To Catch a Billionaire (3 page)

“
D
ANGEROUS
,
THE MAN
is dangerous and undoubtedly cunning,” Erin whined that evening, while Mrs. Hardy scooped leftovers onto a plate.

“Now, now, it can’t be that bad. He’s just a man, nothing more. Look at how you handled that Winters fellow two years ago. By gosh, you chewed him up and spit him into the wind before he knew what happened. Mr. Forsyth can’t be any worse, Erin,” Mrs. Hardy said reassuringly.

Her assurances were sound, but Erin knew she could never tell Mrs. Hardy how hot and bothered Tristan made her. Just being in close proximity to him was enough to make her cream her undies. She’d struggled to resist tearing her clothes and wig off and throwing herself at him. Cripes, how the hell was she supposed to fend off somebody she found irresistible?

“Eat your supper,” Mrs. Hardy urged. “I brought the mail in for you. I believe there’s an invitation, from The Metropolitan Museum, in the pile. You’ll be going, won’t you?”

New York City Metropolitan Museum was among Erin’s favorites. At sixteen years old, Erin had strolled through the museum, enjoying each exhibit every weekend for a full summer. She’d driven her parents mad with worry when she’d managed to get locked in by security after the museum closed one day. She’d been in the restroom, unaware of the time.

When she’d realized she was the only tourist inside the fascinating museum, Erin had seen it as an opportunity and studied the art exhibits until the security alarm went wild. Cops and security guards had taken her into custody and called her parents. Erin smiled at the memory of being grounded for a month after the incident. It had been worth it, though.

Tearing the envelope open, she read the invitation. Her heartbeat quickened over whose art was being displayed and who the lender was. Her eyebrows rose when she read that Tristan Forsyth would be offering works from his gallery in Spain for display during the event and had been posted as the guest of honor.
The dirty rotten shit.

Slumped in her chair, Erin knew the man was making his stand. He was working to become part of the New York art crowd, if he wasn’t already. He’d play the
who’s who
game with the rich and famous. She shook her head in dismay. When she inherited her parents’ modest wealth, Erin still wasn’t rich, but she was no slouch when it came to holding her own with those big names that bandied their even bigger checkbooks about. She simply disliked having to do so, especially now that the checkbook had taken a downturn. The idea of walking the red carpet and being on display was anathema to her. Surely she could arrive late, make a brief appearance and scoot back home? That plan was appealing.

She tossed the invitation onto the table. “I’ll respond to this in the morning. It can’t hurt to go, even if Tristan Forsyth will be the guest-du-jour,” she groused.

When Mrs. Hardy didn’t utter a sound, Erin glanced at her. The older woman’s face held an all-knowing grin. A grin that Erin had seen before and meant Mrs. Hardy thought Erin was more than interested in Tristan. “I see that look on your face. I’m not intrigued by Tristan. Not now, not ever,” Erin insisted.

“If you say so, my dear,” Mrs. Hardy said innocently. “Now, what will you wear to this affair?”

“I’m not sure what’s hanging in the closet. I might take a ride into New York and buy something new. On the other hand, maybe Giorgio has something ready that I can wear.” Giorgio Santino, a clothing designer she had assisted when making his name in New York’s rag industry, owed Erin a favor, a big favor.

She jumped from the chair, pulled her cellphone from her purse and hit his number on speed dial.

“Giorgio.” The cultured voice filtered into her ear.

“I knew you’d answer when you saw my number, I’m wondering if you have anything spectacular available in my size... And how would you like to be my date next week?” Erin asked.

A squeal of delight met her request. “You’re going to the Museum Opening, aren’t you? Of course you are, how silly of me to ask. You need evening wear, am I right? I’ve got the perfect thing for you. Come to the studio and I’ll fit you. Tomorrow afternoon is a good time, see you then.” The line went dead.

She laughed, set the phone aside and said to Mrs. Hardy, “Short and sweet as ever. Giorgio is going to fit me tomorrow. I’ll be late getting back from the city, so take the day off. I’ll grab dinner before I head home. I’m sure Giorgio will have a lot to say while I’m there.”

Agreeable to unexpected time off, Mrs. Hardy wished Erin luck and told her to take care on the highway. “Which car will you be taking? Your Volvo isn’t ready yet.”

