Читать книгу Her Christmas Temptation: The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas / What She Really Wants for Christmas / Baby, It's Cold Outside - Debbi Rawlins - Страница 11

JACK WAS awakened by Kristy’s cry of shock. She scooted out of his arms, flipping back the covers and letting in a blast of cold air.

He blinked his blurry eyes to see her leap from the bed and rush naked into the en suite.

“What?” he called out, sitting up and ruffling his hands through his messy hair. He could see her naked profile at the sink as she scrambled for the toothpaste. They’d made love into the early-morning hours, then slept soundly in each other’s arms. She couldn’t be shocked to find herself naked in his bed this morning.

She marched from the bathroom, a white robe draped around her shoulders, open in front, a toothbrush protruding from her mouth. She unceremoniously uncovered him. “We’re late!”

Jack rolled out of bed, slipping his arms into the other robe as a concrete block settled firmly in his stomach. They weren’t late, because they weren’t going to her meeting in California, and it was time for him to ‘fess up. He couldn’t postpone it any longer.

She trotted back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing her mouth. “Call Simon,” she commanded, above the sound of the running water. “Tell him to warm up the engines or something.”

Jack tried to frame up his confession, but he couldn’t find the correct words. Hell, he could barely command his vocal chords to work.

“Kristy,” he finally rasped.

She turned. “Why are you still standing there?”

His hands involuntarily closed into fists. “Because there’s no point in going to L.A.”

Her glance shot to the clock on the bedside table. It showed eight-fifteen, and her voice went hollow. “We could call Cleveland and explain.”

Jack jerked backward, his guilt turning to shock. “Explain that we got married?”

She nodded.

“And you think he’ll still want to see you?”

Her eyes went wide, giving her face a sweet, vulnerable look that almost got to him. But he ruthlessly reminded himself who she was and what she’d planned, and that she’d married him under as many false pretenses as he’d married her.

“He values punctuality that much?”

Jack shook his head, giving a dry chuckle. “I think he values fidelity that much.”

“Huh?”

“Kristy, you married me.” Jack jammed his thumb against the center of his chest. “Me, not him.”

She blinked, and her voice dropped to a confused whisper. “What are you talking about?”

Man, she was good. Sometimes he couldn’t believe just how good she was. He also couldn’t believe she’d keep the dumb act up for this long. What was the point?

He grabbed his slacks from the chair where he’d tossed them last night. He stuffed in one leg and then the other, watching her with a fatalistic curiosity.

“The jig is up, babe. You can’t get your hands on Cleveland’s money if you’re already married to me. And you can’t get your hands on mine because, one of those papers you signed last night was a pre-nup. And it’ll hold up in court.”

Kristy staggered back. For a second there, he thought her knees might give out beneath her. “What?”

“What?” he mimicked, sarcastically even as he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and offer comfort.

He hated himself for that weakness. And because of his inner battle, the response came out harsher than he intended. “You’re caught. You’re not going to be Mrs. Trophy-Wife-Cleveland-Osland-Number-Three. You’ll have to find another scheme to hawk those rags you call a spring collection.”

Her face turned pure white, and she groped to steady herself on the back of a chair.

Then his cell phone jangled on the table. He snagged it, hoping it was an emergency that would get him out of here and away from his unreasonable guilt.

“Yeah?” he barked.

“Where the hell are you?” his grandfather’s voice boomed.

Perfect. Could the moment get any worse?

“Vegas,” Jack answered, while Kristy blinked at him with big, round, accusatory, blue eyes. He was tempted to turn away from her censure. But he was in the right. She was the one who’d hatched the plan to get his family’s money.

He held his ground.

“Hunter tells me you’ve got Kristy.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, holding her gaze. “The two of us got married last night.”

“Well, get your asses to California. I’ve got seven people sitting around the boardroom table waiting for her.”

Gramps reaction threw Jack. “Didn’t you hear me? We got married last night.”

“Bully for you. Nanette and I bought a Ferrari last night.”

“Who’s Nanette.”

“My fiancée.”

The sensation of being sucker-punched was so strong that Jack actually flinched.

He stared at Kristy in horror as she held the oversized robe around her for protection—her confused eyes, her sleep-mussed hair, her over-kissed lips.

What had he done?

What had he done?

Stupid question.

He’d married the wrong woman.

HEARING JACK’S explanation, and listening to his side of the telephone conversation with Cleveland, it took Kristy about thirty seconds to put the pieces together. The whole thing was a fraud. Jack hadn’t been falling in love with her this weekend. He’d been making a preemptive strike against her.

