What The Millionaire Wants...: What the Millionaire Wants... / Spencer's Forbidden Passion

 What the Millionaire Wants… by Metsy Hingle

He stared at her for a long moment, long enough for Laura to see his enjoyment in sparring with her turn to something else. Something hot. Something sexual.

“I have another idea what the stakes could be,” he said finally. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like it.”

Laura knew at once what those stakes were. She’d seen it in his eyes the very first time he had looked at her, felt it the other night when he had almost kissed her. That he would even suggest such a thing infuriated her. It also made her stomach tighten, her skin heat. “You’re right. I don’t like it. And despite what you might think, going to bed with you isn’t my idea of a prize.”

He laughed. “That’s a pretty big assumption you’ve made.”

Laura could feel the colour rush to her cheeks. “All right. So what did you have in mind?”

“Forget my idea,” he said, his amusement fading. He inched a step closer. That dark and hungry look was back in his eyes. “I like your idea better.”

Spencer’s Forbidden Passion by Brenda Jackson

He couldn’t deny he wanted her.

Never before had he been so aroused by a woman. And Chardonnay had been fully conscious of the sexual attraction between them, even though in the midst of a business battle they’d attempted to downplay it.

As a plan formed in his mind, Spencer called his lawyer. “Find out which bank plans to loan her the money and let me know immediately.”

He’d have her – one way or another. Chardonnay Russell would be his.

“Yes,” he said through a smug smile. A marriage for love was out of the question for Spencer. But he’d certainly entertain the idea of a marriage for lust…

WHAT THE MILLIONAIRE WANTS…

by

Metsy Hingle

METSY HINGLE

is an award-winning, bestselling author of series and single-title romantic suspense novels. Metsy is known for creating powerful and passionate stories, and her own life reads like a romance novel – from her early years in a New Orleans orphanage and foster care, to her long, happy marriage to her husband, Jim, and the rearing of their four children. She recently traded in her business suits and fast-paced life in the hotel and public-relations arena to pursue writing full- time. Metsy loves hearing from readers. For a free bookmark, write to Metsy at PO Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433, USA or visit her website at www.metsyhingle.com.

Dear Reader,

What is it about those tall, dark and dangerously sexy men that fascinates us? You know the ones I mean. He’s the guy who walks into a room and seems to stand a little taller, the one who has a bit of a swagger in his step. He’s the one with the mischievous smile and a gleam in his eye that says he knows everything there is to know about pleasing a woman and that he’d be happy to show you. You also know that getting mixed up with such a man would be asking for trouble.

Ever wonder what type of woman is brave enough to tangle with Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerously Sexy? Or what type of woman it will take to steal his heart and make him a one-woman man? I did. That’s how I came up with my new book for Desire. I had a wonderful time creating Jackson Hawke and Laura Spencer’s story. I hope you have fun watching them tangle in the boardroom and bedroom on their way to falling in love.

For a commemorative bookmark or to learn about the next book I’m working on, write to: Metsy Hingle, PO Box 3224, Covington, LA 70434, USA or visit me on the web at www.metsyhingle.com.

Happy reading!

Until next time,

Metsy Hingle

For the City of New Orleans and its people

who continue to inspire me

One

“I am not for sale, Mr. Hawke.”

Jackson Hawke bit back a smile as he stared at the woman across the desk. “I’m not trying to buy you, Ms. Spencer. I’m merely offering to employ you.”

“I already have a job,” she informed him with the cool disdain of a true Southern belle. “I’m the general manager of the Contessa Hotel.”

He had to give her points for moxie, Jack thought. He had expected any number of reactions to the news that he had acquired the defaulted bank loan on the small New Orleans hotel. He had made a career of taking over financially troubled companies, revamping them and turning the once-failing operations into profit centers. In each case, his presence was seldom welcome. More often than not his arrival was met with trepidation or anger, and in some cases both. He had expected no less from the owners of the Contessa Hotel. What he hadn’t anticipated was defiance. And defiant was the only way to describe the woman seated across from him. Unfortunately for Ms. Laura Jordan Spencer, her defiance didn’t change the fact that he now owned her family’s hotel. “True. But given the circumstances, your position here could prove to be temporary,” he countered.

