The Bride and the Bargain

His head was on a level with her thighs. He made himself keep his eyes on her scraped knees and lower. To his chagrin it was harder than he’d have thought.

He tugged the bow tight, then double looped it. “Next time, use a double knot,” he suggested wryly.

He rose and caught the twitch at the corner of her lips. But the second she took a step, the barely there smile was replaced by a definite wince of pain.

“We need to get you to the hospital.”

Her eyes widened. “No. Really, that’s not necessary.”

“You might have a sprain. A fracture.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Just bumps, I promise.”

“Bumps and gravel and blood,” he pointed out. “At the very least I need to make sure you get cleaned up, and clearly, you can’t walk on that ankle.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “I don’t need medical care.”

And sad to say, he didn’t need a nuisance suit for personal injury, either. Not to say that she’d instigate anything of the kind, but he hadn’t gotten to where he was without learning a thing or two about human nature.

People were greedy beings. And though Gray knew he wasn’t any particular exception to that trait, he also knew painfully well that the Hunt family and HuntCom made a particularly enticing target even to people who would ordinarily never think such things.

That was reality.

But so was the sight of her bleeding knees that made him wince inside. She was hurt and he was responsible. She hadn’t untied her fraying shoelace on purpose, after all.

“I insist,” he told her.

Her eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing into the tendrils of hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. “Is that so?” She seemed about to say more, only to press her lips together again.

“We can work it out when we get you off this path,” he suggested. He’d simply call Loretta. She’d arrange everything with her usual minimum of fuss. Gray could be assured that this girl wouldn’t suffer any ill effects from their collision and he could get back to the matters at hand.

“You mean you think you’ll get your way,” the girl murmured. “Once we’re off the trail.”

He almost smiled. Fact was, Gray nearly always got his way, as she put it. “Do you have something against doctors?”

“Only their bills,” she assured, looking a little too solemn for her wry tone. She lifted her shoulder. “I’m in the insurance void and, well, to be honest, I can’t afford yet another bill.”

“Void?”

“I, um, just started a new job here. My health insurance won’t kick in for another few weeks.”

All new employees of HuntCom had to wait out their probationary period of ninety days before receiving insurance benefits. Simple business practice, he knew, yet this was the first time he’d ever personally encountered someone in the “void” as she called it. “Where do you work?”

He could feel her withdrawal again like a physical thing. Who’d she think he was, anyway?

The thought had him looking more sharply at her smooth, oval face. There was no question that she was pretty. But she had a wide-eyed earnestness about her that was disconcertingly disarming. “Are you new to the area, too?”

“Pretty much.” She swiped her hand over her forehead, leaving her bangs in disheveled spikes, and another smear of blood in its wake.

“Then as a Seattle lifer, I can’t have you thinking we’re hogs on the running trails.” He put his arm around her again, and this time she didn’t protest. He took part of her weight as they laboriously stepped along the path. It would have been much more expedient for him just to tote her entirely, but this time he kept his mouth shut on the reasoning.

“On the left.”

He looked over his shoulder at the runner bearing down on them and moved the girl out of the way with plenty of time as the young guy trotted past.

“Worked for him,” Gray pointed out.

She gave a soft half laugh, as if she couldn’t quite prevent it, even though she wanted to. “He also wasn’t going eighty in a thirty-mile zone.”

He knew he’d been putting on the speed. Trying to outrun the problem hanging over him. “You should visit the hospital,” he said again. “The bill won’t be a problem,” he assured somewhat drily.

“I suppose you’re another one of those guys who made a fortune in the dot-coms or something.” She flicked him a glance from beneath those long, soft lashes.

“Or something,” he murmured, giving her another measuring look. It wasn’t arrogant of him to say that he was somewhat well-known, particularly in the Seattle area. Either she was a master of understatement, or she hadn’t recognized him. Once he told her his name, though, she undoubtedly would. “Where’d you say you moved from?”

Her eyebrow arched. “I didn’t.”

