Exposed: Her Undercover Millionaire

She gazed up at him through the fringe of her lashes. Her eyes were quite extraordinary. Back in her office he could have sworn they were blue, but in this light they looked almost purple.

“You’re staring at me,” Paige said.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m trying to figure out what color your eyes are.”

“It depends on my mood. Sometimes they’re blue, sometimes they’re violet.”

“What mood are you in when they’re violet?”

“Happy. Relaxed.”

He wondered what color they were when she was aroused, and if he would be lucky enough to find out.

“We’ve talked about me ever since we sat down. Why don’t you tell me about you,” she said, then added, “And don’t say there isn’t much to tell. Everyone has a story.”

He couldn’t tell her his. Not the full version, anyway. But he knew the fewer lies he told, the fewer he had to remember, so it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible while still keeping up the charade.

“I’m originally from California,” he said. “Not too far from here, in fact. My father lives pretty close by.”

“Do you visit him?”

“Not in a long time. Suffice it to say we don’t see eye to eye. About a lot of things.”

“You said your mom died when you were young.”

“Accidental overdose,” he said. It had never been officially ruled a suicide, but only because she hadn’t left a note. Anyone who knew Denise Worth knew she’d been miserable enough to take her own life. No thanks to his father and his extramarital affairs. Though Brandon had only been fourteen, her death had been the last straw, the final wedge in a relationship that had always been volatile in the best of circumstances. After her death, he and his father barely spoke. His mother had always favored Brandon, and his sister, Emma, had been daddy’s little princess. And still was, as far as he knew.

“Do you have siblings?” Paige asked.

“A sister. But I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.” Not since the day he’d headed off to boarding school on the east coast. Although from what he’d heard, she’d married recently and was pregnant with her first child. He would be an uncle, but in title only. He doubted he would ever see the child.

“Fifteen years is a long time not to talk to a sister.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It must be, because it’s hard to imagine that someone as personable, as nice, as you, could hold a grudge for so long.”

He grinned. “You barely know me. Maybe I’m only pretending to be nice.”

She considered that for a second, then shook her head. “No.

You’re forgetting, I’m an image consultant. I’m pretty adept at reading people. The way you handled saleslady sunshine earlier, that’s impossible to fake. You’re good with people. A nice guy.”

Maybe too nice. Definitely too trusting. Ashleigh had taught him that, and it had been a bitter pill to swallow. But she was the last person he wanted to think about right now.

“So I guess you kinda like me,” he said, grinning. “Since I’m such a nice guy.”

“Maybe I don’t like nice guys,” she said draining her second glass. “Maybe I prefer men who are bad for me.”

The wine must have been going to her head. She was starting to get flirtatious.

He leaned forward, locking his eyes on hers. “I’ll have you know, I can be very bad.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he could swear the color of her eyes deepened. And he had the feeling this was about to get interesting.

“Why is it that a beautiful woman like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”

“Who says I don’t?”

“If you did, you wouldn’t have been planning to work on a Friday night. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be here with me.”

“I’m focusing on my career. I don’t have time for a relationship.”

Exactly the type of woman he needed right now. One who wouldn’t want or expect a commitment. Paige was becoming more appealing by the minute. Most women came after him all pistons firing, talons out.

This was a refreshing change of pace. A woman who didn’t have time for him. Of course, if she knew about the millions in his trust fund, she might make time.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

He grinned. “Who says I don’t?”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Touché. “Until late last year I had a fiancée.”

The teasing expression slipped from her face. “It didn’t work out?”

“If ‘didn’t work out’ is a polite way of saying that she cheated on me with the ranch foreman.”

She winced and shook her head. “I don’t understand people who cheat on their significant others. If you aren’t happy with someone, why not just leave?”

Ashleigh had a couple million reasons to stick around. And according to her, she’d never been “happy” with him, or had any intention of being faithful. All she cared about was the money. Or so she had spat at him when he kicked her to the curb. But she’d sure had him snowed. She’d managed to convince him that he was the love of her life.

“Are you speaking from personal experience?” he asked.

“No, but my mom had boyfriends who couldn’t seem to keep it in their pants. Of course, being with someone like my mom couldn’t have been a picnic.”

“Why is that?”

She hesitated, then said, “My mom was an alcoholic. She started drinking the day my dad died, and didn’t stop until she drank herself to death.”

“That must have been rough.”

“She was weak and pathetic.”

And obviously Paige resented the hell out of her for it, and he was guessing she would do anything to not be like her. To be successful and self-sufficient. Not the type of woman who used a man for his money. Not that he was in the market for a relationship.

Maybe it was time he lightened the mood a little. He gestured to Billie for another round, and since there happened to be a slow song playing, he slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “No. I don’t dance.”

“Everybody dances.”

“I’m serious, Brandon. I can’t dance. At all.”

“It’s not difficult.”

“For me it is. I’m the most uncoordinated person on the planet.”

“When was the last time you tried?”

