His Black Sheep Bride (5 page)

He had little doubt her use of the singular was deliberate. She had no intention of modeling any more than the bare minimum for him.

Ignoring her hint of impatience, he picked up the binder again and thumbed through it.

Her designs were good. Better than good. He'd inherited the Langsford family jewels, and in addition, he'd bought his share of pricey jewelry over the years, so he was no novice buyer. And to his practiced eye, these designs looked fresh and different.

“This one,” he said, stopping at a page and showing it to her.

She shook her head. “That piece has been sold. I don't have another one here like it.”

Unperturbed, he moved on to another page. “What about this one?”

“That's topaz. The yellow gold setting wouldn't be right for diamonds and emer—”

“Humor me,” he said with all the assurance of someone used to calling the shots—and being right. “I'm not looking at the metal but at the design.”

“Right. Of course.”

He hid a smile.
The client was always right.
She couldn't argue there, much as she obviously wanted to.

Tamara pushed back her chair and marched over to a safe across the width of the loft. After opening the safe door, she removed two velvet boxes.

Sawyer watched her intently, his body stirring.

Without looking at him, she stepped over to the gilded full-length mirror mounted on the nearby wall.

From the smaller of the two boxes, she retrieved one earring and then another, putting them on one by one.

Sawyer shifted in his chair.

“You need to put your hair up in order to show them off properly,” he said, his voice resonating in the quiet room.

Tamara compressed her lips, but then, with a show of impatience, as if she found all this ridiculous, and still refusing to look at him, she reached into a nearby drawer. She removed a plastic clip, and proceeded to put up her hair.

Sawyer parted his lips and sucked in a deep breath as heat shot through him.

The image in the mirror was enticing, enchanting even. When was the last time he'd seen Tamara with her hair up?

The earrings were about two inches long, the large, multifaceted topaz stones at the ends of them catching the light. They moved fluidly along with Tamara, brushing the tendrils of hair that had failed to find a home in her plastic clip.

Sawyer resisted the urge to go to her and press his lips to the tender curve of her neck. He knew he was playing a dangerous game that he was at risk of getting caught up in himself.

Tamara bent to the larger of the two velvet boxes and lifted out an exquisite and elaborate fringelike necklace with topaz stones.

Sawyer stood up abruptly. “Let me help you.”

Before she could argue, he was behind her, taking the necklace from her unresisting fingers.

“I'm an expert at doing and undoing clasps,” she protested weakly.

“Nevertheless, let me make the gallant gesture.”

“Practicing for the real moment?” Tamara tossed out, her words belying her response of sexual awareness, her nipples outlined against the fabric of her dress.

Sawyer let his lips curve lazily. “If I were, then I'd do this next.”

He didn't think. He just gave in to temptation.

Fortunately, in this case, business and pleasure were one and the same.

T
amara felt a sizzle shoot through her as Sawyer nuzzled her ear, and then bit down gently on her earlobe, the large topaz stone of her earring rocking between them as he did so.

She swallowed, holding back a small gasp. Sawyer's body, hard and unyielding, brushed against hers, igniting a simmering heat in her.

Tamara was mesmerized by their image in the mirror.

Sawyer toyed with the delicate shell of her ear, and then his mouth closed over her earlobe again and gave a gentle tug. All the while, his breath sent small shivers coursing through her.

Tamara closed her eyes. It was her only defense. The image in the mirror was just too erotic.

Sawyer's hands gently kneaded her shoulders.

“Relax,” he said in a low voice.

Tamara struggled against the undertow of his seduction.

She already knew the power of his kiss, and a part of her
couldn't believe she'd allowed him to get this close—again. What had she been thinking?

She'd reached with greedy hands when he'd offered the enticement of a hefty sale. His down payment alone would be enough to cover her monthly rent. But then what?

This was the road to ruin.

“Sawyer…”

But before she could say more, he turned her to face him, and his mouth came down on hers.

His lips were warm and supple, and he deepened the kiss before she had time to marshal her forces.

The kiss washed over her like a warm summer rain, making her feel vital and alive. In her head, she was spinning, her head thrown back with laughter, her nipples plastered to her wet clothes.

Sawyer kissed the way he did everything—confidently, decisively…persuasively. And more importantly, the effect of his kiss on her was powerful and shocking.

His hips pressed against her, making her want to rub against him. With very little effort, he had her restless and aroused.

The kiss that Sawyer had stolen at the fashion party
hadn't
been a fluke. And wasn't that the real explanation for why she'd let things progress to this point? Because the question had been dogging her?

He was in the wrong field, she thought absently. He should be hawking kisses instead of news. Then he'd be even richer than he was.

Sawyer's arms, all hard muscle, banded around her, and one hand settled on her backside, molding their bodies together. Her arms crept around his neck, drawing him to her. She wiggled closer, brushing against his arousal and eliciting a throaty growl from Sawyer.

