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

his seduction techniques, however, he had another thing coming. So she’d had a brief and primitive response to his air of raw power and sexuality. She was still well past the age of gullibility—of being swayed by a momentary attraction into a relationship with someone who was so very wrong for her.

      In contrast, she and Tom were alike. They enjoyed prowling SoHo at night, appreciated the city, and were both artistic. They were friends, first and foremost.

      They weren’t two people from very different backgrounds united by lust. In other words, to her relief, they were definitely not her parents.

      As if on cue, her cell phone rang, and it was Tom.

      “You’ll never guess what’s fallen in my lap,” Tom said.

      “Okay, I give up. What?” she replied.

      “I’m flying out to L.A. to meet with a big music producer. He heard one of our demos and is interested in signing the band.”

      “Tom, that’s wonderful!” Tamara exclaimed. “I didn’t even know you were in touch with a producer out in L.A.”

      Tom laughed. “I wasn’t. The guy got his hands on the demo from a friend of a friend.”

      “See, networking works.”

      Tom gave an exaggerated sigh. “Here’s the thing, babe. I’ll be gone. Physically, existentially and in every other way.”

      She picked up on his meaning.

      “What?” she said with mock offense. “You’ll no longer be available to be my standby date?”

      It was easy for her to adopt a lighthearted tone, she realized. Tom had never been more than a casual, occasional date for her—a reliable escort when she had to attend one social function or another. He was nothing more, despite their Tom- and-Tam epithet, and that was the reason she could be happy for him without rancor.

      “Afraid not,” Tom responded now. “Will you ever forgive me?”

      “If I don’t, you could always write a song about it,” she teased.

      Tom laughed. “You’re a pal, Tam.”

      Tom’s words summed up their relationship, Tamara acknowledged. It had always been easy and casual. Such a contrast, she thought darkly, from her fraught interactions with—

       No, she wouldn’t go there.

      “It was a lucky break running into your friend the Earl of Melton.”

      Tamara started guiltily. “He’s not my friend.”

      “Well, friend or acquaintance—”

      “And what do you mean it was a lucky break?” she asked, even as she was touched by a feeling of foreboding.

      “Well, this music producer has a friend who socializes with the earl. Seems the earl had heard my music—”

      She’d just bet Sawyer was a fan of Zero Sum.

      “—and had talked it up to a friend of his, who passed along the recommendation to his music industry connection.”

      Tamara felt a wave of heat wash up her face. He didn’t … He wouldn’t …

      And yet, it was all too convenient.

      When she found Sawyer, she was going to let him have it, and then some.

      For Tom’s sake, however, she forced herself to sound cheerful. There was no reason to rain on Tom’s parade by imparting her suspicions about how his lucky break was more than mere luck.

      Besides, from Tom’s perspective, it didn’t matter how his intro to a top music producer had come about. The bottom line was that he was getting his chance to hit it big.

      “I owe this all to you, Tam,” Tom said gratefully. “I don’t need to tell you how tough things have been in the music industry lately, so getting someone to take a chance on Zero Sum is a big deal.”

      If only Tom knew exactly what he owed to her, Tamara thought.

      “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” Tamara said. “Blow them away.”

      “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.”

      When she ended her call with Tom, she set down the phone and stared at it unseeingly, her brows knitting as she contemplated Sawyer’s skullduggery.

      She’d barely begun to get herself worked up over Sawyer’s fiendishness, however, when the intercom sounded.

      After she pressed the intercom button by the front door, she jumped as she heard Sawyer’s voice.

      She took a deep breath. Apparently her confrontation with Sawyer would occur sooner than she’d expected.

      “Come on up,” she said with a semblance of serenity, and buzzed him in.

      Four

      Trust Tamara to name her company something ridiculous and suggestive like Pink Teddy Designs, Sawyer thought as he rode the elevator up to the third floor.

      The name had been emblazoned next to the buzzer for Tamara’s apartment in a cast-iron warehouse building that had long ago been converted into lofts. Located along one of SoHo’s narrow side streets, the sidewalk in front of Tamara’s building had nevertheless been almost as crowded with pedestrians and street vendors peddling everything from paintings to T-shirts as SoHo’s main commercial strips, Broadway and Prince and Spring Streets.

      It looked as if Tamara had rented one of the cheaper apartments she could find in one of Manhattan’s priciest boho neighborhoods. Factories and warehouses had long since given way to high-end retailers such as Prada, Marc Jacobs and Chanel, though some artists who had bought their lofts when they were cheap still held on.

      Of course, Sawyer thought, the businessman in him could appreciate that Tamara’s choice of location made sense. Any business had a certain image to project, and location was part of it. But it seemed as if Tamara had cut corners where she could, starting with choosing a side street and a lower floor, closer to street noises.

      He stepped out of the elevator and found Tamara’s apartment. But just as he was about to hit the bell, the door opened.

      As a first impression, Tamara made quite an impact. In two seconds flat, he registered a short V-neck purple dress, black peep-toe sandals with bows and an opal pendant nestled on the pillow of her cleavage.

      His body hummed to life.

      “What are you doing here?” Tamara asked, her voice cool and clipped, though her eyes flashed fire.

      He twisted his lips sardonically. “That makes twice. Is that the way you greet all your clients?”

      “Only the ones who aren’t welcome.” Then belying her words, she stepped aside. “What do you mean by client?”

      Sawyer walked into the boxy but airy loft. “I want to have a piece of jewelry designed, if you’ll recall.”

      Tamara’s face registered disbelief before her eyes flashed fire again. “You can’t be serious.”

      “That makes twice again. I seem to have a knack for eliciting the same reactions from you.” Then he added, in answer to her question, “In fact, I am serious, and I thought you’d be happy about the offer of business.”

      He watched as she clamped her mouth shut. Splendid. He’d stopped her adamancy with a tantalizing lure—a reminder of what he had to offer, and what she stood to lose.

      Sawyer scanned the loft. It looked like what his prior investigation had revealed: an apartment that also served as an office and business headquarters.

      Near the back, he could see a partition that appeared to section off a sleeping area. To his right, near the entry door, there was a kitchen with light wood cabinets and black