Barbara Dunlop - Beauty And The Billionaire

He didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by the touch, and an unwelcome spike of annoyance hit Sinclair. It wasn’t jealousy, she quickly assured herself. It was the fact that Chantal was ignoring the customers to flirt with the CEO.

Sinclair made her way along the counter.

“Chantal,” she greeted, putting a note of censure in her voice and her expression.

“I was just talking to Hunter about the new mousse,” Chantal trilled. Then she fluffed her hair. “It works miracles.”

Sinclair compressed her lips.

In response, Chantal’s gaze took in Sinclair’s plain hair-style. “You should…” She frowned. “Uh…have you tried it?”

Hunter inclined his head toward Sinclair. He seemed to be waiting for her answer.

“No,” Sinclair admitted. She hadn’t tired the new mousse. Like she had time for the Luscious Lavender treatment every morning. She started work at seven-thirty after a streamlined regime that rarely included a hairdryer.

“Oh.” Chantal pouted prettily.

Sinclair nodded to a pair of customers lingering around Chantal’s sample station. “I believe those two ladies need some help.”

Chantal giggled and moved away.

“Nice,” said Hunter after she left.

“That better have been sarcasm.”

All men considered Chantal beautiful, but Sinclair would have been disappointed in Hunter if he hadn’t been able to see past her looks.

“Of course it was sarcasm.” But his eyes lingered on the woman.

Sinclair elbowed him in the ribs.

“What?”

“I can tell what you’re thinking.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“What am I thinking?”

“That her breasts are large, her skirt is short, and her legs go all the way to the ground.”

Hunter coughed out a laugh.

“See?” blurted Sinclair in triumph.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“The doors are closing,” murmured Sinclair, more to herself than to Hunter, as she noticed the security guards stop incoming customers and open the doors for those who were exiting.

“You got a few minutes to talk?” he asked.

“Sure.” Hunter was the CEO. She was ready to talk business at his convenience.

She nodded to two empty chairs across the room.

They moved to the quiet corner of the department, and Sinclair climbed into one of the high leather swivel chairs. She parked her clipboard on the glass counter.

Hunter eased up beside her. “So what’s the plan now?”

She glanced around the big room. “The cleaning staff will be here at six. Amber will make sure the leftover samples are returned to the warehouse. And I’ll write a report in the morning.” Later tonight, she was going to start painting her new apartment, but she didn’t think Hunter needed that kind of information.

His gray eyes sparkled with merriment. “I meant your plan about the spa.”

“Oh, that.” She waved a hand. “It’s dead. We couldn’t make a deal with the Millennium.”

Her gaze unexpectedly caught Chantal. The woman was eyeing them up from across the room, tossing her glittering mane over one shoulder and licking her red lips.

Under the guise of more easily conversing, Sinclair scooted a little closer to Hunter. Let miss Barbie-doll chew on that.

Hunter slanted a look toward Chantal, then shot Sinclair a knowing grin.

“Shut up,” she warned in an undertone.

“I never said a word.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Yeah. And I was right, too.”

Yeah, he was. “It’s something Pavlovian,” she offered.

His grin widened.

“I didn’t want her to think Luscious Lavender mousse trumps brains, that’s all.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I don’t even use mousse. It’s nothing against Luscious Lavender. It’s a personal choice.”

“Okay,” said Hunter.

“Kristy has always been the glitter and glam twin. I’m-”

“Don’t you dare say plain Jane.”

“I was going to say professional Jane.”

He snorted. “You don’t need a label. And you shouldn’t use Kristy as a frame of reference.”

“What? You don’t compare yourself to Jack?”

“I don’t.” But his expression revealed a sense of discomfort.

“What?” she prompted.

“Gramps does.”

Sinclair could well imagine. “And who comes out on top?”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. Jack seemed like a great guy. But then so did Hunter. They were both smart, handsome, capable and hard-working.

“Jack’s dependable,” said Hunter. “He’s patient and methodical. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

Sinclair found herself leaning even closer, the noise of the store dimming around them as the last of the customers made their way out the door. “And you are?”

“Reckless and impulsive.”

“Why do I hear Cleveland’s voice when you say that?”

Hunter chuckled. “It’s usually accompanied by a cuff upside the head.”

In the silence that followed, Sinclair resisted an urge to take his hand. “That’s sad,” she told him.

“That’s Gramps. He’s a hard-ass from way back.” Then Hunter did a double take of her staring. “Don’t look at me like that.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“It makes me want to kiss you,” he muttered.

“Don’t you-”

“I’m not going to kiss you.” He glanced back to Chantal. “ That would definitely make the company newsletter.” He focused on Sinclair again. “But you can’t stop me from wanting to.”

And she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to kiss him back. And it didn’t seem to matter what she did to try and get rid of the urge, it just grew worse.

“What can we do about this?” She was honestly looking for help. If the feelings didn’t disappear, they were going to trip up sooner or later.

Hunter rose to his feet.

“For now, I’m walking out the door. Chantal is already wondering what we’re talking about.”

Sinclair shook herself and rose with him. “Check.” If they weren’t together, they couldn’t give in to anything.

“But later, I need to talk to you.”

She opened her mouth to protest. Later didn’t sound like a smart move to her at all.

“About the spa,” he clarified. “Business. I promise. What are you doing tonight?”

“Painting my apartment.”

“Really?” He drew back. “That’s what you do on Saturday night?”

Yeah, that was what she did on Saturday night. She rattled on, trying not to seem pathetic. “I just bought the place. A great little loft in Soho. But the colors are dark and the floor needs stripping, and the mortgage is so high I can’t afford to pay someone to do it for me.”

“You want a raise?”

“I want a guy with sandpaper and a paint roller.”

“You got it.”

“Hunter-”

“Give me your address. We can talk while we paint.”

Her and Hunter alone in her apartment? “I don’t think-”

“I’ll be wearing a smock and a paper cap. Trust me, you’ll be able to keep your hands off.”

“Nothing wrong with your ego.”

He grunted. “I know you can’t resist me under normal circumstances.”

“Ha!” The gauntlet thrown down, she’d resist him or die trying.

Now that she thought about it, maybe painting together wasn’t such a bad idea. Hunter’s family had bought the company. He was a permanent part of Lush Beauty Products, and the sooner they got over this inconvenient hump, the better. In fact, it was probably easier if they smoothed out the rough spots away from Chantal’s and other people’s prying eyes.

“Seventy-seven Mercy Street,” she told him with a nod. “Suite 702.”