Read The Billionaire's Bidding for Free Online

slipped down to her neck, cupping her hairline, pulling her slowly, inexorably toward him. His head tipped to one side, and she followed his lead, accommodating his advance, waiting, wondering, coming up on her toes in anticipation.
    Then he stopped. She felt his hesitation as if it were her own. Yes, her primal brain screamed. No, her rational mind answered.
    His breath puffed against her skin. “My own deep, dark secret is…” He paused. “That I…” Another pause. “Want…” Then he sighed. “Your financial statements.”
    The words were a dose of cold water.
    And she was glad.
    Truly.
    Kissing Alex would have been a supremely stupid move. Not that she wouldn’t be forced to kiss him at some point during this escapade. But it didn’t have to be in her apartment, while they were alone, while she was half-naked.
    What was she thinking?
    She pulled determinedly away. “Okay. But then you do have to go.”
    He gave her a sharp nod of agreement, blinking away a funny glow that simmered deep in his quick-silver eyes.
    She wasn’t going to explore that glow. She wasn’t even going to think about that glow. This was business.
    All business, she told herself as she crossed to her computer. She clicked a link to the financial server and brought up the last quarter rollups, hitting the print button.
    Alex watched in silence as the printer whirred to life and rapidly spit out twenty pages.
    She scooped them from the tray and briskly handed them over.
    â€œThank you,” he said, as he reached for the doorknob.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” she replied, calculating the seconds until he’d be gone.
    But then he paused, and his flinty eyes narrowed. His lips parted. “Emma—”
    â€œGood night,” she prompted with finality.
    He sucked a breath between his teeth, but he didn’t persist. Instead, he gave a brief nod of resignation. “Good night.”
    And then he was gone. She twisted the door lock behind him, her fingers clamping hard on the metal bolt. Okay that —whatever it was—could not happen again.
    She’d made a deal with Alex. It was no different than her staffing the front desk in Hawaii or taking a stint as a cocktail waitress in Whistler. Her father had always been proud of Emma’s ability to roll up her sleeves and pitch in.
    In this case, maybe she was rolling up her lips. But it was the same thing. She’d kiss Alex eventually, but it would be a business kiss. It would be for show, and it sure wouldn’t happen while they were alone and she was half naked and lusting after his body.
    She shivered, stepping back from the door, telling herself she was doing exactly what her father would have done. She was making the best of a bad situation.
    When her mother died, and he was left with two bereft little girls, he’d picked himself up and dusted himself off. He’d learned to braid their hair, wallpaper their rooms and bake chocolate chip oatmeal monster cookies. When their Montreal hotel burned to the ground, he’d made the best of that, too. With fearless, unflagging optimism, he’d buried his remorse, swept up the ashes and rallied the troops.
    Well, Emma could be fearless. And she could bury whatever knee-jerk hormones were messing with her reaction to Alex. She’d make her father proud or die trying.
    Â 
    Emma was on guard Saturday night.
    When they pulled into Tavern on the Green, she waited until Alex stepped out of the limo before she moved across the back seat. Mindful of the reporters waiting on the other side of the red rope line, she smoothed her champagne cocktail dress, and readied herself for a graceful exit.
    Next to the open door, Alex turned to face her. He gallantly offered his hand, and she bit back a protest. She didn’t want to touch him at all, definitely not first thing. But there was no way to refuse the invitation.
    Surrounded by the tiny white tree lights