Elizabeth Power – Blackmailed Into His Arms: Blackmailed into Bed / The Billionaire's Blackmail Bargain / Blackmailed For Her Baby (страница 9)

Of course, now he knew the last day and a half was more of a fluke than anything else. He’d given her his gold card and a stack of cash in fairly large bills, and she’d apparently found a way to blow through it all. Enough so that she was still busy shopping.

Which didn’t surprise him in the least. Truth be known, he’d given her such a long lead line to prove—to himself, if no one else—exactly what he knew deep down in his bones. Elena Sanchez hadn’t changed. She was still indulgent, self-involved, too beautiful for her own good, and she put her own comforts and desires above the feelings or well-being of others.

The pointed reminder was worth paying a few thousand dollars to his credit card company.

But if she didn’t get back soon, if she made him late for this very important business dinner, he would not only make her pay the charge bill herself, but he’d put her on the first plane back to Gabriel’s Crossing and have her father’s company bought out and in his portfolio by morning.

He swore again and was just turning his wrist to check his watch for the ten millionth time when he heard the door to the suite click open.

“Finally,” he breathed, following that by another grumbled curse.

“Where the hell have you been?” he charged, turning on his heel and marching into the other room.

He expected to find her grinning from ear to ear, her hands full of boutique bags, her arms piled high with ribboned boxes. She’d probably want to show him everything he’d bought her, maybe model some designer dresses and sexy new lingerie.

He might even be willing to sit through a lingerie fashion show … later, after they got back from dinner and he wasn’t in such a foul mood.

“Sorry,” she apologized, rounding the corner of the kitchenette.

She looked rumpled and windblown, her simple, sleeveless cotton blouse and denim skirt wrinkled, her hair starting to fall out of its now-crooked ponytail. Her face and shoulders rosy from the glaring Las Vegas sun.

As far as he could see, there wasn’t a single bag or box anywhere near her.

He paused in mid-step, momentarily confused.

Maybe she was having everything delivered. But just to be sure, he walked the rest of the way across the room and glanced toward the door.

Nothing.

She didn’t look overly happy or bubbly or excited, either, the way most women would after what amounted to a carte blanche shopping spree.

“You’re late,” he pointed out, uncomfortable with the knowledge that she’d knocked him off his guard, managed to sidetrack him from his focus on her whereabouts and their dinner schedule.

“I said I was sorry,” she told him, not the least intimidated by his accusatory tone or thunderous expression. “But I won’t take long to get ready, I promise.”

Pulling the ponytail holder from her hair, she started for the bedroom, already unbuttoning her blouse. “I’ll only be twenty minutes.”

She left the connecting doors open and he could hear her moving around. Shedding clothes. Opening dresser drawers and closet doors. Stepping into the bathroom, out, then in again. The bathroom door closed and he heard the shower turn on.

Regardless of what she said, he fully expected her to take at least an hour to change and do her hair and makeup. He didn’t know any woman who wouldn’t.

A quick glance at his watch showed that if she took an hour—an hour, and not one minute more—they could still make it down to the hotel restaurant on time. Barely, but they would make it.

Strolling into the bedroom, he moved to the dresser where he’d abandoned his cufflinks when he’d heard her come in, trying not to imagine Elena’s wet, soapy, naked body in the generous shower stall. A space large enough to fit two comfortably … in any number of creative positions.

Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to attaching the gold and diamond studs at his wrists. Just because he was annoyed at her tardiness didn’t mean he didn’t still want her. If they weren’t already running late, he’d leave a trail of clothing behind on the walk to the bathroom and join her for a long, enjoyable steam—among other things.

Afraid that he would give in to temptation if he stayed this close to her for much longer, he turned. As it was, he ran the risk of spending the rest of the evening trying to hide an embarrassing arousal.

But before he went a step, his gaze caught on two items on the dresser top. His credit card and the pile of cash he’d handed Elena earlier.