Her feelings of hurt, confusion and embarrassment were quickly replaced by anger. What kind of a cold, calculating snake did it take to fake a romance, marry a woman and then make love to her, not once, not twice, but three times?

Jack snapped his phone shut, and they stared at each other in silence for a long second.

“We’ll get a divorce,” he pronounced.

“You bet your life we’ll get a divorce.” She yanked the belt tight on the robe. “Although keeping your hands to yourself last night and leaving open the option for an annulment would have been a nice touch.”

“I couldn’t take that chance.”

Her bark of laughter came out a little high-pitched. “Of course you couldn’t take that chance, what with me being a sleazy gold digger and all. Any reasonable man would have had sex with me so I couldn’t get an annulment.”

“Kristy—”

“Don’t you dare try to defend yourself.”

“It’s happened before.”

She looked him up and down. “What? You’ve married other women who were engaged to your grandfather?”

“No! I mean he—”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“He’s married bimbos—”

“Stop.”

“—before!” Jack shouted over her protest.

A bimbo? That’s what he thought of her?

She coughed out a harsh laugh. It was either that or cry.

“Well, in that case, Jack. You came up with a great plan. I mean, if you take away morals and ethics and, well, every scrap of reasonable humanity. It was a great plan.”

“I thought you were—”

“A bimbo. Uh-huh. You’ve made that clear. So, is my meeting in L.A. still on or what?”

“This afternoon.”

“Good.” She stomped back to her own room, intending to call an airline and book a commercial flight. If she never saw Jack Osland again, it would be far too soon.

“You take the jet.” His voice was directly behind her.

“Get out of my bedroom.”

“You take the jet,” he repeated. “Simon is ready. I’ll make other arrangements.”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Under the circumstances, there is no least you can do.”

“It’s the only way for you to get there on time.”

She sucked in a breath between her clenched teeth. He was probably right, and maybe she was a fool to strive for any scrap of dignity at this point anyway. The man had kissed every inch of her body last night. And she’d told him she loved him.

A sharp pain pierced her chest.

She truly thought she had.

“Fine,” she bit out. “I’ll take the damn jet. But only as long as you’re not on it.” Then she turned away from him to jerk open a dresser drawer and plucked out the skirt and sweater she’d arrived in.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack” she said. “No. Actually. Go ahead and take it the wrong way if you like. But I never want to see you again.”

“Understandable,” he muttered.

She twisted around to look at him. “Gee, thanks.”

“I had my reasons,” he said.

“It was a great plan,” she mocked. “You must be really disappointed that it failed.”

ONE LOOK at the expressions on the Sierra Sanchez buying team told Kristy she was going to fail.

Her sketches littered the top of the polished mahogany boardroom table, with swatches and samples draped on racks around them.

“The lines are technically strong,” said one of the men. She thought his name was Bernard.

“The fabric works, but it’ll be a challenge for the skirt to stand out in a crowd.” Irene Compton was the lead buyer for the chain.

“Overall,” said the one named James, sifting through her sketches like greeting cards. “The collection is … competent.”

Kristy felt herself shrinking in the luxurious armchair. Competent. Thousands and thousands of budding designers were competent. She didn’t have a hope unless she was outstanding.

“Hmm,” Irene nodded. “Maybe we could think about testing it in Value-Shoppe?” She named a European discount chain.

Value-Shoppe? Kristy had to bite down on her tongue to keep from protesting out loud.

The room went silent, while each of the team members contemplated the drawings. Bright yellow sunshine streamed through the window. Car horns honked a dozen stories below, and a mist of clouds gathered in the distance over the bay. The world outside was still spinning, even while her dreams were being dashed.

“Well, I think she shows promise,” said Cleveland.

Six jaws snapped shut, and everyone’s attention flew to the older man sitting at the head of the table.

Seconds of silence ticked by before Cleveland spoke again. “I was thinking about the Breakout Designer category at the Matte Fashion Event.”

Adrenaline hit Kristy’s system in a rush at the mere mention of the prestigious London fashion show. A designer couldn’t even enter the Breakout Designer Contest without a powerhouse retailer behind her. Even in her wildest dreams …

“Perhaps if we mix and match some of the ideas,” Irene offered slowly, glancing at a patterned skirt and a white lace blouse.

Cleveland nodded his approval. “Now you’re getting creative.”