“There is nothing temporary about my position here, Mr. Hawke,” she advised him, a hint of temper coloring her voice. “My great grandfather built this hotel nearly a hundred years ago and it’s been owned by the Jordan family ever since. I’m sorry if you were led to believe that we would consider selling the property. But I can assure you, the Contessa is not for sale.”

“I have a receipt for fifteen million dollars that says otherwise,” he told her.

“Which I’m sure the bank will refund you once I’ve straightened out this…this misunderstanding.”

He leaned forward, met her gaze. “Take another look at those documents, Ms. Spencer,” he said, motioning toward the packet of legal papers he’d presented her, which outlined his acquisition of the hotel via her mother’s defaulted bank loan. “There is no misunderstanding. Hawke Industries now owns this hotel.”

Anger flared in her green eyes. “I don’t care what those papers say. I’m telling you there’s been a mistake,” she insisted and punched the button on the intercom. “Penny, try Mr. Benton at the bank again.”

“You’re wasting your time,” he told her. He already knew from his meeting with the bank chairman the previous afternoon that the man had left town that morning.

“The only one wasting my time, Mr. Hawke, is you,” she fired back.

While she waited for her assistant to place the call, Jack used the opportunity to study her more closely. He noted the almond-shaped eyes, the stubborn chin, the smooth skin and lush mouth. She wasn’t classically beautiful or slap-you-in-the-face sexy. But there was something about her, a sensuality that simmered beneath the all-business exterior. Judging by the quelling look she shot him, his appraisal hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had it been appreciated.

At the buzz of the intercom, she grabbed the phone. “Yes. I see,” she said. “Thank you, Penny.”

“Still not available, I take it,” he remarked when she hung up the phone.

“He and his family have left for the Thanksgiving holiday. His office is trying to reach him. When they do, I’ll get this mess straightened out.”

“Talking with Benton isn’t going to change the facts, Ms. Spencer. Your mother pledged this hotel as collateral on a loan and Hawke Industries purchased that note, along with several others, from the bank. Since your mother defaulted on that loan, the Contessa Hotel now belongs to Hawke Industries.”

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “There is no way my mother would have ever pledged the Contessa.”

Tiring of her refusal to accept the obvious, Jack snatched the stack of legal documents, pulled out the collateral mortgage note signed by her mother and slapped it in front of her. “Look at it,” he commanded. “That’s a promissory note signed by your mother, pledging her stock in the Contessa as guarantee on the loan. Are you going to deny that’s her signature?”

Something flickered in her eyes as she stared at the damning document. For the first time since he’d arrived and introduced himself to her as the hotel’s new owner, the lady looked uncertain. Just as quickly it was gone and the defiance was back. “I don’t care what that says. Even if my mother had wanted to use the hotel as collateral for a loan, she couldn’t have.”

“And why is that?”

“Because my sister and I each own ten percent of the hotel’s stock. And neither of us would ever consent to her using the hotel.”

“She wouldn’t have needed your consent—not to pledge her own stock. Which is exactly what she did,” he pointed out.

“My mother would never do such a thing. Not without telling me first.”

There was something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty. There was also a flicker of fear in her eyes. It was that fear that stirred something inside him. “Didn’t you say your mother was out of the country on business?”

She nodded. “She and her husband are opening a nightclub in France.”

“Well, maybe she meant to tell you, but just never got around to it,” he offered, surprising himself with this sudden surge of empathy. He frowned. Emotion was something he never allowed to enter into his business dealings. It was his own cardinal rule. In the dozens of takeovers he’d engineered, no amount of tears, pleas or offers of sexual favors had deterred him from his course.

“She has been busy getting ready for the grand opening.”