“The Porsche will do nicely, it’s a dream to drive. I’d take the Jetta, but I wouldn’t want anyone to see me in Cam’s car. Especially if I happen to run into Tristan, like I did early this morning at Starbucks.” Her thoughts drifted back to their abrupt meeting at the coffee house, her reaction to him and then her rapid escape.

Mrs. Hardy stopped wiping the counter and asked, “You didn’t mention that.”

With a chuckle, Erin told her of the episode. “He was shocked when we met at the gallery. You’re right about him being a rake. He looked me over like I was lunch.”

“And, were you?”

“Uh, no.” Erin snickered. “I wasn’t lunch, a snack – or anything like that. Don’t get any ideas, Mrs. Hardy,” Erin warned with a grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mrs. Hardy remarked with a sly glance. She smoothed her dish towel and hung it on a peg. “I’m off to the cinema with Mary Crowley this evening. Will you need anything else before I leave?”

“I’m all set. You run along and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you in the morning,” Erin said.

The two women parted in the foyer, Erin striding toward her in-home office and Mrs. Hardy heading for the front door. Alone, Erin stretched and tousled her hair, relieved at the lightness she felt after discarding Cam’s persona. She’d removed her breast bindings as soon as she arrived and changed into a pair of lounge pants and a thin-strapped silk top. Curled into a chair with a file of photos, Erin skimmed them until a knock on the door jostled her back to the present. Thinking Mrs. Hardy had forgotten her keys, Erin hurried to open the door.

“Good evening, Ms. Cameron,” Tristan murmured appreciatively as he took in her appearance.

Thankful for having discarded her entire disguise upon her return home Erin eyed him warily without offering him entry.

“And you would be?” she asked in a rude, husky tone.

“Tristan Forsyth, at your service,” he said with an exaggerated bow accompanied by a charming grin.

“Ah, yes, my assistant told me she’d met you. She also said you were quite insistent that we meet face to face. I do think taking the liberty of coming to my home, uninvited, is a bit much, though, don’t you?”

The gleam in his eyes spoke volumes. He had no intention of backing off and going away like she wished he would – not this man. He’d push the envelope, she was certain of it.

His dimpled smile, disarming as it had been earlier when she’d met him as Cam, put her on guard. Erin held the door firmly in her grasp.

“Your assistant is quite interesting. She doesn’t allow anyone to tread on her toes or yours. You’re lucky to have her, Ms. Cameron.”

She shrugged. “Cam is a valued employee with exceptional standards. She does her job well.”

“I’m curious as to your work relationship with her. She was quite abrupt when I mentioned I was interested in purchasing your gallery.”

“Cam mentioned you wanted to make an offer.”

Erin noted his glance into the foyer behind her. “Are you going to leave me standing on the doorstep or will you invite me inside? I don’t bite, you know.”

More’s the pity, were the first words to jump into her thoughts as she stayed put. “It isn’t a convenient time, you might try catching me at the gallery.” Erin stepped back and swung the door forward. Tristan blocked its closure with his foot.

“We have business to discuss, Ms. Cameron. If you’ll let me in, I promise not to take much of your time.”

The gleam in Tristan’s eyes held a touch of mischief, which added to his attractiveness.

Wondering what his angle was concerning the gallery, Erin beckoned him in. “You have five minutes, Mr. Forsyth.”

She hid a smile as she watched him study the foyer, glance up the staircase and then turn to her.

“This is a beautiful home. You live here alone?” Tristan asked with raised brows.

“It is, and I don’t,” Erin said as she motioned him toward the formal sitting room. The first floor consisted of formal and informal sitting rooms, a massive library Erin used as an office, a formal dining room and a kitchen. The kitchen was the most and best-used room in the house. Several bedrooms filled the upstairs, each with a private bath. Her grandfather had spared no expense when he’d had the enormous home built. Erin’s father had also updated it over time.

She’d been rude, and Erin saw Forsyth’s brows hike a tad higher at her response. Had he done some research on her too? He said nothing, but settled on a sofa. She sat across from him, and asked, “What is it that you’re determined to discuss with me? Cam has already told you the gallery isn’t for sale.” Her mind was directed less and less toward business. Instead she thought about his long legs, the way his slacks fit him and the broad chest underneath his Armani jacket.