“Senior prom. I stepped on Devon Cornwall’s feet so many times I ruined his rental shoes and he had to pay extra.”

He raised a brow. “No, he didn’t.”

“Seriously, he did. I’m that awful.”

“Well, you can step on my boots all you want. It won’t bother me.” He grabbed her hand and coaxed her out of the booth. But when he tried to pull her onto the floor, she resisted. “But no one else is dancing.”

“We’ll be trendsetters. In a couple of hours it’ll be packed.”

She darted a glance around as he led her out on to the deserted dance floor. “Everyone is watching. I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.”

“Relax,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She stood there stiffly, like she wasn’t sure what to do. He took her hands, placing one on his right hip and the other on his left shoulder, then he put both hands on her waist and tugged her closer. She sucked in a quiet breath as their bodies collided, and damn, she felt nice.

He started slow, just swaying gently to the music. In her heels her eyes were level with his chin, but she was petite. She had a narrow waist and delicate, finely boned hands. But there was a sturdiness about her, and enough weight behind her to make him wince when she stepped down on the toes of his left foot.

“Sorry!” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I warned you.”

The problem was, she was trying to lead. “Just relax and follow my steps.”

For the first three quarters of the song he looked at the top of her head while she watched their feet, and she was doing pretty well, but the second she looked up she stepped on him again.

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay. You’re getting the hang of it. I’ll have you line dancing in no time.”

“Line dancing?” Her eyes went wide and she stumbled over his boot. He hissed out a breath as her heel ground into his big toe. “Sorry!”

“Watch my feet,” he said and she lowered her eyes again. “And yes, line dancing.”

“I definitely can’t line dance.”

“Anyone can line dance. It just takes practice.”

“I’m seriously not that coordinated.”

“You don’t have to be. It’s just simple repetitive movements.”

She glanced up again and caught him in the opposite foot with her other heel. At this rate, she really would destroy his boots.

“Sorry!”

“I have an idea,” he said. “Give me your foot.”

She frowned. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I’ll give it back.”

She bent her leg up. He reached down and grabbed her shoe, slipped it off, and tossed it under their table.

“But—”

“Other side,” he said, waiting patiently for her to lift her foot, and maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t take no for an answer because she complied. He slid it off and tossed it with its mate.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

He pulled her back into his arms. “They were getting in the way.”

“I feel like so short without them.”

She was significantly smaller with them off. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “How tall are you, anyway?”

“Five-three if I stand really straight. I’ve always wanted to be taller.”

“Why? What’s wrong with being short?”

She rolled her eyes. “Only a tall person would ask that.”

“I’m only six-one.”

“Only. You’re ten inches taller than me!”

He grinned. “But have you noticed that since you took them off you’ve been dancing and you haven’t stumbled once?”

She blinked. “I haven’t?”

“I told you, you could do it.”

She looked so thrilled, it made him smile, and she must have been happy, too, because her eyes were bright violet. But then a faster song started, and he wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge just yet. One step at a time.

He led her back to the booth. Billie had left them fresh drinks and a set of menus.

“Think Billie is trying to tell us something?” he asked.

“I guess I am a little hungry,” she said, taking a swallow of her wine, then another. She was going to have to pace herself or he would be carrying her out to the truck.

She ordered a salad and he got his usual burger. As they waited for their food the dance floor began to fill up. He thought she might be nervous dancing around so many people, but when another slow song began she actually got up and dragged him out of the booth and onto the dance floor, in her stocking feet this time. When he pulled her close, she didn’t put up the least bit of resistance. This time she leaned in closer, and it didn’t escape him how perfectly her body seemed to fit tucked against his.

“I think I actually kind of like this,” she said, smiling up at him. She was getting better. She only stepped on his foot once through the entire song.

When their food arrived, they returned to their seats and before she sat she shrugged out of her suit jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the seat beside her. Underneath she wore a pale pink, silk shell tank that was as soft and delicate-looking as her skin. Her bust was on the small side, but perfectly proportionate to her size. Unlike Ashleigh, whose surgically enhanced chest had always been a source of mixed feelings for him. He preferred things natural. And while Ashleigh’s implants looked good, there was nothing “natural” about them. They felt exactly like what they were, sacks of fluid stuffed in her chest. But it was one of those things, a minor glitch in the relationship that he’d been willing to overlook.

He couldn’t help wondering how Paige’s would feel. What was it they used to joke about in high school? More than a mouthful was a waste? Well, it looked to him as if Paige was just right.

She ordered a fourth glass of wine with her dinner and he could tell it was going to her head. But when he tried to get her to line dance she said she was too afraid of embarrassing herself. He pointed out that she would never learn if she didn’t at least try, but that argument got him nowhere. Besides, she seemed to like slow dancing, and he liked holding her close. After glass five, she chucked the last of her inhibitions and glued her body to his, rubbing against him in a way that was honest-to-goodness torture, and she was giving off enough heat to melt the polar caps.