But he could tell from the lack of conviction in Laura’s voice that she didn’t believe that telling her about the loan had slipped her mother’s mind any more than he did. He had learned firsthand that when it came to money and sex—blood was no thicker than water. Apparently, Deirdre Jordan Spencer Vincenzo Spencer Baxter Arnaud had sold her daughter’s legacy and hadn’t bothered to inform her of what she’d done.

“At any rate, if, and I’m not saying that she did, but if my mother did pledge her shares of the Contessa as collateral on a loan, I’m sure she didn’t understand exactly what that entailed,” she told him.

Her stubborn denial sobered him. Shaking off his uncharacteristic spurt of compassion, Jack reminded himself that this was business. Sentiment had no place in business. He didn’t intend to let a pretty face, a great pair of legs and a mountain of attitude deter him from his plan. “Or perhaps your mother understood exactly what pledging the hotel as collateral meant.”

She stiffened. “Just what is it you’re implying, Mr. Hawke?”

“I’m not implying anything, Ms. Spencer. I’m simply pointing out that if your mother had wanted to sell the hotel, but knew you would be opposed to it, using it as collateral on a loan and then defaulting on that loan would be a means of accomplishing her goal.”

“How dare you!”

“Why don’t we skip the outrage, Ms. Spencer. You strike me as a smart woman. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. Your mother isn’t interested in this place. Why else would she have dumped it in your lap and left the country? Not that I blame her. The hotel was barely breaking even when your grandfather was alive. Since his death, it’s been losing money steadily.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I won’t waste my breath asking where you got your information.” Temper laced her voice causing the trace of a Southern accent she bore to be more pronounced. “But apparently your source doesn’t have all the facts. If he or she did, they would have informed you that the hotel has shown a steady improvement over the past four months. Whatever difficulties the Contessa may have had in the past, they’re over. The hotel is doing just fine now.”

“Showing a slim profit on last month’s financial statement is a long way from being fine.”

“I—”

Jack held up his hand. “I’m aware of what you’ve done since you took over the management six months ago. But you and I both know that this hotel is in need of major upgrades. I intend to see that it not only survives, but that it dominates the small luxury hotel market in this area.” He paused, then pressed his point home, saying, “Since you own ten percent of the hotel’s stock and are familiar with its operations, I’m willing to allow you to be a part of those plans. Or not. It’s your choice. Either way, I’m prepared to make you and your sister both a fair offer for your stock.”

“I’m not interested in selling my stock. And neither is my sister.”

“Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Spencer. After all, you haven’t heard my offer yet. And neither has your sister.”

“I don’t need to hear it. I don’t—”

“I’ll give you and your sister each two million dollars for your stock. And—”

“I’m not interested.”

“Please, do allow me to finish,” he said pointedly and noted the angry color flooding her cheeks. “In addition, I’m willing to offer you a management contract with the Contessa at a substantial increase in salary. A salary, which, I might add, is far greater than the one you earned when you were working for the Stratton Hotel group or the Windsor,” he added, mentioning the two hotels where his research revealed she had held positions previously.

She hiked up her chin a notch. “Perhaps you should have your hearing checked, Mr. Hawke. As I’ve already told you, I’m not for sale and neither is the Contessa.”

But before he could point out that he already owned the majority of the hotel’s stock, there was a tap at the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Laura,” the perky brunette assistant who had ushered him into the office earlier said from the doorway.

“It’s okay, Penny. What is it?”

“You’re needed downstairs.” She looked over at him, then back at her boss. “You know, for that meeting you scheduled with the kitchen staff.”

“Thank you, Penny. Tell them I’m on my way.”

Jack didn’t miss the look that passed between the two women before her assistant retreated. He suspected it wasn’t a meeting that required Laura Spencer’s immediate presence. More than likely it was another crisis, one of the many that had plagued the hotel in recent years. As beautiful as the Contessa was and the potential profit she would generate for Hawke Industries, age had taken its toll on the structure. The hotel would continue to deteriorate unless it underwent the necessary maintenance and upgrades it so sorely needed. He intended to see that the hotel was returned to its former glory and became profitable—with or without Laura Spencer’s cooperation.

