Читать книгу Taming the Takeover Tycoon - Robyn Grady - Страница 9
ОглавлениеJack waited until the end of the week and then buckled.
Dusting off a tux, he organized a ticket for the Lassiter Charity Foundation gala ball. By the time he’d finished at the office and then showered and drove over, he was unfashionably late. The keynote speaker had long since finished entertaining and educating the glittering crowd. Desserts had been served and suitable music wafted around the ballroom, coaxing couples onto a dance floor that sprawled beneath prisms of light cast by a spectacular Swarovski chandelier.
As he headed toward the VIP tables, Becca Stevens noticed him. Mild surprise registered on her face before she turned in her chair to gauge his approach. Loose, salon-tousled curls mantled her shoulders. Her ears and throat were free of jewels. Sitting proud and erect in a white strapless gown that accentuated her curves and teased the imagination, she gave an impression that lay somewhere between temptress and saint. When Jack stopped before her, she looked up at all six-plus feet of him and arched a brow.
“Did you notice?” she asked.
“That you look exquisite tonight?”
Her narrowing gaze sent a warning. Don’t flirt.
“When you walked into the room,” she explained, “people stopped talking. I think a lot stopped breathing. They don’t expect to see you at a charity night. Although in this case they might—given it’s a Lassiter Media event.”
“Because I’m the big bad wolf here to gobble up everything I can sink my fangs into and then spit out the bones.”
She shrugged a bare shoulder. “Not to put too fine of a point on it.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I give to charity?”
“The Jack Reed Foundation for Chronic Self-Indulgence?”
He rubbed a corner of his grin. “You’re cute, you know that?”
“Wait till I get started.”
The only other couple left at the table was engrossed in a private conversation. If the room had indeed been distracted by his appearance, the socialites and Fortune 500 reps were back to mingling as far as Jack could tell.
He took the vacant seat next to Becca’s. “When I donate, I do it anonymously.”
Becca brought a glass of water to her lips. “How convenient.”
“It’s your job to blow this foundation’s bugle. How much you give away, how much you help the disadvantaged. Publicity equals exposure, equals a greater chance of raising even more funds and getting the money to those who need it.”
As the music swelled and lights dimmed more, he leaned closer and caught the scent of her perfume—a hint of red apple, feminine. Way too sexy for her own good—at least where he was concerned.
“But tell me,” he went on, “if you had as much personal wealth as I do, would you need to go around bleating to everyone how generous you were?”
“I will never have that much personal wealth. Don’t want it. Don’t need it. I’m nothing like you. Not in any way, shape or form.” When his gaze dropped to skim her lips, she frowned slightly before pushing to her feet. “Don’t even think about going there.”
No denying he was attracted to Becca Stevens. He had wanted to tip closer, sample those lips, invite her to help fuel the spark. If he wasn’t mistaken—and Jack was rarely wrong—there was a part of Becca that wanted that, too.
“Am I that obvious?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“You’re ridiculously easy to read.”
“In certain things.”
“I’ll give you a list. Tell me what I’m missing.”
As waiters served coffee, Jack crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”
“You have an insatiable thirst for money. Correction. For power. You like expensive toys. Jets and yachts and prestige cars. You enjoy beautiful women hanging off your arm, the more the merrier. Above all else, you love calling the shots. Being the king of your cancerous castle.”
Jack frowned.
Ouch.
“I like being the boss,” he said. “So do all CEOs. So did J.D.”
“You’re missing my point. And, sorry, but you’re not in J.D.’s league.”
“He might argue with you on that.”
Her look was almost pitying. “Modesty is so not your strong suit.”
“Perhaps you’d care to find out what is.”
“You know, for a smart guy, you just don’t get it.”
When she breezed out of the room, Jack followed her onto the terrace. He found her standing by a railing, facing a twinkling downtown view. A breeze caught a layer of her gown’s skirt; gossamer-thin fabric billowed out, ruffling behind her like filmy wings.
As he headed over, she tossed him an annoyed glance before gripping the railing like she wanted to wring someone’s neck. “You can’t take a hint, can you?”
