The Bravo Billionaire

Chapter 5

It was eleven-thirty at night and it was raining when Palmer got the call from the gatehouse. The butler found Jonas at his desk in the study.

“Ms. Emma Lynn Hewitt at the main gate, sir.”

Jonas shut the lid on his laptop, aware suddenly of the feel of his own blood, the hot surge of it through his veins. “Tell them I’m expecting her and let security know she’s on the way up.”

“Of course.”

“Show her in here when she gets to the house.”

“I’ll do just that, sir.”

Palmer left him.

Jonas got up and went to the bank of windows nearest the desk. He stared out at the night, at the lacy shadows of the jacarandas moving in the wind and the waving branches of the palms. The hard warm August rain pinged against the leaded-glass panes, glittering as it slithered down.

The study was at the front of the house. After a time, he saw her headlights cut the night. The lights slid past the window where he stood and stopped not far from the front portico. They went dark.

Jonas didn’t move. He waited, standing absolutely still.

Soon enough, he heard the door behind him open. “Ms. Hewitt,” Palmer announced.

Jonas turned.

She stood in the doorway, Palmer close behind her. She wore an ordinary gray raincoat thrown over a curve-hugging shirt of some sort of elasticized lace. The shirt didn’t quite meet the waist of her clinging white bell-bottomed pants. His glance moved down. She wore rain-wet platform sandals on her feet. There was purple polish—polish the same color as the tight lace shirt—on her toes.

“Hello, Jonas.”

He met her gaze. Her eyes were very green right then. And troubled. Raindrops glittered in her pale hair.

“Thank you, Palmer,” Jonas said.

The butler left them.

“I want to see Mandy,” Emma Lynn said.

“She’s asleep.”

“I’m not going to wake her up. I just…I have to see her.”

“Why?”

“I meant what I told you, Jonas. I have been making up my mind.”

“Fine. Why is it necessary for you to see my sister?”

She seemed at a loss for a reason, only looked at him, an urgent kind of look, through those troubled green eyes.

He left the window and approached her. Her eyes widened as he got close, as if she feared his nearness. But she didn’t step back.

He went past her. “This way.”

Emma followed Jonas out to the entry hall, with its ebony-inlaid walnut floor and its coffered and arched cathedral ceiling rising three stories high. The grand foyer, Blythe had always called it.

Jonas began to climb the curving staircase. Emma fell in step behind him.

Mandy’s rooms were on the second floor. Jonas went past the dark playroom and entered the bedroom. Lightning flashed once, bright and hard, outside. For a split second, the yellow and blue walls stenciled with dragonflies and dancing frogs were cast into sharp relief.

Then the room plunged into shadow again. The rain drummed away outside, a low sort of sighing sound.

Mandy had graduated from her crib to a big white four-poster several months ago. She lay in the center of the roomy bed, on her side, the quilted yellow and green comforter covering her to her waist, both hands tucked beneath her plump chin. Her thick, silky curls looked very dark against the yellow pillow.

Emma tiptoed to the bed and stood looking down, painfully aware of Jonas, so silent and watchful, in the shadows behind her.

Mandy yawned, then let out a small, contented sigh. She rolled to her back, flopping her arms up and out, so that her hands lay palms-up on the pillow at either side of her head. Her little fists tightened, then went lax again.

As Emma stared at those small, perfect hands, it almost seemed she could hear Blythe’s voice in her mind….

“Am I crazy, Em? Am I totally irresponsible, to want a baby so much at this time in my life?”

“No, you are not crazy. Not crazy at all.”

It had been a Saturday. The Saturday after Thanksgiving. They’d been Christmas shopping. And they’d stopped in at a Mexican restaurant on Melrose for lunch.

Blythe had leaned toward Emma across their table, her face earnest, her voice low. “I want…I guess I want a chance to do right by a child, to help someone grow up and to do a good job of it. I wasn’t there, when it mattered, for Jonas.” She sat back, her eyes suddenly far away and dark with pain. “And with my other baby, I never even had a chance.”