Kristy didn’t want Cleveland’s charity. But the Breakout Designer category? She swallowed her common sense, and let the conversation carry on around her.

Bernard jumped in. “This neckline is unique. And we can certainly scallop the hem and slim down the line.”

“We’d need at least a half-dozen new or revamped pieces for the contest,” James warned.

Cleveland brought the flat of his palms down on the tabletop. “That’s fine. Since we’re all on board, you can talk through the details later.” His attention turned to Kristy. “Right now, Kristy is joining me for a drink.”

She glanced at the buying team, bracing herself for narrow-eyed glares and sidelong expressions of condemnation. They might all think the way Jack did—that Kristy was Cleveland’s floozy. Why else would he overrule their judgment on her behalf?

But, to her surprise, everyone was smiling.

Irene rose from her chair and offered her hand. “We’re looking forward to working with you, Kristy.”

The other team members nodded and murmured agreement.

Kristy stood up to shake hands with Irene. “Uh. Thank you.”

Cleveland opened the boardroom door. “This way, young lady.”

She nodded her thanks to the rest of the team, then preceded Cleveland into the wide, bright, plant-adorned hallway.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as they made their way to the bank of elevators.

“Do what?”

She motioned behind them, torn between being polite and shutting the heck up. “Back there. Give me special—”

“You think I pulled rank because I like you?”

“Well …”

He pressed the elevator button with a wrinkled finger. “Kristy, I’ve made a whole lot of money in my life by seeing things that other people miss. You have something. It’s raw, but I think it’s there.

“I’ll work with you,” he continued. “And I’ll buy your collection when and if it’s good enough. But that back there wasn’t altruism and it wasn’t nepotism.”

A flutter of excitement rolled through Kristy’s stomach. Cleveland actually thought her fashions had a chance?

“It’s going to take a lot of work and dedication.”

She eagerly nodded. She’d work as hard as it took for a chance to fly to London and compete in the Breakout Designer Contest.

“Are you prepared for that?”

“Of course.”

“We have until December thirtieth.”

Kristy quickly did the math in her head. That was less than three days per outfit. Impossible. But she’d have to do it anyway. “Right.”

“Your staff is available over the holidays?” he asked.

Kristy hesitated. Not because her staff might not be available, but because she didn’t actually have any staff.

“Kristy?”

The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open.

She took a step forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”

“Kristy.”

She didn’t look up at him. “Yes?”

“How many people work for you?”

She swallowed as the doors glided shut.

Cleveland waited.

“Just me,” she finally squeaked.

There was a long silence as the car glided downward and floor numbers flashed red.

“You’ve got guts,” said Cleveland. “I’ll give you that. But if this is going to work, you must be completely honest with me.”

“Sorry.”

“How big is your workshop?”

“It takes up most of my loft.”

He raised a gray, bushy eyebrow. “Don’t be evasive.”

“It’s six hundred square feet.”

The elevator eased to a stop.

“Well that’s definitely not going to do it,” said Cleveland, gesturing for her to move ahead of him into the lobby.

As they walked across the polished marble floor, past statues and paintings, skirting a central waterfall encircled by bench seats, Kristy could feel the deal of a lifetime slipping from her grasp. She couldn’t really blame Cleveland. Six outfits in three weeks was nearly impossible under the best of conditions. But it seemed downright cruel of fate to bring her this close, to tantalize her with the brass ring, only to unceremoniously yank it away from her.

“You’ll come work at the mansion,” said Cleveland decisively.

Kristy stopped in her tracks. What mansion? His mansion? The Osland family mansion?

He halted and turned back, a sly smile coming over his wrinkled face. “Really. You’re married to Jack now. You have every right to spend the holidays with his family. We have a lovely estate in Vermont, near Manchester.”

Kristy didn’t even know where to start. She wasn’t married to Jack. Well, she was. But she wasn’t. At least not in any real sense. And she never wanted to see him again. She sure wasn’t about to arrive on his doorstep for the holidays.

“That’s insane,” she finally managed.

“Excuse me?” said Cleveland, his bushy eyebrows slanting in an expression of surprise.

Whoops. For a minute she’d forgotten who she was speaking to.

“Sorry,” she offered.

He gave her a sharp nod. “There’s a workshop. Plenty of room for you to spread out. And we can bring in machines, materials and staff.”

Kristy hesitated, worried about making him angry. But they had to get the matter at hand out in the open.

“You do know why Jack married me, right?” She might be embarrassed about being duped, but she had promised Cleveland she’d be completely honest with him. And, on this, she definitely needed to be honest.

