His Black Sheep Bride (6 page)

Tamara repressed a sigh. Of course, Pia, the eternal romantic, would be shocked and alarmed at the idea of a marriage of convenience.

“Beats the opposite,” Belinda put in. “I don't recommend the impetuous elopement.”

Tamara raised her hand. “Hear me out.”

“I'm all ears,” Belinda replied. “This I have to hear.”

Tamara steadied herself. “You both know Pink Teddy Designs has been in financial difficulty for some time.” It was a painful admission. Her business was everything to her—her dream, her quest for validation. “But what you don't know is that recently things have come to a head. My rent is set to increase and I've tapped out my credit.”

Belinda's eyes narrowed. “So you're marrying Sawyer for financial reasons?” she guessed. “Can I just weigh in
with the fact that money is on my list of bad reasons to get married?”

Pia shook her head. “It'll never last.”

Tamara pushed at her breakfast plate. “I don't want it to last!”

Pia's eyes rounded. “And what about poor Tom?”

“Poor Tom is on his way to Los Angeles, hot on the trail of a record deal, thanks to Sawyer.”

“Wonderful,” Belinda remarked sarcastically.

“I mentioned my father had a long-cherished wish to unite the Kincaid and Langsford families,” Tamara said. “But what I didn't mention is that he's made his agreement to Melton Media's merger with Kincaid News conditional on Sawyer convincing me to marry him.”

Pia gasped, her hand briefly covering her mouth. “You're willing to throw away your chance to marry for love?”

Tamara was tempted to say she was a bit cynical about love after the examples set by her parents, but she stifled her reply. She supposed in Pia's business, it was helpful—maybe even necessary—to believe in true love. Why disabuse her friend?

And, truth be told, Tamara conceded, she wasn't a
hardened
cynic. Her secret indulgence was chick flicks that made her misty-eyed. She'd wonder whether it was possible to find a man who set her pulse racing
and
held her close to his heart. She'd wonder if, despite her parents' example, a happily-ever-after was attainable for her.

She pasted a smile on her face. “No, don't worry. I'm not giving up the chance of love forever. With any luck—” her lips twisted self-deprecatingly “—a second marriage will be the charm.”

“Or third,” Belinda muttered.

“Or third,” she agreed, since it was clear her friend was hoping for a third wedding.

Thrusting aside the fact that her own father had been
married three times, Tamara quickly explained the terms of her agreement with Sawyer for a short-term marriage of convenience: Kincaid News in return for the money to save Pink Teddy Designs.

“I don't know,” Pia said doubtfully when she'd finished, shaking her head.

“What could go wrong?” Tamara asked. “In six months, a year at most, we both go our separate ways.”

“Famous last words,” Belinda said. “It's taken me more than two years to get an annulment.”

Tamara needed to know her friends were behind her. More importantly, she needed both her friends' help if she was to convince her father that she and Sawyer had succumbed to dynastic expectations rather than come up with a plan of their own.

“I need you both to act as if you believe Sawyer and I have finally decided to do our family duty,” she said baldly. “Otherwise I'll never convince my father.”

Pia's eyes widened, and Belinda snorted disbelievingly.

“Your father will never buy it,” Belinda said.

“It's my only hope.”

Her only hope, and Pink Teddy's.

Neither Belinda nor Pia had a ready reply, but Tamara could tell from their expressions that they reluctantly understood her predicament.

She sucked in a breath. “So will you do it? Will you show up when I marry—” she stumbled over the word, and Belinda looked at her keenly “—Sawyer? Even if it turns out to be in a drafty British castle?”

Belinda sighed. “I'll bring my Wellingtons.”

“And I'll help coordinate,” Pia chimed in.

Tamara glanced from one to the other of her friends. “Even if Colin and Hawk are almost certainly going to be there at Sawyer's invitation?”

There was a palpable pause.

Pia grimaced. “You know you can count on me. Just keep me away from the hors d'oeuvres.”

“I'll bring my attorney,” Belinda added grimly.