Emma was the one leaning closer then. “Blythe, don’t do this to yourself. What happened was not your fault. Not in any way.”

But Blythe shook her head. “I could have been stronger. I should have been stronger. Jonas needed me then. And I failed him terribly.”

Emma had said what Aunt Cass would have said. “You can’t live in yesterday. You can only live right now.” Then she’d added what she really thought. “And right now, today, you would make a wonderful mother.”

“Oh, do you think so?”

“You bet.”

Blythe looked so young at that moment, sitting back in the booth, a soft smile on her face—but then, she had always looked years younger than her real age. And she’d been blessed with lots of energy. Until the illness that claimed her so suddenly, she was a person who just brimmed with life.

Emma asked, “But could you? I mean, aren’t there laws about how old you can be?”

Blythe picked up her water glass and raised it, as if in a toast. “Money and influence do have their uses.” She set the glass down without drinking from it. “However, there is no getting around the problem of Jonas. He would be furious.”

Emma dipped a chip in salsa and popped it into her mouth. “Well, fine. Let him be furious. It is not his decision.”

“But if anything happened to me in the next few years, he could end up being the baby’s guardian.”

“Blythe. Nothin’ is going to happen to you.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But if something did happen, you and I both know that Jonas is not emotionally equipped to bring up a child. He would need help, Emma.”

Emma crunched another chip. “Now, come on. You weren’t listenin’ to me, were you? I said that nothin’ is going to happen to—”

“Would you be there? That is what I’m asking you, Emma. It’s a great deal to ask, and I know it. But it’s very important to me. To think that I could count on you to help out, to give Jonas a little…guidance, if something happened to me.”

On the bed, Mandy sighed again and turned her darling little face toward the far wall. Emma stared at the curve of her beautiful cheek.

Would you be there?

Emma had looked across the booth at her friend and said, “Yes. You know that I would. If it ever comes to that—which it will not—I will be there to help out.”

Emma had said yes. Yes, after all, is what a person should always try to say to a friend. It had been a promise. A promise she’d been foolishly certain that she would never have to keep…

Emma turned from the sleeping child. Jonas was waiting for her in the shadows. She nodded. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. She did, as far as the upstairs hall. Then he took the lead again. They went back the way they’d come, down the curving stairway, through the grand foyer, along another hallway to the room the butler had called the study, with its beautiful rugs, inviting velvet-covered chairs and pretty jewel-paned windows.

Jonas shut the door. “Take off your coat. Have a seat.”

“No. I won’t stay long.”

He stared at her, a probing, knowing look that caused her stomach to go all jittery. She shivered.

One corner of his mouth lifted the tiniest bit in the Jonas Bravo version of a smile. “You are nervous.”

Why deny it? “You bet I am.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Lord, give me strength, Emma thought.

She wrapped her raincoat closer around herself, yanked her shoulders back and announced, “All right, Jonas. I’m willin’ to do what Blythe wanted me to do. I will marry you. For one year.”

Chapter 6

Jonas found, surprisingly, that he was relieved. It wasn’t the best decision she could have made. He would have liked it a lot better if she’d simply agreed to stay the hell out of his and Mandy’s lives.

But it could have been worse. At least this way, in a year when they divorced, there would be no doubt that Mandy would stay with him.

“No more stalling,” he said. “We’ll get married right away.”

Those eyes, moss green at that moment, widened. She didn’t speak, but she did nod.

Fine. He’d take that nod as a yes. “And another thing…”

She frowned. “What?”

Jonas did not consider Emma Lynn a gold digger. She might have platinum hair and a wardrobe straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, but in the past week, the woman had shown herself to be burdened with an excess of integrity.

Still, a man in his position couldn’t be too careful. “I’ll expect you to sign a prenuptial agreement. I’ll settle a few million on you, but that’s all you’ll get out of me.”