“Certainly I know why he married you. They think because I’m eighty, I’m losing my marbles.”

His bluntness surprised her.

“Are you?” she dared to ask.

He sobered, and the sound of the indoor waterfall filled the silence around them.

“No,” he said. “I’m running out of time. I like beautiful young women. And I’m running out of time.”

Her stomach clenched with worry. “Are you … ill?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Just old.” Then he straightened, taking command once again. “But I’m still the major shareholder. This is your choice, young lady. You can work through the holidays in Vermont, or I can find someone else to sponsor for the Breakout Designer Contest.”

“And Jack?”

A twinkle came into Cleveland’s eyes. “You’re worried Jack won’t want to see you?”

She was more worried that she didn’t want to see him. But the other had certainly crossed her mind. She and Jack had parted with some pretty harsh words. Still, it didn’t mean she’d let him ruin her career.

Watching the play of emotions across her face, Cleveland patted her shoulder reassuringly. “I think my grandson deserves to reap the consequences of his actions, don’t you?”

And then she got it, she understood Cleveland’s motivation for inviting her to the family mansion. “I’m your revenge on Jack.”

“Nice little twist, isn’t it?”

“He was trying to protect you, you know.” Even as the words popped out, Kristy couldn’t believe she was defending the man. He’d manipulated, hurt and humiliated her for his own ends. He was a cold-hearted snake, nothing more.

“And what makes you think I’m not trying to help him?” asked Cleveland.

“Because there’s nothing about me being in Vermont that will help Jack.”

“Well then, what about becoming a successful fashion designer and winning this year at the Matte Fashion Show?”

Kristy paused. “And I should do everything in my power to make sure that happens, shouldn’t I?”

“If you have a single brain cell in your pretty head, then yes.”

“I do,” she said.

“Then we understand each other.”

She couldn’t help but smile in admiration. “Your marbles are fully intact, aren’t they?”

“That they are. But it suits me sometimes to let people think otherwise.” He gestured towards the glass doors leading to the street. “Shall we get that drink now?”

Kristy started walking. “You know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“That Jack learned everything he knows from you.”

“Let’s hope you’re wrong about that.”

“SO I GUESS we got it wrong,” said Hunter, looking more amused than worried as he teed off on the first hole at Lost Links. He watched as the ball arced down the fairway, bouncing to rest just shy of the horseshoe-shaped sand trap and a small grove of oaks.

“We damn sure got it wrong,” said Jack, accepting the one wood from his caddy. His mood had been foul for two days now. “And I blame you for the screw-up.”

“Me?”

“It was your brilliant idea to date her.”

“I wanted to date her because she was hot, not in some Machiavellian attempt to thwart Gramps’s wedding.”

“Don’t knock Machiavelli.” Planning and strategy were the watchwords of every executive.

“I noticed you didn’t deny she was hot.”

“All right, she’s hot. But she was dating our grandfather.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Well, she could have been.” Jack pushed his tee into the turf then straightened. He’d gone over and over his weekend in Vegas, wondering why he’d never once questioned Kristy’s identity. Even with all the little inconsistencies in her behavior, he’d never once asked himself that pivotal question. He hated making mistakes.

“If she had been dating him,” he felt compelled to point out to Hunter. “It would have been a good plan.”

Hunter peered down the sunny fairway. “With a solid plan like that, it’s almost hard to believe anything went wrong.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed as he lined up to tee off.

He thwacked the ball dead on, and it sailed over the treetops, bouncing into the center on the fairway only a few feet short of the green.

Hunter waited for Jack to hand over the club to his caddy. “So, explain to me why we’ll lose less money with you married to her instead of Gramps.”

“Because I had her sign a prenup. You think I’m stupid?”

“You really want me to answer that today?”

“Get stuffed.” Jack pulled off his white leather glove and turned to head down the fairway. He’d spend years living this one down.

Hunter fell into step beside him, the two caddies staying several paces behind. “Let me make sure I’m understanding this. In a haze of passion, on a lark, at the hotel chapel, she agrees to marry you, and you pull out a prenup. She didn’t find that odd?”

Jack was trying hard not to think about the hotel chapel, nor the lies he’d told her to get her there. “There were other things to sign. And she wasn’t paying all that much attention to the details.”

“Because you’re irresistible to women?”

Yeah, right. “It’s a curse.”

Hunter’s laughter rumbled across the quiet golf course. “My sympathies. So, what now?”