Ignoring the card, he picked up the bills and counted them out. Only twenty-odd dollars missing, from the hundreds he’d given her.

Well, that wasn’t so surprising, he decided. She’d probably charged just about everything all day. The cash could have been used solely for tips or some such.

In the bathroom, the water shut off and he quickly replaced the cash beside the card. He didn’t want her to know he’d fanned through it. And since he would probably have supplied her with the same again tomorrow, he might as well leave them where she’d put them.

But just out of curiosity …

He quickly glanced at the phone number on the back of the credit card, memorizing it, then slipping quietly from the room before she emerged from the bathroom. Closing the door silently behind him, he crossed to the phone on the desk in the far corner.

It took a few minutes to get through to an operator and verify his identity, then a second more to make his request and wait for the answer. Had there been any charges on his account today, and if so, how much did it total?

He thanked the woman on the other end of the line and returned the handset to its cradle, a deep frown marring his brow and tugging his mouth down at the sides.

Zero. Zero charges. His balance was the same as it had been before, and the last purchase was one he’d made himself.

Now he was even more confused than before. She’d been gone all day, on his dime, presumably shopping, yet hadn’t spent more than thirty dollars.

He didn’t know any woman who could shop all day and only spend thirty bucks.

So if she hadn’t been shopping, where had she been and what had she been up to?

Before he could devise a list of possibilities, the bedroom door opened and she stepped out, looking like every man’s fantasy come to life. Her hair was swept up into an artful twist. Her long black gown glittered with silver in the lamplight. A slit ran from her ankles to very high on her thigh, and the front was cut low, fastening around her neck with a single strap, leaving the front of her neck, shoulders and back bare.

She wore minimal jewelry—a couple of rings, a pair of silver string earrings and a small charm on a thin silver necklace that matched the bracelet on her wrist—and three-inch spike heels that caused his blood to thicken and slog through his veins.

“Twenty minutes, as promised,” she said, making a small pirouette where she stood.

The gown showed off her womanly shape as though she were naked, and he suddenly wanted to keep her inside the room with him rather than take her out, so no one else could see her.

“What do you think?”

He thought way too many things, none of them suitable for delicate ears or pre-dinner conversation. After dinner, though … that was a whole different story.

“Good. Good. You look good.” His tongue felt like an old gym sock in his mouth, and even though he knew he wasn’t making much sense, he was content to be able to form words at all. The synapse in his brain was barely firing, cells washing away to join all the others in his body south of the equator.

To buy a few much-needed moments to recover his senses, he cleared his throat and checked his watch. She was right; she’d only taken a little over twenty minutes to get ready, from the time she’d disappeared into the bedroom … twenty-five counting the time he’d wasted standing there feeling speechless and steamrolled.

“Okay. Well, then …” He tugged at his cuffs, straightened his tie and somehow managed to step forward, offering his arm. “Are we ready to go?”

She nodded, meeting him halfway. He noticed the shawl in her other hand and took it from her, draping the long-fringed lace around her shoulders.

“You look amazing,” he said, perhaps belatedly.

“Thank you.”

He pulled open the door, holding it until she’d passed into the hall, then hooked her arm around his elbow again and guided her to the elevator. Their reflection shimmered back at them in the polished golden doors, and he couldn’t help noticing how good she looked standing beside him. Tall, glamorous, gorgeous.

He’d known she was beautiful when he’d suggested this arrangement—a man would have to be blind not to, and even then, any man worth his salt would have a pretty good idea of her charms just from her voice and the way she handled herself.

He’d also known she would make a good impression on his associates. She was funny and charismatic and knew when to put in a few words or hold her tongue while business was being discussed. And there was no arguing she was easy on the eyes.

What he hadn’t counted on was the force of his attraction to her.

Beautiful women were nothing new to Chase Ramsey. He was wealthy, a self-made multimillionaire, which happened to be an attribute that a lot of women apparently found irresistible.