She stiffened. And her soft red mouth became a firm line. “I don’t need a few million from you, Jonas Bravo. You make out those papers to say I get nothin’—and you get nothin’ of my fortune, either.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. As the sound escaped him, he realized it was something he didn’t do all that often. He composed himself, asked, quite seriously, “What fortune is that, Emma Lynn?”

She had that cute little turned-up nose of hers aimed at the ceiling. “The fortune I’ll earn soon enough, you watch me.”

He was watching. And he was thinking that she did possess a certain spunky charm. She had just succeeded in amusing him. And that was a rare thing. Women so seldom amused him anymore.

Maybe he’d become jaded. There had, after all, been an excess of women in his life during his mid-to-late twenties. All of them had been beautiful and bright and so clever. But sooner or later, they all wanted more than he wanted to give them. He would move on.

The endings of affairs tended to be unpleasant—all those tears and impassioned recriminations. Gradually, he’d come to the conclusion that the great sex at the beginning of a romance just wasn’t enough to make up for all the big emotional scenes at the end. So he had dated less and less until, in the past two or three years, he found that he wasn’t dating at all.

But he had to admit that sometimes he missed having a woman in his life. He missed the feel of a soft, warm body beneath him in bed. He missed kissing. Yes, he really had liked kissing. He liked the taste of women, the sweetness of their mouths beyond the soft boundary of their lips.

Emma Lynn, he couldn’t help but notice, had a very pretty mouth, not too wide, but with full lips. Her mouth was slightly open at the moment. He could see her nice white teeth, which were just the slightest bit overlapping in front—not perfect.

Strange. He liked that.

He also was finding that he’d begun to like that mole above her lip on the right side, the way it slid into shadow when she smiled.

He moved a step closer to her, took in a careful breath.

Yes. A fresh, sweet, scent. Like roses—roses wet with morning dew.

It probably wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant to have her in bed. In fact, having sex with his wife…that could be an interesting diversion. He doubted the attraction would last the entire year, but why not make the most of it while it did?

He wanted to touch her, to reach out and run his finger along her cheek.

Had he ever touched her? He didn’t believe so. He didn’t believe he’d ever so much as taken her hand.

That was odd, wasn’t it? It had been five years since his mother had first introduced them. He remembered that introduction clearly. He had heard them, the two of them, laughing together in the living room off the grand foyer. Or perhaps laughing wasn’t the word for it. They were giggling, like a pair of teenage girls sharing secrets. He’d decided to investigate.

He’d pushed open the tall double doors. And there was his mother in her Chanel and pearls, sitting on one of the striped silk sofas with a way-too-sexy blonde. The blonde wore a very red, very revealing pair of shorts and a skimpy halter top.

His mother had glanced over at him in the doorway. “Jonas, come in. You must meet Emma Lynn…”

He had not come in. He had nodded a curt greeting and bowed from the room, pulling the doors shut as he went.

After that, there’d been no real occasion to touch Emma Lynn. No reason he would want to. She irritated him, and she’d never seemed particularly fond of him, either.

Well, now he was going to marry her—for a limited time, anyway. And he’d decided he’d probably take her to bed. He did want to touch her now. So he would. He reached out his hand.

Emma gulped.

Omigoodness. Jonas was going to touch her. Now why in the world would he go and do that?

She knew she should say something, move back, flinch away.

But she didn’t. She remained absolutely still as his big, square hand brushed at her hair, slid along her cheek—and then dropped away.

They were standing just inside the door of his study. And now neither of them was moving. Emma felt that she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Could hardly even breathe.

Jonas Bravo had touched her.

And now, he was looking at her so strangely. The very air felt changed. Charged. It seemed to vibrate with the tension between them—a whole new kind of tension. The sexual kind.

Emma’s silly throat had gone bone-dry. She gulped again.

What was this? She did not need this—to get all hot and bothered over Blythe’s big old bully of a son.

Okay, they were getting married. But there wasn’t going to be any funny stuff, no there was not. Blythe’s will hadn’t said a thing about the two of them sleeping together. Emma was going to open him up and teach him a little about giving and caring.

But sex? Uh-uh. There was no need for that and they were not going to go there.

