Barbara Dunlop - Beauty And The Billionaire

Sinclair had forgotten she still had it on. She jangled it in front of her eyes. “I think it’s my favorite.”

He drew her wrist forward to kiss the tender, inside skin. “This is my favorite.”

“Really?” She pointed to her elbow. “I thought this was your favorite.”

He kissed her there. “That, too.”

“And this?” she pointed to her shoulder.

“Of course.”

“This?” Her neck.

“All of it.”

She laughed.

He sat back and his sponge strokes grew longer along her spine.

“Did you get a hold of Roger?” he asked.

“I did. He wasn’t thrilled about me delaying my return even longer.”

“You mean Chantal’s not the wunderkind we all imagined?”

“He didn’t complain about her. He said I was setting a bad example.”

“By taking your holidays?”

“I guess.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“Oh, yeah. Great idea. Why don’t you call him up?”

Sinclair’s cell phone chimed.

“If that’s Roger,” said Hunter. “Tell him I say ‘hey.’”

She elbowed Hunter in the ribs, drying one hand before reaching for her phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, you.”

Sinclair guiltily pushed Hunter’s sponge hand away. “Hi, Kristy.”

He continued to rub her back.

“What’s up?” asked Kristy.

“Not much. Where are you?”

“Off the coast of New Zealand. We just got cell service back.”

“Great.”

“So, what are you doing?”

Hunter’s hand slipped around to her stomach. “Went to the spa in Brussels today, and the one in London. Met with the managers. Got them all set up for Friday’s launch.”

“Good for you.” Kristy paused. “Hunter still in Paris?”

“He’s here. But he was a little standoffish after you left.”

Hunter choked back a laugh.

“I guess he came to his senses,” said Kristy.

“I guess he did,” Sinclair agreed, as the sponge meandered toward her breast. She clutched it to her stomach to stop his progress.

“So, when are you coming home?”

“By the fourteenth, for sure. I need to be there for the ball.”

Hunter wrenched his hand free.

Sinclair bit down on her lip to keep from gasping as the sponge brushed between her legs. “I better go,” she blurted, grappling for Hunter’s meandering hands.

“Anything wrong?”

“Uh, something’s boiling on the stove.”

“The stove?”

“I moved to a suite. Talk to you in a few days.” She disconnected.

She turned on him. “Are you crazy?”

“No.” He kissed her mouth.

“Do you know what would happen-”

He kissed her again.

“If they-”

He kissed her a third time.

She gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, turning to press her body into his, the water slick and hot between them.

Hunter’s phone rang.

“For the love of-”

“Give me the sponge,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Forget it.”

She snapped her fingers, then wiggled them in a give it motion. “Fair’s fair.”

He dried his hand, then lifted his phone, at the same time tossing the sponge to her.

She eased back on her heels and snagged it with both hands.

“Hunter Osland,” he greeted.

There was a pause. “Hey, Jack.” And he grinned at Sinclair, spreading his arms, giving her a wide-open target.

She couldn’t decide whether to go for it or not.

Then Hunter’s attention clearly shifted to the phone call. “I’d still use the mine as collateral.”

He paused.

“Maybe in the short term, sure.” He slicked his wet hair back from his forehead.

“Of course he’ll be ticked off. Everything ticks him off.”

Hunter absently smoothed the droplets of water down Sinclair’s arm. She gave up goofing around and curled against him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Get in and out before the Paraguay election, and you won’t have a problem.” Hunter’s hand worked its way across her stomach.

She glanced up to see if he was teasing her again, but he seemed absorbed in the call. He wasn’t messing with her, just unconsciously caressing her body. She sighed and relaxed against him.

Hunter chuckled, jiggling his chest. “We’ll check it out sometime.” A pause. “I mean me, of course. I’ll check it out sometime. None of your business.” Hunter’s hand squeezed Sinclair. “I’m going now,” he said to Jack. “A nap, that’s what. Time zone change. Okay by me. I’m turning off my phone. Uh-huh. Goodbye.”

He hit the off button with his thumb and held it down until it chimed. Then he dropped it on the shelf beside them and hauled Sinclair up for a kiss.

“You are so distracting,” he muttered.

“I was being good.”

“You were being damn good.”

She giggled as his mouth came down, hot and moist and demanding against her own.

The water splashed around the whirlpool in waves as they rediscovered each other’s bodies.

