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Moonlight Kisses
Phyllis Bourne


Desire is more than skin-deep It's just Sage Matthews's luck that the man stirring her dormant passions wants to buy her cosmetics company. Cole Sinclair inherited the kind of success Sage is working hard to build, and after almost ten years away, he's back to save his own empire. Takeover bid: denied. But in the bedroom, their rivalry morphs into sizzling chemistry. And Sage is falling dangerously fast for the wild streak beneath Cole's designer suits.Sage's up-and-coming company is a thorn in Cole's side. If they can't agree to terms, both will be eliminated by the competition. From Nashville to sultry Milan, he's using all his seductive powers of persuasion. But the kind of partnership Sage craves takes compromise and trust–and the courage to go beyond the surface to find what's real…







Desire is more than skin-deep

It’s just Sage Matthews’s luck that the man stirring her dormant passions wants to buy her cosmetics company. Cole Sinclair inherited the kind of success Sage is working hard to build, and after almost ten years away, he’s back to save his own empire. Takeover bid: denied. But in the bedroom, their rivalry morphs into sizzling chemistry. And Sage is falling dangerously fast for the wild streak beneath Cole’s designer suits.

Sage’s up-and-coming company is a thorn in Cole’s side. If they can’t agree to terms, both will be eliminated by the competition. From Nashville to sultry Milan, he’s using all his seductive powers of persuasion. But the kind of partnership Sage craves takes compromise and trust—and the courage to go beyond the surface to find what’s real...


“Now I want it even more.”

Sage slammed her eyes shut and swallowed hard, silently willing the parts of her body shifting into overdrive back into neutral. She should have stayed behind her desk with her legs tightly crossed, because this man was on the verge of talking the panties right off her.

When she opened her eyes, his gaze was locked on her lips.

“Is this your idea of keeping friends close and enemies closer?” The mocking tone she’d hoped for fell flat, and her question echoed in her ears like a breathless pant.

“You’re not my enemy, Sage,” Cole murmured. “You’re a challenge.” He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “And I do love a challenge.”

If she’d been clearheaded, a snappy comeback would have been on the tip of her tongue. However, her brain had taken the backseat in her headspace, allowing a wave of longing to take the wheel.

“That lipstick is beautiful on you.” His eyes never leaving her lips, Cole swiped the pad of his thumb across a sticky spot near the corner of her mouth. Sage stood mesmerized as he slowly licked the sugary glaze from his thumb, while her imagination conjured up illicit images of him licking her everywhere.

“What’s it called?” he asked.

“‘Taste Me.’”

“You just read my mind.” Cupping her chin in his hand, Cole leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.


Dear Reader (#ulink_ec0ac2d4-506b-5908-82fb-a37e62a77263),

At some point, we’ve all thought, “Life would be a lot easier if everyone was just like me.”

That’s exactly what Espresso Cosmetics CEO Cole Sinclair finds in rival cosmetics company owner Sage Matthews. Only nothing comes easy as Sage proves to be every bit as cocky, stubborn and competitive as he is.

I enjoyed the interaction between Cole and Sage as their sexy game of one-upmanship progresses to grudging respect, friendship and, finally, love. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

All my best,

Phyllis







Phyllis Bourne






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


PHYLLIS BOURNE is a native of Chicago’s South Side and began her writing career as a newspaper crime reporter. After years of cops and criminals, she left reporting to write about life’s sweeter side. Nowadays, her stories are filled with heart-stopping heroes and happy endings. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found at a makeup counter feeding her lipstick addiction. You can find her on the web at www.phyllisbourne.com (http://www.phyllisbourne.com) and facebook.com/phyllisbournebooks (https://www.facebook.com/phyllisbournebooks).


For Byron


Contents

Cover (#u7fd6c214-f5d9-5e9f-92d9-d851332d6324)

Back Cover Text (#u22b9caef-feb0-5cdd-bba6-7d478b396bff)

Introduction (#u51eeb6fe-b125-5373-83a2-31540b0845a8)

Dear Reader (#ue5d94b93-6a59-5774-b2de-5c16cee9a20a)

Title Page (#ue8bd5b19-25fb-56b8-8f82-36e4699fd8e9)

About the Author (#uc3d51d34-b21c-5a0f-bb30-d425e8fc0286)

Dedication (#ua085c654-47ff-5e98-b5cb-7580d4f6bee4)

Chapter 1 (#u682b5eca-e838-5b14-a65b-01fb372eb34b)

Chapter 2 (#u88828628-ab80-5baf-9fd9-6578208ff2b1)

Chapter 3 (#u95d038ab-614e-5c0c-bb8d-246d697ba2d7)

Chapter 4 (#u83e306f3-7d81-5a8f-b7b3-b38bd1b2fad7)

Chapter 5 (#udaaa257a-b0db-506e-b41f-2c54ce16f5fe)

Chapter 6 (#u4199bc06-51c0-528e-a992-2c582bfee373)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#ulink_afcc85d8-2476-587f-a2a9-74e408ccf331)

“Who put the scowl on your face?”

Cole Sinclair looked up from the newspaper he’d been absorbed in to see his stepfather standing in his office doorway.

“No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” Victor Gray raised a finger in a halting gesture. “Stiletto Cosmetics.”

Folding the business section in half, Cole slung it across his desk in disgust. “How’d you guess?”

“If you’re frowning, it usually has something to do with them.”

Cole pushed away from his desk and began to pace in front of the wall of windows offering a panoramic view of downtown Nashville. He’d known when he’d returned to his hometown that reviving his family’s troubled cosmetics company would be a monumental task.

The widely held opinion that Espresso Cosmetics was old-lady makeup was firmly entrenched. Moreover, an upstart cosmetics company had set up shop in town, grabbing both headlines and Espresso’s dwindling customer base.

“The media’s handing out good press to Stiletto like candy on Halloween,” he muttered. “Meanwhile, we can barely get a reporter to return a phone call.”

Victor hovered in the doorway. “They’re just capitalizing on their fifteen minutes of fame since that singer mentioned them on television. It won’t last much longer.”

Cole wasn’t so sure. Stiletto had been generating buzz on the web even before pop star Crave gave them a shout-out on national television. He stopped midpace to glance out the window. An electronic billboard in the distance stood out against the gray January skies. It flashed continuous images of a cheeseburger with toppings stacked nearly as high as Espresso’s aging eleven-story building.

He stared blankly at it, his mind on how Stiletto was gaining ground with a generation of young women Espresso was desperate to attract. Unfortunately, an article in today’s paper had pushed that demographic even further out of their reach.

“I stopped by to see if you wanted to go to lunch with me later,” his stepfather said. “I saw a billboard of the most mouthwatering burger I’ve ever seen on the drive in this morning, and I’ve been drooling ever since.”

That burger did look good, Cole thought. Real food. A lot better than the upscale dining experiences he’d endured while handling Espresso business these past months.

He also recognized that Victor’s invitation was for more than lunch. His late mother’s second husband, the only father he’d ever known, was extending another olive branch to help rebuild their once-close relationship after eight years of estrangement.

“Another time, Vic. I doubt I’ll have an appetite by lunchtime. Dinner, either.”

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or keep frowning until your face gets stuck like that?” the older man said, still hovering in the doorway.

“There’s something you need to read.”

Cole watched his stepfather hesitate before venturing beyond the doorway into the overhauled office that no longer bore the feminine traces of the company’s founder.

Cole snatched the copy of America Today off the mahogany executive desk he’d brought in to replace the elegant Queen Anne writing table his mother and Espresso founder, Selina Sinclair Gray, had ruled from. Snapping it open, he pointed out the article responsible for his current mood and handed it to Victor.

He watched his stepfather’s eyes narrow as he zeroed in on one of the photos accompanying the story. The older man drew the newspaper in until it nearly touched his nose.

“Wow!”

“Exactly,” Cole said, still steaming over it. Then he caught an uncharacteristic gleam in Victor’s eyes. It lit up his entire face. In fact, he was practically ogling the newspaper.

What the...?