“Um. It’s getting late, isn’t it? I’d better be headin’ out.”

Jonas allowed himself a second smile—this one more obvious than the first.

Yes, he was thinking. There it was, beneath the irritation. Attraction. Mutual attraction. Interesting.

And she was completely bewildered by it. Not prepared for it, fighting it, even.

Jonas felt better by the second.

The way he saw it, Emma Lynn Hewitt’s confusion provided a clear opportunity. It represented his chance to get the upper hand with her. And if there was one thing that Jonas Bravo understood, it was the importance of getting and keeping the upper hand.

He moved in closer. Her eyes got wider. “When?” he asked softly.

She actually licked those pretty full lips. “Um…what?”

“The wedding. When?”

She only stared at him, her gaze sliding from his mouth, to his eyes, then back to his mouth.

Imagine that. Emma Lynn Hewitt had nothing to say.

He answered the question for her. “I’ll tell you when. Tomorrow. First thing. We’ll fly to Vegas. We can be back in L.A. by tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” She looked more bewildered by the second. She also looked aroused. Jonas decided he liked her that way. Aroused and bewildered. And at a loss for words.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “I have some important meetings on Wednesday. I’ll need to be back in town for those.”

“Oh. Important meetings. Of course.”

Jonas found himself debating the pros and cons of a kiss. He did want to taste her—but no. Waiting would be better. Tomorrow night, he’d be kissing his wife.

The idea sent a bolt of heat through him. All at once, he was rock-hard.

Yes. It could be amusing, to be married for a year.

Marriage wasn’t for him. He never would have willingly agreed to such a thing. But since his dotty mother had fixed it so he had to marry, well, at least he’d be marrying a woman who, he might as well admit it now, had begun to intrigue him.

She was so deliciously contradictory. The high moral standards, the do-it-to-me shoes…

And it was only temporary. Might as well make the best of it.

“I’ll pick you up at your house,” he said. “Be packed and ready. Say, ten o’clock?”

“Ten. Tomorrow morning? I don’t…it’s all so fast…” She was hedging suddenly, backing toward the door.

Perhaps, he decided, a kiss was in order, after all.

“Emma Lynn.”

“What?”

“Stand still.”

She froze—but her mouth kept going. “I…I have to go. Really. I can’t—”

“Soon.” He closed the space she’d put between them.

She looked up at him, her eyes jewel-green now, soft lips slightly parted. “Uh. No. I think I should go now.”

He bent his head, brought his mouth to a distance of one inch from hers. “Now?”

“Now…”

He hardly had to move at all, just that inch—and he had her mouth. She gasped, and then she stiffened.

He remained absolutely still, mouth to mouth with her, waiting.

Until she sighed. Her breath was sweet, as if she’d been eating apples. And the dewy-rose scent of her was all around him.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he took her shoulders and very gently pushed the raincoat away. It collapsed to the floor.

She made a small, urgent sound in her throat, a word that didn’t quite take form. A protest, a plea? He couldn’t have said.

And he didn’t care. Her mouth parted a tiny bit more. He slipped his tongue inside and pulled her body in to his.

Chapter 7

The kiss went on for a long, long time.

Somewhere in the back of Emma’s mind, a voice that sounded very much like her aunt Cass scolded her roundly, telling her to stop this foolishness, to stop it right now.

But Emma was not listening to the wise voice of her dead aunt. She was too busy kissing Jonas back, moaning and sighing, rubbing her shameless self against him, running her hands over his huge hard shoulders, along his big neck and up into his thick brown hair.

My goodness, the man knew how to use that tongue of his. And she didn’t mean for talking, no she did not. And his hands were every bit as busy as her hands, sliding all along her rib cage, and around to her back, then cupping her bottom and yanking her in even closer to him.

He was on her like paint. And she was loving it—loving the feel of those big hands on her skin when he pushed up the puckered lace of her shirt and caressed what he uncovered.

Her breasts were just aching for him to hurry up and get there. And she was, well, she was getting very damp, real humid down south, everything opening and softening, hungry and ready.