They were back in the U.S. by midmorning on the fourteenth, and Sinclair couldn’t resist checking in at Lush Beauty in one of her new outfits.

Her hair and makeup perfect, she strolled into the office in a slim peacock-blue coat dress, with three-quarter sleeves, leather details on the collar, appliqué pockets, large contrasting silver buttons and high-heeled leather ankle boots. She carried a tiny purse, holding nothing but her cell phone, keys and a credit card.

Amber’s jaw literally dropped open as Sinclair crossed through the outer office.

“I was going to check messages,” Sinclair called over her shoulder. “You coming to the ball tonight?”

She pushed open her office door and stopped dead.

Chantal sat at her desk, computer open to e-mail, file folders scattered in front of her, and Sinclair’s phone to her ear.

Neither woman spoke for a moment.

“Can I call you back?” Chantal said into the phone.

“You’re at my desk,” said Sinclair.

“You’re back early,” said Chantal.

Amber apparently recovered her wits and rushed into the office. “Roger asked-”

“I’ll be needing it now,” Sinclair informed Chantal. “Right now.”

Chantal hit a few keys on the computer. “If you’ll just give me a few minutes.”

“I don’t think so,” Sinclair stated, walking around the desk. “Those the Valentine’s ball files?”

“The Castlebay files,” Chantal admitted.

“Oh, good. Just what I wanted.” Sinclair dropped her small purse on the desk. She was vindictive enough to put it label up so that Chantal could see it was a Vermachinni.

She inched in closer, crowding the woman until Chantal finally stood up and clicked the close button on her e-mail program. Chantal started to pick up the files.

“You can leave them here,” Sinclair told her. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Chantal glared at her.

“Did Roger mention the private party at the Castlebay Spa Manhattan tonight?”

Chantal didn’t answer.

Sinclair pursed her lips, knowing full well Roger himself didn’t even know about the after party yet.

The woman’s eyes glittered black. “Amber said she e-mailed you the catering contracts yesterday?”

“She did. And we’ve substituted duck for the pheasant. We got rid of the peanut oil because of possible allergies. And the gift bags are now recycled paper, which will stave off any media grab by Earthlife.”

Chantal scooped up her briefcase and stomped out of the office.

“Uh,” Amber stammered in the wake of Chantal’s departure. “Is there anything…you, uh, need?”

Sinclair turned. “Hi,” she said to her assistant.

“Coffee?” asked Amber, quickly straightening a pile of magazines on the credenza. “Tea?”

“It’s me,” Sinclair pointed out.

Amber nodded. “Mineral water, maybe?”

“Amber.”

“You look…”

Sinclair waved a dismissive hand. “I know. Did you see the ads for the Chastlebay locations? They’re having special midnight openings tonight to coincide with the ball over here.”

“Sinclair?” came Ethan’s voice.

Amber quickly ducked out of the office.

“Good for you,” Ethan said to Sinclair.

She assumed he was talking about her appearance and smiled.

“Somebody needs to stand up to Roger.”

She realized Ethan was referring to her absence. “All I did was take a vacation.”

“On the eve of the product launch.”

“True.”

“It took a lot of guts.”

“I wasn’t trying to make a statement.” She was merely trying to keep her career path alive.

“I thought you were trying to prove we couldn’t live without you.”

Sinclair paused. “Can you?”

“It’s tough. Not that Roger would ever admit it. Amber really stepped up to the plate.”

“Good for her. What about Chantal?”

Ethan cocked his head. “I think she has a future as eye candy.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Sinclair nodded, glad of Ethan’s assessment.

“I really just wanted to give you a high five on the spa deal,” said Ethan.

Sinclair grinned and held up her hand.

Ethan smacked his palm against hers. “Hunter’s a smart man,” he said.

Sinclair nodded her agreement.

“He told me the idea originated with you. So, you know, you probably have a supporter in that corner.”

“That’s good to know,” said Sinclair, trying to keep the secretive glow out of her eyes. Earlier this morning, as the jet taxied to the terminal building at JFK, Hunter had kissed her goodbye and pledged admiration for her business savvy and his support for tonight.

Ethan made for the door. “See you tonight?”

“You will.”

As Ethan left, Amber peeked through the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind.” She took in Sinclair’s outfit one more time. “I gave your name and cell phone as an after-hours contact for the caterer tonight.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” That was standard operating procedure.