What The Millionaire Wants...: What the Millionaire Wants... / Spencer's Forbidden Passion
> What the Millionaire Wants… by Metsy Hingle
He stared at her for a long moment, long enough for Laura to see his enjoyment in sparring with her turn to something else. Something hot. Something sexual.
“I have another idea what the stakes could be,” he said finally. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like it.”
Laura knew at once what those stakes were. She’d seen it in his eyes the very first time he had looked at her, felt it the other night when he had almost kissed her. That he would even suggest such a thing infuriated her. It also made her stomach tighten, her skin heat. “You’re right. I don’t like it. And despite what you might think, going to bed with you isn’t my idea of a prize.”
He laughed. “That’s a pretty big assumption you’ve made.”
Laura could feel the colour rush to her cheeks. “All right. So what did you have in mind?”
“Forget my idea,” he said, his amusement fading. He inched a step closer. That dark and hungry look was back in his eyes. “I like your idea better.”
Spencer’s Forbidden Passion by Brenda Jackson
He couldn’t deny he wanted her.
Never before had he been so aroused by a woman. And Chardonnay had been fully conscious of the sexual attraction between them, even though in the midst of a business battle they’d attempted to downplay it.
As a plan formed in his mind, Spencer called his lawyer. “Find out which bank plans to loan her the money and let me know immediately.”
He’d have her – one way or another. Chardonnay Russell would be his.
“Yes,” he said through a smug smile. A marriage for love was out of the question for Spencer. But he’d certainly entertain the idea of a marriage for lust…
What the Millionaire Wants…
METSY HINGLE
Spencer’s Forbidden Passion
BRENDA JACKSON
WHAT THE MILLIONAIRE WANTS…
by
Metsy Hingle
METSY HINGLE
is an award-winning, bestselling author of series and single-title romantic suspense novels. Metsy is known for creating powerful and passionate stories, and her own life reads like a romance novel – from her early years in a New Orleans orphanage and foster care, to her long, happy marriage to her husband, Jim, and the rearing of their four children. She recently traded in her business suits and fast-paced life in the hotel and public-relations arena to pursue writing full- time. Metsy loves hearing from readers. For a free bookmark, write to Metsy at PO Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433, USA or visit her website at www.metsyhingle.com.
Dear Reader,
What is it about those tall, dark and dangerously sexy men that fascinates us? You know the ones I mean. He’s the guy who walks into a room and seems to stand a little taller, the one who has a bit of a swagger in his step. He’s the one with the mischievous smile and a gleam in his eye that says he knows everything there is to know about pleasing a woman and that he’d be happy to show you. You also know that getting mixed up with such a man would be asking for trouble.
Ever wonder what type of woman is brave enough to tangle with Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerously Sexy? Or what type of woman it will take to steal his heart and make him a one-woman man? I did. That’s how I came up with my new book for Desire. I had a wonderful time creating Jackson Hawke and Laura Spencer’s story. I hope you have fun watching them tangle in the boardroom and bedroom on their way to falling in love.
For a commemorative bookmark or to learn about the next book I’m working on, write to: Metsy Hingle, PO Box 3224, Covington, LA 70434, USA or visit me on the web at www.metsyhingle.com.
Happy reading!
Until next time,
Metsy Hingle
For the City of New Orleans and its people
who continue to inspire me
One
“I am not for sale, Mr. Hawke.”
Jackson Hawke bit back a smile as he stared at the woman across the desk. “I’m not trying to buy you, Ms. Spencer. I’m merely offering to employ you.”
“I already have a job,” she informed him with the cool disdain of a true Southern belle. “I’m the general manager of the Contessa Hotel.”
He had to give her points for moxie, Jack thought. He had expected any number of reactions to the news that he had acquired the defaulted bank loan on the small New Orleans hotel. He had made a career of taking over financially troubled companies, revamping them and turning the once-failing operations into profit centers. In each case, his presence was seldom welcome. More often than not his arrival was met with trepidation or anger, and in some cases both. He had expected no less from the owners of the Contessa Hotel. What he hadn’t anticipated was defiance. And defiant was the only way to describe the woman seated across from him. Unfortunately for Ms. Laura Jordan Spencer, her defiance didn’t change the fact that he now owned her family’s hotel. “True. But given the circumstances, your position here could prove to be temporary,” he countered.
“There is nothing temporary about my position here, Mr. Hawke,” she advised him, a hint of temper coloring her voice. “My great grandfather built this hotel nearly a hundred years ago and it’s been owned by the Jordan family ever since. I’m sorry if you were led to believe that we would consider selling the property. But I can assure you, the Contessa is not for sale.”
“I have a receipt for fifteen million dollars that says otherwise,” he told her.
“Which I’m sure the bank will refund you once I’ve straightened out this…this misunderstanding.”
He leaned forward, met her gaze. “Take another look at those documents, Ms. Spencer,” he said, motioning toward the packet of legal papers he’d presented her, which outlined his acquisition of the hotel via her mother’s defaulted bank loan. “There is no misunderstanding. Hawke Industries now owns this hotel.”
Anger flared in her green eyes. “I don’t care what those papers say. I’m telling you there’s been a mistake,” she insisted and punched the button on the intercom. “Penny, try Mr. Benton at the bank again.”
“You’re wasting your time,” he told her. He already knew from his meeting with the bank chairman the previous afternoon that the man had left town that morning.
“The only one wasting my time, Mr. Hawke, is you,” she fired back.
While she waited for her assistant to place the call, Jack used the opportunity to study her more closely. He noted the almond-shaped eyes, the stubborn chin, the smooth skin and lush mouth. She wasn’t classically beautiful or slap-you-in-the-face sexy. But there was something about her, a sensuality that simmered beneath the all-business exterior. Judging by the quelling look she shot him, his appraisal hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had it been appreciated.
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