He was ready, too. She could feel him, down at the base of her belly—hard, wanting her. Just like she wanted him.

This couldn’t be happening. With Jonas Bravo, of all people. They didn’t even like each other.

Did they?

She moaned. He moaned. His tongue did naughty things to her tongue and his hands, like her hands, would not be still.

Until he grasped her shoulders.

And, very gently, pushed her away.

Her eyes popped open. He was holding her at arm’s length, those incredible hands of his firm on her shoulders. She stared at him. His lips looked bruised. She didn’t even want to think about what her lips must look like. They had kissed so hard and long, they’d probably injured themselves.

“Time to go home, Emma Lynn,” he said tenderly.

“Home,” she repeated, in the voice of a woman hypnotized.

He smoothed her hair and tugged on the hem of her shirt, which had gotten all bunched up beneath her bra. Then he knelt and scooped up her coat. “Turn around.”

She obeyed, still feeling as if she’d been sucked in to some kind of trance. Her body felt all quivery, and her brain felt way too slow, as if someone had filled her head with big, soft handfuls of fluffy cotton balls.

“Give me your arm,” he said, that rough-velvet voice of his driving her crazy, making her wish she could just turn around and throw herself on him, just climb him like a tree.

But some shred of dignity must have remained to her. She did not act on her wish. She did what he told her to do. She gave him her arm. He put it into the sleeve of her coat.

“Now the other arm.”

She gave him that one, too. He guided the coat up and settled it onto her shoulders.

“There,” he said, and touched her, at the nape of her neck. She shivered. He made a low, knowing sound in his throat, and he rubbed his finger up and down along the back of her neck, causing heated little goose bumps to rise, making her shiver all over again.

She let her head drop forward, giving him easier access, and she couldn’t stop the tiny moan that pushed its way out of her throat.

He bent closer, laying both hands on her shoulders again. She could feel the size of him, the heat of him at her back. She held her breath. And then his lips were there, on the nape of her neck, so soft and warm and exactly what she longed for.

She moaned again, louder than before.

And he responded by pulling her back against his body. His arms banded around her.

“Jonas,” she whispered, letting her head fall back, into the crook of his shoulder.

He cupped her breasts, testing their weight and fullness. She moaned some more, in pure delight. Oh, it felt so good. So right. To want him. For him to want her.

Then he went still.

Emma didn’t move, either. Better not to. Better to just…wait, for a moment. Until they could let each other go. All at once, she was aware of the rain again, the low, constant sound of it, like a whisper and a roar at once, against the windowpanes.

His hands fell away. He stepped to the side, reached for the door. She moved out of the way so that he could open it.

Then he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his arm. “I’ll walk you out.” He moved toward the door and she went right along with him, her body thrumming, her mind a big fuzzy wad of cotton balls.

The hallways at Angel’s Crest were very wide, plenty of room for two people to walk side by side. He led her out to the grand foyer and opened the huge studded mahogany door, letting in the scent and sound of the rain.

He pulled her out beneath the massive front portico with its row of stone pillars and its mosaic-tile floor, turning briefly to shut the big door, then guiding her on, to the top of the wide steps leading down to the front drive. The warm rain was a soft flood, dripping off the portico roof in silky, glittering sheets.

“Is your car open?”

She nodded.

“Come on, then.”

They ran together, down the steps. They were drenched by the time they reached her red SUV.

He yanked open the door for her. “Get in.”

She stepped up behind the wheel. Her key was in the pocket of her coat. She felt for it, found it, put it in the ignition.

Jonas was still standing there, his hand on her open door, watching her. Rain ran down his face, off the end of his big, blunt nose and along the cleft in his square chin. His beautiful dress shirt clung to his body, outlining the heavy muscles in his shoulders and his arms.

She felt weak inside, looking at him.

And then he leaned toward her and caught her mouth again, hard and hungrily. She tasted the rain, which felt cool on his lips. He opened his mouth, sucking. She sucked right back.