“God knows I worshipped the ground your mother walked on,” his stepfather said, “but would you take a look at those long legs in that short skirt and those high heels. I don’t see a thing here to put a frown on a man’s face.”

Cole snatched the paper back from him.

Victor shook his head and a sly grin spread over his lips. “She’s got a young Angela Davis thing going on with that wild Afro, too. Yes, sir! If I were five or ten years younger, she’d be your new mama.”

Cole stared at the smaller photo he’d ignored before, the larger one having grabbed his attention and earned his ire.

“More like twenty-five to thirty years younger,” he grumbled. “She could be your daughter.”

Cole frowned at the photo of the woman sitting on the edge of a desk. So this was Stiletto’s owner. His gaze drifted to the untamed mane of kinky coils surrounding a no-nonsense face and full, unsmiling lips. Sage Matthews looked exactly like what she and her company were—a pain in his ass.

He shoved the newspaper back at his stepfather and pointed. “This photo is the problem.”

Victor re-examined the newspaper and then looked up at him. “The young lady in this one is okay, but not nearly as good-looking as that Matthews woman. She’s smoking hot.”

“Enough about her.”

“Okay, okay,” his stepfather said, still examining the photo. “You know, the old woman standing next to the young one in this picture looks kind of like...”

“A man in drag.” Cole finished. He jabbed his finger toward the offending photo of an attractive young woman juxtaposed against an older one presumably representing Espresso. “Not only are they relegating us to the brand for senior citizens, they exaggerate the point with one of the ugliest old ladies I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, as you just said, he’s no lady.”

A vein on the side of Cole’s head pulsed. “You think?” Sarcasm permeated the question. “What gave it away, the hot mess of a gray wig or the damned goatee?”

“Hmm.” Victor tilted his own graying head to one side, then the other as he continued to study the grainy color photo. “Not really a goatee. I’d say it was more of a five o’clock shadow.”

“Are you actually defending that photo?” Cole asked.

The corner of his stepfather’s mouth quirked upward. “You know he kind of looks like the guy who stars in those Maw-Maw movies.”

“Who or what is a Maw-Maw?”

Victor looked up, an incredulous look on his face. “Wow. You have been out of the country a long time. Maw-Maw is the star of a slew of movies about a wisecracking, busybody matriarch, who can’t stop sticking her nose in her family’s business.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Can’t believe you never heard of them. I have a couple on DVD. I’ll let you borrow them.”

“No, thank you,” Cole said firmly, his patience waning.

“Oh, come on. You have to at least see Maw-Maw Passes the Plate. It’s the one where Maw-Maw puts an envelope containing a thousand dollars into the church offering plate by mistake.” His stepfather burst into a fit of laughter, slapping the newspaper against his thigh. “The old girl starts leaping over the church pews, like a sprinter clearing hurdles in the summer Olympics, trying to get it back. She even tackles a deacon. It’s hilarious!”

Cole cleared his throat loudly.

“I’m not interested in any movie featuring a grown man wearing a dress. Right now, all I care about is this article and the damage it’s doing to Espresso’s image, which isn’t one bit funny.”

“Sorry about that, son.” Victor dabbed at the tears that had gathered in his eyes from laughing. “I guess I got sidetracked.” He extracted a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and resumed studying the article.

A few minutes later, he shrugged. “Okay, so they took a bit of a dig at us. Try not to get so bent out of shape over it. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Cole fumed, the headline imprinted on his brain—Not Your Granny’s Makeup: Stiletto Cosmetics Puts Its Spiked Heel in the Competition. He quoted the article, “As Cole Sinclair makes a last ditch attempt to rescue his family’s declining Espresso Cosmetics from near extinction, an edgy new brand is poised to pick up the torch.”

Victor removed his glasses, folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. “We just had our first successful collection in nearly a decade thanks to you,” he said.

“And there wasn’t a single word in the press about it, despite the efforts of our public relations team.”

“Still, it was a huge boost to Espresso employees who haven’t had much to celebrate in a very long time,” the older man said. “You should be patting yourself on the back, not worrying about a ridiculous photo in some rag.”

“America Today has a nationwide circulation. Not to mention online and international editions.”

“My point is Espresso is finally making a comeback,” Victor said.

“Comeback?” Cole leaned against the front of his desk and folded his arms. “We’re a long way from what I’d consider a comeback.

“A sold-out holiday collection was a heck of a good start.”

Cole shrugged off the praise with a grunt. His first order of business as CEO of Espresso’s cosmetics division had been to sit down with the company’s chief financial officer, Malcolm Doyle, to find out exactly where years of stagnant sales had left them financially.

The second had been to untie the hands of the creative and product-development teams and allow them to do their jobs. For too long their ideas had languished due to Victor’s insistence on remaining loyal to what he believed Cole’s mother would have wanted for her company.

“You’ve done more for Espresso in five months than I accomplished after years of being in charge.” Victor’s chin dropped to his chest, his gaze cast toward the carpet. “It’s just I thought...”

“The success of the holiday collection was just a drop in the bucket.” Cole cut him off, refusing to play the blame game.

All he cared about was making Espresso relevant in the cosmetics industry again. It was too late to take back the harsh words he’d exchanged with his mother the very last time he’d seen her. Now the only way he could make it up to her was to save her legacy.

He swallowed hard. “We’d need a tsunami to erase the red ink from the company books and our old-lady image from women’s minds.” Rounding his desk, Cole tapped at his computer keyboard until the survey he’d commissioned appeared on the screen. “I was going to email you a copy of this later, but you might as well take a look at it now.”

Victor sat in Cole’s leather executive chair, once again retrieving his reading glasses from his pocket.

“This is a survey taken over the holidays of customers shopping at various department-store cosmetics counters,” Cole explained. He leaned over Victor’s shoulder, right-clicking the mouse to expand a page. “Here are just a few of the comments female shoppers made when asked about Espresso.”

The older man read aloud. “‘My great-aunt uses their foundation. We call her Auntie Cake behind her back because her face always looks like it’s been dipped in batter.’” Victor winced. “Ouch.”

“It gets worse.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Keep reading.”

“‘Their makeup counters are deader than a morgue.’”

Victor read another one. “‘I didn’t know they were still around.’”

Cole pointed out a remark made by a twenty-two-year-old woman actually making a purchase at an Espresso counter. This time he read it aloud. “‘I’m only here because my grandmother ran out of her favorite pink lipstick. No way I’d wear this old-lady stuff. I’m a Stiletto girl all the way.’”

His stepfather exhaled a long drawn-out breath. “This is why you’re so peeved about that article.”

Cole nodded. “The more I think about it, the more I believe it’s too late to change people’s minds about us. Our senior-citizen image is too entrenched.”

“But...” Victor started to protest, but Cole held up a hand to stop him.

“Hear me out,” Cole said. “Why keep banging our heads against a brick wall? Stiletto already has the hip, edgy vibe and is gaining popularity with the young demographic we’re chasing.”

“I’m not following you, son.”

Cole smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“It’s the acquire-to-grow strategy—something I was in charge of implementing during my tenure at Force Cosmetics. Simply put, if we can’t beat them, we’ll just have to buy them.”

He paused to give Victor a chance to let the idea sink in. “We would keep Stiletto’s name and packaging the same, meanwhile continue to revamp Espresso and rebrand it as makeup for the classic or mature beauty or something along those lines.”

The older man pressed his lips together a few moments, before he finally spoke. “Couldn’t we just develop our own offshoot brand?”

Cole shrugged. “We could, but that would take a long time. Even then, consumers can be fickle. There’s no guarantee it would catch on and turn into a winner for us.”

“But how?” Victor frowned, deepening the creases in his forehead. “You heard what Doyle said. The cosmetics division is buried in red ink. Your sister’s Espresso Sanctuary spas propped us up until you came back and threw us a lifeline.”

Cole crossed his arms over his chest. While Espresso’s finances had dwindled in his absence, his personal wealth had grown tremendously. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered,” he said. “I’m about to make Ms. Matthews an offer too good to refuse.”