They rounded another curve in the path. It was beginning to level out. Another quarter mile, he knew, and they’d be back at the lot where his BMW was parked. “If you won’t let me take you to the hospital, at least let me get you to a clinic. You need some first aid, here. Even you must admit that.”

She stopped her laborious limp of a walk and gave him a searching look. “Why are you doing this?”

“That’s an odd question.”

“Why?”

“I plowed over you.”

“Well—” she looked slightly discomfited “—I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Big is a relative term,” he countered. “I could fit you in my pocket.”

“Or your trunk.”

He frowned at the flat statement. “Believe me, honey, you’re safe with me.”

She looked away again.

“And if you’re so wary of strangers, why do you run at this hour of the morning? It’s just now getting light and there are hardly any people here.”

“I fit it in before work.” She still sounded stiff. “Why are you here at this hour?”

“I fit it in before work,” he returned.

Her lips compressed. “Well, there you go, then.” She began limping along again, faster this time, but no less awkwardly. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really…well, I really don’t need your coddling. And I have things to do before I go to work.”

He could see the parking lot. There was only one car.

His.

“You plan to walk back home, then, do you?”

“That’s how I got here.”

There was no question that she’d decline if he suggested he drive her there. It was an odd position for him. There were people who liked him for who he was, and who didn’t for the very same reason. But he’d never once been looked at with such wary distrust by another person.

He didn’t know whether to laugh at himself for his own surprise at that, or whether to applaud her caution.

He had a million things on his schedule that day, not least of which was a meeting with Harry about the upcoming release of their latest operating platform. But he couldn’t deny his reluctance at letting the girl just walk away.

And not only because of the whispering inside his head that hadn’t ceased even when he’d stopped running.

Why else would he have noticed that this woman who didn’t seem to know him wore no rings on her slender fingers; showed no evidence of having recently taken any off?

It was expedience that motivated him.

Not the way those wide eyes beckoned. Soft. Deep.

“Can I call someone for you? Your husband? Boyfriend?”

“Don’t have one.”

He let that settle inside him.

“Since you won’t go the doctor route, will you at least let me stock you up with antiseptic and bandages?”

She looked torn, confirming his suspicion that she hadn’t been exaggerating about wanting to avoid another bill. Even one so minor as first aid supplies. “It’s the least I can do—” He lifted his brows, waiting.

“Amelia,” she provided after a moment. “Amelia White.”

Brown, he determined, now that the sunlight was breaking over them in earnest. Her eyes were brown with a mix of golden flecks. “Nice to meet you, Amelia. I’m—” He barely even hesitated, which just proved he was as manipulative as people said. “Matthew. Gray,” he tacked on.

“I suppose that’s yours.” She nodded toward the BMW. “Matthew Gray.”

There was denying, and there was denying. “Company car.” Could it really be so easy to meet a woman who didn’t know who he was?

Thankfully oblivious to the devil inside his head that laughed uproariously at his piqued ego, she made a soft humming sound. “What kind of company?”

“Sales,” he improvised.

“Sales must be good.” She said it so mildly and seriously he wasn’t certain whether he imagined the sarcasm or not.

“They’re not bad. Are you going to make me call a cab for you? Never mind. I can see by your expression that I am.”

She shrugged a little. “Just yesterday I told my niece, Molly, not to talk to strangers, even when they seem friendly. What kind of example would I be setting if I don’t follow my own advice?”

Niece. Not daughter.

“When you put it that way, how can I argue?” He helped her across the lot and she waited, shapely seat propped against the hood of his car while he retrieved his cell phone and called for a cab. It was a salve to his conscience that he actually called information himself to get the number, spoke with the cab company himself. Ordinarily, he would simply have made one call to Loretta and let her deal with the details.

Task accomplished, he joined her at the front of his car. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the hood. “How old is your niece?”

“Ten.” She peered at her scraped palms, slowly picking out small pieces of gravel. “Do you have kids?”

“No.” He’d made sure of that. Now it was just one more complication.