“The Metropolitan Museum is hosting an opening next week, Tristan said. “I thought it would be a good idea for me to be introduced with you as my date. You may not realize it, Ms. Cameron, but you have a solid reputation in the art world. It would be a real boon to my business if you’d consider selling and then working with me gallery-wise and...”

Unwilling to believe what he was about to say, Erin blustered, “You want to use me to forge your way into New York’s gallery scene?” She snorted in disbelief. “That is too precious.”

A furrow developed as his brows drew together. He leaned forward. “New York’s gallery scene is of no interest to me. Your gallery, however, is. I’d like to make the Cameron Gallery internationally famous, put it on the map, so to speak. Enlarge its reach beyond your wildest dreams.”

It pleased her to see the way he flicked his fingertips with his thumb. A telltale sign of his annoyance at her smart-assed comment. At present, her wildest dreams had nothing at all to do with enlarging the gallery’s popularity. The gallery wasn’t up for discussion. The only thing she wanted to enlarge was her knowledge of his intimate parts, all of them. Forcing her mind back to his offer, she shook her head to dislodge the fantasy image of him nude and ready.

“And what if I have no interest in selling to you or anyone else? My business is perfect the way it is. Cameron’s has an exclusive clientele, exhibits that are well attended and especially accepted by the elite. What more could I want?”

Besides him in my bed, underneath me while I rode him like a stallion.
Get a grip.

*  *  *

Her face flushed as she spoke. Watching her, Tristan caught her speculative stare.
Was she as attracted to him as he was to her? Was she thinking how good they’d be in bed?
She was lovely, her eyes a light purple, clear skin that he yearned to caress, and those breasts were any man’s dreams. If he could bury his face between them he knew their softness would be too much to bear. He wondered if she was wet for him as he pulled a pillow from the couch and struggled to hide his hard on.

This meeting wasn’t going according to plan. He’d wanted to see her, make an offer for the gallery and then walk away after she sold to him. He’d bought many others in this way and he knew the Cameron Gallery was worth having.

Her quick response had caught him up short. Erin Cameron was confident enough to know she had a thriving business – and more than that, she had reliable help. He wished all his galleries were as well managed as what he’d seen of hers.

“I guess your answer to my request for a date would be no?” He grinned, reached out and placed a hand on her knee. “Are you sure?”

She slipped away from his hand when her pulse jumped. “I’ll be attending, but I already have a date,” Erin answered.

Erin Cameron was a beguiling, smart and sassy woman. The kind of woman he hadn’t met in quite some time. The kind he’d like to get to know better. Intimately.

“Oh, anyone I might know?” Tristan asked with a calm tone he struggled to maintain.

“I seriously doubt it. Giorgio and I have a history.” She shrugged. “He’s never mentioned you.”

He’d noticed she blushed deeply when she’d moved away from his touch. He stared at the luscious creature across from him and wondered if this Giorgio fellow had been in her bed.

“Does he live with you?” Tristan couldn’t help but ask. He had to know if she was attached. If not, then he’d make a play for her. Maybe he’d make a play for her anyway. As his words hit home, he watched her eyes widen before she covered her surprise.

“He lives in New York City. Now, if that’s all, I’d like you to leave.”

Regretting that he’d blown the chance to get to know her, Tristan rose from the sofa and smiled. “Thank you for seeing me. I look forward to our future relationship.” He turned and strode through the house, and out the front door without waiting for her to say a word.

On the doorstep, he adjusted his dick, drew in a huge breath of cool air and jogged down the steps toward his Jag.

H
ER FEET HIT
the floor running as he closed the door with a soft thud. Erin couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to come to her home and that he thought, just like that, she’d give everything to him...

Maybe in sex, never in business.

Her certainty wavered as she thought how undaunted he’d seemed when she avoided his advance and assured him the gallery wasn’t on the market. That self-assurance was a major part of his personality which attracted, yet rankled Erin to no end.

Her, and Cam’s, usual brush-off attempts wouldn’t work when it came to Tristan. He was obviously used to getting his way, as was she. Engaging in a battle of wills was the last thing Erin wanted.
Why couldn’t Tristan Forsyth just go away?