Chapter 2 (#ulink_aa54f0e0-e839-5088-9c67-18983d11d012)

Sage Matthews pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to give it, and the woman on the other end of the line, the side eye.

“Your makeup brand would be a perfect addition to our store lineup.”

The buyer for the trendy boutique chain droned on, but the silent alarms on Sage’s bullshit detector drowned out the rest of her spiel. It sounded identical to the ones she’d heard all morning.

“Strange—that isn’t what you said a few weeks ago.” Sage kicked off her shoes under her desk and wiggled her toes. High heels were the worst form of torture, but when you owned a company called Stiletto, you had to dress the part.

She glanced at the notation she’d scribbled on a message slip next to the buyer’s name. “I believe you said Stiletto’s branding was too provocative. Your exact words were downright raunchy.”

“Um...well,” the woman stammered. “You must have misheard me. I said it was delightfully racy as in sexy. Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Misunderstanding, huh? Sage stifled the harrumph on the tip of her tongue. “Hard to tell,” she said, “considering the way your secretary tossed me out of your office afterward like she was a nightclub bouncer.”

“Oh, dear. Please accept my apologies if my staff was a touch overzealous. Again, I assure you it was all a big mistake. One I hope we can...”

“Just stop.” Sage had heard enough.

“P-pardon?”

“Before you continue, you should know I refuse to do business with anyone who lies to me.”

Silence.

Figuring the buyer was weighing her options, Sage waited, making no attempt to fill the dead air. Long awkward moments passed, before a sigh emitted over the line. “Okay, the truth is I didn’t want to risk offending my more conservative clientele by selling lipsticks and eyes shadows with names like Spank Me and Missionary Position.”

There was another sigh, this one deeper and more drawn out. “Next thing I know, the hottest female singer on the planet is telling a national television audience she adores your lipsticks. Suddenly the same customers I was worried about offending are clamoring for Stiletto products, and I couldn’t be more sorry for turning you down.”

Finally, Sage thought, the truth.

She’d returned nearly a dozen calls that morning from eager buyers, the same people who had practically slammed the door in her face previously, criticizing everything from Stiletto’s faux black leather packing to the titillating names of their products. Of course, they’d changed their tunes in the weeks since pop star Crave had whipped out a tube of Stiletto lipstick and called it her secret weapon.

Sage knew it was just foolish pride. Still, she couldn’t help feel irked that instead of owning up to their blunder, they’d tried to gloss over it. Insulting her intelligence with meaningless flattery.

“My assistant will contact you later today to schedule a meeting to discuss adding Stiletto to your boutique’s lineup,” she said, satisfied. “However, you should know that as circumstances have changed, so has my first offer. Any deal we strike now will definitely have terms more favorable to Stiletto.”

“Eh...uh...of course,” the boutique’s buyer said. “I look forward to our meeting.”

Sage ended the call just as her assistant, Amelia, bounded into her office clutching a pink message slip. A huge grin deepened the dimples in the cheeks of her smooth brown skin. “I thought it would take forever for you to finally get off the phone.”

“What’s up?” Leaning forward in her office chair, Sage propped her elbows on her desktop. She dropped her chin to her chest and began rubbing out the kinks that had developed in her neck from talking on the phone all morning.

“You’ll never guess who called for you.” The nineteen-year-old shifted from one leg to the other, practically bouncing with excitement. “Not in a million years.”

“Well, don’t keep me...” Sage stopped midsentence and glanced up at her assistant. “Hold on. What are you still doing here?” She glanced at her watch. “Your accounting class starts in five minutes.”

Amelia huffed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I know. I know.”

The teen had started working for Stiletto a few hours a week after school during her last year of high school. Sage thought she was doing the girl a favor, but quickly discovered that in the efficient and organized Amelia, she’d struck employee gold.

A year later, when graduation and her eighteenth birthday aged her out of the foster-care system, the job became full-time with the stipulation that Amelia would enroll in college. Having grown up in the foster-care system, Sage knew the importance of having an education to fall back on when you had no one to depend on but yourself.

“Well?” Sage raised a brow.

“But I couldn’t leave. Not just yet. Not until I tell you who...”

“I don’t care who called. There isn’t anything or anyone more important than you being at school right now,” Sage said.

The same brusque tone that sent her other employees, and most people, scurrying for cover rarely intimidated Amelia. Nor did it dampen her bubbly enthusiasm over the caller she was dying to tell her about.

“Stand down, General. I’m going to class, but first you have to hear who called you before I explode.”

“For goodness’ sake. Spit it out so you can haul your fanny over to the community college.” Sage sighed. “And if you’re going to call me General, can’t you do it behind my back like everyone else around here?”

“Cole Sinclair!” The name popped out of her assistant’s mouth like the cork on a bottle of champagne.

Sage studied the message slip Amelia handed her and tried to place the familiar name. Then it hit her. “As in Espresso Cosmetics?” He and his family’s company had been a footnote in a feature article on Stiletto that had run a few days ago in America Today.

“Well, yeah, but Cole Sinclair is worth way more than that granny makeup company he runs.” Amelia dismissed the connection with a flick of her hand. “Remember the puzzle game we deleted from our phones and you banned from our office computers because it was too addictive?”

Sage nodded, recalling getting so caught up in the colorful game she’d spent an entire evening matching trios of circus clowns in an attempt to beat enough levels to earn the elusive title of ultimate ringmaster.

“Well, Cole Sinclair invested in the gaming studio that developed it years ago, back when it was just two college kids in their parents’ basement. His meager investment turned him into a millionaire twenty times over when the business eventually sold to a major corporation,” Amelia said. “It was one of the topics in my entrepreneurship class last semester.”

While the background information on Sinclair was mildly interesting, Sage’s concern was her own business and turning it into a multimillion-dollar endeavor. She stared at the name on the message slip. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Only that it was important,” Amelia said. “What do you think?”

Sage shrugged. “Maybe he’s miffed about that article in America Today. The mention of Espresso wasn’t exactly flattering. Nor was that photo of the young, chic woman symbolizing us versus the old one that was supposedly Espresso.”

“Or maybe—” Amelia paused dramatically “—maybe he took one look at the photo of you with that article and fell head over heels for you. And he wants to ask you out on a date. Just think about it.” The young woman let out a squeal. “A tall, good-looking millionaire is smitten by your photo, falls hopelessly in love and is determined to sweep you off your feet.”

Sage stared at the dreamy look on the teen’s face, unable to believe the crap coming out of her mouth. How could a girl so smart about most things be so dumb about this one? Sage waited a beat, reaching for diplomatic words to set her assistant straight without hurting her feelings.

There were none.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.

“It could happen,” Amelia protested.

“Yeah, and maybe he’ll charge into my office on a white horse wearing a suit of armor or bare chested like the men on the covers of those ridiculous romance novels you’ve always got your nose stuck in.”

This time it was her assistant who frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic. In fact, the more I think about it, a date is just what you need. It would loosen you up, and maybe folks around here might stop calling you General behind your back.”

They could call her Godzilla for all she cared, as long as they did their jobs—and did them well. “You need to spend more time with your textbooks and less reading those silly romances.” Sage checked her watch.

“I’m going, but first I need to schedule your meeting with Mr. Sinclair.”

Amelia pulled the smartphone she used for work from her pants pocket. “He wants to see you at your earliest convenience.” She tapped on the screen with a stylus she’d retrieved from behind her ear. “Your schedule is packed, but I could bump one of your other appointments so you can see him later this afternoon or perhaps first thing tomorrow.”

Sage held up a finger. “I haven’t decided if I’m meeting with him at all.”

The younger woman looked up from the phone. “You’re joking, right?”

“You, better than anyone, know I rarely joke.”

“Aren’t you curious? I can hardly wait to find out what he wants.”

Sage fixed her assistant with her most intimidating, no-nonsense glare. “You’ll have to wait because you’re leaving for your accounting class right now.”

Grumbling, the young woman reluctantly did as she was told.

Sage had no idea why Cole Sinclair had called. But unlike Amelia, she didn’t indulge in far-fetched fantasies. Sage lived in the real world.

