The Billionaire Bargain

The dossier

She almost choked on the wine, blinked, and then, she saw the smile. A prime smile. Rare, like everything valuable, higher on one end than the other.

"I can see this is difficult for you," he said, with a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

"No. I mean, yes. It is." He had no clue!

He set his glass aside, crossed his arms over his chest, and snuggled back as if to watch a movie. "You don't trust me?"

Her heart skipped a nervous beat.

Trust him? She respected him. Admired him. Was in awe of him and, because of his power, even a little afraid of him. And maybe, she realized, she trusted him, too. From what she'd seen, Henri---quiet, solid, heart of gold Henri---had proved to be nothing but a champion for his people. A lion protecting his cubs. When Chloe, assistant two was unable to afford her medical expenses for her twins, Henri paid for them and send her off to Maldives for vacation with her husband.

And when Mrs Warren's husband passed away, the overwrought woman had cried more tears reminiscing about all that Henri had done to support and help her family.

No matter how humiliating this was, how awful her situation and having him know it, she knew, like nothing in her life, he was as steady as a mountain.

Holding his gaze, she replied in all honesty. "I trust you more than I trust anyone."

His face lit up in surprise, and he scraped his chin between two blunt fingers. "And yet you don't tell me what troubles you?"

The thought that he--the man she most honored, would know her life was in such shambles squished her heart like a bug. "I would tell you what I need the money for if I thought it mattered, and I would tell you if that is the only way you'll give it to me."

With an expression that would befit a lone hunting wolf, Henri rose and strode over, then pried the glass from her fingers."come with me."

Unnerved that she couldn't even begin to guess the thoughts in that labyrinth mind of his, Elizabeth followed him down the wide, domed hallway of his penthouse, becoming acutely aware of his formidable frame next to her.

And she couldn't help but wonder if maybe she wasn't a little bit the fool for trusting him after all.

Predatorily, Henri studied her profile, her nose, the untamed, unruly bounce of her curls. She bit her lip in nervousness. Where was he taking her?

Visions of a bedroom flicked across her mind, and her cheeks flamed hot.

He opened the last door for her, and Elizabeth entered the darkened room, shamed at her own quickening pulse.

"Your home office?" She asked.

"Yes."

He flicked on the light switch, and the room burst into life. Bookshelves lined three of the four walls. Another Persian rug formed spread across the sitting area. Five glossy wood file cabinets formed a long, neat row behind his desk. No adornments. No picture frames. No distractions. As fine in taste as the rest of his apartment, with a state of the art computer perched atop a massive desk, his office screamed two words: business only.

"I like it." She strode inside, the knowledge that this was his private, personal space made her blood bubble. Her fingers itched with the overwhelming urge to organize the stacks of papers on his desk.

"I know about your brother, Miss Stone."

Dread sunk like a bowling ball in her stomach. "You do?"

She spun around and when he stepped in the room, Henri achieved the impossible:he made it shrink in size.

"You do not exist in the world I do without being cautious about everyone who comes into your inner circle. I have a dossier on everyone who works in close proximity with me, and I know every detail of their lives. Yes. I know about his problem."

"Oh."

What else does he know?

He passed her as he crossed the room, and she stifled a tremor as if he'd been a cool hurricane wind. Why didn't you come to me before?" He asked, matter of fact.

"I'm here now," she whispered.

Halting behind the desk, he shoved the leather chair aside and leaned over the surface. His shirt stretched taut over his bunched shoulders and his eyebrows pulled low. "How bad is it?"

"It… The gambling comes and goes." Flushing at his scrutiny, she turned to busy herself with the books on the shelves, and then said, as if he'd expertly unlatched a closed door which had been near bursting with secrets, "He's out of control. He keeps betting more than what he can afford, and more than I could possibly earn."

"Is that the only reason you're here?"

His voice grew so textured, a jolt of feminine heat rippled through her. She spun around--shocked by the question. Shocked by the answering flutter in her womb.

Her breath stopped.

His gaze. It was open. Raw. Revealed a galvanizing wildness, a primitive hunger lurking--in the depths of his eyes, like a prowling beast.

Pent-up desire rushed through her bloodstream as he continued to stare. Stare at her in a way no man, ever, should look at a woman and expect her to survive. "Is that the only reason you're here tonight? Elizabeth?

As if in a trance, she moved forward on her shaky legs, closer to his desk. "Yes."

"You want nothing else? Just the money?"

How to talk? Breath? Just Breath! Her heart felt ready to pop from the pressure of answering. "N-nothin."

In the back of her mind, she vaguely realized how simple and unassuming her needs sounded as she voiced them. When they are not. They were tangled. They had grown fierce with his proximity. Totally out of control.

"Will you help me," she murmured as she reached the desk, and somehow the plea sounded as intimate as if she'd asked for a kiss.

"I will." Deep and rough, the determination in his answer flooded her with relief.

He was going to help her.

In her mind, Henri was mounted on a white charger holding up a flag that read "Elizabeth."

And she…well, hers might be a banner. A neon sign. A brand on every inch of her body and possibly her heart. Henri Gagnon. God, she was no fool.

"I don't expect something for nothing," she said. Her voice throbbed even as a tide of relief flooded her.

It was as if some unnatural force drew her to he, pull her to get closer and closer. Did the force come from him? From her? If it weren't for the desk--always the desk between them--where would she be?

No. The obstacle wasn't a desk. it was everything. Nothing she could ever arrange or fix or clen.

Henri raked one hand through his hair, then seized a runaway pen and thrust it into an empty leather holder. "I'll give you the money. But I have a few requests of my own."