Her eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

“You look surprised.”

She shrugged and pressed her palms carefully together. “No. Just most men your age—” She broke off, flushing, when he couldn’t contain a snort of laughter.

“You’re hell on my ego, Amelia. I don’t quite have one foot in the grave yet.”

Her cheeks went even pinker, which just made him wonder how long it had been since he’d encountered a female who could still blush. Nobody that he’d dated in the last twenty years, that was for damn sure.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, patently lying.

“That I’m old enough to have kids as grown as you?”

She shook her head. “Hardly. Not unless you were very precocious.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough.” She shot him a look from the corner of her eyes as if realizing how her comment might—just might—come across to a man.

“What’s it going to take before you decide I’m not such a stranger?”

She turned her head when they heard a car.

It was the cab, inconveniently and firmly disproving the theory that they took forever to arrive.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to let you know.” She straightened from the car and limped toward the distinctive, yellow taxi.

Gray easily beat her to the cab’s door, opening the rear one for her. While she settled herself inside, he leaned in the driver’s open window and settled enough cash on the driver to take Amelia to the nearest drugstore and then home—wherever that might be. Then he begged a business card off the guy and wrote his personal cell phone number on the back of it. The only people who had the number were his family, his attorney and Loretta.

He went around to Amelia’s side again and handed her the card. “Call me if you need anything. Anything.”

She took the card from him, being careful not to brush his fingers.

More stranger-danger, or was it caution of a different nature?

“The driver said he’ll stop at the drugstore for you.” He handed her the smallest bills he’d had left in his money clip—two fifties. “If this doesn’t cover what you need, you call me.”

She waved away the cash, looking annoyed. “This isn’t necessary.”

He folded the bills in half and leaned in over her.

She clamped her lips shut, pressing herself solidly back against the seat.

He smiled faintly and deliberately tucked the bills at her hip, right beneath that rolled-over waistband. He ignored the way her skin felt—cool and warm all at once.

And silky.

Definitely silky.

“Believe me, Amelia,” he told her softly. “It’s very necessary.”

Then he straightened and closed the cab door, taking her wide-eyed expression with him as he headed toward his own car.

Find. Wife. Find. Wife.

“Maybe,” he murmured under his breath and watched the cab slowly turn out of the lot, carrying the blushing Amelia White away.

Of course in his case, finding a wife was only part of his problem. He also needed a child.

Chapter Two

The moment the parking lot was out of sight through the cab’s windows, Amelia’s shoulders collapsed with relief.

Dumb, dumb, dumb, Amelia, she thought silently. You had your chance to confront the man in person!

And what had she done?

Gotten into the cab, alone.

Matthew. She shook her head at the name he’d given her, looking blindly out at the park where she’d been running now for the past several weeks.

What a liar.

Not that she’d expected anything else of the man given his treatment of Daphne.

“Miss, I don’t mind driving around until the meter hits the roll your fella gave me—” the gray-haired cabbie shot her a grin over his shoulder “—but it might be easier if you’d just give me your address.”

“He’s not my fella,” she assured, suppressing a shiver. It appalled her that it was a shiver, though, and not a shudder.

In the flesh, Grayson Hunt, aka, Matthew Gray, hadn’t been quite what she’d expected.

He was supposed to be the devil incarnate. He’d toyed with her sister, only to toss Daphne aside when she’d needed him. To this day he continued to deny the child he and Daphne had created together. Amelia had expected to feel nothing but revulsion for the man who wielded his power like some despot over the lesser beings he used as playthings.

But what she had felt was not so easily defined.

She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, but winced at even that mild contact against her abraded palms. She lowered them to her lap only to snatch at the money he’d slid beneath her waistband.

How easily he’d dropped the cash on her, even when she’d tried to avoid it.

Too bad he didn’t take his other, far more important responsibilities so seriously.

She rolled the bills into a tight cylinder. If she’d ever hoped to make an impression on the great Grayson Hunt that she was a serious adversary, she’d definitely shot that right down into the dust.

