Nothing Personal

Page 11

Instead he’d played Frankenstein and created a monster. A petite, gorgeous monster who threatened to turn him into a raving sex maniac right in the middle of the hair salon.
It was all too much. First, trying to have a normal conversation in the dressing room while she’d been wearing that hot and sexy black underwear had him hard and in agony instantly. Then, that dress she’d tried on molded to her every curve and he’d wanted to strip her na**d and make love to her right then and there.
The moment his gaze had settled on her at the salon, he’d wanted to pull her against him and drag his fingers through her silky hair, grasp it in his hands and pull her mouth against his. He’d fought the raging urge to ravage her full lips with hot kisses and snake his hands over her body and down those luscious legs until…
Until what? Obviously, he couldn’t have done any of those things in public. But he’d wanted to. God, how he’d wanted to.
Well, now he’d done it. He’d made his wife desirable. More so than she already had been. At least before it had been subtle. Now, she stood right out there. And he had almost two months to wait before he could make love to her.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was aching and hard and using every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from going to her and putting an end to this ridiculous wait. His body pulsated with the need to cover her body with his, to drive into her moist heat and feel the agonizing pleasure of releasing inside her.
He raised his head, suddenly shocked at where his thoughts had drifted.
He needed to get her pregnant. That was it. Not because he desired her. He didn’t have those kinds of needs. This was a physical thing only.
And a business arrangement. Nothing more.
But, he had almost let it get personal. And getting involved with Faith, with any woman for that matter, went completely against his standards. No way was he going to fall in love. Ever.
He’d been personal witness to the havoc created by so-called love, and wanted no part of it.
So, something had to change. Ryan had to convince Faith to have sex with him sooner. He needed to get her pregnant so he could leave her alone, stop thinking about her, stop wanting her.
It was a simple matter, really. Ryan was an expert at getting women into bed. And Faith was a woman, just like any other. All he had to do was set a plan in motion and it would be only a matter of time until she leaped into bed with him, thereby satisfying both his physical desires and his business needs.
Seduction. Ryan tapped his pencil against the desk and formulated a plan, smiling when it came to him.
In no time at all he’d have Faith in his bed, and then quickly thereafter out of his thoughts.
Round one was about to begin.
Chapter Seven
It didn’t take long for the men to come crawling out of the woodwork.
Ryan peeked outside his door. Faith worked away, oblivious to the number of guys strolling up and down the hallway. Dressed in her well-tailored black Armani suit and matching pumps, she was the epitome of fashion.
The blue silk blouse brought out the sapphire of her eyes. The silk stockings and three-inch heels made her legs stand out like they never had before. Especially since the skirt of her suit ended a few inches above her knee.
She oozed style, class and elegance.
Gone was the plain wallflower, and in its stead a beautiful, desirable butterfly.
Ryan hadn’t realized how many butterfly-hunters populated his executive offices. Men who hadn’t left their desks in months suddenly found reasons to stroll by Faith’s office, stopping to say hello and tell her how nice she looked.
Did they think he wouldn’t notice?
Faith didn’t pay any attention to them. Whenever someone came by, she smiled, engaged in minimal conversation and then resumed her work.
Didn’t she know these guys were hitting on her?
On her. His wife. The woman who was taken, unavailable, married.
To him.
Okay, so they were married in name only. But the guys sniffing around her didn’t know that. And he didn’t like them ogling her. In fact, he was downright pissed off about it.
Maybe he’d send out a memo.
He cringed at his wandering thoughts. He could see it now.
Memo to all male members of executive staff: Stop looking at my wife.
She’s mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.
Yeah, that would be professional, not to mention mature.
Disgusted, he tossed his paperwork aside and stepped to the doorway for the fifth time in the past half hour. Faith glanced up and smiled.
“Did you need something?” she asked.
Yes. I need you. Naked. In my office, on my desk, right now. “No, thanks.” He turned and went back to his desk.
This was ridiculous. He was losing it, acting like a lovesick schoolboy.
And where the hell had this possessive streak come from? It wasn’t like him at all to care whether a woman he was dating was getting hit on by another guy.
Then again, Faith wasn’t a woman he was dating. She was his wife.
In name only.
He really hated that voice inside his head right now.
This had to stop. It was time to put his plan into action.
Faith found Ryan’s behavior very odd. She wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but lately he’d been shadowing her like a personal bodyguard.
It couldn’t be because he was attracted to her. She’d already surmised his disappointment was that her transformation hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped. But still, she went along with the new hairstyle and wardrobe.
Not that she’d had a choice. By the time they’d returned from shopping that day all her old clothes were missing, replaced by a closet full of almost everything she’d tried on at Saks. And Margaret was tight-lipped about where her old clothes had gone.
So she wore the new ones and had to admit, enjoyed them. They were lighter weight than what she used to wear, and lifted her spirits considerably. She loved putting on the different styles and textures, luxuriating in the feel of silk against her skin, or cashmere brushing up against her neck.
Despite the fact she now wore designer clothes and no longer put her hair up in a bun, nothing else had changed.
Interestingly enough, the office staff paid more attention to her now.
Especially the guys. Faith had no idea what to make of that. Maybe they were buttering her up and being nice to her because she was married to the boss and they didn’t want to get on her bad side.
She didn’t have a bad side. Nor had she ever paid any attention to the men before. And certainly not now.
Marriage in name only or not, she was married. She took her vows seriously, even if her marriage wasn’t a real one. And she wouldn’t entertain notions of any other men. She could barely figure out what to do with the one she married.
“Faith.”
Ryan peered out of his office. Again. “Yes?”
