chest.
“I’m here today because my aging grandfather won’t stop breathing down my neck. He doesn’t like my lifestyle, or my business practices. He says it’s bringing a bad name to the Carson family. He wants me to clean up my act and marry a nice girl.”
Appreciating his honesty, I tap my pen on my notepad and nod in understanding. The tabloids have been having a field day with Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. He’s been photographed with different affluent women—far outside my social circle—on his arm every week. It can’t be easy having no privacy.
Don’t feel bad for him, Megan.
“I can understand that,” I say.
He angles his head, a thick lock of hair falling forward, and I note that he’s wearing it longer than usual. He rakes it back and asks, “Can you?”
“Sure,” I say and glance at my planner. “But what I don’t understand—”
His big warm hand closes over mine. The weight is heavy, and it takes my mind back to the way he once caressed me. Unnerved and aroused by his touch, my gaze flies to his. “It’s like this, Megan. I’ll get married, but it will be in name only. I’m not interested in anything more. A nice girl will get my granddad off my back, and the stability of marriage will look good to the board of directors who are handpicking Blackstone’s next chief financial officer.” My jaw drops open as he lays the cold, ugly truth out for me. So, this is what’s in it for him? He would actually marry to better his position in the company. What kind of a man would do that? Perhaps the better question is, how did I not see this side of him all those years ago? I pull my hand back fast and wipe my palm on my skirt.
His eyes darken, the black bleeding into the blue as he zeros in on me. “If you have a problem with that…”
Alec
KEEP YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. Play it cool. You’ve got this, Carson.
Yeah, right!
I can lecture myself all I want, but I don’t “got this.” Not even a little bit.
I draw in a deep breath. “Do you?” I ask again, working to maintain a rigid, professional-like composure, despite the fact I’m telling the one woman I’ve always wanted but can never have what I want in a future wife.
How the hell did we end up here, negotiating a wife for me? Granddad, that’s how. Now that my cousins Tate and Brianna are married, it was only a matter of time before he came after me. I’m not even sure the man’s as weak and frail as he lets on. It could very well be a trick to get what he wants. But can I really take a chance and say no to him? He was there for me my whole life, stepping in to take the place of my dad—his son—when he up and left our family.
I want to make my grandfather happy, and if it means getting married… I clench down on my jaw with an audible click and grind my back teeth together.
I focus back on Megan. She’s clearly shocked at what I’m telling her, struggling to digest my words. It takes every ounce of strength, and I mean every ounce I possess, not to press my lips to hers, lose myself in her sweet honeyed taste like I did on prom night.
You can’t go there with her.
I stiffen my spine, present cold indifference like I do at every negotiation and study her tense body language. I might not have seen her in eight long years, but I know her well enough to know she’s trying to wrap her mind around my need for a loveless marriage. Only problem is, I can’t tell her the real truth.
“I… I suppose not.” She blinks a few times, picks up her empty cup and sets it down again. “I mean, it’s your life.” She shrugs. “But I’m not so sure you’re going to find a woman who would want a marriage in name only.”
I let loose a low, deep humorless laugh. It gives me great pleasure to see that after all these years, little Megan Williams is still as sweet and innocent as the day I met her. I don’t ever want her to change, which is one of the reasons I need to keep my hands and mouth to myself. I’m the last guy she needs in her life.
Where the hell was that resolve on prom night?
“You’re wrong about that,” I say.
Quizzical eyes that once looked at me with adoration narrow, and her thick lashes fall slowly, only to open again. “What makes you say that?”
“Women like power and are influenced by wealth. I’m willing to give whoever we pick exactly that. They can have it all, the money, jets and lifestyle, with the exception of my heart. That’s not on the negotiation table.”
“What…what about intimacy,” she blurts out, then slams her mouth shut and glances around to see if anyone overheard her.
I lean toward her, note the pink flush crawling up her slender neck, pooling on the exact spot I’d like to place my mouth. I take a moment to look her over. At eighteen she was sweet and adorable, but she’s grown more beautiful in the passing years. Prominent cheekbones, beautiful full lips, a body any man would kill for. Perfect then, and even more so now.
“Intimacy? Are you asking if I plan to have sex with my wife?”
She takes a deep breath, and as her chest heaves, my gaze slides downward, to her silky white blouse. From my height, and with the top two buttons undone, I’m gifted with a view of her creamy cleavage. I don’t deserve to look. Don’t deserve anything from her. Despite that knowledge, heat prowls through my blood, and my dress pants become increasingly uncomfortable.
“People…well, people have needs,” she whispers.
I lower my voice to match hers. “True, and I’m not ruling sex out, but right now I have other concerns.”
“Such as?”
“I’m used to living alone. I need a woman who won’t be underfoot in my home. She must be intelligent, likable and a good conversationalist since she’ll be attending dinners with board members.” She stares at me for a moment, disbelief and a measure of repulsion evident in her big doe eyes. Good, that’s the only way I can have her look at me, otherwise… “Perhaps you should be writing this down.”
“Oh, right.” Her pen flies over the blank pages as she fills it with my criteria. She taps the tip on her chin when done, and stares at her notepad. “Do you care if she works?”
“I’d like for her to have her own life. She won’t need to work, but if she chooses to stay home, I’d like to see her involve herself in charitable work.” Her eyes lift. “It will look better to the board,” I say. Yeah, I get it. I’m coming off like a grade A prick, but that’s what I want. That’s what I need. If this woman gives me so much as a seed of encouragement, a hint that she might still want me, I could very well lose my shit. I can’t—won’t—let that happen. She deserves better than that. She deserves better than me.
Last week, when Granddad took me to his study and plied me with brandy, I knew he was up to something. I agreed to his terms, saw the truth in his words. Sure, I come from wealth, but I want