Since breaking his engagement, Brandon had barely looked at another woman, and he sure as hell hadn’t been ready to sleep with one. Until now. He wanted Paige. But as far as she was concerned, he was an uneducated rancher with practically nothing to his name. The question was, did she want him enough to see past that?

This would be a test, to see the kind of woman Paige Adams really was.

Though Paige knew it was wrong, and there were a couple dozen really good reasons not to get involved with a man like Brandon, she wanted him. Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that she hadn’t been with a man in a very long time, but she couldn’t seem to get close enough. She typically went for the studious type, who tended not to be so blessed physically, but Brandon’s body felt so solid and strong. And he smelled so good. She even liked the feel of his beard against her forehead when she laid her head on his chest. She’d expected it to be wiry and sharp, but in reality it was soft.

“I guess you’ve got the hang of it now,” he said. His voice had a husky quality that hadn’t been there before, and when she smiled up at him, the look in his eyes said he wanted her, too.

“I’m glad you forced me to try.”

“Me, too.” He reached up and tucked a stray hair back from her face. It had begun to work itself loose from the chignon, which under normal circumstances would have had her running to the ladies room to fix it. Tonight she didn’t care.

“Do you always wear your hair up?” he asked.

“For work I do.”

“I’ll bet it looks sexy down.” He ran the fingers of both hands through her hair, pulling the pins loose so it spilled around her shoulders.

“I was right,” he said with a sizzling smile that sent her internal temperature skyrocketing. “You probably hear this all the time, but you’re a beautiful woman.”

No, she hadn’t heard it in a long time. If he kept saying things like that, kept looking at her that way, she was going to forget all the reasons this was wrong. Why they could only be friends. Which she suspected was exactly what he was hoping.

Their eyes locked, and though she knew she should look away, her gaze felt glued to his.

Was he going to kiss her? God knows she wanted him to.

He dipped his head slightly, and she lifted her chin to meet him halfway, but he only pressed his forehead to hers. Her disappointment, the desire to feel his lips on hers, to taste him, was almost too much to take.

The song ended and he took her hand, leading her back to the table. “It’s getting late. I should get you home.”

She looked up at the clock over the bar and was surprised to see it was almost midnight. Hours later than she typically stayed out. But she was having so much fun she hated to leave. Then again, if he took her home, maybe he would kiss her good-night. She knew she shouldn’t let him, that it would be leading him on. There was no future for them. But the idea of his lips on hers was making her weak in the knees.

She put on her shoes and jacket and they walked out to the parking lot. She felt so unsteady on the gravel, he had to slip an arm around her.

“My car is still at work,” she said.

“Yeah, but you’re in no condition to drive.”

“But how will I get to the office tomorrow?”

“I’ll come by in the morning and drive you over there so you can pick it up.”

Sounded like the perfect solution, because then she would have to see him again. Maybe that was the whole point. Maybe he wanted to see her again, too.

He helped her into the truck, then walked around and got inside. “Where to?”

She gave him the directions to her apartment complex. It struck her as very odd, as he drove her home, how comfortable she had come to feel with him. Considering they had known each other a grand total of nine hours. It usually took her time to warm to people, to let down her guard. To trust. She was a private person by nature, but she’d told Brandon things tonight that she’d only told her closest friends. People she had known for years. Even her secretary, who had been with her since she started her company, knew very little about Paige’s childhood. Maybe because she and Brandon had similar dysfunctional pasts she felt comfortable confiding in him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Brandon said, glancing over at her. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. I feel good. In fact, I haven’t felt this good in a really long time. I had so much fun tonight.”

“So did I.”

When they got to her complex, he parked out front and walked around to open her door. As she got down, she wobbled on her heels and nearly lost her balance.

“Whoa!” He caught her under the arm, saving her from taking a header onto the concrete walk. “You all right?”

“I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought,” she said, clinging to his arm, feeling his hard muscle underneath warm skin. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering how the rest of him felt. And what he would do if she tried to find out. After all the bumping and grinding they had done on the dance floor, at the very least she’d earned a kiss good-night.

They reached her door and he took her keys to unlock it, then he turned to her. “I had a real nice time tonight.”

“Me, too.” Now kiss me and put me out of my misery.

“Thanks for keeping me company.”

“You’re welcome.” Come on already. Just do it, she urged silently, and something in his eyes said he read her loud and clear. He stepped closer, and the world seemed to slip into slow motion.

His head dipped down and her chin lifted. Her eyes slipped closed, and she held her breath, waiting to feel his lips on hers. Would it be slow and sweet, or reckless and wild? Would his lips be as soft as they looked? And how would he taste?

She felt his breath across her mouth, caught the clean scent of his aftershave, then felt the brush of his lips … on her cheek?

Huh?

He lingered there for a few seconds, his breath warm, his lips soft. Then he started to back away, but having spent the last several hours in a perpetual state of sexual excitement, a simple kiss on the cheek was not going to cut it at this point. Shoving aside her last shred of good sense, Paige slid her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his.

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