Page 6 of On His Bride's Terms

THEFOLLOWINGDAY, Faye paced up and down in the reception room at the family home. She hadn’t slept a wink. Her head was full of questions and revelations and sheer...shock. Still.

Primo Holt had asked her for a drink under false pretences.

Her anger and humiliation still burned bright.

He wanted to marry her.

Faye stopped pacing as she recalled how he’d tried to persuade her to stay at the bar, but she’d insisted on leaving.

He’d said to her before she’d left, ‘I may have made an error in being so upfront, but after meeting you I thought you’d appreciate this approach more.’

More than what? Faye had asked herself as she’d made her way back to the family home in Westchester. He’d insisted on his driver taking her. In the end she’d accepted that offer, feeling that after inviting her out to have a joke at her expense it was the least he could do.

But it had been no joke.

He’d been deadly serious, because he’d had an agenda all along, while she’d been staring lustfully at his mouth. The memory made her burn. And she hadn’t even known the full extent of his agenda until this morning, when he’d arrived at the house to have a meeting with her father.

Aprearrangedmeeting.

The sense of exposure made her insides curdle. She’d believed that Primo Holt had fancied her, and that that was why he’d asked her for a drink. It had been a total charade. He’d just wanted to see her up close before going into a meeting with her father, and she knew exactly what that would be about. Because, as those men last night had alluded to, her father was in a weak position and Primo Holt was making his real intentions very clear.

To take over MacKenzie Enterprises.

Faye cursed herself.Howcould she have been so blind? So naive? God knew, she more than most women knew what this world was like and how everyone in it was a commodity. She’d learned that lesson after her first marriage, because as soon as she’d become a worthless commodity her husband had cut her loose. Less than a year into their marriage.

She veered away from that particular memory, focusing her ire on Primo Holt again. She’d been distracted by a hard body and a pretty—no—a spectacular face. Proving that in spite of everything she really was as weak and susceptible as any blushing debutante.

At least he didn’t woo you, pointed out a little voice.

Faye shuddered delicately. There was that, at least. He hadn’t drawn out the charade. That would have been worse. At least she’d only been under the illusion that he fancied her for about an hour, and not for weeks. She would have exposed herself even more.

Because the truth was that she’d found him far too exciting and thrilling, and if he’d tried to do something like kiss her—Her face burned at the knowledge that she would have let him.

He’d awoken a dormant fire inside her. A fire she’d buried ever since she’d been so badly burned by her marriage. A fire that she wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever felt before. Not even with her husband.

There was a light knock on the door and Faye tensed. ‘Come in.’

Mary, their housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. ‘Mr Holt has finished his meeting with your father. He’d like to see you before he leaves.’

I bet he would.

Faye felt like petulantly refusing to see him, but she knew she couldn’t. This was so much bigger now than their mortifying non-date last night.

‘Of course. Please show him in.’

Mary stood back, and Faye could see the way the older woman’s eyes widened as she admitted the tall, powerful form of Primo Holt. He was wearing a steel-grey three-piece suit. Hair brushed back from his forehead. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a photoshoot for male models—except he was no male model. He was too big...too imposing. She realised then that in spite of his veneer of civility there was something wild about him. Untamed. It excited her.

He walked in and Faye crossed her arms over her chest. When she’d found out that he was due to visit her father that day she’d dressed carefully in tailored trousers and a silk shirt, buttoned up. Hair pulled back into a bun. The thought of giving him any kind of impression that she fancied him made her cringe.

That sense of exposure made her say now, ‘Why the great charade last night? Why didn’t you tell me you already had a meeting planned with my father?’

He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a charade. I did want to meet you face to face.’

She arched a brow. ‘And what? Do a bit of tyre-kicking before you pursued your real agenda? Which I presume is to take advantage of my father’s current situation?’ Before he could answer, she said, ‘You’re no better than those other vultures who were there last night, feigning concern for his welfare. You’re more devious.’

He winced. ‘I guess I deserved that.’ His expression cleared. ‘I meant what I said, though. I respect your father and I respect the business your family have built up. The truth is that, yes, I had a plan to meet with your father, but it just so happens that I’m also in need of a wife. I hadn’t specifically planned on meeting you before talking with your father, but when I found out you’d been invited to that party last night it was too good an opportunity to pass up.’

This only made Faye’s sense of humiliation more intense—especially when she remembered her reaction to him. ‘And what, pray tell, were you going to do if you decided after meeting me that I was not someone you cared to propose to?’

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