“We have a business dinner tonight at Markham’s Restaurant. Eight o’clock. I’d like you to accompany me. Paul Worthington is bringing his wife, Jenelle.”
Faith nodded. “All right, I’ll make a note of that.”
A business dinner. Her first social event as Ryan’s wife.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought of going out in public as Ryan’s wife. She hoped she’d handle herself appropriately. At least she had something decent to wear.
Faith showered and changed into a soft beige Chanel dress with a scoop neck, accentuated with a wide gold belt at the waist. She slipped on matching shoes and wound her hair up in a twist, leaving several tendrils escaping at the side of her face.
She had to admit the look worked. Since her new haircut, she’d bought a couple fashion magazines and played with some loose and easy styles for her new, shorter hair, just for a change of pace. The upsweep looked, well, elegant.
But underneath the clothes and hair was the same old Faith. You can change the packaging as much as you want, but the product remains the same.
“Are you ready?” Ryan stepped out of the dressing area, impeccably attired in a black suit, simple white shirt and designer tie.
Faith sighed. “Yes.”
His eyes traveled the length of her body, warming her from the inside out. His lips quirked into the hint of a smile.
“You look very nice,” he said in a voice so deep it vibrated her nerve endings.
“Thank you.”
They started for the door but Ryan stopped her. “Wait a second, I forgot something.” He went to his dresser and pulled out a long black box. “This is for you.”
Faith gasped. Inside the box lay an exquisite necklace of princess cut canary diamonds with matching drop earrings. She looked up at Ryan’s pleased face.
Surely he didn’t mean this jewelry for her. It was worth a fortune.
There must have been over fifty sparkling diamonds adorning the front of the necklace, strung on an elegant gold chain.
“You want me to wear these tonight?” They matched her dress perfectly.
“Of course.”
She peered down at the necklace and back at Ryan, shaking her head.
His brows furrowed. “They’re a gift, Faith. For you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my wife. And because I wanted to give you a gift.”
His eyes were a raging bonfire, ever darkening smoke swirling through and mesmerizing her like a hypnotist.
“Turn around and I’ll put the necklace on you.”
As he leaned forward to drape the necklace over her and closed the clasp, his chest brushed against her back. His hands warmed her skin, lightly caressing the side of her throat with his thumbs.
It was impossible to concentrate when he touched her like that. She waited for him to step away, but he didn’t. Instead she felt the press of his lips against the side of her neck, evoking desire so fierce she panicked. She quickly moved away and turned, escaping that fire only to see it still reflected in his smoky eyes.
“The necklace is lovely, Ryan. Thank you.”
He gave her a knowing smile and nodded. “You’re welcome. Put the earrings on. We’d better leave so we’re not late.”
“Paul and Jenelle Worthington are a prominent Las Vegas couple, frequently occupying the cover page of Las Vegas Style magazine,” Ryan explained on the way to the restaurant. “They’re both from old money.”
“Old money?”
“Yeah. Paul’s family has been building hotels and casinos in the Las Vegas area for almost as long as hotels have been around.”
“So, why the dinner tonight?”
He shifted the Ferrari’s gears. “Paul’s looking to retire. The Worthingtons have no heirs to take over for them, so he wants to sell ownership in some of his hotels in order to make his business more manageable.”
“And McKay Corporation wants some of those hotels.”
Ryan smiled. “You got it.”
Faith tried not to fidget as they approached the restaurant. She had frequently accompanied Ryan to business events. But this was business mixed with her first social appearance as his wife. She didn’t want to screw this up.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked as he whipped the vehicle around a corner.
The restaurant was only a few miles ahead. Faith inhaled deeply, trying to quell the flutters in her stomach. This was one of those times she wished Ryan didn’t drive so fast. She managed a smile. “Nothing.”
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
She kept her eyes glued to the road, watching every sign, every landmark, pass at breakneck speed.
“Me? Nervous? Of course not. What would I have to be nervous about? It’s just dinner, right? Just the Worthingtons. I know how important this dinner is, and I’ll try my best to do everything right. I mean, the Worthingtons have several hotels and if you bought them it could be quite a boon to McKay Corporation. I should probably have done some research on them before we left the office, then maybe—”
“Faith,” Ryan interrupted.
She looked at him and drew a hasty breath. “Yes?”
“You’re blabbering.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, you are. Relax.” He placed his hand on her knee, squeezing it gently.
Right, like that was going to calm her down. As if her heartbeat wasn’t already racing, the heat emanating from his hand burned into the bare skin of her leg.
Then it got worse. His fingers trailed lightly above her knee. She wondered if Ryan kept any paper bags in the car. She felt an anxiety attack coming on and knew she’d be hyperventilating soon. Or maybe she’d just throw up.
“Calm down. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
Easy for him to say. He did this social stuff all the time. Social for Faith was the weekly trek to the grocery store and a chat with the produce manager over the price of tomatoes. Those trips didn’t entail having witty conversation.
“I’m not nervous.”
He smiled. “Yes, you are. And stop it. It’s just dinner.”
Markham’s Restaurant was an up and coming establishment, luring the elite clientele with the hiring of one of New York City’s premier chefs.
Getting a reservation less than a month in advance was next to impossible. Unless you were Ryan McKay.
The valet opened their doors, then drove away to park the car. Ryan placed his hand on the small of her back and led her inside. The intimacy of that possessive touch wasn’t lost on her.
The restaurant was dark, a place for intimate conversation without fear of being overheard. Ryan stepped up to the hostess, who smiled in recognition.
“Mr. McKay,” the young woman said in a honey-like voice that matched her long hair. “So nice to see you again.”
Ryan nodded. “Michelle. Is our table ready?”