Tamara knew if she was honest with herself, she'd admit she'd never experienced a kiss like Sawyer's. But then forbidden fruit was a powerful aphrodisiac.

Still, a shred of reason intervened.
This was her last chance.

With a last bit of resolve, she tore her mouth from his. “Wait a minute!”

She flattened her hand on his chest, but the steady, strong beat of his heart, his warmth and solidness, seemed to brand her, and she snatched back her hand.

Sawyer's eyes glittered with golden fire.

Summoning a determination she didn't feel, Tamara opened her mouth.

“Don't lie to yourself, and don't lie to me,” Sawyer said softly, his tone nevertheless conveying a note of implacability.

Her brows snapped together. Well, she wasn't going to engage in any hollow denials. But she didn't like the way he'd thrown her off balance.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I think you already know.”

“You came in here for a necklace,” she persisted.

“Among other things.”

How could he seem so rational when she was still trying to recover from the effect of their kiss?

“Don't think you can seduce me into changing my mind about your proposal.”

“Fine,” he said, gimlet-eyed. “But I'm offering a way for you to save Pink Teddy Designs. I thought that would appeal to the small-business owner in you.”

She hated that he knew what straits she was in. She hated that he had well-honed instincts and knew her weak spots.

“I see,” she said coolly, striving to match her tone to his. “I suppose if you're going to torpedo my social life, you feel you owe it to me to at least help me professionally?”

He arched a brow. “Are you talking about Tom?”

“Yes!”

“There was no passion there.”

“How do you know?” she retorted.

“The cutesy moniker says it all. ‘Tam and Tom.' You sounded like pals.”

“Meaning you'd never be caught dead dating someone who was worthy of a cutesy little tandem name?”

“Correct,” he said, and then added bluntly, “Did you sleep with him?”

A note of belligerence had entered his tone. She knew Sawyer's purpose was to dismiss Tom as inconsequential.

“It's none of your business,” she snapped.

“I'll take that as a no,” Sawyer said. “Poor bastard. I thought so.”

She wanted to wipe the satisfied expression off his face. “Tom is one of the good guys. He isn't after control of my father's company.”

“Don't kid yourself, sweetheart. Tom isn't a saint.” Sawyer's eyes swept over her. “On the other hand, since he kept his hands off of you, maybe he is.”

Tamara felt a strange thrill. Had Sawyer just admitted to finding her hard to resist?

She pushed the question away. She reminded herself that Sawyer was simply trying to get his way. He'd say or do
anything
to sway her. He was ruthless. Just like her father.

With that thought, she scoffed, “What could you possibly have to pin on Tom?”

Sawyer looked her in the eye. “Maybe he was dating you because of your connection to Kincaid News.”

Her eyes widened. “You're despicable!”

“He jumped at the opportunity to go to L.A., didn't he?”

“Only because you arranged to make him an irresistible offer!”

Tamara reluctantly recalled that Tom had asked her about Kincaid News, even after she'd explained to him that help was unlikely to come for his band from that quarter. Still, she refused to see his interest in her as less than genuine.

“He was quick to sell you out with information about your current financial situation,” Sawyer pointed out ruthlessly. “When it became clear how I could help his career, he was eager as a puppy.”

“And you're a puppy in need of obedience training!”

Sawyer's lips quirked with amusement. “Volunteering for the job?”

“No, thank you.”

Sawyer's expression became enigmatic. “At least I've been clear about what I want.”

“Yes,” she retorted disdainfully. “Kincaid News.”

“No, you and Kincaid News,” he contradicted, and then his look softened. “I'm offering you a final chance to salvage your dream. Isn't becoming a jewelry designer what you've always wanted to do?”

She was like Eve being tempted by the apple, Tamara thought. How had he known she'd always wanted to be a designer? Even though she knew it was part of his persuasive ploy, it was refreshing to have someone at least pretend to take her dream seriously.

“I remember visiting Dunnyhead once,” he mused, naming her father's estate in Scotland. “You were wearing a bead bracelet that you'd made yourself.”

Tamara was surprised Sawyer remembered. Her father had given her a jewelry-making kit during her stay at Dunnyhead. She'd just turned twelve, and it had been one of the few times after her parents' divorce her father had seemed aware of her interests and hobbies.

She'd strung together translucent green beads from the kit into a fair semblance of a hippie bracelet. Her father, she recalled, hadn't been particularly impressed. Still, she'd kept her beaded creation for years afterward.

During that stay at Dunnyhead, she recalled she'd played with her younger sisters, Julia and Arabella, who'd been
five and two. But until this moment, she hadn't remembered Sawyer's visit.

“Who did you want to be when you grew up?” Sawyer probed, his tone inviting. “You must have had someone you aspired to be like.”

“I wanted to be an original,” she replied, her defenses lowering a notch.

