Wanted: Billionaire's Wife. Susannah Erwin

the strength to keep her voice pitched at a pleasant conversational level.

      She learned as a teenager, while helping her father apply for the license for his dry-cleaning business, that getting angry with faceless bureaucracies rarely resulted in a positive outcome. “Yes, I understand you’ve been told the treatment is classified as elective. Can I talk to a manager about this? Hello?” She stared at the phone. The call had dropped—or she had been hung up on.

      A staccato beep from the car’s horn ripped her attention back to the driver. “Lady, I gotta go.”

      “One second, please?” She put the phone down to better sift through the contents of her bag. The emergency twenty she always carried had to be somewhere—aha! She added it to the other bills and thrust the fare at the driver, scrambling out of the car as fast as the vinyl seat would let her. The taxi took off, the late Monday-morning sunshine bouncing off its fenders.

      She stretched her neck, the bunched muscles in her shoulders protesting when she turned her head from side to side, and opened the glass door to the office building. It seemed a century ago when she last passed through the entrance, racing out in the middle of the day to pack for an emergency visit home. She was still reeling from the shock of seeing her brother, Matt, a perpetual motion machine since birth, so still in his hospital bed.

      Matt had been a surprise baby, arriving eight years after Danica to the entire family’s delight. Now a high-school senior, he’d attracted attention from universities for his athletic ability. Until two weeks ago, when a freak three-way collision during a football game caused a massive concussion, a fractured femur and spinal shock.

      Now out of danger, his prognosis was good for a full recovery, but his doctors worried he wasn’t responding as well as he could to conventional treatment. The experimental spinal therapy the insurance company was currently denying might speed up his return to health, but they wouldn’t know unless a way was found to pay for it. And she’d find one. She’d told her parents she would take care of it, and she hadn’t let them down yet.

      Once inside, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Only four companies shared the office building, and the lobby was empty most times of day. She welcomed the quiet, letting it wash over her. Family leave was officially over. Time to switch back to worker bee. The Rinaldi Executive Search presentation to Ruby Hawk Technologies was in two days, and it needed to be perfect. Her promised promotion from Johanna Rinaldi’s assistant to search consultant depended on it.

      She grabbed a free copy of the Silicon Valley Weekly off the lobby’s reception desk, hoping to catch up on the latest tech-industry news while she headed down the corridor to the Rinaldi offices. The tabloid newspaper was accessible online, but the print version was easier to read while walking. As if the universe had decided she needed a reminder of just how crucial the next few days would be, a color photo of Luke Dallas, the thirty-three-year-old CEO and founder of Ruby Hawk Technologies, stared out at her from the front page.

      Like most people in the valley, Danica followed the meteoric rise of Ruby Hawk Technologies with awe. But the man behind the company held a special fascination for her. She long thought Luke Dallas looked as if he should be brooding on a windswept English moor rather than writing code in a glass-and-steel California office. His strong, chiseled features were a perfect match for the rumors of his hard-nosed tactics. In a town that tolerated eccentric if driven geniuses, he stood out for his demanding demeanor.

      A shiver traced her spine as her gaze met his in the photo, the blue of his eyes stunning even in newsprint. She would soon be sitting across the table from that stare. A month ago, Danica discovered Ruby Hawk had terminated their contract with their search agency. She knew Johanna and Luke had gone to business school together, and she’d used that information to land a meeting to pitch Ruby Hawk their services. He was scheduled to sit in that meeting.

      Surely, he couldn’t be that arresting in real life. It must be a trick of the photographer’s, maybe the light—

      Her peripheral vision screamed out a warning just in time. She barely avoided colliding with a very broad, very muscular male chest. She swallowed her gasp of appreciation for the obviously fine physique under the tailored button-down shirt, threw the man a quick smile of apology and returned to perusing the article while she rummaged in her bag for her office key.

      It took a second before the man’s face fully registered. She looked up from the newspaper and stared at him. Then she glanced down at the photo. Then back at the man. Her mouth went dry as her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

      Luke Dallas stood in front of the closed door of Rinaldi Executive Search. In the flesh. All six feet, four inches of him, from his wavy dark hair to his rather impressively sized loafers.

      She’d been wrong. He was indeed that arresting—and more—in person. A two-dimensional image was incapable of capturing the aura of danger in his stance, coiled tension threatening to spring into action at the slightest provocation. The photo revealed the handsome symmetry of his features, but couldn’t impart the sheer sensuality and command. This was a man who got what he wanted and didn’t care how. Pinned by the force of his gaze, she shivered as his expression darkened. The air grew heavy, thickening with the ominous atmosphere of two weather fronts about to collide into a supercell.

      She was in the direct path of the storm.

      * * *

      This should have been a day for triumph. Instead, Luke Dallas’s jaw hurt from hours of clenching his teeth. It was a new sensation. He was always in control, no matter the situation.

      But that was before this morning. Before a casual meeting in an out-of-the-way coffee shop, away from prying eyes and ears, to sign the deal memo for his company’s acquisition turned into an ambush orchestrated by Irene Stavros and her father, Nestor. His vision still flashed red.

      He’d travelled straight from the meeting, the ultimatum handed to him by Nestor running on a constant loop, to Johanna Rinaldi’s boutique search firm. Johanna was the only person he could think of under the time-crunched circumstances who could help to extricate him from the trap Nestor had pulled closed so artfully.

      Where the hell was she? Her office was locked tight and no one answered the door or the phone. His patience had just stretched past its breaking point when a woman, who couldn’t be bothered to look where she was going, nearly ran him over. She stared at him with eyes so wide they threatened to take over the rest of her face. Pretty eyes though. Big and green. A man could get lost in those depths if he wasn’t careful.

      Then she blinked, breaking the connection, and his anger came back.

      “Can I help you?” he barked, partially to cover being caught staring at a stranger, no matter how attractive, and partially because she wasn’t Johanna and, right now, Johanna was the only person he wanted to see.

      “You’re Luke Dallas.” Her gaze ping-ponged between the newspaper clutched in her hand and his face. “But our meeting isn’t until Wednesday.”

      “You work for Johanna?” Finally. Maybe his day could get back on track and he could salvage what was left of it.

      “Um.” Her eyes were still wide as she ran a hand through her messy blond ponytail, then used it to tug on a white shirt that looked like it had been put on straight off the floor. Finally, she held it out to be shaken. “Yes. I do. I’m Danica. Novak. Danica Novak.”

      He shook her proffered hand. When he pressed against it, her fingers trembled and she leaned back, as if she were Little Red Riding Hood and he the Big Bad Wolf and they were standing in Grandmother’s house. An appealing rosy shade appeared on her high cheekbones.

      “It seems you know my name.”

      “Yes, well,” she said, waving the newspaper clutched in her left hand, “it helps to have a visual aid.” She gave him a tentative smile, and if he thought her eyes pretty before, the smile turned them downright stunning. Then the newspaper headline caught his gaze and made him forget any nonsense about the eyes being the windows to the soul.

      “May I see that?” he asked. She handed it