She stood. “As you heard, I’m late for a meeting, Mr. Hawke. So this discussion is over.”

It wasn’t often that he found himself so clearly dismissed and certainly not by someone who was in no position to call the shots. A part of him was annoyed. While another part of him couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Standing, Jack adjusted his gray suit coat. “I suggest you call your attorneys, Ms. Spencer, and have them review the documents I gave you.”

“I intend to.”

“Once you’ve confirmed that Hawke Industries is now the majority stockholder of the Contessa Hotel, I want to meet with you to discuss the hotel’s operations. Preferably, tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t be available tomorrow morning,” she informed him.

“Then the afternoon. Two o’clock okay with you?”

“I’ll be tied up then, too.”

Jack stared at her. Once again, he was surprised by her defiance. His name alone had struck fear in the hearts of many a hardened CEO. Apparently, that wasn’t the case with Laura Spencer. He liked the fact that she wasn’t afraid of him. And he wasn’t averse to the rest of the package, either, he admitted. Under different circumstances he might have entertained the idea of something more personal with her. While he didn’t consider himself to have a specific type, he enjoyed the company of intelligent, attractive women. He knew from her education and work history that Laura Spencer was smart. With her big eyes, soft skin and hair that was some shade between red and brown, she certainly was attractive. The perfect package really—except for her connection to the hotel deal. It was that connection that was the problem. Regardless of how attractive he found her on a personal level, he had no intention of letting it get in the way of business. Reminding himself of the business at hand, he said, “Tomorrow evening then. We can discuss my plans for the hotel over dinner.”

“I already have plans,” she told him.

The intercom buzzed. “Laura, they really need you for that meeting.”

“I’m on my way,” she said. “I have to go.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in suggesting another day or time because you’ll be tied up then, too,” he stated, knowing full well what she was doing. If she agreed to a meeting with him, then she would, in effect, be admitting that everything he had told her was true. Her family no longer owned the Contessa Hotel.

“How perceptive of you, Mr. Hawke. As a matter of fact, my entire week is full and I won’t have a moment to spare.”

“Then I suggest you make time, Ms. Spencer. Because like it or not, you are going to have to deal with me.” And without waiting for her to respond, Jack turned and exited the office.

As she left the hotel’s kitchen, Laura pressed her fingers to her temple. The splitting headache that had started with the arrival of Jackson Hawke earlier was quickly working its way toward a migraine. Nodding to various hotel employees, she made her way across the lobby to the elevators. At least her temperamental chef’s latest emergency—table salt being substituted for kosher salt—had been fixed relatively easily. She’d simply borrowed some kosher salt from a neighboring restaurant so Chef André could finish his masterpiece. Then she had dispatched one of the busboys to the supply house to swap the incorrectly delivered salt. While the celebrity chef she had hired away from a major restaurant caused her a few hassles, the income he generated by keeping the hotel’s dining room filled far outweighed the headaches, she reminded herself. Besides, at the moment dealing with a temperamental chef was the least of her worries. Her real worry was Jackson Hawke. Just the thought of him made the pounding in her head increase.

Laura stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the executive floor. If only the real emergency that Jackson Hawke had dropped in her lap could be solved as easily. Of course, she could always hope that the man was wrong—that her mother hadn’t pledged her hotel stock and that Hawke hadn’t actually bought her note. Laura called up an image of him in her mind’s eye. She thought about the way he’d trained those blue eyes on her, the confidence in his expression, the hard line of his jaw. She sighed. Sure, she could hope he was wrong, Laura told herself. But Jackson Hawke hadn’t struck her as a man who was often wrong about anything.

Stepping out of the elevator, she headed down the corridor toward the block of offices. When she entered the reception area and discovered her assistant on the phone, she retrieved her messages and began to flip through them.

Penny placed her hand over the receiver and mouthed, “Everything okay?”