“Let’s not play that kind of game,” he drawled. “You wanted me to follow. You’re just not sure how to handle things now that I have.”
She faced him. “I’m passionate about my work at the foundation. More passionate than I’ve felt about anything before in my life, and that’s saying something.”
“It’s how a person uses her passion that counts.”
“How about for good rather than evil?”
Most people thought of Jack Reed that way. Evil incarnate. Difference was that Becca wasn’t afraid to tell him point-blank.
Hell, she was right. Everyone was. If he could get his paws on Lassiter Media, if he could truly sink his teeth into a vein, he wouldn’t let go until he’d drained it all. That was his profession. What he did best.
But with Becca Stevens looking at him as if malevolence might be contagious, for just a second Jack almost hoped he wouldn’t get the chance. A part of him actually wanted to let this colossal Lassiter Media opportunity slide off into the water.
Of course, that wasn’t possible. Wasn’t—sane. Neither was continuing to annoy poor Ms. Stevens. It wasn’t her fault she was caught up in this fight, any more than Jack could help the part he had to play.
“It’s time my black cape and I flapped away before the first hint of dawn turns us into dust.” He affected a bow. “Good night, Becca.”
She caught up with him at the entrance back into the ballroom, slotting herself between his chest and the door. Jack didn’t know whether to smile and relax or frisk her for a wooden stake.
“What if I show you how serious I am?” she said. “I’ll prove to you how much good this foundation does. Have you ever visited homeless shelters, soup kitchens? If you see firsthand, you’d have to understand. You can’t be that big of a monster...can you?”
“You mean it’s possible I might have human emotions after all?”
When she allowed a small smile, Jack grinned, too. “Give me a month,” she said, “and I’ll change your mind.”
“Change my mind about what?”
“About dismantling Lassiter Media’s assets.”
Interesting. “You think Angelica and I can win?”
Becca lifted her chin. “Four weeks.”
“One day.”
“One week.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
What the hell. “I’d rather show you.”
He slid a hand around her waist and drew her in as his mouth dropped over hers.
She went stiff against him. Hands balled into fists against his chest. He waited for her to tear away and call him every name under the sun. Short of her scratching his eyes out, Jack figured it was worth it.
Instead, her fists melted and palms slowly spread before her fingers knotted, winding into his jacket lapels. Then, making a strangled sound in her throat, she pressed in plumb against him. Jack relaxed into it, too.
As his palm on her back tugged her closer, his other hand slipped beneath the curls at the warm base of her neck. Gradually her lips parted under his. Kneading her nape, he tilted his head at more of an angle at the same time the tip of his tongue slid by her teeth.
She stiffened again and this time broke away. Short of breath, eyes wild, she wiped her mouth on her arm. Then she called him a name Jack had been called more than once but never by a lady.
“What was that supposed to be?”
Jack ran a hand back through his hair. “You tell me.”
She siphoned down air, half composed herself. “Fine,” she said. “I will. That was a mistake. A big fat never again.”
“Unless you decide you want to.”
She stabbed a finger at his nose. “You repulse me.”
“Do you want to hear my condition or not?”
Puzzled, she blinked twice. “Condition?”
“To give you one week to change my mind.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and pushed curls back from her brow. “Oh. Right.”
“My condition is that we are civil toward each other.”
She muttered, “Figures that would be your idea of civil.”
It wasn’t the time to mention that she had kissed him right back.
“Do we have an agreement?” Jack hesitated and then ribbed her anyway. “Or are you afraid you might find my dark charm irresistible?”
Her slim nostrils flared. “I’d sooner sell my soul to the devil.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” Jack pulled open the door and noise from the ballroom seeped out. “I’ll collect you from your office Monday, ten a.m. sharp.”
“I’ll arrange my own transport. I’ll meet you—”
“Uh-uh. I make the rules. The challenge for you now is to change the game.”
“Using any means available?”
Jack smiled into her spirited green gaze. “What an appealing thought.”
