At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? by Rachel Bailey Page B

watching the activityof people on the shore. “Thank you,” she said. “It was a memorable lunch.”
    He turned his back to the view and, after pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head, leaned his elbows on the rails behind him. “I hope memorable for more than the scenery.”
    She glanced at Ryder’s profile. He looked better than any preened male model on a nautical photo shoot. The deck beneath her rocked with the movement of the water, but her legs fought more than the motion as they locked to avoid swaying. She clenched her jaw, her muscles, and brought her body back under control.
    Then she tossed him the reply his comment deserved. “Are you fishing for a compliment, Mr. Bramson?”
    A laugh seemed to roar up from his chest before he threw his head back and it erupted into the air around them. It took a few moments before he could reply. “Just wondering if my plan to get you to accept my proposal is moving forward.”
    The captain appeared and told them it was safe to disembark; Ryder thanked him and offered Macy his hand as they walked down the gangplank. Once they were on solid ground, she released his hand and headed for the waiting limousine. Ryder checked his long stride to fall into step beside her.
    â€œYour plan?” she said, as they walked. “I think, instead of discussing your not-so-secret agenda to use me to buy a company, we should go back to the hotel so I can keep working on the job you pay me to do.”
    They reached the car, he opened the limousine door for her and offered his hand. “I can live with that. For now.”
    As he closed the door and circled the limo, Macy realized it was the for now that was the problem. He’dmade his clearest signal yet that he hadn’t given up. That he still intended to marry her.
    The thought made her quiver.
    Â 
    Ryder stepped out of his shower and toweled off to the sound of the blues station he’d found on the hotel room radio. He’d told Macy to be ready at six because he was taking her out to dinner, but in truth, he’d organized a far more elaborate evening including a show at the Opera House, then a table at the city’s most exclusive restaurant, followed by a walk along the moonlit Harbour shore.
    And during the stroll, he’d propose properly.
    She’d practically acknowledged this afternoon on the cruiser that they were compatible companions. And he had enormous respect and admiration for her—add that to the sexual heat they generated, and it was more than he’d expected to find in a wife. He had a good feeling about this marriage. She would, too, once he explained.
    He pulled on boxers and black trousers, listening to the sounds of Macy’s hairdryer in the second bedroom of their presidential suite. He paused by his open door, appreciating the intimacy of knowing his future wife was nearby, perhaps in a bathrobe. His blood heated and his body began its ascension to the aching need he always felt for her. He couldn’t remember this desperate wanting with another woman. Usually, if a woman wasn’t interested in a sexual relationship for whatever reason, he moved on, no harm, no foul. But not with Macy. Knowing she was in a bathroom on the other side of the wall was next to maddening.
    His cell phone rang and he glanced around before remembering he’d left it on the coffee table in the sittingroom. He strode out, not worried about his bare chest or feet since she was still busy in her bathroom.
    Thumbing the button, he answered. “Bramson.”
    â€œGood evening, Mr. Bramson, it’s Pia Baxter.”
    He greeted the executor of his father’s estate as his gaze roamed to the door of Macy’s room. What would she be wearing now? Would her body still be glistening with water from her shower?
    â€œMr. Bramson, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
    Instantly, Ryder’s attention was one hundred percent on the phone. He