided to her before she left on their second honeymoon yesterday that she was pregnant, news that had made Cleo very happy indeed. She’d been seriously worried about their marriage for a while. Scott had been over the moon, of course. What a lovely genuine man he was.
‘I possibly should have asked you what drink you preferred,’ Byron said, interrupting her train of thought. ‘But the cocktails here are to die for and I wanted you to experience at least one.’
‘How thoughtful of you,’ she said, gritting her teeth.
* * *
‘So,’ he said, picking up the two leather-encased menus sitting in the centre of the table, handing her one then opening the other. ‘What do you fancy, Cleo?’
Still you, she conceded with a smothered sigh.
She could hardly take her eyes off him. But she did, dropping her gaze to the menu.
‘The seafood here is very good,’ he said. ‘But so are the steaks. Do you want an entrée to begin with? I would recommend the scallops, if you like seafood.’
Cleo’s appetite had fled since she was not used to being affected like this by a man. Her thoughts kept straying into strange territory. The temptation to flirt was extreme, and very perturbing. It had rattled her.
Her stomach contracted as she stared blankly at the menu. ‘I’m honestly not very hungry,’ she admitted at last. ‘I haven’t been sleeping all that well lately. Things have been rather hectic at work. And stressful,’ she added.
When Cleo glanced up she was surprised to see a spark of genuine sympathy in those sexy blue eyes of his.
‘You poor thing,’ he said, his kind words rattling her even further. ‘Scott did dump you in it, going away suddenly like that when his business was in trouble. But if you’re not sleeping then you definitely need to eat,’ he went on cheerfully. ‘Unless, of course, you’re so catatonic that you’ll fall asleep with your head in the soup.’
His smile—plus his good humour—bewitched her even more than his looks. Before she knew it, she found herself smiling back at him.
‘I’m not that bad. But my head is a little fuzzy.’
He laughed. ‘It’s going to be even fuzzier once you get the cocktail I ordered into you. When I said it was to die for, I wasn’t just talking about the taste. The alcoholic content is off the Richter scale. Ah, here it is.’
It was, as he’d warned her, deadly. But delicious. And decadent. And not designed to dampen desire.
On the plus side, it did relax her, at the same time rendering her a little reckless. She didn’t flirt with him exactly. But she let him order the food for her, as well as a bottle of white wine. Before she knew it, she was blurting out all the pitfalls besetting the mining industry at the moment. By the time dessert arrived—a light dish of fresh tropical fruits topped with a mango-flavoured yoghurt—Cleo realised suddenly how unwise she’d been and did her best to redress the situation.
‘Of course, things will turn around eventually,’ she told a seemingly fascinated Byron. ‘The prices of iron ore will go back up, as will coal and most of the other minerals. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘What about Scott’s nickel refinery?’ he asked. ‘I heard that it was on the point of bankruptcy.’
Cleo knew there was no saving the refinery. Not at the moment. But to say so would be the kiss of death to any potential investor in McAllister Mines. As much as she didn’t think Byron was the right man for the role of Scott’s business partner, neither did she want to be responsible for killing off his interest entirely.
‘The refinery is in deep trouble, no doubt about that,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not bankrupt.’ Not yet, anyway.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘I don’t like to be a doubting Thomas, Cleo, but I won’t take your word for that. Before I commit myself to any kind of investment, I always have it thoroughly investigated. Do you have any objections to me sending my accountant over to check your books?’
Cleo was not surprised by the request. It was a perfectly reasonable one, which Scott had anticipated before he left. ‘That will be fine,’ she said, relieved that the diamond mine was doing well at least. And the two gold mines Scott owned. The rest of McAllister Mines were borderline, the prices for iron ore, coal and cobalt at an all-time low.
‘Good,’ Byron said. ‘I’ll send him over first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I’d like to go and inspect the refinery for myself.’
Now that surprised her.
Cleo frowned. ‘You do know it’s way up in North Queensland?’
‘That’s all right. I have my own plane. The site will have a runway, surely.’
‘Well, no, it doesn’t. It’s served by road and railway. You’ll have to land at Townsville and drive the rest of the way. It’s about thirty kilometres.’
‘No trouble. I’ll have Grace organise a suitable vehicle to meet us at Townsville airport.’
Cleo blinked. ‘Us?’
‘Yes, you’re coming with me.’