And in the real world, when rich people wanted to talk business, they wanted to trick poor people out of something valuable.


Chapter 3 (#ulink_2515a372-20be-54f1-a347-0ffceaa7ca4d)

Money might not buy happiness, but Cole knew enough of it would buy just about everything else.

It was the reason he walked the short blocks from the Espresso building to the downtown restaurant he’d selected for his meeting with Sage Matthews, confident he’d be the new owner of Stiletto Cosmetics when he returned.

Cole was also intrigued.

The woman had actually put him off for over a week. A humorless chuckle pushed through his lips, leaving a vapor trail as his warm breath hit the January air.

No one put him on the back burner. Not anymore, Cole thought. When he snapped his fingers, people jumped. Especially women.

Another side effect of deep pockets.

So either Ms. Matthews had somehow missed the articles written about him by reporters obsessed with his bank balance, or she was one of the few people who simply didn’t care.

A blast of heat hit him as he pulled open the restaurant door and strode inside. Immediately, he saw a woman with her back to him talking to the hostess.

Her big, bold hair and long, shapely legs left no doubt about her identity. Shiny, patent leather boots hugged her calves, and she wore a red wool coat with a thigh-grazing hemline just shy of indecent.

Cole felt the corner of his mouth tic upward into a reluctant smile as his stepfather’s words popped into his head: not a thing here that would put a frown on a man’s face.

He overheard the hostess, who hadn’t seen him come in. “Mr. Sinclair hasn’t arrived yet, but let me take your coat, and I’ll show you to the table he reserved in our private dining room.”

“No, thanks.” Cole watched Sage Matthews consult a plain wristwatch with a worn, black strap, a feminine version of his own. “We’re supposed to meet here in five minutes. If he’s not on time, I’m leaving.”

“Mr. Sinclair is always punctual,” the hostess offered.

The woman in the short coat and high-heeled boots bobbed her head in a curt nod. “If he wants to see me, he’d better be.”

Cole cleared his throat, the gesture commanding the attention of both women. “I’m here—” he glanced at his own Timex and then pointedly at Ms. Matthews “—with four minutes to spare.”

She met his gaze, not a trace of sheepishness at being overheard in her expression. If anything, challenge flickered in her chocolate-brown eyes. “Good. Time is money, Mr. Sinclair. Mine is valuable.”

Cole blinked. The statement was something he’d usually say, and she’d delivered it just like he would have—blunt and to the point. “Well, let’s not waste either of ours standing here,” he said.

Within minutes, the hostess had taken their coats, and escorted them through the bustling dining room to a staircase leading to the private room he liked to use when conducting business outside the Espresso building. As they walked Cole couldn’t help notice the statuesque woman with the riot of kinky curls move through the upscale restaurant as if she owned it, garnering appreciative glances from every man in the room.

Including him.

However, this lunch had an agenda and nothing would distract him from it. Not even a sweet pair of legs, showcased by a minidress and fantasy-inducing shiny stiletto boots.

A waiter appeared with menus immediately after they were seated. He took their drink orders and disappeared to retrieve them.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Ms. Matthews.” Cole didn’t bother opening the menu. The entrées were the standard fare of most upscale restaurants. A minuscule serving of meat or fish smothered in creams and vegetables pureed beyond recognition and served on a plate that appeared destined for an art museum rather than someone’s stomach.

However, this restaurant was currently the hot ticket in town for fine dining, and it made the right impression at lunch and dinner business meetings in an industry where image was everything.

Cole’s personal preference would have been to conduct business over real food—a burger, barbecue sandwich or a slice of pizza. One of which he’d probably grab afterward to celebrate his having reached a verbal agreement with Ms. Matthews.

He glanced across the table at his lunch companion, who was perusing the menu. Again, she surprised him. Most people would have rushed to fill the silence with small talk by now.

His gaze dropped to her lips, painted the same bold, sassy red as her dress. The firm line she held them in didn’t distract from their fullness.

She looked up, and her eyes locked with his. Caught staring, Cole didn’t divert his bold appraisal.

“I was checking out your lipstick shade,” he said, making it clear both to her, and to himself, that any interest in her mouth was purely professional.

“It’s one of Stiletto’s bestsellers.” She lifted a perfectly arched brow. “It’s called Badass.”

Cole licked his own lips, his mouth suddenly dry. I’ll just bet you are.

The errant thought popped into his head so quickly, he feared he’d said it aloud. Her impassive expression assured him he hadn’t, and he exhaled in relief.

The waiter reappeared with their drinks. Cole used the moments it took for them to order two of the chef’s specialties to give himself a mental knock upside the head.

Stay on task, man, he silently warned. This is a business meeting, not a date. He reached for his water glass and took a long sip. No more getting sidetracked by shiny stiletto boots or impossibly red lips.

“Now how about you tell me what’s on your mind, Mr. Sinclair?”

Cole swallowed, the question immediately shutting down illicit images of her full red lips pressed against his and those badass boot-encased legs wrapped firmly around his waist.

“Excuse me?” The words came out like a frog’s croak.

“Since we’ve established neither of us likes to waste time,” she said. “I assumed we could skip the preliminaries and get right to the reason for my being here.”

An odd sense of déjà vu passed over him. How many times had he said the exact same thing? Plenty, Cole silently answered his own question.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was sitting across the table from a female version of himself.

Nah, couldn’t be, he thought.

Leaning forward, Cole crossed his arms on the table. “I want to buy Stiletto.”

Her eyes widened, his only clue he’d caught her off guard. She recovered quickly, and then she, too, leaned forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the table.

“Then this meeting truly was a waste of time for both of us, Mr. Sinclair, because my company isn’t for sale.”

That’s what you think, Cole thought. “Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Matthews,” he said aloud. The easy Southern drawl he’d thought he’d lost in Europe permeated his warning. “After all, you don’t know what I’m offering.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I think it will.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Her tone taunted him with an unspoken challenge. Cole could hardly wait to see her expression when he not only met her expectations, but surpassed them.

Eye to eye, neither of their stares wavered. Nor did Cole’s confidence that he’d leave here with what he wanted. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a folded scrap of paper and slid it across the white linen tablecloth.

Her fingertips grazed his as she took it, sending an almost audible crackle of electricity through him. He scoured her expression for an indication she’d felt it, too. For the first time since they’d met, she diverted her eyes.

She’d felt it all right.

Abruptly snatching her hand back, she took the slip of paper. His own hand still tingling in the spot where they’d inadvertently touched, Cole watched her square her shoulders. Her back stiffened as she straightened in her chair.

“It doesn’t matter what amount you’ve written. I’ve already told you, Stiletto isn’t for sale.”

Cole simply inclined his head toward the slip of paper. He stared at her fingernails, painted the same bold red as her lips, while she opened it.

This time, Sage Matthews couldn’t disguise her reaction. The paper fell from her hands on the table, and that delectable red mouth dropped open. A stuttering sound came out of it.

“O-oh, my God.” She covered a gasp with her hand and stared up him. “You’re joking, right?”

“I never joke about business, Ms. Matthews.” Satisfaction and a sense of imminent victory flooded him. The taste was so sweet, he’d probably forgo dessert.

Cole picked up the paper bearing his offer and placed it back in her hand. She was still examining it when the waiter returned with their entrées.

“Why don’t you just let that figure sink in while we enjoy lunch?” Cole did his best not to sound smug. “We can discuss it after we eat.”

The woman recovered quickly, her surprise replaced with a mask of indifference. But Cole knew better.

“Fine by me.” She refolded the paper and put it aside.

Cole switched focus to his food. He’d originally planned to go out for a simpler meal later; however, his impending triumph had given him quite an appetite. He’d just have to make do with the chef’s specialty, an overdressed piece of fish so fancy it deserved its own art exhibit.

He reached for his fork, but the frown on his dining companion’s face as she looked at her food stopped him. “Everything all right?”

She wrinkled her nose, and for the first time he noticed the faint smattering of freckles dotting it. “Honestly?” she asked.

