Slade Baron's Bride. Sandra Marton
polite smile Lara had ever seen but there was nothing polite in what he was really saying. She could read the subtext. A woman wasn’t supposed to sneak out of a man’s bed the way she had, even if she was just a one-night stand. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to turn up in his life again, especially not in a business setting.
His ego was on the line—but so was everything that meant anything to her. The realization gave her the courage she needed.
“Anyway,” she said, and flashed a brilliant smile, “Mr. Baron was kind enough to offer his services.” She turned the thousand-watt smile on Slade and saw, with a thrill of pleasure, that he hadn’t expected such a quick recovery. “I must admit,” she said briskly, “I’d forgotten all about your generosity. How nice to see you again, and to be reminded of it.”
“Well,” Edwin Dobbs said, and cleared his throat, “now that we’ve made all the introductions…Mr. Baron? Would you like to begin your presentation?”
“Of course,” Slade said, and wondered if anybody but Lara knew he was lying through his teeth.
He’d done this a thousand times, so it required no thought. Open his computer, turn it on, use a projector to bring up screen after screen of dazzling design and detail, pointing out all the elements while the board members followed along, entranced.
And a damn good thing he had done it a thousand times, Slade thought grimly, or he’d be standing here like a fool, steam coming out of his ears and nonsense coming out of his mouth.
“Our auditor has been going through your proposal,” Dobbs had told him, before the start of the meeting. “I’ve asked her to join us so we can be sure we agree on the projected costs of your design, Mr. Baron.”
“No problem,” Slade had said politely.
Just then, he’d gotten a strange, prickling sensation along his spine. Someone was looking at him, he’d thought, and he’d turned to see her in the doorway. Lara. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head, and he’d thought how incredible it was that he’d found her again.
Every cliché about it being a small world had tripped through his mind. He’d felt the smile begin spreading across his face as he waited for her to see him—but when she did, the coldness in her eyes tumbled him straight back to reality.
She’d known he’d be here.
Of course she’d known. Dobbs had given her his proposal. She had the file under her arm, and Slade knew what was in it. All the design data. And all his personal data. His name. His phone number. His address.
And, just in case there was any doubt, his photo.
Lara had known who he was, that she’d be seeing him today, and she’d kept that knowledge to herself. No phone call. No e-mail. No letter saying, Slade, guess what…?
She’d deliberately let him walk into this setup, as if he were an enemy. Not only hadn’t she wanted to see him again, but she’d deliberately set things up so he’d walk in here and—
And what?
He still had no idea.
What had he stumbled into? It was shock enough to see her after all this time and to realize he’d be working with her, but why was she so icy? He wasn’t the one who’d slunk out of that bedroom.
“…can see that I’ve incorporated your wish to maintain tradition with an awareness of the forward-looking principles of the future…”
Was he still making sense? Evidently. The directors’ attention was still fixed on him.
But not Lara’s.
She sat next to Edwin Dobbs, her hands folded neatly on the polished surface of the conference-room table. Their eyes met, and a coldness swept through Slade’s blood. She was watching him as if he were standing at his own gravesite with a shovel in his hand.
“…a reflecting pool, here, in the atrium garden…”
Her face was a perfect blank.
What in hell was going on here?
He flashed back, again, to that moment he’d first seen her in the doorway. The shock of it had smashed into him like a hot poker and, yeah, the pleasure, too. There’d been other women in his life since that night, sure, but the thing was, there’d been nobody quite like her.
And he’d thought, I’ll tell her that, after this meeting ends, I’ll say, Look, now that fate brought us together again, what are you doing this weekend?
Until he saw her looking at him as if she were a cat and he was a portion of breast of sparrow. He didn’t like it, not one bit. This was the woman who was going to advise the Beaufort bank directors on the reliability of his figures?
It wasn’t going to happen.
He wanted to tell her that, to say, I see that look in your eyes, Sugar, and believe me, you are the very last person on the planet I’d ever trust. You might be a firecracker in bed but…
Man, she surely was.
He could remember the heat of her, in his arms. The little tricks she knew that almost had him thinking she was sweet and innocent, that she’d never done anything like shacking up with a stranger before. Those little moans of hers, and the way she’d touched him at first, kind of shy and questioning…
Hell.
Slade caught himself, frowned and took a quick look around the conference table. He half expected to see Dobbs and the others staring at him as if he’d lost his mind but they were all intent on the pictures on the screen.
Thank God for small favors.
His libido might have been in a Denver hotel room but the part of his brain that mattered was on automatic pilot. He’d finished his presentation and it had gone well. He could tell by the pleased expression on Dobbs’s face, and by the little buzz around the table.
Lara’s face was still a polite mask.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Baron,” Dobbs said. “That was most illuminating.”
Might as well cut straight to the chase, Slade thought, and looked at Lara.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But Ms. Stevens looks as if she has some questions.”
“Yes,” Lara said, “in fact, I do.”
She didn’t just have questions, she had statements and speeches, and pages of mind-bending figures. Slade had read her right. She had an agenda all her own. She wanted him out of here, and she’d do anything to accomplish it.
Within minutes, the conference table was buried under piles of paper. Articles. Clippings. Printouts. She had documentation that probably went straight back to the design of the Pyramids, all of it detailing the financial disasters that could befall a project between its plan and its completion. She had more stuff in her briefcase than he had in his office back in Boston, and she distributed it with the gusto of a clerk handing out free cereal samples in a supermarket.
Slade could smell the stink of doubt oozing into the air. Furrows appeared in the foreheads of the men who’d been beaming at him only moments before. And, in the midst of it all, Lara looked up, caught his eye and gave him a tight, condescending smile.
He smiled right back.
It was either that, or kill her.
What was with this woman? Wasn’t it enough that she’d left him high and dry in that hotel room? Did she need to make him look like a jerk here, too?
He could see himself vaulting the table, grabbing her and shaking her until her teeth rattled…or, better still, backing her against the wall, thrusting his hands into that silky mass of hair until it tumbled down over her shoulders, kissing that irritating little smile off her mouth. He could almost feel the smoothness of her jacket, the silkiness of her blouse and then the hot satin of her flesh as her breasts filled his hands.