CHAPTER FIVE
BYRON ENJOYED THE shock on her face, almost as much as he’d enjoyed her loosening up over the course of the meal.
Now, suddenly, she was looking very worried.
‘Is there a problem with your coming with me?’ he asked. ‘Would your husband object?’
‘What?’ Her eyes flew to her left hand where she twisted the gold band on her left finger for a second or two before looking up again. ‘No. Martin won’t object,’ she said with a somewhat sad sigh. ‘He can’t. He...he died some time ago.’
Shock—and something else—had Byron sitting up straight in his chair. So she was a widow. Not unhappily married, or divorced. Just a lady with a sad past and likely way too much emotional baggage.
Byron knew he should steer well clear. He didn’t need to deviate from the path he’d set himself. Which was finding the right girl to marry. Clearly, Cleo wasn’t that girl.
But despite all that he was finding her perversely attractive. Even more than he had back at his office. As she’d let down her defences, he’d seen more evidence that she found him as attractive as he found her. The way her eyes had sparkled at him every now and then. Quite lovely eyes, they were. The loveliest feature she had. Though her mouth was very kissable too. You just didn’t focus on it without lipstick. He couldn’t really see her figure underneath that ghastly pant suit, but she wasn’t overweight. He suspected there was a nice curvy shape under there somewhere. Byron liked curves.
It was a truly weird situation, one fraught with danger. He should not be thinking about having sex with her. A wise man did not mix business with pleasure. But he was thinking just that. Oh, yes, he definitely was.
‘How long ago?’ he asked, hiding his lustful thoughts behind a quiet voice.
‘Just over three years.’
A long time for her to be without a man. And it was obvious by the way she’d presented herself today that she hadn’t been out there, dating again. Cleo had the look of a woman still in mourning, a woman who’d forgotten what it was like to be a woman.
Until today, that was...
Byron sensed that something had changed for Cleo today. His male ego suggested it was he who’d changed her. He knew he was attractive to women, having been blessed with the kind of face and body women fancied. Even when girls didn’t know he was filthy rich, they came onto him. Byron didn’t think Cleo was interested in his money. He doubted she was seriously interested in him at all. Otherwise, she’d jump at the chance of being alone with him.
No. If he wanted this woman—and he did, by God!—he would have to seduce her. She wasn’t about to make it easy for him.
The prospect both challenged and aroused Byron. How long had it been since he’d actually had to seduce a woman? Five years? Ten? Twenty? In truth, he’d never had to.
His flesh stirred further at how satisfying it was going to be, once he succeeded. Satisfying for her as well as him. He was a good lover. And a confident one. She wouldn’t regret going to bed with him.
‘You’re very young to be a widow, Cleo,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how did your husband die?’
‘Cancer. A very malignant melanoma, which wouldn’t quit, no matter what the doctors threw at it. Martin fought it with every ounce of his being. But it was too strong for him in the end,’ she finished up, her eyes moistening at the memory.
A momentary guilt threatened to derail Byron’s lust. But she couldn’t grieve for her husband for ever, no matter how much she’d loved him or how tragic his demise. Life moved on. She had to move on. And he was just the man to help her do so.
Byron’s conscience decided magnanimously that his taking Cleo to bed would be the best thing for her. She needed someone to bring her back to life, and he was just the man to do it!
‘That’s very sad, Cleo,’ he said gently. ‘Cancer is the very devil, isn’t it? My mother had breast cancer a few years ago, but thankfully she survived.’
‘Then she’s very lucky.’
‘Indeed. She’s going to turn sixty next weekend. She’s having a big bash of a party,’ he went on, reminding himself that he would have to attend. She was sure to have lined up a prospective daughter-in-law or two for him to look over, Byron having been foolish enough to confide in his mother recently that he really did want to get married and give her grandchildren.
‘Perhaps you’d like to come with me?’ he said impulsively, despite knowing the invitation was both presumptuous and premature.
Cleo stared at him as though he’d just asked her to accompany him to the moon.
‘You want me to go to your mother’s birthday party with you?’ she asked him incredulously.
‘Yes. Why not?’ He wasn’t about to back-pedal. Byron never back-pedalled.
‘I think why is more like the right question,’ she countered brusquely.
‘Do I need a reason?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because I like you and find your company stimulating.’
Her smile was wry. ‘Now what’s the real reason?’
He could hardly tell her that it had been an impulse invitation, one driven by his darker side. But now that he’d made it, he could see that it actually had potential in a more practical sense.
