Anna DePalo - CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction - CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction

Opening the gate, her eyes met his, her one step advantage on the stairs bringing her close to his height.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Am I invited in?”

“Are you on a mission for my father?” she countered, her eyes skimming over the envelope in his hand. “If so—”

“Mission impossible,” he said. “I know.”

She gave him a serene smile. Well, at least they both knew where they stood.

“Actually I’m here for a personal reason.”

Despite herself, she was intrigued. She didn’t think she and Griffin had anything of a personal nature to say to each other, but curiosity got the better of her.

She turned, leaving him to follow her up the stairs. “Come on in.”

On the way up, she could feel his presence behind her. Why, oh why, did she always have to be so aware of him?

When they stepped inside her condo, she shut the front door. “Can I get you something?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he replied.

She watched him look around her apartment, which was almost loftlike in its layout. From the marble-floored entry area, the cool ambiance of the living and dining room area was visible. The kitchen, with its granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was situated beyond a waist-high counter with bar stools.

She watched Griffin’s eyes linger on the display of fresh flowers set on a tabletop. She loved newly cut blooms.

Still, since she was a little unnerved by his presence in her apartment, she was grateful no more personal touches were visible. Her bedroom—along with a guest room, two baths and a terrace—was tucked away upstairs.

She wondered again about why he was here. “Is it Dad?” she blurted. “Is something wrong with my father?”

Griffin had said her father hadn’t requested he come, but that didn’t mean Griffin’s appearance at her door didn’t involve her father.

Her father was in his late sixties, and she dreaded the day something would befall him. As strained as their relationship sometimes was, she still loved him. And she worried he would try to protect her by hiding any health problems until they were dire.

“No, don’t worry,” Griffin responded. Then he asked abruptly, “Do you know what Carter was doing two nights ago?”

Caught off guard, she said, “No. Why?”

Griffin regarded her intently, and even though not a muscle moved in his face, there was something she didn’t like in his expression.

A sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Why?” she repeated.

Griffin’s eyes pinned her like lasers. “Carter Newell has been sleeping with another woman behind your back. He was with her two nights ago.”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly, but after a moment, his words hit her, washing over her like one big tidal wave of disaster.

Her mouth worked.

She was still unable to look away from Griffin’s eyes, and somehow they were the only thing keeping her standing.

Panicky dread coursed through her, making her feel ill.

“How—how do you know this?” she managed at last, showing a composure she didn’t feel.

“Does it matter?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Because he’d seemed ready for the question, she became suspicious.

“How did you find out?” she asked, trying again, her tone sharpening. “You and Carter don’t run in the same circles.”

Griffin shrugged.

“My father put you up to this, didn’t he?” she accused.

When he continued to look at her implacably, she said, “Answer the question, Griffin. You’re a hired gun, aren’t you?”

Griffin’s jaw worked. “Your father started the ball rolling by asking me to look into it, yes.”

“You mean he asked you to have Carter investigated,” she responded. “Let’s not sugarcoat it, shall we? He asked you to sic Tremont REH’s usual investigator on him, right?”

It was an interrogation, and from the look on Griffin’s face, he didn’t like it one bit.

Too bad , she thought. Since he’d volunteered to be the messenger, he’d asked for it.

“Does it matter how I found out?” Griffin asked.

“Did you tell my father you were coming here?”

He looked at her, his face carved in granite. “I didn’t tell your father anything—including what the investigator found out. I thought you should know first.”

“Misplaced gallantry, Griffin?” she said mock ingly.

His face tightened. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

She glared at him. “ Appreciate it? Appreciate you’ve had my fiancé investigated? Appreciate you’ve acted at my father’s bidding?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I appreciate it. I just don’t know which of you to thank first. Carter, my father or you.”

“Aren’t you sidestepping the real issue?”

“What if I said I don’t believe you?”

His expression chided her. “You know the investigator has evidence to back me up.”

For the first time, she focused on the envelope in his hand. “Let me see it.”

She moved to take the envelope from him.

“No.”

She came to a stop. “ No? ”

“I’ll let you see some of it. I brought some photos—and evidence that Carter has barely got a cent to his name.”

He said no more, but she understood the implications. If Carter had no money, and on top of it all, was cheating on her, all signs pointed to one reason why he’d been willing to marry her .

She hated coming to the conclusion her father had been right. Sure Carter had floated the idea of a prenuptial agreement, but he’d looked relieved when she—silly, romantic soul—had put the kibosh on the idea. And prenup or no prenup, Carter would have enjoyed the lifestyle to which her income and her trust fund would have made him accustomed.

As if that weren’t enough, for the second time, she felt like the recipient of Griffin’s misplaced gallantry. He was trying to spare her from seeing the sordid proof of Carter’s betrayal.

“Trying to protect me, Griffin?” she challenged. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

His expression closed. “You don’t act like a woman who’s just found out the man she loves has been two-timing her.”

“Are you questioning the strength of my feelings for Carter?”

He just looked at her coolly.

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” she said. “First, you have my fiancé investigated, then you question my feelings. Do you always rub salt in the wounds?”

“Just noting the facts.”

“Did you expect me to break down and weep in front of you?” she tossed back at him.

“I suppose the tears will flow when you’re done being angry.”

That did it . She stalked forward to grab the envelope from him, but he was too fast for her.

He held the envelope aloft, and she wound up knocking against him instead of seizing the photos.

She jumped up, once, twice, but he was bigger, taller and stronger.

“Damn you!” she said between gritted teeth, tears stinging her eyes. Was she destined to be thwarted by all the men in her life?

“I’m damned all right,” he responded in a clipped tone.

“You’ve never experienced the sting of rejection, have you? Noooo , of course not. You’re Mr. Oh-So-Perfect. Mr. Fix-It .”

“You don’t know the first thing about it.”

“Oh, right, I forget,” she quavered, swiping at a tear. “You’re a man . You don’t need to worry about your biological clock ticking, about the fact your mother entered menopause prematurely, about the fact you’re past thirty and closing in on thirty-five and the bell may toll on your fertility before you’re ready for it.”