His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell: His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell. Anna DePalo

all. Bohemian jewelry designers didn’t fit.

      In the next instant, however, he surprised her by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

      She stilled as he paused to finger a teardrop peridot earring. The contact was intimate—erotic, even—though he wasn’t touching her directly.

      “I’m interested in having some jewelry pieces designed,” he said, his deep voice sending an involuntary thrill through her.

      Pushing aside how very aware of him she was, she asked, making her voice sugary, “For your current love interest?”

      He took his time answering. “You could say that.”

      She looked at him with exaggerated disbelief. “Am I to assume that’s why you arranged to intercept me at a fashion event? Because you’re looking for a jewelry designer?”

      “Among other things.”

      She held on to her irritation because it was easier to deal with than how disturbing his nearness was. “Let’s get back to what you’re doing here. Or should I say, how you knew I’d be here?”

      He gave her a level look. “One guess.”

      “My father,” she said flatly.

      “Correct.”

      Her lips tightened. “When I see him again …”

      She castigated herself now for revealing to her father some of the details of her social and business schedule in response to his seemingly casual questions a couple of weeks ago when they’d met for lunch.

      No question she and her father needed to have a serious conversation. One that included the reasons why he shouldn’t interfere in her life. It apparently wasn’t enough she was based in New York and he was often in London, putting the breadth of the Atlantic Ocean between them.

      Sawyer regarded her with an unreadable expression. “Marriage is not such a crazy idea.”

      “Don’t tell me you’re still considering this!”

      “The idea has its merits.”

      “And here I was thinking you sought me out to have a trinket designed for your current flame! Instead, you hauled yourself here in order to make a marriage proposal. Now there’s a good, solid reason to attend a froufrou fashion event, when everyone knows you have zero interest in fashion!”

      Thank goodness they were in a semiprivate area of the room, Tamara thought. The last thing she needed was for their argument to be witnessed by avid onlookers.

      “Are you done?” he asked, his topaz eyes glittering.

      Not by a mile. “How efficient of you. Well, you can erase the marriage proposal from your BlackBerry calendar! Good luck with the rest of your day.”

      She turned away, but she’d taken only two steps when he grasped her arm and swung her back toward him.

      “You have to be the most prickly woman I know,” Sawyer muttered.

      “Yet another reason I wouldn’t make a suitable wife,” she flung back. “I can bring home the sarcasm, serve up your ego in a pan and never let you forget you’re a—”

      “Damn.”

      In the next moment, Sawyer’s lips came down on hers.

      Tamara stilled.

      Sawyer’s lips were soft but firm, and in the next instant, Tamara became aware that he tasted sweet but heady and carried the warm scent of man.

      Sensation coursed through her, and her body hummed to life. She’d been kissed before, of course, but kissing Sawyer, she was discovering, was like doing vodka shots when she was used to beer.

      Time slowed. She felt the heavy thump of her heart, and became aware of his lean, muscular strength pressed against her.

      She reached up to clutch Sawyer’s shoulders, and in response, he made a low, growling sound and deepened the kiss.

      Her brain radioed the message that she’d been right to steer clear of him in the past. The man was pure testosterone poured into a suit—and he was sending her pheromones into chaos.

       Help.

      And then the sound of laughter came through the heavy, thick curtains. And just like that, she felt jolted from his sexual spell.

      Tearing her lips from Sawyer’s, she opened her eyes and shoved him away.

      Her heart hammered as he rocked back a half step. But after a moment, his face went smooth and cool.

      It was as if the hot lover of a moment ago who had caused her senses to riot had morphed back into the tycoon with an implacable facade.

      “Well,” Sawyer said slowly, “I guess we answered one question.”

      A question? She was thinking more in terms of exclamation points. Lots of them.

      “Which is?” she huffed.

      “We have no problem with sexual chemistry.”

      Her eyes widened. “Get over yourself.”

      He gave her a sweeping look, and muttered, “It’s you I think I need to get over.”

      A wave of heat washed over her. An image of Sawyer, naked and looming over her in bed, flashed through her mind.

      “You need to come with a warning label!” she shot back.

      His smile was rather wolfish. “Isn’t that what I’m proposing?” he asked. “Make the world safe for other women. Take me off the market.”

      “I’m a jewelry designer, not a lion tamer.”

      “You could be both,” he said, his voice smooth as honey.

      She cursed herself for finding his sexual banter seductive. Wasn’t she an educated, independent woman of the twenty-first century?

      Sawyer, on the other hand, was a throwback to feudal lords—and thanks to his ancestors, he had a real, present-day title to match.

      Well, he’d have to look for his countess elsewhere. She didn’t know where—though she supposed a fashion event with plenty of beautiful, pedigreed women tottering around in four-inch heels wasn’t a half-bad bet—but she knew she wasn’t in the running.

      “In any case,” Sawyer said, breaking into her thoughts, “I’m not proposing what your father has in mind.”

      “Oh?” she asked with false smoothness. “Then what are you proposing?”

      “Your father wants a dynastic marriage. Real but—”

      “Loveless,” she finished for him before he could spell it out for her.

      He nodded. “It’s been done for generations.”

      “This is the twenty-first century.”

      Of course, it was centuries of ruthless breeding that had produced Sawyer Langsford—a man’s man, a captain of industry, a guy who seemed capable of impregnating a woman just by looking at her.

      “I’m suggesting a short-term arrangement for our mutual benefit,” Sawyer stated.

      “A short-term marriage of convenience?” she asked incredulously.

      “Right.”

      “Well, I know what you would get out of the arrangement,” she shot back.

      “Do you?” he said smoothly.

      She ignored the subtext of sexual suggestion. “You’d get control of Kincaid News. But what in the world would be the incentive for me?”

      “You’d be doing the right thing for your family,” he said, unperturbed. “The majority of your father’s media business is in