The Billionaire's Bauble by Ann Montclair

had for two years. This woman had roped up his attention and tugged it along with her for a long while, and he meant to have his way with her.
    It didn’t matter to him how long it took to convince her to be his lover. He had no doubt it would be worth the wait. Every luscious inch of her needed to be seduced into submission. He wanted to see her emerald eyes glint with passion, with wanting him to take her, to make her his. And he would. Over and over again until she writhed in pleasure.
    Yes, he could wait. For the first time, he was willing to put everything aside for a woman.
    He shook his head side to side in wonder.
    How had she gotten him so tangled up so fast?
    He had almost spilled his guts about his mom. Then what? Sloane would open all kinds of doors he wanted left shut. Tight. No entry. He couldn’t be a successful businessman if he allowed his emotions rule, and Sloane came very close to unloosing them.
    Better to focus on stocks, bonds, and trades—on getting the best crude to the best refineries for the best price. David was just about to turn on his computer when he caught a reflection of himself in the glass and it made him start.
    He examined the fine lines beginning to appear on his face, at the corners of his eyes, around the corners of his mouth. He liked his rough face next to Sloane’s smooth one. He remembered how satiny Sloane’s skin had been when he stroked its creamy surface. Her flesh taut over her cheekbones, he had marveled at the fine-mooned shapes. He would love to crawl into bed with her right now and softly touch her, massage away her aches and pains, kiss her neck, her shoulders.
    The woman had just been in a car accident, and he was imagining foreplay. David didn’t know what was wrong with his head.
    He sat up in his chair, deciding work wasn’t what he needed to redirect his mind. He needed to arrange dinner, get Sloane clothes, and see to making sure she had the necessities that would make her feel welcome in his home. He wanted her to stay, and he hoped arranging for her basic comforts would entice her, would convince her. He planned to begin his campaign to win Sloane’s companionship tonight.
    He opened his desk drawer, took out a crystal snifter and bottle, and poured himself a glass of thick, amber bourbon. He kept it for very special occasions—million-dollar deals, employees announcing the births of their babies, and now, a fine woman. He rarely indulged, but a toast to the most incredible, if befuddling, day he’d had in a long time? Yes, that he could get behind. He lifted the glass to his lips.
     
    Several hours later, Sloane woke up and stretched luxuriously beneath the fine linens of David’s guest bed. She could smell a wood fire somewhere nearby, and she realized it was evening, though the sun shone brightly outside. Sloane loved Alaska’s endless summer nights, and she loved feeling pampered by David’s concern. Even if her car sat wrecked and her job was in jeopardy, soaking up these intoxicating moments eased her distress.
    She slipped out of bed to find the bathroom. Once found, the black marble and white tiled room held more than she expected. A wardrobe had been arranged in the attached walk-in closet. On the door was a note written in masculine script:
    S. I hope something here fits. Meet me in the kitchen after you’ve dressed. D.
    Cosmetics and toiletries were arranged neatly on the vanity counter. She felt especially touched that he had identified her perfume and bought her a bottle of Chanel No. 5. Sloane inspected her face in the giant mirror and saw in her eyes, in her face, all the wonder and excitement enlivening her body. He bought her clothes, perfume, make-up? When?
    The garments were casual but of the best quality. Sloane chose a lightweight green gauze tunic adorned with stylish abalone shell buttons and a pair of strappy brown leather sandals. David had provided triples of everything. Three sizes of jeans, shirts, shoes, lacy under things