Robyn Grady - Taming the Takeover Tycoon

Jack smothered a yawn. “I like plans.”

“Can I come over and tell you about it?”

“I thought you might have been, well...”

“Pissed at you after ditching me yesterday? I understand your situation with Angelica. She feels backed into a corner.”

“The only way out is to fight.”

“Or to accept. Even forgive.”

He swung his feet over and onto the floor. “Ultimately, that’s up to her.”

“It’d help if you stopped pushing her.”

Jack grinned. “I thought you said you understood.”

He heard her sigh. At least she didn’t argue.

“What time can I come over?” she asked.

She certainly was eager. “Why not the office?”

“It’d save time.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll just jump in the shower.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he’d wait for her. Bad Jack.

“See you in thirty then,” she said.

Naked, he crossed to the bathroom. “I’ll be here.” With bells on.

* * *

Jack answered his booming doorbell wearing tatty jeans that hung low on his hips. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. When he lifted an arm to lean against the jamb and his epic six-pack firmed up even more, Becca could have drooled.

Look into his eyes. Not the big, bronzed chest or that strip of skin south of his navel, damn it. Look at his eyes.

“Morning,” he said. “You’re late.”

A lousy ten minutes. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking where the rest of his clothes were, either. Even his feet were bare; who knew toes could be sexy?

The other time she had visited, an older man with an impeccable air had seen her through to the back lawn. “I thought the butler would answer the door,” she said.

“Merv’s not a butler.” His arm slid down as he stepped back to allow her inside. “He looks after things for me on the home front. It’s his day off.”

“Did you grow up having a person like Merv around to mix your chocolate milk?” she asked, stepping into the double-story, marble-decked foyer that smelled of money.

“I did.”

“Must be nice.”

He laughed. “Still trying to guilt me out?”

“Just saying...”

“Merv does a great job. In return he is paid extremely well.”

She pinned up a smile. “Then everyone’s happy.”

Jack must have been six-two or -three. In peep-toe flats that matched her simple white summer dress, Becca felt way less than her average height. When his scent filled her lungs, she fought the absurd urge to wither against him...even drag her lips all over those pecs. His chest was that good.

Before he shut the door, he did a double-take at her ride parked in the forecourt. “Tell me that’s not a company car.”

“My ’63 Fiat Bambino is what’s known as a true classic.”

He squinted, looking harder—admiring the distinctive light mint-green shade, perhaps. “Are those dinky wheels even roadworthy?”

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