The Bride and the Bargain Page 6

  He didn’t lean forward. If anything, he seemed to lounge even more comfortably in his chair, despite the fact that the back of it was undoubtedly cut too low and too narrow to be particularly accommodating for his size. “Why would your sister be a distraction?”

  She practically vibrated off her seat, so deep was her agitation. “You can drop the pretense, Matt. Even if I hadn’t done my research where you’re concerned, I’d still know all about you. And you know Daphne.”

  His expression didn’t really change. But the gentle demeanor he’d portrayed up until then went suddenly missing.

  Unease sliced through her.

  This was the man who could buy and sell small countries if he chose to.

  What hope did she have of keeping Timmy out of his clutches if he snapped his fingers otherwise?

  What hope did Daphne have of any sort of recovery if Amelia didn’t do everything she could to gain his cooperation?

  Gray watched the parade of expressions crossing Amelia’s pale face. Anger. Fear. Distress.

  He didn’t have to search his memory banks for references to her sister, Daphne Mason. Not when the first time he’d ever seen the name had been on the telephone list he’d obtained for the building where he’d tracked Amelia.

  Which left the question remaining of why she should think her sister would have meaning—as a distraction, no less—to him.

  The smart thing would be to cut his losses and move on. She was off her bean.

  He’d invested no more time in Amelia White of the golden-flecked eyes and shapely limbs that were thoroughly disguised in that ugly suit than those hours of phone calls.

  He needed a wife. Not another woman bearing her own agenda.

  Which didn’t explain why Gray didn’t simply bid her goodbye and leave the cramped coffeehouse, and Amelia, behind. “There’s a reason for that. For Matt.”

  Her lips tightened. “I’m not interested in your reasons, Mr. Hunt.”

  He looked past her, catching the glances that turned their way at her emphatic statement. “Keep your voice down,” he said mildly, looking back at Amelia.

  She looked incensed.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to draw attention.” He kept his voice low, a half smile on his lips. “Last time I had dinner with a woman in public, a half-dozen people started snapping pictures of us with their cell phones.” One photograph, even off center and blurry, had made the morning paper. And the dinner date—a perfectly nice woman with political aspirations—had refused to have dinner, much less dessert or anything else, with him.

  He’d hardly been brokenhearted.

  That would take more of a heart than he possessed.

  But if the same thing happened now, with Amelia, any hope of convincing Harry—much less Cornelia—that she was unaware of his real identity would be irrevocably lost.

  “You don’t like your personal life in the news.” Amelia’s voice was low. Practically shaking.

  “Most sane people don’t. Fortunately, I have an entire staff at hand to ensure my privacy.” One guy in line was busier watching them than the line that was moving well ahead of him. Gray pushed back his chair. “Let’s take this outside.”

  He left her no choice but to follow him, since he walked out carrying her briefcase.

  The rain was little more than a drizzle, and it seemed to bother her no more than it did him, when he finally stopped, several yards away from the umbrella-covered tables clustered around the outside of the coffee place.

  She snatched the briefcase from him, looping the long shoulder strap over her shoulder and hugging the slightly battered black leather case protectively against her stomach. Moisture began collecting on her severe hairstyle, little pinpoints of shine among the dark strands.

  “Are you married?” he asked bluntly. “And don’t bother prevaricating. I can find out the truth if I choose. Research is right up my attorney’s alley.”

  Her lips parted. “What does my being married have to do with anything?”

  “Are you?”

  Atop the briefcase, she curled one hand over her other. “No, I already told you I’m not married.” Her soft voice was emphatic.

  “Ever?”

  “Never,” she returned evenly, obviously annoyed with the subject.

  “Fiancé? Boyfriend?”

  Rosy color flagged her cheeks and her brown eyes looked fit to snap. “No.” Her lips barely moved as the word passed the pearly white teeth he could see clenched together.

  “Good.” He wanted as few entanglements as possible. “Then we have plenty to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do,” she agreed. “Plenty. And I won’t be put off like Daphne.”

  “What is the deal you’ve got with your sister?”

  She glared at him. “I suppose you sleep with so many cocktail waitresses that you can’t be bothered to remember their names.”

  He let out a laugh, so absurd was the idea. “What? Cocktail waitresses? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

  “From Daphne,” she enunciated carefully.

  His amusement dried up. As usual, his judgment where women was concerned was about as good as Harry’s.

  He should have known that the world wasn’t going to toss down a suitable wife for him just because he was against a wall.

  “So. What scam are you two running? Or is there even a Daphne at all?” He ignored the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. “Make it good, babe, because I can promise you that you won’t get another pass at it.” He should have gone with his first instinct to have Marissa run a check on her. It would have saved him the trouble.

  Amelia leaned closer, managing to look down her nose at him despite being close to a foot shorter. “You know perfectly well that there is no scam. You used Daphne while it suited you and dropped her when it didn’t. A-and if you don’t help her now, there’s going to be more people wanting to catch your picture on their cell phones than you ever dreamed of. There won’t be any peace for you. I promise you that.”