Laura nodded and motioned for Penny to join her when she was finished with the call. Once inside her own office, Laura snagged a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and walked over to her desk. She opened the side drawer and reached for the bottle of aspirin. After shaking out two tablets, she washed them down with water and then sat in her chair. But five minutes later, Laura could feel the aura starting around the edges of her eyes and she knew the aspirin wasn’t going to cut it this time. She was going to need the pills her doctor had prescribed for the migraines. She hated taking the meds, she admitted. While they knocked out her migraine, they also zapped her energy and made her feel fuzzy for the rest of the day. And today of all days, she needed a clear head and all the energy she could muster.

Shifting her gaze to the credenza, Laura glanced at the framed photo of her with her various half siblings and step-siblings at her mother’s most recent wedding. She looked at the smiling green-eyed blonde beside her—her half sister, Chloe. At twenty-two, Chloe was four years her junior and the product of her mother’s fourth marriage to soap opera star Jeffrey Baxter. An actress living on the West Coast, her sister was into healthy eating and treating the body’s ailments with alternatives other than drugs.

Deciding it was worth a shot to try one of Chloe’s methods before resorting to the pills, Laura began the deep-breathing techniques that her sister had shown her. And because she couldn’t bring herself to chant the mantra aloud without feeling like an idiot, she repeated the words silently.

I can feel my heartbeat slowing. I can feel the blood flowing down my arms, to my fingertips. My fingers are growing warmer. I can feel the tension leaving my body. I am relaxed. I am calm.

Continuing the silent chant, she closed her eyes. But the minute she did so, an image of Jackson Hawke filled her mind. She remembered in vivid detail the cut of the charcoal-gray suit he wore, how the blue in his tie was the exact shade of his eyes. Even seated, he had looked tall and forbidding as he’d told her that he now owned the Contessa. And just thinking of Hawke made her head pound even harder.

“So much for natural healing,” she muttered and opened her eyes. Still reluctant to take anything stronger than aspirin, Laura lowered her gaze to the bottom drawer of her desk.

Don’t do it.

Ignoring the voice in her head, Laura pulled open the drawer and stared at her stash of candy. She had banished the forbidden sweets from her sight two weeks ago in her effort to cut her sugar intake and take off the five pounds she’d been carrying on her hips since Halloween. Biting her lower lip, she recalled the promise she had made to herself only three days ago. No more junk food. That meant no cookies. No candy. No ice cream. No milk-chocolate bars with the gooey caramel inside.

Don’t do it, Laura.

Torn, Laura stared at the tempting treats. Her mouth watered. Still she hesitated. She’d promised herself, no sweets unless it was an emergency. Didn’t Jackson Hawke and a monster headache constitute an emergency? Of course they did, she reasoned. Snatching up the bite-sized chocolate-and-caramel bar, she ripped off the wrapper, bit into the decadent treat and moaned.

“Uh-oh.”

Laura opened her eyes and spied Penny standing in the doorway. She popped the remainder of the forbidden chocolate into her mouth and swallowed. Calories or not, she felt better already, Laura decided.

After taking a seat in the chair across from her desk, Penny glanced at the candy wrapper and said, “Since Chef André didn’t walk out like he keeps threatening to do, I’m guessing that guy Hawke is the reason you deep-sixed the new diet. Who is he, Laura? And what did he want?”

Laura gave her assistant a quick rundown of the situation and the stunned look on the other woman’s face mirrored her own feelings when Jackson Hawke had dropped the bombshell on her an hour earlier. But now that some of the shock had started to wear off, she knew she had to figure out a plan to stop Hawke. “I know this is a shock, Penny. It was to me, too. But I need you to keep quiet about this—at least until I can find out exactly what our position is. If word were to get out, it could cause a panic among the staff and I can’t afford that. It’s been difficult enough getting workers since Hurricane Katrina,” she said, referring to the storm that had nearly destroyed New Orleans in 2005. Not only had the city lost more than half of its population, but the destruction had claimed entire neighborhoods and depleted the workforce. “And any buzz in the marketplace about management changes could set off a run of cancellations, not to mention that we’d probably lose out on any contracts.”