Tamara laughed.

For a moment, thanks to her friends, she could forget just how complicated a situation she was getting into.

Still, this was surely going to be some wedding.

“T
ell him to come in,” Sawyer said into the speakerphone, and then rose from behind his desk.

Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a spectacular view of the Hudson River. The corporate offices of Melton Media were located on the upper floors of a gleaming midtown Manhattan building.

Sawyer had taken several strides when his office door opened and Viscount Kincaid strolled in.

“Melton,” the viscount acknowledged jovially as he came forward and shook hands.

Sawyer wasn't fooled for a second. Though Tamara's father was a couple of inches shorter than his own six-two, the older man had an air of prepossession and command that only someone born into authority or accustomed to it for a long time could exude.

In Kincaid, diabolically, the genial visage of a Santa Claus was joined to the shrewd mind of a Machiavelli—a trap for the unwary.

“Shall we proceed down to the executive dining room?” Sawyer asked.

It was well before the daily news deadline for East Coast newspapers going to press, but they were both busy men.

“I'm ready whenever you are,” Kincaid said, nevertheless reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his buzzing BlackBerry.

Kincaid kept up his end of the phone conversation as they made their way downstairs via the suspended metal staircase that joined the executive floors of Melton Media. They were far from the chaos of the newsroom. Melton Media's corporate offices were housed in a separate building from
The New York Intelligencer
.

Sawyer listened as, apparently, Kincaid attempted to verify by phone a juicy rumor that he'd heard at a cocktail party the night before. Clearly, the viscount had the news business in his blood and wasn't averse to rolling up his sleeves and working the phones himself when necessary.

Tellingly, though, Sawyer couldn't discern from Kincaid's end of the conversation what the rumor was or whom the older man was talking to. Sawyer felt the competitive juices start to flow in his blood.

Kincaid was a worthy adversary and would be a worthy business partner.

“Rumor confirmed?” Sawyer asked with feigned idle curiosity when the viscount finished his call.

“Yes,” Kincaid replied with a note of satisfaction.

“I thought we were on the same team,” Sawyer said with mock reproof.

“Not yet. Not until the merger goes through.”

Sawyer's chuckle held an element of respect. Viscount Kincaid might be a family friend, but he was a fierce competitor.

When Sawyer had asked for this meeting, he'd suggested he pay a call to Kincaid headquarters, but the viscount had
gainsaid him. Perhaps Kincaid wanted another opportunity to take a look around the company that would soon merge with Kincaid News.

Sawyer had inherited an already significant company from his father and had built it up, branching out internationally from the British newspapers and radio station that his father and grandfather had run. His grandfather had married into the newspaper business by wedding a publishing heiress, but he'd taken to it like a natural.

Kincaid was a different animal altogether. He'd labored in the trenches of the news business, selling family real estate in Scotland to build up his company. His gamble had paid off handsomely, but Kincaid was no fool. He knew that, in order to survive, Kincaid News needed fresh blood—someone well positioned and savvy enough to take advantage of the new mediums of communication out there, from online sites and streaming to smartphones.

Namely, the viscount needed Sawyer.

And Sawyer was eager to absorb a competitor at a relative bargain.

At that thought, Sawyer paused and mentally grimaced. Correction: a relative bargain and a bargaining relative. Kincaid had turned the business into a family legacy, and he wasn't going to let it pass into other hands without a familial tie.

He and the viscount entered the executive dining room, which was one floor below Sawyer's office and had an equally impressive view of the Hudson. The long table had been set for two.

They dined on steak frites accompanied by iced tea. The conversation moved idly from politics and the upcoming elections to the doings of various business associates, until, finally, Viscount Kincaid set aside his fork and fixed Sawyer with a piercing look.

“Well, I know you didn't invite me here to discuss golf,” Kincaid said gruffly, “so out with it, Melton.”

Unperturbed, Sawyer took his time wiping his mouth and setting aside his napkin. Then he looked at the other man squarely.

“I'd like to ask for Tamara's hand in marriage.”