Cole chuckled. “Somehow I don’t think you know how to be any other way.”

“I realize you’re accustomed to sitting down to a so-called gastronomical experience at every meal, but I’m a simple country girl with simple tastes. I’d have been fine with a pulled pork sandwich or burger.”

“Unbelievable,” Cole murmured. More like amazing.

She held up a hand. “Don’t go getting offended on me. It’s just a personal preference.” She picked up her fork and poked what appeared to be pureed spinach. “I’m sure whatever is under all this froufrou garnishing tastes just fine.”

Cole threw his head back and laughed. Too bad this wasn’t a date because Sage Matthews was almost too good to be true. If he wasn’t careful, he could end up liking her...a lot. “First of all, from what I see there’s nothing simple about you,” he said. “Second, you and I have the exact same opinion when it comes to food.”

“Really?” She brightened and a smile touched her lips.

He nodded, and then scanned the surroundings. “Write-ups in Bon Appétit and Saveur magazines have made this place a hot ticket. It impresses the people I do business with who love both its exclusivity and the cuisine.” Cole shrugged. “But me? I’ll take cheeseburger with a side of onion rings over froufrou every time.”

“My absolute favorite meal,” she said. “Thanks to an electronic billboard I pass on the way to work advertising a new burger place in town, I’ve been giving in to a craving for it every day for the past week for both lunch and dinner.”

“Burger Tower?”

She nodded. “Have you eaten there yet?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity; however, I can see the very same billboard from my office window. It leaves me practically drooling.”

She leaned in conspiratorially, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, Mr. Sinclair, from one burger lover to another, they’re positively addictive.”

Cole rarely acted on impulse, but Sage Matthews was such a refreshing change of pace. She didn’t pander to him with her eyes on his wallet for what she could get. She impressed him as a woman who spoke her mind and didn’t give a damn what he or anyone else thought about it.

He was well aware he’d asked her here for purely professional reasons. Still, he found himself wanting to see her again.

“Call me Cole,” he said. “Because once we conclude our business, I’d like to take you out for one of those burgers. Feed both you and your addiction.”

She blinked. “As in a date?”

His common sense told him this wasn’t the time or place. Intermingling the personal and professional broke the most basic rule of business. A rule he’d never been tempted to bend until now.

He knew better.

Cole couldn’t defend his actions. Nor could he stop himself from telling her exactly what was on his mind.

“You couldn’t have missed it. I’m not even sure what to call it—an air of familiarity?” He searched for the right words to describe the coincidences, but came up empty and hoped he didn’t sound like a fool.

“It’s almost like looking in a mirror,” she said, softly.

Cole exhaled, and then nodded.

“Not physically, of course,” she quickly added. “But we do appear to have an awful lot in common.”

“More than that...” Again, he found himself reaching for just the right words, not wanting to make presumptions or come on too strong.

Her gaze dropped to his hand. The same one her touch had left tingling. “I felt it, too.”

“It’s the reason why I’m asking you on a date in the middle of a business lunch. I’d like an opportunity to get to know you better.”

The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “As much as I’d enjoy that, I don’t think it’s going happen.”

“Why not? Are you involved with someone?” Of course, she was, Cole thought. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean anything.”

“No, I’m not seeing anyone. Honestly, you’re the first man I’ve met in a long time who’s piqued my interest.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Oh, I’m not the one with the problem,” she said. “You’ll be, once I turn down your offer to buy Stiletto.”

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

His voice was velvet smooth. Its deep, melodic cadence threw Sage off her game. She didn’t think she’d had it in her to act like Amelia. Yet, for a while she’d let herself be lured into entertaining the ludicrous notions of instant attraction and serendipity.

Get a grip, she silently scolded. It was just one touch and a few coincidences.

Her guard firmly back into place, Sage needed to make her position clear. Before Cole Sinclair talked her out of her company and her panties.

“I’ve made my decision,” she said. “No sale.”

Cole raised a brow. “Maybe I haven’t explained that the figure I gave you is merely a starting point,” he said. “One I’m willing to sweeten with a few more zeros.”

Sage swallowed, hard. The offer was already beyond generous, and at this point, much more than her company was worth. If money was the only measuring stick.

The massive figure didn’t take the intangibles into account. She didn’t have family and had sacrificed the few friends and relationships she’d had by putting all her time and effort into her small company.

While Stiletto was simply a commodity to a man like Cole Sinclair, something easily bought or sold, it was her everything.

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Think about it, Ms. Matthews,” he continued. “We’re talking about a lot of money here. You’re a young woman. Wisely invested, it’ll last a lifetime. You could travel the world worry-and responsibility-free.”

“And how did that work for you?”

Sage caught the tic of a muscle beneath the shadow of beard along his strong jawline. The tiny telltale movement was the only indication her question made him uncomfortable. “You spent the past few years on your boat sailing around—where was it I read, again?—Italy? Greece?”

“Both.”

“Yet, instead of continuing to enjoy the idyllic carefree life you described, you’re back in Nashville running Espresso.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She noticed her unconscious movements mirrored his and abruptly unfolded her arms. “Not only that, you want my company, too.”

“I came back home because my family needed me. The company my mother poured her lifeblood into needs me.”

“Then you should understand why I won’t sell Stiletto,” she said. “I’ve spent years building this business. Now that it’s finally showing some promise, you want me to just hand it over to you.”

“Sell it to me, Ms. Matthews, for what we both know is triple what your small company is actually worth.”

His statement brought up a question that had niggled at her since she’d seen his staggering starting offer.

“I’m curious. Why are you willing to pay big money for my ‘small company’?”

Their waiter returned. A slight incline of Cole’s head and he quickly removed the plates of barely touched food, then vanished as if he’d never entered the room.

Sage met the hard stare of that man across the table. She held it through a tension-filled silence, wondering if he’d give her the real answer to her question or some pat bullshit reply.

Part of her hoped he’d do the latter. It would make it easier to dismiss Cole Sinclair and snuff out any attraction she felt toward him.

“Our image problem is no secret. The article that ran in America Today certainly didn’t help it,” he said. “Acquiring Stiletto would give Espresso instant access to and credibility with a younger market, which we desperately need.”

Sage shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything about him so far had been straightforward. The stark honesty in his reply raised him in her esteem.

Despite her efforts to the contrary, she found herself actually liking Cole Sinclair, though not enough to sell him her company.

“While I understand your predicament, you’ll have to find another solution to Espresso’s problems. Stiletto isn’t for sale. Not at any price.”

“So you’ve said.” He seemed nonplussed at her declaration.

However, Sage knew he wasn’t ready to give up, because they seemed to be two of a kind, and in his shoes, she wouldn’t.

“Be smart, Ms. Matthews. Not only is this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, it’s one for your company, too,” he said. “And while I applaud what you’ve been able to accomplish with Stiletto with such limited resources, I think you’ve hit a ceiling. You won’t be able to take it to the next level.”

And just like that, Sage didn’t like him so much anymore.

“But you can?”

“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. The lack of conceit in his tone irked her more than his words.

Sage snorted. “With what, money?”

“Money, along with two other things you don’t have—infrastructure and experience.”

Sage listened as he continued to build his case.

“Espresso may have an image problem, but it also has the distribution channels. We have the department store counter space and Espresso Sanctuary spas.”

“Thanks to that mention from Crave, Stiletto is on a roll,” Sage countered. “It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have those things, too.”

Cole chuckled as if she’d told him a knock-knock joke. The deep, rich sound sent the same involuntary tingles through her body as his touch, and at the same time, ratcheted up her annoyance. “Perhaps in ten years or so,” he said. “I can do it now.”

Sage grudgingly acknowledged the man had a point, but only to herself. She’d never give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

“Like you said, I’m a young woman. Time is on my side.” She spared a glance at the folded slip of paper with his offer, before leveling her gaze at him. “Besides, there’s more to taking a business to the next level than deep pockets.”

“Deep pockets and experience.”

“Experience in what?” Sage muttered. “Lucky investments? Globetrotting?”

