Robyn Grady - The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement / Man from Stallion Country - The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement / Man from Stallion Country

Alex chuckled. “Such a generous man.” He eased to his feet. “I have another stop to make this morning.”

“Bridget.”

“Natalie.” He cringed. “This is complicated.”

“You can’t change the outcome of that child’s paternity.”

“And I can’t turn back time.”

Mateo pushed to stand and strolled with Alex back toward the kitchen. “It’ll work out.”

“Is that your bedside manner talking?”

“Is it helping?”

Alex grinned. “I’ll let you know in a few days.”

Fifteen minutes later, after stopping to make a purchase, Alex entered the reception area of Phil McPherson’s Real Estate. A number of clients sat with attentive agents among strategically placed desks. In fact, the place was buzzing, but Natalie was nowhere to be seen.

On slick castors, the receptionist rolled a chair over from her workstation to the main desk.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Hands landing on the chest-high counter, Alex craned his neck to peer around the photocopier corner. “I want to buy a property. Nothing under ten million. I need your top agent.”

The woman’s chocolate-brown eyes rounded before she surreptitiously examined his monogrammed shirt, his Swiss brand watch. Then, doubling up on her smile, she rang through to an extension.

“Natalie, a gentleman here wants to look at properties.” A pause. “But he’s interested in nothing under ten mill.” She stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes. “Uh-huh. I’ll let him know.” She replaced the receiver and beamed over an anything-you-want smile. “Natalie Wilder will be right out.”

Her sentence wasn’t finished before Natalie breezed out from a back office, her gait catwalk-model worthy, her soft sable hair pulled back in an elegant workplace twist. When their gazes clashed, she stopped dead and the professional smile slid from her face.

“You.”

He could almost smell her fresh flowery scent from here. Could almost feel her sensuous curves moulded against his. God, he’d missed having her share his bed last night. Tonight they’d make up the deficit.

When her eyes narrowed, he remembered his story, which, he decided now, was true. Visiting Mateo this morning made him realise he needed to upgrade. More than that. His sleek and sizeable bachelor pad had served a purpose but now he would invest in a real home. A place in which he envisaged a woman. The sensual, bristling, goddess of a woman standing before him.

He nudged his chin at a poster to the right of the reception station. “I’d like to see that property.”

Natalie knotted her arms over her smart navy blue dress. “Sorry, I’m unavailable.”

He merely grinned. Wrong answer.

While the receptionist gaped at Natalie, Alex opened his mouth to coax her to agree, but another voice interrupted their discussion.

“Natalie, would you come through to my office, please?”

Alex’s attention skated over to a fifty-something-year-old who wore blindingly shiny shoes and slicked back hair. From the glint in his eye, Alex saw he was a man of purpose. The sign on his office door read, Principal, Phil McPherson.

Natalie held her breath.

She’d told Alex last night it was over. She’d told him this morning she wasn’t interested in meeting. Yet he’d ignored her—surprise, surprise—and now she had Phil breathing down her neck. If her boss had heard any part of their conversation, she knew what he wanted and it wasn’t to collect lunch orders.

Natalie eyed Alex. He looked so in control, so breathtakingly masculine and commanding, in deep blue jeans. The man was hot, pure and simple, in Armani or denim, fully clothed or without a stitch. Then she slid a look over to her boss and his allseeing eyes.

No use avoiding it.

A moment later, Phil closed his office door and, clasping his hands behind his back, rocked back on his heels. “Is there some problem, Nat?”

She tried for blasé. “No problem, Phil.”

“Then I suggest you show that man his property.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather some other agent look after him.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind finding another job.” Phil strode toward his desk. “You, better than most, know the commission on that size sale.”

“Of course I know, but—”

“Here’s something you obviously don’t know.”

He held up today’s newspaper, folded back to that dreaded page five. She’d almost hyperventilated this morning when she’d flicked through and had seen the photos: a picture of Alex looking devilish handsome at some black-tie romp had been butted up against a studio headshot of a stunning looking Bridget Davidson. It made Natalie wonder what on earth Alex saw in nothing-out-of-the-box her.

Phil dropped the paper. “That man is Alexander Ramirez.”

“I can explain—”

“Your personal life and lovers’ spats are none of my concern. I do know the phones are running hotter than usual this morning, I’m guessing because the today’s headline girl works here. I also know Ramirez is a serious man with serious money.” The groove between his thick dark brows eased as he tossed the paper back on his desk, next to his toppling in tray. “You’re the best agent I have. We need every commission we can get. These aren’t the best of times. We can’t afford to pass up even the suggestion of a possible sale.”

She chewed her lip.

The market was in a ditch, the more expensive properties included. Last week, a long standing agency had closed its doors. She couldn’t tell Phil that Alex’s enquiry was a ruse to get her alone. Or perhaps Phil suspected as much but was prepared to go forward with the inspection on the off chance the query ended in a sale.

No matter how she rationalised, when push came to shove, Phil called the shots.

Beaten, she shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Phil slipped in behind his desk. “And you’re a trooper.”

She exited Phil’s office, closed the door and lifted her chin. Alex’s onyx eyes burned into hers. Oh, yes, he was serious, all right.

She moved to join him, crossing her arms again, a bid to convey some pretence of distance, not that she thought he would sweep her up and whisk her away. At least she didn’t think he would.

She cleared her throat. “Just so you know, I have a busy day ahead of me.”

His grin was lopsided and inherently sexy.

She swallowed and knotted her arms more securely over her churning stomach. “This won’t do any good.”

“Are you going to show me this property or not?”

“I’m going to show you this property, then I’m going to get on with my day.” When his grin eased wider, she dropped her arms and threw back her shoulders. “I’m not kidding.”

He took her elbow. “Neither am I.”

Alex insisted on taking his car. He thumbed the vendor’s street into the GPS and a short time later pulled the gleaming black sports car into the exclusive address.

Natalie depressed a remote button and, like curtains introducing a spectacular stage, the colossal iron gates fanned open. Tall pencil pines stood guard on either side of a long paved drive, and immaculate gardens greeted them with stunning spring bouquets. At the far end of an emerald lawn resided a magnificent rendered building.

The Quinton mansion.

Parking beneath the enormous front portico, its columns twined with lemon bougainvillea, Alex slid out from the driver’s side and swung open her door. Stepping out, she scanned the interior. The air smelled of sweet floral perfume and generations of money.

“The owners are visiting the U.S.,” she told him in a professional tone. “They’re eager to sell.”

She felt his gaze on her, moving over her hair, down her limbs, leaving a glorious blistering heat in its wake.