Kincaid's eyebrows rose. “Bloody hell, you've done it.”

Sawyer nodded.

“How?”

Sawyer gave a ghost of a smile. “I don't suppose it could be my charm and persuasiveness.”

Kincaid shook his head. “Hogwash. Tamara would never fall for it.”

“I have been wooing her.” It wasn't far from the truth. He
had
been trying to convince Tamara to see things his way.

Kincaid's eyebrows drew together. “Since when?”

“We preferred to conduct our relationship away from prying eyes.”

Sawyer thought back to his last private encounter with Tamara. She'd been so responsive in his arms, her luscious female curves pressed into him. And he—he'd wanted to tumble her backward and have hot, sweaty sex with her right there in her studio, her red hair fanning out on that damnable red velour couch.

Sawyer felt his body tighten at the memory, and shifted in his seat. “I think you'll find that Tamara isn't unaware of her familial obligations.”

His last statement was met with a pause, but then Kincaid waved it away with one hand. “Certainly not in character,” the viscount growled. “She's shown nothing but disregard until now.” Kincaid shook his head. “Her sisters, too. Three daughters and not a one with an appreciation of what it took to built Kincaid News or how I footed the bill for those fine prep school educations.”

“She does bear you some affection, you know.”

Sawyer would bet that beneath Tamara's tartness and Viscount Kincaid's bluster lay a genuine—if oftentimes fraught—bond between father and daughter.

A light appeared in Viscount Kincaid's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a look of cloaked cunning. “Is that so? Then I'll expect a grandchild to be in the cards in the not too distant future.”

Sawyer schooled his expression—this was a complication that he hadn't foreseen. “Perhaps Tamara and I would like to enjoy ourselves first.”

“Enjoy yourselves later.” Kincaid settled back in his chair. “In fact, I like the idea of a grandchild so much I fancy I'll make it a condition of the merger.”

Cagey bastard.

“My daughter
enceinte
before the merger goes through.”

“That wasn't part of the agreement.”

“How much do you want this merger?”

“As much as you do, I would have thought,” Sawyer replied drily.

“I can wait,” Kincaid returned. “I've got some life in me yet, and God knows I've long since pinned my hopes on a third generation taking over the reins of Kincaid News.” Kincaid leaned forward. “The question is, will you or someone else be a worthy caretaker for Kincaid News in the meantime?”

Sawyer said nothing. He'd learned long ago that a tough bargainer didn't jump in with his next best offer right away. He stayed cool and deliberated his options.

In this case, he supposed he could call the older man's bluff.
Good luck convincing Tamara or either of her sisters to marry another newsman.

But an image suddenly flashed through his mind of Ta mara being bedded by some faceless pretender to the throne of Kincaid News, attempting to conceive the sought-for grandchild. He discovered that the thought of some other man fathering Tamara's child didn't sit well with him.

Better me than some faceless bastard,
Sawyer thought.

Kincaid sat back in his seat, a smile hovering at his lips, seemingly satisfied by Sawyer's reaction, or at least lack of immediate objection. “Marrying Tamara is the first step. I'll do everything in my power to see that you actually make it to the altar, including making all the necessary public pronouncements that I'm overjoyed.”

“Naturally,” Sawyer said sardonically.

Kincaid leaned forward again, apparently warming to his subject. “I've done all I can up till now to help you, including—” Kincaid looked suddenly sly “—sharing all I know about Tamara's comings and goings.”

Sawyer had to admit Kincaid had been helpful in that respect. Without inside knowledge, he'd have had a harder time.

“But the second step, the necessary step before I sign over Kincaid News, is getting Tamara pregnant,” Kincaid went on, quirking a brow. “And for that, you're on your own.”

“Of course,” Sawyer said drily.

Kincaid couldn't have put it more baldly. Sawyer would have to entice Tamara into his bed.

“Naturally,” Kincaid said, “I won't breathe a word to Tamara about this new condition to the merger.”

“Thanks for the small favor.”