Annoyance flashed in his dark brown eyes as they bored into hers, but he extinguished the show of emotion as quickly as it sparked.

He exhaled a long drawn-out sigh. “I grew up in this industry at my mother’s side.” He spoke slowly as if he were correcting a naughty child. “During my hiatus from Espresso, I indeed made a shrewd investment that paid off royally, which gave me an opportunity to take off and see a bit of the world. However, I also spent seven of those nine years working my way up the ladder to vice president of acquisitions at Force Cosmetics.”

Sage’s mouth dropped open at his disclosure, and she promptly slammed it shut, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“The articles written about me tend to leave out that particular part of my bio, preferring to focus on my so-called lucky investment,” he said.

Damn. An internet search on Cole Sinclair had pulled up at least a dozen articles. None of them had mentioned he’d had a top job at Force. They practically dominated the beauty industry.

Also, it seemed strange.

Why had he gone to work for an international giant like Force Cosmetics when he had blood ties to Espresso, she wondered. Sage shrugged off the question. It wasn’t any of her business.

“Don’t underestimate me, Ms. Matthews,” he said. “There’s a lot more to me than money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sage conceded the round of verbal sparring to him. Still, it wouldn’t get him what he wanted.

He rested his back against the chair. His easy smile returned, oozing with Southern charm, but his dark eyes brimmed with an unspoken challenge.

“Also, don’t let pride stand in the way of your common sense.” Like his smile, the deep, melodic baritone belied the man’s uncompromising words. “Let me take Stiletto off your hands because the bottom line is I can run your company better than you ever could.”

Sage stood abruptly. The condescension and the kernel of truth in his hard-hitting statement stung as if he’d pelted her with a handful of rocks.

“This meeting is over, Mr. Sinclair,” she said, walking toward the door of the private dining room.

Sage didn’t intend to give him a backward glance but turned around at the sound of that arrogant, infuriating, panty-melting voice.

“Keep in mind, if you won’t sell Stiletto to me, I’ll be forced to go with my alternative plan. One I don’t think you’ll like.”

Sage’s eyes narrowed as she glared at him. Sitting there, surrounded by an air of confident cool, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “I have two words for you and your granny-makeup company, Mr. Sinclair. Bring it.”

“How about we get on a first name basis, Sage?” The smile never left his face. “Because I intend to bring it all right. I just hope you can handle it.”


Chapter 4 (#ulink_6c89ba3b-669a-5fde-9a43-aac1ee6a4e98)

Cole walked briskly through the streets leading back to the Espresso building.

Bring it!

The taunt echoed through his head, leaving him unable to determine if the vapor emitted by his body was generated by his breath colliding with the cold or the steam venting from his ears.

Not only did the stubborn woman dismiss his perfectly reasonable argument. She’d tossed an extremely generous offer back in his face.

Who turns their nose up at that kind of money?

“Sage Matthews, that’s who,” Cole grumbled aloud, oblivious to passersby making a wide berth around the man talking to himself.

Images of big hair, shiny black boots and tempting red-slicked lips bombarded him as he yanked open the lobby door of the Espresso building.

The once-modern concrete-and-steel structure, built by his late uncle, had been a tremendous source of pride to his mother when it was erected thirty years ago. Now the eleven-story building stood half-empty, dwarfed by dozens of gleaming new towers dominating the Nashville skyline.

Cole sighed. Though they’d worked through most of their differences, the building continued to be a sticking point in his and Victor’s relationship. Cole and his sisters had agreed selling it was their best option, but his stepfather wouldn’t hear of it.

They could have easily outvoted him months ago. However, Cole thought the older man needed more time to accept the inevitable.

It was just as well, he thought. Right now he needed to focus on convincing the infuriatingly sexy Sage Matthews to give him what he wanted.

Her company.

Acknowledging both the security guard and reception desk with a nod, he strode across the lobby’s marble floor to the elevators. Fortunately, two of the three elevators in the older building were working today.

This should have been a chip shot, he thought, as the elevator whisked him up to the executive floor. He’d expected to be talking with his lawyers by now, instructing them to prepare the paperwork sealing the deal. Only there was no deal.

And nothing had gone as he’d expected.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened on the eleventh floor. Cole pushed open the door to the outer office of the executive suite. He was relieved to see Victor’s door closed. Cole wasn’t looking forward to filling his stepfather in on the details of the disastrous meeting.

Or your totally unprofessional behavior.

Cole shook his head. He’d actually asked her out on a date. It was unlike him to be so impulsive or stupid.

Then again, he’d never felt so in sync with a woman. Sage Matthews had been right about one thing, when it came to their personalities and mannerisms, it was indeed like looking in the mirror.

“Is that frown tattooed on your face or do you wear it just for me?” The gravelly ex-smoker’s voice of the secretary he shared with his stepfather broke into his thoughts.

Cole groaned inwardly, pausing at the large desk in the office bridging his and Victor’s offices.

The way his day had been going today, it figured Loretta Walker would be faithfully manning her station instead of taking a long lunch when the boss was away like the secretaries and administrative assistants he’d had in the past. Cole fixed the silver-haired sexagenarian with a glare that would have sent any other Espresso employee fleeing to the opposite side of the building.

The woman didn’t so much as flinch.

“This is my special face just for you,” he said. “I laugh like the Tickle Me Elmo doll for everyone else.”

“Lucky me. I get to spend my workdays looking at that sour mug.” She handed him a few opened envelopes from the stack of the day’s mail. “These require your attention. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You’re welcome to retire anytime,” Cole said as he sifted through them.

“No can do,” Loretta said. “I’ve got a granddaughter to get through medical school, remember?”

“Then how about a paid vacation, somewhere far, far away?”

“Vacation?” Loretta threw her head back and laughed, the raspy sound filling the office that had been her domain for nearly three decades. “I can barely take a bathroom break without everything around here falling apart. Face it, I’m both indispensable and irreplaceable.”

Despite his bluster, Cole couldn’t refute it. Loretta was also smart, paid attention to detail and took no crap whatsoever from him, or the members of his family that bore the name Gray, including the late Selina Sinclair Gray.

As a kid, he’d once asked his mother why she let an employee get away with the kind of backtalk she’d never tolerate from her children or anyone else.

She’d told him Loretta was more than just a secretary. She explained Loretta kept the office operating with clockwork precision, which gave her the freedom to focus on running Espresso.

“More importantly, Loretta calls it like she sees it, and possesses the courage to speak her mind regardless of the consequences,” his mother had said. “Everybody should have someone like her in their life.”

At the time, Cole had believed his mother the wisest person he’d ever known. All her big decisions had been good ones, right up until her last one, which still confounded him.

He forced back the hard feelings that had separated him from his family for years. His thoughts drifted back to the woman he’d met this afternoon.

Sage Matthews hadn’t had a problem speaking her mind, either.

Their short meeting had taken him through a gamut of emotions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued, irritated or challenged, and he had to admit, totally turned on.

“Is that a tic or did you actually just crack a smile?”

“Tic,” Cole answered automatically, “brought on by a certain exasperating secretary.” Although, he knew a smile brought on by the recent memory of a certain woman in red had indeed touched his lips.

Loretta grunted. “If you’re all done twitching, mind telling me what time you want your lawyers here to hammer out the details of the Stiletto deal?”

The next grunt that sounded in the outer office came from him. His lips tightened. Any hint of a smile connected to his lunchtime encounter vanished, replaced with the last emotion his lunch companion had left him with—annoyance.

“Well?” Loretta pressed.

“There is no Stiletto deal.” Cole admitted, then quickly amended. “Yet.”

The long-time secretary’s hoarse cackle filled his ears. All she needed to complete the effect was a chalkboard to scratch her nails across. “Gave you hell, didn’t she?”

Although he’d never admit it aloud, Sage Matthews certainly had.

“Good for her, bringing you down a peg or two,” Loretta continued. Her gravelly voice trailed him into his office. “It’s about time you met your match.”