Typical, typical Amelia.

She never had been any good at confrontations. Why should she be, when it was ever so much easier to be the world’s doormat?

“Miss?” the driver prompted.

She jerked, feeling foolish for letting Grayson Hunt distract her so deeply, and gave the driver the address of Daphne’s apartment. She’d moved into it to be with the children when it had become apparent that Daphne would not be returning to her home anytime soon.

“There a pharmacy close by?”

“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I just don’t know.” The only pharmacy she’d been in was the one at the hospital where Timmy had been born. “There’s a corner grocery, though. That ought to do.” She didn’t often shop at Heller’s, because she’d realized right off that the prices were higher than the larger shopping center that took two buses to get to.

The cabbie grunted, whether in agreement or not she didn’t know, nor did she particularly care. He was taking her home, and her aching knees were glad of it.

Of course, she ought to know more about the businesses surrounding the apartment, considering she’d been living in Seattle for three months now. But her time had been spent dealing with the disaster of Daphne’s life. Disaster caused by none other than Grayson Hunt.

Medical bills. Doctors. Hospitals. Lawyers. The red tape of being named the children’s guardian and more red tape. And of course, there were the children to care for.

Jack was twelve and alarmingly self-sufficient given the situation with his mother. Two years younger was Molly, who only spoke in whispers these days. Finally, there was Timmy. Three months old and as sweet and warm as a ray of sunshine, and never once held in the arms of his mother, Daphne.

Amelia stared out the window, weeks beyond tears now. She’d shed plenty in the past few months. First, when she’d stood in the hospital emergency room to hear that her sister had suffered a stroke during labor. Next during the three weeks it had taken before Daphne regained consciousness. It soon became clear that she didn’t recognize her own children, much less her only sister. Amelia had cried at night when she knew the children were asleep because for as long as she could remember it had just been her and Daphne against the world.

She ought to have been able to protect Daphne against what had happened.

She should have come to Seattle earlier when Daphne had admitted she’d gotten pregnant during her ill-fated and not-brief-enough affair with Grayson Hunt. Particularly once he’d made it clear to Daphne that he was not going to acknowledge their child.

Amelia had wanted Daphne to take the matter to court, but Daphne wouldn’t do so then—and couldn’t now.

She could hardly blame her, though, considering the way they’d grown up. Their father had only grudgingly acknowledged them because the courts had forced him to pay child support to their mother, not because he’d loved them.

Daphne had grown up always searching for love and the kind of family she’d wished they’d been.

Amelia, on the other hand, had resisted those very same things. Oh, she’d had a marriage planned, certainly. To a man who’d seemed to be on the same career-oriented, nonbaby track that she’d chosen.

“This the grocery store you meant?”

She realized the cab had stopped at the curb alongside the small neighborhood store. “Yes, it is. Thanks. You really will wait?”

“Told your fella I would.”

“He’s not—” She shook her head, dropping that battle just as she dropped most battles. “I appreciate it.”

She reached for the door and laboriously climbed out. Much as she’d have preferred to head straight to the apartment, she knew there wasn’t much there in the way of first aid supplies, except plastic bandage strips decorated with Molly’s favorite cartoon character and the baby Tylenol that had come home from the hospital with Timmy. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, the only cash she had to her name was tucked in her purse back at the apartment and it had Food for the Children written all over it.

Grayson Hunt had given her more than enough to cover her needs for now and her pride would just have to suffer using it.

Her pride had taken quite a few lumps since she’d moved to Seattle. Priorities in her life had been dramatically reordered to focus on the children. On Daphne’s care.

Inside the shop, there was one miserly shelf filled with bandages and ointments. Mindful of the prices that were as ridiculously high as she’d remembered, she selected the bare minimum, and added a loaf of fortified bread and an enormous jar of peanut butter—Jack never seemed to get enough of the stuff. She left the store with her bag and change that would be better used at her usual shopping center.