  “You know, I’ve encountered my share of crazies, but you take the cake. I actually thought you were the vulnerable type. Shy. Not too certain of herself. Do you practice that act in the mirror, or does it just come naturally to you?”

  She was visibly shaking. “You…insufferable…pig.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, more angry than he ought to have been. He’d learned long ago that his family was a natural target for all manner of cheats. Since then he’d made damn sure not to fall into their traps again.

  More importantly, he’d made damn sure not to let anyone come close enough to even set one.

  “But I don’t throw around useless threats based on fiction,” he continued, his voice hard. “Until I met you I’d never even heard the name Daphne, much less slept with a cocktail waitress.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a cocktail waitress,” she defended hotly.

  “Well, trust me on this, honey. It’s not my style. I like women who are a challenge to my brain as much as a challenge to my bed, and I haven’t met a cocktail waitress yet who’d fit that bill. Now, if you really want to bandy threats around, using the media isn’t the way to go. Haven’t you heard? When it comes to the Hunt family and HuntCom, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  There were tears in her eyes, turning the gold flecks to green. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Hunt? Maybe the good people of this city won’t hold you so dear to their hearts when they learn how you’ve denied your own child.”

  Chapter Five

  Gray’s head snapped back as if she’d hit him in the face with her briefcase.

  But he recovered fast.

  His hand shot out, wrapping around her upper arm. Tight. “I don’t like people threatening me with crap, Amelia.”

  She pulled at her arm, but he held her fast. “And I don’t like people manhandling me.” The words snapped back at him as if it were someone else issuing them. “Let me go.”

  “Not until I’m goo
d and ready.” His long legs ate up the distance as he hustled her along the sidewalk. “And don’t even think about calling for help.” He forestalled her just as she opened her mouth to yell. “Or I’ll have you tied up in such legal restraints you’ll wish you’d never had the brilliant idea of taking me on. I don’t take kindly to threats of blackmail. Neither does our legal system.”

  “Fine with me,” she assured, hating the tears that clogged her throat, thickened her voice. “Then it will all become public for certain. How the magnanimous president of HuntCom threatened to ruin a single mother when she dared to ask him to acknowledge the baby they’d conceived together.” She winced when his hold on her arm tightened even more.

  “The only conceptions I participate in are of the business variety.” He finally stopped on the sidewalk, alongside the BMW she remembered so easily from the other morning. “Your research should have been more comprehensive, Amelia. Tests disprove paternity as often as they prove it. And my attorney is well practiced in the art of deflecting the inevitable claims that have come my way. So much so, in fact, that she doesn’t even bother me with the details anymore.”

  He didn’t have to elaborate. Was that the case where Daphne was concerned? So unimportant that his attorney didn’t even consult him on the matter?

  “I’ll bet there are claims,” she muttered. “From plenty of women.”

  “Am I supposed to be a monk?” His gaze raked contemptuously down her form. “I’m forty-two years old, honey. I don’t have to apologize for not being one.”

  “You do when you ignore the consequences of your own behavior!”

  He pulled his car key out, punching the security button and she heard the soft snick of the door locks disengaging. He leaned down and yanked open the passenger door. “Get in.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He pulled the strap of her briefcase from her shoulder and tossed the thing inside before she could scrabble for it. “Get in.”

  “It’s no wonder Daphne gave up on you. No woman in her right mind would put up with—Oh!” She gaped at him when he lifted her off her heels and pushed her into the seat. Her skirt rode up her knees as she scrambled, inelegantly, to right herself against the butter-soft leather seat. “This is…is kidnapping!”

  He shut the door on her accusation and rounded the car, climbing behind the wheel before she could even find the interior door latch. The locks softly engaged the moment before her frantic hands found the handle.

  She pounded the window, fear climbing inside her. What did she really know about Grayson Hunt, after all? The man was a callous excuse for a human being, but was he anything worse?

  “Be quiet,” he said evenly. He made no attempt to start the vehicle. Just sat there in the luxurious confines, his narrowed gaze on her face.

  Her jaws hurt from clenching her teeth so tightly. How credible an adversary would she appear if he could see the way her teeth wanted to chatter together? “There are p-people expecting me. Who know that I was m-meeting you.”

  He let out a short, exasperated snort. “What are you afraid I’m going to do with you, Amelia? Put you in my trunk?” The reference to her words in the park the other morning was pointed. “I don’t have to resort to violence to get rid of nuisances.”

  “And that’s all Daphne was. A nuisance.”

  “That’s what you are,” he said flatly. “It was all planned, wasn’t it? Somewhere your research turned up where I like to run. And it was just a matter of you staking out the park and waiting. Should have let me call an ambulance or take you to the hospital, honey. You’d at least be able to claim some personal injury and hope for a small settlement from me. Nothing significant, mind you.” He looked her over again. “But at least enough to buy a suit that didn’t resemble a nun’s habit.”

  “I didn’t expect you to run over me on that running trail and I don’t want anything from you.”

  He gave a bark of laughter that was completely devoid of amusement. “No kidding. You’re doing a helluva job expressing that fact.”