Cole closed the door firmly behind him. However, his secretary’s parting shot lingered. He couldn’t deny the similarities between them, but his match? Ms. Matthews had a long way to go before she possessed the capability to bring him down a peg.

Walking over to the window, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. He stared blankly at the flashing billboard in the distance and plotted his next move.

* * *

“I can’t believe you walked out on Cole Sinclair.”

Sage rose from her chair, braced her palms on her desktop and leaned forward. Had Amelia lost her mind? “Did you not hear a word I just said? The man threatened to come after Stiletto.”

“Well...” Her assistant hedged, tilting her head to one side.

“Well, what?” Sage snapped. She fisted her hands on her hips waiting to hear what possible explanation the young woman could conjure up to justify the man’s insufferable behavior.

“You did tell him to ‘bring it,’” Amelia said. “And knowing you as I do, I’m sure it was more like a barked command.”

“Me?” Sage asked incredulously. Her knuckles dug deeper into her sides. “All I did was show up for a lunch meeting, which I should add, you wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace about until I agreed to go.”

Her assistant held her hands up. “Hold on, General,” she said. “I certainly didn’t mean for you to march downtown and purposely provoke him.”

Sage plopped down in her office chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “He was the one provoking me.”

“You aren’t one of the richest people in town.”

“Please, don’t mention money.” Sage rolled her eyes toward the beams and pipes stretching across the ceiling of the former factory that housed Stiletto’s headquarters as well as several other businesses. “He was tossing out dollars like a freak in a strip club.”

Amelia laughed and then stopped abruptly. She narrowed her eyes. “So exactly how much was his offer to buy Stiletto?”

“That would fall under the category of none of your business.”

“How about a ballpark figure?” The teen shrugged. “You turned him down anyway. What difference does it make?”

Sage thought it over a moment. It wasn’t as if Amelia would spread it around the office. She could be a loopy romantic, but she was as discreet as she was efficient.

“Let’s just say it was a couple of ballparks.”

“And you didn’t take the deal?”

“Of course, not. Stiletto isn’t for sale,” Sage said. “And you weren’t there. He was condescending and...” Her voice trailed off as the sound of his easy baritone came back to her. Deep, rich and melodic. It made her want him to eat dessert in bed with him, naked.

“And what?” Amelia raised a brow.

“H-he was just so smug,” Sage stammered over the words.

A slow smile spread over her assistant’s lips. “And what else?”

“O-overbearing, insufferable, overconfident...” Again, her reaction to him at lunch waylaid her train of thought, and she automatically rubbed the spot where their hands had accidentally brushed.

“Interesting.” The young woman’s eyes widened as if she’d just been told a secret, and the smile on her face morphed into a full-fledged grin. “He sounds an awful lot like someone else I know.”

“What are you grinning at?” Sage snapped. “Stop it.”

Instead, Amelia narrowed her gaze. She made a few hmm and mmm sounds as she looked her up and down.

Sage squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

The young woman ignored the question, continuing her examination. “Cheeks flushed. Eyes glazed over. You’re practically glowing,” she said, making Sage feel as though she was in a doctor’s office instead of her own. “And notice how you were all breathless and stammering when you talked about Mr. Sinclair.”

Amelia nodded her head knowingly as if she already had the answer to her own question. “Not in a million years did I think I’d be saying this to you, but you look exactly like a smitten heroine in one of my romance novels.”

Although she was immune to them, Sage gave her assistant a laser-beam side eye. “I’m acting insulted and extremely annoyed...because I am.”

However, Sage didn’t know who she was more pissed at, the man with the bedroom voice who believed he could run her business better than she, or herself for even having considered a date with him.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Sage insisted, remembering his last words to her and the excessive confidence with which he’d delivered them.

I intend to bring it all right. I just hope you can handle it.

His declaration had come off as a double entendre. She’d caught both the all-business challenge and the sensual promise. Sage only wished there was a way for her to show him he’d taunted the wrong woman and wipe the smug smile off his handsome face.

Oblivious, Amelia exhaled a dreamy sigh filled with youthful naïveté. “I think Mr. Sinclair made quite the impression on you.”

Sage’s stomach growled, reminding her she still hadn’t had lunch. “He made me so mad, I didn’t even eat...”

The words died on her lips as an idea hit her.

Not just an idea, a maneuver so outrageous it would make Cole Sinclair think twice about underestimating her again. But you couldn’t, she thought. You wouldn’t dare go through with it.

Oh, yes, I would.

Her assistant waved a hand in front of her face, and Sage blinked. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. I was trying to tell you...” Amelia paused, then frowned. “Uh-oh. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Sage feigned cluelessness. “Whatever do you mean?”

“It looks like you just sprouted devil horns on your head. The only thing missing is the diabolical laugh.”

Her decision made, Sage slapped her palms against her desk and stood. Time to rally the troops. “I want you to add fifty additional beauty bloggers to the invitation list for our Valentine’s Day’s event,” she said. “We’re going to make it even bigger and even better.”

“Will do.”

She watched her assistant make the notation. “Then send Joe Archer from advertising into my office. I’ve got a job for him,” Sage said. “I’m about to teach Mr. Sinclair a lesson he won’t soon forget.”

Amelia shook her head. “Sounds like you’ve already made him angry. I really don’t think you should provoke him any further.”

“Never mind what you think. Just get Archer in here.”

Her assistant heaved an exaggerated sigh. “All right, I’ll do as you ordered, General. I just hope you don’t start the battle of the Nashville cosmetic companies.”

So what if she did? Sage thought. The man had made it clear he intended to bring it. She was simply firing the first salvo, because the best defense was a good offense.

Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be there to see the look on Sinclair’s face.


Chapter 5 (#ulink_d2ded2d3-a955-5cdb-a052-9cb637e0950a)

A week after their disastrous lunch, Sage Matthews remained on Cole’s mind. His thoughts bounced from those sexy, shapely legs to that sassy mouth of hers painted the hottest shade of red he’d ever seen.

“Mr. Sinclair?”

Cole blinked, the sound of his name dragging him back to reality. Damn, he’d done it again.

And again, he told himself he was only pondering his next step to persuade the woman to sell her business.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” Cole glanced around the coffee-and croissant-laden conference-room table where Espresso’s department heads had gathered that morning for their biweekly meeting. His uncharacteristic distracted behavior drew a quizzical stare from Victor and a smug, know-it-all one from Loretta, who had been needling him all week about Stiletto’s owner rejecting his offer.

He looked past them to the company’s special events coordinator.

Tammy Barnes adjusted her eyeglasses. “I was saying it appears the Valentine’s Day minimakeover event at our department store counters will have some competition, at least locally,” she said. “Stiletto Cosmetics is holding an event the same afternoon.”

Preston Tate’s buttons strained to keep his shirt closed as he hurriedly washed down his third croissant with a gulp of coffee. “So we anticipate a lower-than-expected turnout,” Tate, who was the head of their marketing team, chimed in. “It’ll also mean generating less buzz nationwide, when the bloggers take to social media with comments and photos all about Stiletto.”

As Cole listened, he wondered if this event was Sage’s idea of getting back at him. She’d been furious when she’d stormed out of the restaurant. Moreover, the woman had practically challenged him. Just like you did to her.

Seated at his right, Loretta glanced down at her tablet computer. She’d balked when he’d upgraded every Espresso employee to the latest technology upon his return. Now the tablet rarely left her hands.

“Next on the agenda is Lola,” she said.

A collective groan echoed across the room at the mention of Cole’s youngest sister, and a young man seated at the opposite end of the conference table cleared his throat. “A few days ago, she and some of her model friends held a wild party in London and totally trashed their hotel suite. Now the European tabloids are having a field day. I think we need to...”

“Nonsense.” Victor cut him off. “You can’t believe anything the media reports anyway.”

“But they had photos, and considering Lola is the face of Espresso, it reflects badly on the company,” the young man countered.

“Brat,” Loretta grunted.

“Watch your mouths. That’s my baby girl you’re talking about,” Victor warned. “Those damn tabloids are making a big deal out of nothing. End of story. Case closed.”