The cabbie was still waiting, and she must have made a pretty pathetic sight, for he actually met her on the sidewalk to take her purchases from her.

He helped her into the backseat of the cab again, tsking under his breath. “Girls these days,” he said. “Taking all kinds of treatment.”

Amelia flushed. “I fell while I was running.”

He looked skeptical as he closed the door on her and got back behind the wheel. “Your fella rich?”

“He’s not my…yes. I guess he’s rich.” She held the bulging sack on her lap.

The cabbie shrugged. “Lotta rich guys here. You can do better. Find yourself a nice young man that does an honest day’s work.”

Despite herself, Amelia felt a sharp pang. She’d had a nice young man who did an honest day’s work.

He just hadn’t wanted to keep her. Not when her coworker Pamela had offered more tempting treats.

Passion.

Kids.

She pushed aside the thoughts. John had fallen way down the list of things she needed to be worrying about.

She left the cab a short time later when the driver stopped in front of her building, and she figured there was one bright side to the events of the morning. She obviously didn’t have to worry about the cabbie having recognized Grayson Hunt’s face. The man would probably have said something if he had.

She pushed through the squeaking door of the building, only to come face-to-face with the Out of Order placard affixed to the center of the dented elevator doors. She’d gotten so used to seeing it that she’d stopped noticing it.

But now, with her entire body feeling like one big, scraped-up bruise, she looked from the inoperable elevator to the narrow staircase on the opposite side of the small vestibule. Sighing, she put her foot on the first step.

Only six more flights to go.

By the time she made it to her floor, her stomach was pitching with nausea and the thin plastic loops of the grocery bag were cutting into her wrist. Three doors down, she stopped and leaned her forehead wearily against the doorjamb. Jack would be waiting inside, she knew. Capably in charge of Molly and the baby, even though Amelia always had her neighbor, Paula, on alert to watch out for the children, too. Not that Jack appreciated that. He considered himself too old for such supervision. She finally lifted her free hand and tapped her knuckles against the woefully thin wood.

Sure enough, Jack must have been waiting and watching through the peephole, because she immediately heard the slide of locks and he yanked the door open almost before she’d stopped knocking.

His eyes, as dark a brown as his mother’s and already on a level with Amelia’s, took in her disheveled appearance without expression. “What happened?” He didn’t comment on the lateness of her return. She was ordinarily back an hour earlier.

“I tripped. I’m fine.” It was easier than explaining what had really happened. He just believed that she was an avid runner. Not that she’d been staking out that park, hoping for an opportunity to run into Grayson Hunt.

He stepped back and took the bag when she handed it to him. He looked inside. “Bread’s kinda squashed.”

“I’ll make bread pudding out of the worst of it,” she told him. The dessert would be a treat, for once.

Now that she was inside the apartment, she realized how cold she’d gotten outside, and she pulled an aging cardigan off the coatrack by the door and swung it around her shoulders. “Timmy?”

“He’s still asleep.”

It was a small miracle. The baby had only recently begun sleeping through the night, though she’d have to get him up quickly enough when she went to work. “And Molly? Is she ready for school yet?” Jack was already dressed in his uniform of tan chinos and navy-blue sweater, though his feet were bare.

He shrugged, poking through the items in the bag. “She’s still in the bathroom.”

Amelia took the gauze pads and antiseptic cream from Jack and headed into the kitchen that opened off to the left of the door.

Her niece and nephew had obviously eaten breakfast, because there were two cereal bowls and spoons sitting in the sink basin, already rinsed. A tall tin of baby formula was on the counter, too, and when she opened the refrigerator door, she saw several prepared bottles stacked neatly inside.

One less task to do. She closed the refrigerator door, eyeing her nephew. “You didn’t have to do that. But thanks.”

He shrugged again, and hitched his hip onto one of the simple wooden stools that were lined up at the breakfast counter opposite the tiny kitchen. “If you’re fine, why’re you limping?” He opened the peanut butter and peeled back the protective seal, then lifted the jar, sniffing at it slightly.