Jack shrugged. “Now we get divorced.”

“Just like that?”

“I suspect she’s called her lawyer already.”

“You don’t think she’s going to sue your ass?”

“Based on what? Showing poor judgment in Vegas? If that was grounds for action, our legal system would be gridlocked into the next century.” No, Jack was pretty sure he was safe on the financial front.

Hunter stopped next to his ball, sizing up the lay of the course and checking the direction of the wind rustling through the palm fronds. “So, that’s that?” he asked Jack, then glanced at his caddy with his brow raised.

“Six iron,” the young man suggested.

“Not exactly,” said Jack. “Gramps is still engaged to Nanette.”

“Well, you can’t marry them all,” said Hunter.

Jack’s marrying days were definitely over. “I wasn’t thinking about me.”

Hunter lined up his shot. “Look into my eyes,” he said matter of factly, with a swing and follow through. He went to stand directly in front of Jack. “Not with a gun to my head.”

“I’m sure she’s a knockout.”

“And I’m sure you’ve lost your mind.” Hunter handed the club back to his caddy, and they all started for the spot where Jack’s ball lay.

“You got a better plan?” asked Jack.

“I’ve got a thousand of them. And none of them involve me marrying anybody.”

“He marries Nanette, it’ll cost us.”

“There are more important things in life than money.”

As they made their way over the fine-trimmed grass, Jack pondered the relative value of money and emotional health. He’d never really thought about it before because money had always been paramount. But if his wakefulness the last two nights was anything to go by, money had some serious competition. He wished he’d put Kristy on a commercial plane the minute they hit Vegas.

He didn’t need the stress of worrying about how she was feeling, nor of his conflicted memories, nor of dwelling on the prediction of a long-ago gypsy. Which, by the way, was beginning to feel like a curse.

The curse of the midnight gypsy. It would make a good movie title. Hunter could be the hero. Jack the villain. Kristy would get rich, and the redheaded girl would be adored by fans around the world.

He lined up on the ball, chipping it up onto the green, less than ten feet from the hole.

“So, whatever happened to Vivian?”

Hunter glanced up sharply. “Huh?”

“She was the redhead, right?”

Hunter stared at Jack as if he’d lost his mind.

“A couple of years ago. You dated that redhead who beat the crap out of you at golf.”

“Only because she used the ladies’ tee.”

“So, you do remember.”

Hunter shrugged, snagging his putter and walking onto the green. “Sure.”

“Where is she now?”

Hunter crouched down on one knee, eyeing the slope of the terrain. “Why do you care?”

“You remember when you burned down the gypsy’s tent?”

Hunter stood up. “You mind if I play golf now?”

“Seriously,” said Jack.

“No. I’ve forgotten the rampaging elephants, the fire department and the lawsuit that grounded me for a month.”

Jack grinned, his mood lightening for the first time in forty-eight hours.

“You remember what she said?”

“How did this get to be about me?”

“She said a redheaded girl would give you twins.”

Hunter shook his head in disgust and turned to address the ball.

Jack held his tongue while Hunter swung the putter.

The caddy lifted the flag, and the ball plunked into the hole.

“She also said I would marry a woman I didn’t trust,” said Jack. “Think about it, Hunter. What were the odds?”

Hunter slid the putter through his grip, handing it upside down to his caddy. “Please don’t let the shareholders hear you talking like this. They’ll have you impeached.”

Jack stared hard at his cousin. “You remember what else she said.”

“That you’d buy a golf course.” Hunter glanced around. “You bring your checkbook?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Hunter snorted. “I don’t need to. You’re doing a fine job of that all by yourself. You’re a logical man, Jack. I didn’t marry Vivian. There are no twins. And gypsies can’t predict the future.”

Maybe not consistently, but the two Jack had talked to were sporting pretty good averages. And the first one had also predicted Jack and Hunter would blow the family fortune. “Are we over-leveraged on anything?”

“No. Now hit the ball.”

“Nothing out there that can bite us in the ass?”

“Not unless Kristy signed the lamest prenup ever.”

Jack took a deep breath, running the cool shaft of his putter across his palm and settling his grip on the black, perforated rubber. Hunter was right. The prenup was fine. Kristy took away what she brought to the marriage, and Jack took away what he brought. Which was exactly the way he wanted it.

He took a few swings, testing the weight of the putter. Then he tapped the ball.

It followed the contour of the green, arcing up the high side then veering at the last second to hit the hole. Exactly the way he wanted it.