At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? / High-Society Secret Baby. Rachel Bailey

was to propose—properly this time. He’d do it in Sydney on their trip in one week.

      He leaned back in his seat. Everything he wanted was nearly within his grasp.

      Macy stood on the ground floor of their office building with a woman from another company, waiting for the lift, a small pile of folders in her arms. While the other woman chatted about the weather, Macy covertly scanned the buzz of people in the foyer for Ryder.

      She’d successfully avoided being alone with him since the tour of the factory four days ago. Avoiding him was so much easier than saying no to him—something she knew she’d have to do soon though; Ryder Bramson wasn’t a man to give up easily. She just hoped she had enough strength to do it when the time came, and not give in to her body’s yearning.

      When the lift arrived from the basement level, the doors slid open and she saw two of the American team. And Ryder. The man who still haunted her dreams and filled her unguarded thoughts. She took a deep breath and steadied herself against his magnetic pull.

      Half a step behind the other woman, Macy entered and turned to face the doors, finding herself within touching distance beside her boss. Even without seeing him, she could feel his intoxicating presence, the primal masculinity that was barely hidden by the veneer of a businessman.

      “Good morning, Macy.”

      “Hello, Mr. Bramson,” she returned with as much formality and professionalism as she could muster.

      From the corner of her eye, she saw him sink one hand into a trouser pocket. “Everything going well?”

      She was uncomfortably aware of their audience—the others in the lift had no choice but to listen in. And since the morning of the photo in the paper, the staff had discreetly watched whenever she and Ryder crossed paths.

      She wrapped her hands tightly around the folders in her hands and stood taller. “Everything is going very well, thank you.”

      They stopped at the first floor and the other woman waved goodbye and left. Macy held back a grimace. One less person acting as a buffer. The journey in the lift had never taken so long.

      “The security staff aren’t too intrusive?” Ryder asked casually. But she wasn’t fooled—he was asking where they stood with their agreement that she’d accept his intervention on the security issue. She’d decided the day they’d discussed it at the factory that it was, in fact, his responsibility and it hadn’t bothered her since.

      “They’ve been very courteous and helpful.”

      “Good to hear,” he said. “Tell me, how are things with my new acquisition?”

      She felt the interest from their onlookers increase, felt their yearning to grasp the undercurrents of this conversation, their wondering if she was the acquisition. Ryder didn’t seem to be bothered, but she wanted the rest of the staff to be clear on this point at least. “Everything seems fine with the building.”

      They finally reached their floor and the others filed away, but when she stepped out, Ryder placed a staying hand on her arm. He held her gaze for several seconds—though it seemed to be minutes—searching for something, asking a question. Then he drew in a long breath. “I’d like to see you in my office. How does twenty minutes from now suit?”

      Her stomach fluttered and she wanted nothing more than to invent an excuse to avoid being alone with him. To avoid the conversation he planned on having—whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t about her project. It was personal, she knew that with everything inside her.

      But despite all that had passed between them, he was still her boss, and a direct request was hard to deny.

      “I’ll be there.” Gripping the folders tightly, and with head held high, she strode back to her office.

      For twenty minutes, she distracted herself with work and determinedly ignored the mix of nerves and excitement in her belly. Then when the clock on her computer screen turned over to the appointed time, she stood and smoothed down her knee-length mocha skirt. She could handle whatever he said. Handle him. She’d survived worse.

      She walked resolutely through the corridors, aware her progress was being tracked by more than one person, and knocked on the closed door to Ryder’s office.

      “Come in,” the gravelly voice beckoned from inside.

      She opened the door and found him sitting at his desk, signing a pile of papers, each page in turn. He didn’t look up. “Close the door and take a seat.”

      Visions of being alone with him suddenly filled her mind—in the cab on the night of their date; in the alcove of her apartment building where he’d kissed her—and her heart tripped over itself at the thought of being locked away with him again. But reason quickly took over. They were beyond that now. He’d laid his offer on the table and she’d refused. They were no more than employer and employee, and she’d ensure they stayed at that level.

      She shut the door behind her.

      Ryder still didn’t look up as she sat in a chair that placed her directly opposite him. She crossed her legs. He continued to sign papers and move them to another pile. “I’ll be with you in a moment. Bernice needs these for the courier who’ll be here soon.”

      “That’s fine.” She watched him repeat the distinct signature over and over, noticing for the first time that he was writing with his left hand. She thought back and couldn’t remember seeing him write before, but he’d both held and typed into his BlackBerry with his left hand.

      Writing was a different animal though. There was something almost sexual about the way his square palm and long fingers curved around on the page as he signed his name, almost as if it were shaping her breast. Her breaths began to come a little faster. She’d never thought of left-handedness as being particular sexy, but on Ryder, something deep inside her wanted to reach out and grab him, link her fingers through his, bring them to her skin …

      He dropped his pen and grabbed the completed pages, striking their ends against the desk to align them. The sharp noise brought her attention back to the office. Had she just been thinking they were like a regular employer and employee? She smothered a self-deprecating laugh.

      He hit the intercom button on his phone and told Bernice the forms were ready, and within seconds, Bernice bustled in and took them, giving Macy a friendly greeting on her way out.

      Ryder leaned back in his high-back chair and stretched his arms, which only served to highlight the breadth and muscularity of his shoulders. She took a deep breath and held it. She had to stop letting her mind drift to sexual thoughts about her boss. He was attractive, sure. Exceedingly. And he could kiss like the devil himself. But he wasn’t like other men. He wanted her hand in marriage to buy a company. Things were far too complicated to let herself be sidetracked by attraction. The stakes were too high to let her guard down in case she found herself married to him before she realized it had happened. If anyone could do that to her, it would be this man.

      He finished stretching and lifted his feet to rest his crossed ankles on the corner of his desk. “How are the plans for the trip to Sydney?”

      “They’re on track. I’d write you a report, but …”

      “I wouldn’t read it,” he finished for her and smiled. “Macy, I know you were reluctant to take this trip with me, but I assure you, I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

      “I know you will,” she admitted. She knew it was the truth—not that it would help with her own reactions.

      “However,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “if you change your mind during the trip, I’ll be ready and waiting.”

      She hesitated, not quite trusting that gleam. One thing wasn’t in doubt—he had a remarkable ability to surprise her and she was quickly learning not to take anything at face value where her boss was concerned.

      She cocked her head to the side and met his gaze. “Change my mind about marrying you?”

      He