  She was mad to have thought she could somehow negotiate an agreement with the man, whether through reason or through threats of public exposure. Daphne had been absolutely right to back away from him. Lord only knew what sort of influence he would have had on Timmy.

  She fumbled with the door latch again, but the door didn’t budge. “I want out.” In more ways than one. She’d find some other way to finance Daphne’s medical treatment.

  But the silent assurance rang false in her head when she’d already exhausted every other possibility.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  If only Daphne would have come to live with her in Oregon.

  If only.

  A sob escaped and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the ones that wanted to follow so hard on its heels. She’d be damned if she would cry in front of Grayson Hunt. “Open the door.” She yanked on the latch.

  There was no denying that the huge tears streaming from her eyes were real, though Gray didn’t let himself be moved by them. Any decent con woman could summon tears at the drop of a hat.

  Gwen had certainly been able to. She’d also had her timing down pat, knowing exactly when to turn them on or off for maximum impact.

  But back then, they’d both been in college. And only the experience of hindsight allowed him to admit that he’d still been wet behind the ears when it came to manipulative women, despite being raised by Christina Hunt Devereaux Dunleavy, the queen of manipulators. He’d been sucked in by Gwen, all right, so deeply that he’d planned to marry her.

  Marry Gwen, who hadn’t been wet behind the ears about anything at all.

  In the end, however, she’d been the one to pay the ultimate price. She hadn’t survived to see the fruition of her faked kidnapping scheme. The child she’d been carrying—his—hadn’t survived, either.

  And he’d made certain no one could ever use him in such a manner again.

  Now, watching Amelia seem to unravel right there beside him, he reminded himself of all that. “You are good,” he murmured.

  Her brown eyes, looking wounded and as vulnerable as a puppy, slanted his way. Her brows drew together, forming a fine line over the bridge of her nose. “And you are hateful.”

  “Hate to tell you, Amelia, but if you’re looking for originality, you’re missing the mark.”

  She let out a shuddering sob again, turning her face away and covering it with her shaking hand. Her misery was palpable and almost—almost—real.

  “I s’pose this sister of yours, Daphne the cocktail slinger, is waiting with bated breath for you to return, triumphant with assurances from me that I’ll pay off whatever amount you plan to demand.”

  She bent forward, her face nearly buried in her lap, as if she felt ill. “Stop,” she pleaded, her voice muffled. “Just…stop.”

  “Bad game for you to start playing if you don’t like the sport.” He started the car, feeling dark inside even before she jerked and gave him a wrenchingly fearful look. “Cool your jets. We’re just going to go to your apartment. Have a chat with this sister of yours. If she even exists.” He seriously doubted it.

  But then Gwen had had her accomplice, too, so what did he know?

  Beside him, Amelia was still hunched, as if holding back nausea. Her face was pale, her expression resolute despite the tears still dripping down her cheeks and the blotchiness of her reddening nose.

  Unlike Christina and Gwen, she hadn’t yet learned the art of crying prettily. Or maybe that was just more of her plan.

  Adding realism.

  “She’s not there.”

  “Well, we will just have to find that out for certain, won’t we.” He moved out into traffic, glad that he’d taken the time to figure out for himself just where her building was located.

  Of course he’d been thinking about Amelia as a prospective bride when he’d hunted down that information from the cab company.

  “I have to go to work,” sh
e said.

  He snorted. “Thought that’s what you’d been doing since you sprawled on the path, waiting for me to trip over you.”

  “I told you! That was an accident.”

  “You weren’t at the park at that hour because you hoped to run into me?” he asked sardonically.

  She snapped her lips closed, looking away.

  He shook his head. “Honey, you’ve gotta work on the lying. You’re having a serious problem with consistency. In your words and your reactions.”

  “I knew you ran there,” she admitted, sounding grudging. “The rest was an accident. My shoelace—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I remember.” And he’d even let himself think that the shoelace hadn’t been part of the act.

  That’s what he got for letting himself be so preoccupied with his hunt for a wife. He hadn’t noticed the snake in the grass even when he’d tripped over her.

  “There’s the academy.” She pointed out the window to the ivy-walled private school on the left side of the road. “Stop.”

  “You don’t have to pretend that you really work there, Amelia. The jig’s up.”

  “I won’t be working there if I lose my job for being late again,” she said thickly. “Now let me out of this car!”

  It was curiosity as much as anything, he told himself, that had him pulling out of traffic and stopping at the curb near the iron-gated entrance of the school. Watching her, he released the door locks.

  She hitched her briefcase against her chest and practically tumbled out of the car so great was her rush. But instead of heading down the road and away from him and the school, she jogged, briefcase bouncing against her hip, to the pedestrian gate situated near the drive.

  A moment later, the security guard there was letting her through and she dashed out of sight without a single backward glance.

  Gray sat there at the curb, engine idling softly, and tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. He punched a button on his cell phone, and almost immediately, Loretta came on the line.

  “Look up the staff listing for Brandlebury Academy.”

  A moment later, she was back on the line. “Got it. Are you planning to make another endowment? Brandlebury just missed the cut last year.”