The Billionaire's Betrayal (Highest Bidder #3) - Carmen Falcone Page 0,7
bells… What a crazy idea. He snorted. Marrying someone like Alexa would be social and professional suicide. It was one thing to do business with her, in such a way he could call it an isolated incident. A bad decision. Another thing would be to bring her to his life permanently—not that it’d ever happen. He could never marry someone with such an occupation.
He grabbed his mug and slid it under the coffee machine. The more he traveled to other properties, the less Gina felt compelled to do when he was home. Not that he’d ever let her go. She’d been working for him for twelve years, and though she was now way too comfortable, she did a great job maintaining his home. “No bells of any kind. It’s a complicated story. Remember what I said.”
“I won’t mention Pamela to your lady friend. I removed any pictures of her and hid them in your closet.”
He sipped some black coffee, the hot liquid rolling down his throat. “Good.”
Gina tilted her head in his direction. He refused her silent demand for an explanation. He trusted her, but he couldn’t risk compromising his goal. The less people knew about his plan, the better. Until he had concrete proof, he didn’t want the story to become public—why give his ailing mother a load of concern without good reason?
“Is she pretty?”
He finished his coffee, then sat it on the table. Pretty didn’t begin to describe Alexa. A flush of desire traveled through him. “She’s…intriguing.”
A spark lit Gina’s brown eyes. “Hmmm… That’s more promising than pretty. I can’t wait to meet her.”
He left the kitchen, avoiding any further conversation about Alexa.
He entered the large living area, glancing at Duke, his four-year-old black Labrador who snoozed on the sectional couch. His first strategy certainly hadn’t entailed bringing Alexa to the home where he spent most of his time. But after he’d kissed her and she’d melted in his arms, he’d changed his plan. Rather than keep things professional and hope she’d trust him as a partner, why not also add a personal touch?
If she knew him better and trusted him, he’d be one step closer to finding out what had happened to Pamela—and bringing her justice. He’d make the culprit pay, even if that meant Alexa going to prison.
He cleared his throat, the knot pulsing. Memories of their make-out session populated in his mind, and his body went rigid. Damn. Sleeping with her sure would be no sacrifice. He licked his lips, missing the taste of her sweet pussy.
If she hadn’t stopped him, he’d have fucked her in her office. Hard. Deep.
The sound of a car approaching the property yanked him from his thoughts. Buck up, man. He had to keep his head in the game. Sleeping with Alexa would be a means to an end—enjoying her was a bonus. But he couldn’t for one minute forget who she really was. How many lives she’d probably wrecked with this glorified human trafficking stint she called an auction.
Startled, Duke jumped off the couch, barking his way to the entrance.
Running his fingers through his hair, Brooks followed the dog, whose insistent barks were echoing in the marbled foyer. When he opened the door, his heart came to a halt. Without the glamorous dress, Alexa was even more intriguing.
A gray sweater and some tight denim jeans covered her, and tall boots completed her look. He half expected her to show up in one of those dresses with long slits that would give any man within miles automatic boners. But no, she’d actually come looking appropriate for staying at his beloved ranch.
“Welcome to Texas, Madam,” he drawled. “Hope our quiet nights won’t bore you.” He gestured for her to enter. The driver who had picked her up waved from the vehicle, signaling he’d bring her suitcase.
She walked in with a hint of a smile on her face, carrying a designer bag large enough to fit a family of squirrels.
Duke jumped on her, wagging his tail, and she stepped back, blinking.
Quickly, he grabbed the dog’s collar and pushed him outside, closing the door behind them. “Excuse Duke. I hired trainers, but he still can’t resist jumping on pretty women.”
She studied the decor, glancing at the art on the walls and the accent pieces with a Southwestern flair he’d bought from a prominent new artist. A country living decoration magazine had begged him to feature his home in their issue once, but he’d denied the offer. “I’m familiar with the type. That’s why