‘You’ve forced it out of me,’ he said, smiling back just as wryly. ‘The thing is, my dearest mother is keen for me to settle down and have a family, so there’s bound to be a few potential brides for my perusal at this event. Since I would prefer to pick my own future wife, I need protection from her matchmaking. If I show up with a woman of my own choice on my arm, I might have a chance of actually enjoying myself.’
* * *
Cleo couldn’t help it. She laughed.
‘As much as I would like to help you out,’ she said, still chuckling inside, ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.’
‘Why?’ he asked, sounding most put out. Clearly, not many women said no to Byron.
Cleo listed all the reasons in her head.
Because I don’t have a thing to wear to such an occasion.
Because I would be like a fish out of water in your mother’s social circle.
Because none of the guests would believe I was really your date.
Because I don’t want to torture myself by pretending to be your date.
‘Because I don’t actually enjoy parties,’ she said instead. ‘Sorry. I’m sure you can find someone else to be your pretend girlfriend for one night.’
‘Actually no, I can’t,’ he growled as he pulled a face. ‘I’m between fiancées at the moment.’
Cleo smiled ruefully. ‘How unfortunate,’ she murmured, amused by his little-boy pout. ‘Still, I would imagine you know scores of unattached women who would jump at the chance of accompanying you.’
‘True. But all of them would also jump to the conclusion that they were in with a chance to become fiancée number three.’
Cleo bristled at the implication that she wouldn’t do any such thing. And she knew why. Because she was far too ordinary to contemplate anything so extraordinary. The woman who eventually wore Byron’s wedding ring on her finger would be out of the ordinary in every way. He wasn’t about to settle for just anyone. He’d already discarded a Victoria’s Secret model and a stunning actress. Cleo momentarily wondered what it was about them that had caused those break-ups. The articles she’d read about Byron suggested the splits had been his doing. But who knew? Maybe he was a player, even when he was engaged. Wealthy men often were.
‘Come on, Cleo,’ he said with a very bewitching smile. ‘Help me out here.’
It annoyed Cleo how tempted she was to say yes, an answer she knew she would instantly regret. As fascinating as she found Byron, no way would she put herself in a position that would ultimately be humiliating. Neither did she like the idea of being used. It also worried her that this attraction she was feeling could escalate into infatuation, if she spent too much time with him. And she didn’t want that. In truth, Cleo rather liked her independent existence. It made for a stress-free personal life, leaving her to concentrate on the one thing she genuinely enjoyed and that she could count on: her job. The last thing she needed were the emotional upsets that inevitably came with relationships. Just look at the mess Sarah and Scott had been in this past week or so. Far better to steer well clear of the opposite sex, even if it meant spending the rest of her life alone.
Of course, she hadn’t counted on her libido coming back to life in such a remarkable fashion. Still, it was nothing that wouldn’t simmer down, in time. It was a pity she had to spend tomorrow with him. But she was certain she could remain professional in his presence, especially if she established proper boundaries now.
‘I’m sorry, Byron,’ she told him coolly. ‘But I really can’t. Maybe you should just go to your mother’s party alone and face the music.’
‘You don’t know my mother,’ he said drily.
‘Perhaps you should just tell her that you don’t want to get married; that you prefer the life of a...a bachelor.’ She’d almost said playboy, but had known instinctively that he wouldn’t like that tag. Admittedly, Byron wasn’t known for being a heartless womaniser, but his two broken engagements had had a lot of publicity.
A heavy sigh wafted from Byron’s lungs, his eyes rolling in exasperation. ‘That’s the crux of the problem. The fact is, I do want to get married. But only to the right sort of girl, not the kind my mother would dish up to me.’
‘I see,’ Cleo said slowly. ‘And what kind is that?’
‘Oh, you know,’ he said, waving his hand around in a circular fashion. ‘Society princesses whose only aim in life is to marry well, which translates to a husband with money. And lots of it. Then they can live in a Double Bay mansion, dress in designer clothes and have their children looked after by nannies whilst they sit on charity boards or do ladies’ luncheons in between holidays to Tuscany, or possibly to New York, where they can shop their greedy little hearts out.’
Cleo was taken aback by his cynical tirade.
‘You don’t have to marry any of them,’ she pointed out.
‘I don’t intend to,’ he said ruefully. ‘Now. Do you want coffee? Or would you prefer a cognac?’
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