Sawyer gave a low laugh. “Of course. I should have guessed. Tamara Kincaid has always been unique.”

Despite herself, a smile of shared amusement rose to her lips. “After the divorce,” she divulged, “my mother kept some pieces from Bulgari, Cartier and Harry Winston that my father had given her.”

“And I bet you loved putting them on,” he guessed.

“My father wouldn't let me play in the family vault,” she deadpanned.

“I'd let you play with the Melton jewels,” he joked, but his eyes gleamed like polished stones. “Hell, you could wear them to your heart's content.”

“Trying to bribe me?” she said lightly.

“Whatever works.”

Her eyes came to rest beyond Sawyer. She saw her workbench scattered with the implements of a jeweler's trade.

All of it, however, was in danger of disappearing from her life. And suddenly, inexplicably, what Sawyer offered was so very tempting.

Would it be so bad?

“It wouldn't be terrible,” he said, as if reading her mind. “A short-term marriage of convenience gets us what we both want, and then we go our separate ways.”

“As opposed to my father's proposal of a real but bloodless and indefinite dynastic marriage?”

Sawyer inclined his head.

“You're proposing that we double-cross my father?”

“I wouldn't put it that way,” Sawyer replied, “but one rascal deserves another, don't you think?”

The image that his words conjured brought an involuntary smile to her lips. Would it matter to her father what type of marriage she and Sawyer contracted if the bottom line was that he got what he wanted—seeing Kincaid News into capable hands?

And yet.
“We'll never convince my father that we have a real marriage.”

Sawyer arched a brow. “We've just proven we'll have no problem convincing people the passion is real.”

She felt a rippling warmth suffuse her.

When had she turned so hot and bothered where Sawyer was concerned? Perhaps when she'd discovered their kisses had her seeing a kaleidoscope of colors.

Still, she hedged. “You said this would be a marriage of convenience.”

He gave her a bland look. “Are you asking whether I'd expect you to share my bed?”

She kept her expression unchanged, but at her sides, her fingers curled into her palms. “I just want us to be clear.”

He smiled lazily. “The answer is no. That is, unless you decide you'd like to be in my bed.”

“Hardly,” she replied tartly.

His eyes laughed at her. “A man can dream.”

She felt a quiver in response to his compelling magnetism. She turned away to hide her reaction, surveying her domain, and then hugging herself. What was she willing to give up to save this?

Not too discriminating to do business with the devil.

Sawyer's words came back to her, and now she knew he was right.

“Six months,” she said without looking at him. “That should be more than enough time—”

“However long it takes.”

“You said it would be short-term,” she countered, her tone faintly accusatory.

He settled his hands on her shoulders, warm and caressing. “I'm looking forward to it.”

When he bent and nuzzled her neck, she closed her eyes. He kissed her throat, and she couldn't help thinking he was sealing the deal.

And then a moment later, he was gone, out the door.

With her fingertips, she touched the still warm and tingly spot where he'd kissed her.

What had she done by bargaining with the devil?

 

“I'm going to marry Sawyer Langsford.”

Her statement was met with a joint gasp.

Tamara looked from one to the other of her friends. Pia's eyes had gone wide, while Belinda just looked at her in frozen silence, her coffee cup halfway to her lips.

They were sitting in Contadini having a casual Sunday brunch, but her announcement blew the relaxed atmosphere right out of the water.

Tamara glanced at Pia. “Any chance you can squeeze a small and hasty English wedding into your schedule for next month?”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Belinda breathed, rolling her eyes. “Tell me you're not pregnant!”

Tamara looked at her friend in alarm. “Of course not!”

Was it her use of the word
hasty
that had made Belinda jump straight to pregnancy?

Belinda set down her cup. “Well, we can rule out drunk, since it's Sunday morning and you're sipping orange juice, so…what is going on?”

“She looks sane to me,” Pia murmured to Belinda, who nodded in agreement.

Belinda and Pia were both back in New York for the moment, and Tamara had decided that now, at one of their regular
brunches, was as good a time as any to spring her momentous news on them.

“Of course I haven't lost my mind,” she said.

At least, she didn't think she had.

Belinda gave her a penetrating look. “Has your father strong-armed you into this? I know he saw you and Sawyer together at the wedding reception—”

“Oh, Tamara,” Pia jumped in, her brow puckered, “there has to be a way out!”

“And it's easier to find a way out before the wedding than after,” Belinda muttered.

Tamara took a fortifying breath. “My father hasn't pressed anything.”
Sort of.
If it hadn't been for her father's conditions on the merger of Kincaid News with Melton Media, Sawyer would never have proposed. It was a humiliating way to have received her first marriage proposal, but a humiliation that brought salvation for her business. “In fact, I've hardly ever given a decision this much calculated thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” Pia breathed. “Calculated thinking for a wedding? Oh, Tamara!”