Kincaid chuckled. “I wouldn't want her to lock you out of the bedroom just out of spite.”

“Thwarting you has been a favorite pastime of hers,” Sawyer observed with a jab.

The viscount's face darkened briefly. “Yes, but those days are past now…as long as you get her to the altar.”

Kincaid's new condition on the merger presented a complication that Sawyer hadn't anticipated. He'd bargained with Tamara for a marriage of short duration. Once they both got what they wanted, they could go their separate ways. A baby had never been part of the equation.

He wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having a child with a divorce envisioned in the future. But then again, he was thirty-eight, his life was destined to become only busier after the business merger with Kincaid News, and he had a duty to the earldom to produce an heir. Sure, he could wait for a woman suitable for the duties of a countess, but right now that prospect seemed highly indeterminate.

On the other side, there was the very concrete reality of
Tamara,
who, however unsuited and averse she might be to being a countess, made his blood sizzle.

His body tightened as images flashed through his mind of just how pleasurable it could be to try to conceive an heir with Tamara.

“So, do you agree to the terms?”

Viscount Kincaid's voice brought Sawyer back from his mental calculations.

Sawyer knew without hesitation what his answer was. “Yes.” He reached for his glass and raised it in mock salute. “To the merger of the Kincaid and Melton lines, corporate and otherwise.”

 

Tamara waltzed into Balthazar at noon. It had been an easy walk from her loft. She'd been surprised when Sawyer had called and proposed that they meet at a restaurant in her area.

Now, inside the restaurant entrance, she spotted Sawyer immediately. He looked impeccable, as always, in a red tie and pinstripe suit, even if his hair was a little tousled from the wind outside.

Unconsciously, she smoothed her own hair as he approached her.

“You look fine,” he said, his deep voice flowing over her like warm honey.

When she stopped in midmovement, Sawyer's mouth lifted.

“More than fine,” he amended. “You look great.”

The frank male appreciation that suddenly fired his gaze sent sexual awareness washing over her.

“You don't look too shabby yourself,” she responded, surprised at the hint of breathlessness that crept into her voice.

She'd tried not to care when dressing this morning, but she'd given up and finally settled on a short-sleeved heather-gray sweater dress cinched by a thin purple belt and paired with magenta patent platform heels.

She was a rebel with a cause, she'd thought defiantly. She didn't care what a countess was supposed to look like. This is what she looked like.

Sawyer clasped her hand and brushed his lips across hers.

At her surprised reaction, he murmured, “We have to make it look good in public.”

Of course.
She steadied herself. “I'm surprised you came downtown. I'd have thought Michael's or 21 was more your taste.”

Michael's was favored by the media crowd, and 21 was a clubby bastion famous for the jockey figures that adorned its facade.

“I was looking for a place that was a little off the beaten trail,” Sawyer returned equably, and then winked. “And I thought I'd show you I can be flexible.”

“Well, don't expect me to convene at La Grenouille with the ladies who lunch.”

“Perish the thought,” he said with mock solemnity, and then smiled. “But I'll turn you into an uptown girl yet.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” she returned drily, even as a frisson of electricity danced across her skin at their repartee.

“It may be pleasurable, too,” he murmured with a glint in his eye, and then cupped her elbow and steered her forward.

She was disconcerted by how attuned she was to Sawyer and their most casual contact. Had the sexual awareness been caused by their recent kisses, or had it always been there—the unacknowledged reason she'd always kept her distance from him?

A restaurant hostess materialized beside them, and without a word, they were guided to a quiet corner table.

This, Tamara thought, was the kind of service Sawyer was used to by virtue of his wealth, title and high profile. It was the type of service she'd likely be accorded as his wife. She was afraid she could easily become accustomed to the red-carpet treatment.

Tamara slid into her booth seat, Sawyer's lingering touch at her elbow facilitating her way, and Sawyer followed, sitting to her left.

“I'm assuming this meeting is to settle details?” she asked without preamble, settling herself more comfortably on her seat.