The faces around the table turned to Cole, knowing he was the one with the final word on any subject concerning the company. “I agree with Victor,” he said. “Lola’s just high-spirited.”

“Enabler.” Loretta snorted.

Cole held up a silencing hand and then turned his attention back to their marketing head. “Tate, I want to hear more about this event of Stiletto’s.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” Loretta muttered under her breath.

Cole shot his secretary a censorious glare, which earned him another gravelly snort. If she were anyone else, she would have been looking for a new job.

“It’s a meet and greet for social media beauty gurus,” Preston said. “Light refreshments, swag bags, et cetera.”

Cole tapped his fingertip against the table. “Do you happen to know if this was something they pulled together in the past week?”

“I don’t think so.” Preston shrugged. “Looks like they posted it on their website a month ago.”

Cole nodded absently. He was just being paranoid, he reasoned. Sage might be bold. The name of her lip color crossed his mind. However, she wasn’t badass enough to take him on...or was she?

A thump vibrated the conference table, jolting him out of his reverie.

“Dang it!” Victor stood abruptly, drawing concerned stares from the room. He stomped his foot. “Leg fell asleep.”

The older man shook his leg. He walked over to the wall of windows, on the other side of the room to coax life back into his sluggish limb. Located two floors below Cole’s office, the floor-to-ceiling windows offered the same panoramic view, but at a lower vantage point.

“Funny you should ask about last week, though.” Preston swiped at his tablet. “It looks as though they expanded the event a week ago and reached out to more bloggers and YouTube vloggers.”

Maybe he wasn’t being paranoid after all, Cole thought. Was this Sage’s way of taking him on? He dismissed the idea. The challenge she’d issued had simply been an angry rant. Nothing more.

Tammy raised her hand to get their attention before clearing her throat. “Does anyone know when Tia will be back? I need to talk to her about including the spas in an upcoming event.”

Cole shrugged. His sister and brother-in-law, Ethan, hadn’t had time for a honeymoon after their quickie Las Vegas nuptials six months ago. Last month they’d flown to Australia, where it was still summer, for an extended road-trip honeymoon.

“She gets back to Nashville on Valentine’s Day but won’t return to work until the week after,” Loretta answered.

Tammy nodded. “Thank...”

“Holy Moley!” Victor bellowed from the other side of the room.

Again, his outburst attracted the attention of the department heads seated at the table.

“For goodness’ sake,” Loretta said. “The entire room doesn’t have to be privy to your circulation problems. I’m no spring chicken, but you don’t hear me squawking about every little twinge.”

“It’s not me. It’s...” Victor turned away from the window. He wore a stunned expression on his face. “Cole, I think you should take a look at this.”

Concerned, Cole rushed to her stepfather’s side. The older man pointed out the window, and Cole looked in the direction of his finger.

“What the...?” Cole blinked.

He stared dumbfounded at the electronic billboard in the distance, unable to believe what he was seeing. The gasps of the employees who had followed him to the window filled Cole’s ears.

No, the hell she didn’t.

The ad for Burger Tower’s mouthwatering burger was gone. In its place was an advertisement for Stiletto Cosmetics, featuring the man in drag from the newspaper article photo. Even though it was a mile away, the ad flashed boldly against the gray winter sky.

The faux old lady wore the same lopsided gray wig, a hideous paisley dress and a thick coating of outdated makeup. He was juxtaposed against a chic young woman in skintight leather pants and high heels.

Cole’s molars ground against each other as he glared at the caption—Stiletto: Not Your Granny’s Makeup. It was scrawled across the bottom of the ad, in the same shade of red as Sage’s lipstick, as if she’d signed it personally.

The blasted woman knew he’d see it. He’d told her he could see this billboard from his office window.

He felt a nudge at his side, and Loretta handed him a pair of binoculars she’d somehow located in the minutes since everyone had gathered at the window. Her efficiency still amazed him. No wonder his mother, Victor and now Cole gave her insolence a pass.

Peering through the binoculars, Cole zeroed in on the billboard. Magnification only made the damn thing worse.

“Looks like you poked the wrong bear.” Loretta’s gravelly words went into his right ear.

“Stiletto’s owner is not just good-looking, she’s ballsy, too.” Victor snorted in his left ear as Cole stood between them, binoculars still trained on the offensive sign in the distance.

Bring it!

Sage’s taunt and his own rising anger drowned out the voices of his secretary and stepfather. Anger mingled with the respect Cole grudgingly had to give her. This was something he would have done, if his attraction to her hadn’t thrown him for a loop.

He continued to stare at the heavily made-up man on the billboard, silently ridiculing Espresso. The insult was just the kick in the behind he needed to make his next move.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Cole said firmly as he turned away from the window.

His department heads started to file out of the room, still buzzing about the billboard. Cole glanced at Loretta, who was looking at Stiletto’s website on her tablet computer. News of the Valentine’s Day event dominated the page.

He smiled to himself and called out to two of the retreating department heads. “Tate, Barnes, I’ll meet you both in my office in five minutes,” he said. “You too, Vic.”

“What are you up to?” Loretta asked.

“I’ll fill you in when we get to my office,” Cole said.

It was time he showed the bear the consequences of taunting a tiger.


Chapter 6 (#ulink_cdbae877-7f23-5634-bc12-60732a2e1939)

Sage slowed her run to a walk as the small, modest house came into view.

She had repaired the sagging porch, patched the roof and painted the faded exterior paint, and there was still more renovation to be done. But the wreath made of painted pinecones and blue grosgrain ribbons hanging on the front door gave her home a certain charm.

The sight of the tiny house never failed to make her smile. Only fifteen years of mortgage payments remained before it was all hers. Once she paid it off, she’d never have to worry about being displaced or shuffled between homes again.

Sage swiped at the sweat dripping down her face as she walked up and down the length of her driveway to cool down. The early-morning three-mile run was the price she paid for her junk food habit.

She yanked the iPod earbuds from her ears, and the sound of her sneakers crunching against the driveway’s crumbling asphalt replaced the thumping beat of her workout playlist. Repaving the drive was another one of the items on the endless to-do list she’d amassed since becoming a homeowner last year.

She’d get to them all eventually. Right now her focus was on getting the house’s interior up to par and building up the one thing she owned outright—her company.

Sage grinned. The thought of Stiletto brought to mind the new electronic billboard ad that had starting running yesterday. No doubt Cole Sinclair had seen it by now. Her grin morphed into a snicker as she imagined his reaction.

Damn, she wished she could have been the proverbial fly on the wall.

She stopped midstep as a second thought occurred to her. She’d better be on the lookout. The man would be out to get even. Sage was sure of it. In his shoes, she’d certainly be eager for some payback.

“Boo!”

Startled, Sage nearly jumped out of her sneakers.

A giggle sounded from the hedge she’d planted to replace the dilapidated picket fence separating her and her neighbor’s properties.

Sage sighed and shook her head. So much for being on her guard. “I heard you laughing, so you might as well show yourself,” she called out.

The bushes rustled, and a kid dressed in a fleece robe that covered superhero pajamas emerged. “Did I scare you?”

“Of course not,” Sage said. “You hide in the bushes and shout boo at me every morning. No shock factor.”

The kindergartener’s hopeful face drooped, but a moment later his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Then why’d you jump?”

“I didn’t jump,” Sage fibbed. If the little monster knew he’d actually gotten her this time, there would be no stopping him.

“Yes, you did. I saw you.” He flashed her a triumphant snaggletoothed grin. “Got any Skittles?”

Sage reached for the zipper on the pocket of her jacket to pull out the packet of candy she put there every morning before she set out on her run.

“Kenny!” A voice bellowed over the hedge. “Kenny Hinton if you sneaked away from the breakfast table to pester our neighbor again, you’re going to be in big trouble, Mister. Big trouble.”

The front door of the house next door slammed.

“Uh-oh.” The boy looked over his shoulder and then back at Sage.

Yanking the candy from her pocket, she tossed it to him. Kenny caught it and quickly hid it behind his back.

“I’m not bothering her, promise,” the boy said moments later.




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