At the Billionaire’s Wedding (23 page)

Duke’s problem did not turn out to be easily fixed. A handful of photos, allegedly of Jane in her wedding dress, had ended up online, and the magazine was threatening to jettison the charity deal. Duke was in a fury, although he had to back down a bit when Archer discovered the maid of honor had posted the photos—and that her date was the publisher of several tabloid newspapers.

“You invited Damien Knightly, owner of
The London Weekly
?” he asked incredulously. “Duke—no offense—but what were you thinking? Did you make him sign a nondisclosure agreement?”

Duke scowled. “No. But I know he’s behind these photos. Roxanna wouldn’t do this to Jane on her own.”

Archer exhaled and paced around the room. “I wish you’d mentioned this earlier.” He raised his hand in appeasement as his client scowled harder. “How bad are the pictures?”

“Fugly as hell,” said Duke. “Can I shoot the guy? We’re going hunting tomorrow.”

“Please don’t.” Archer winced.

“Whatever. Maybe I can get Compton to shoot him; it’s his property. But Knightly’s not the only problem; there’s a sleazy freelance photographer also lurking about. Jane was in tears over the deal falling apart, and I admit it’s been kind of nice not having my every action on TMZ.” He made a face. “I thought the attention would go away, now that I’m settling down.”

Archer gave him a look. “Seems like not. I’ll call Tom and have him get in touch with the magazine people, expressing your outrage over the suggestion that you’ve violated the deal and reaffirming your commitment to it. Can I say the photos are probably frauds?”

“Whatever it takes,” said Duke moodily. “I just don’t want someone watching us from behind every tree.”

“I understand.” He already had his phone in hand to look up the number for Tom Kincaid, the entertainment attorney at his firm who’d done the magazine deal. Archer didn’t know much about that area of law, but Duke was his client and it was his responsibility to see that it was fixed.

“Thanks, dude.”

Archer went back to his room. This wasn’t a call he could place from the top of the hill, where anyone might overhear what was confidential and potentially very costly. And if he walked back to Natalie’s garden, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his full attention on the question at hand. She’d looked unbelievably sexy when he left, her face flushed and her hair rumpled and her eyes dilated with desire. If Duke hadn’t called him, Archer wasn’t sure they wouldn’t have ended up naked. He felt like he was being swept away by an avalanche; the first step had seemed small and fairly innocent, but now he was almost in free fall. He couldn’t wait to see her again. He was dying to kiss her again. He reached for the landline to call Tom, hoping his colleague would find a quick solution.

But there wasn’t one, and he ended up on a conference call with Tom and the magazine lawyers. Archer foresaw his evening slipping away. He looked longingly out the window toward Natalie’s cottage. It was hidden from sight, but if he closed his eyes he could still picture her leaning against the pantry door, head back, throat exposed all the way down to the so-tempting valley between her breasts. Damn it. He was almost ready to make the charity payment himself, just to be done with this so he could go back to Primrose Cottage.

Duke knocked on his door at one point, in search of an update, and Archer could only give a tentative thumbs-up. He’d boldly claimed the dress photos were fake, and while the magazine lawyers weren’t completely convinced, it had given them pause. After some haggling, Tom got them to agree that they wouldn’t exercise the termination clause until after the wedding, when they would have their own unquestionably authentic photos to compare to these blurry shots. Duke readily agreed to hire more security to prevent any more lapses, and vowed to remind all guests that they were not to post photos online.

Finally the magazine lawyers said they would confer and get back to them. Tom promised to stay on it, and Archer hung up the phone in relief. Duke slapped his shoulder in gratitude, and invited him to come have a drink with him and Jane. Curious to know why Jane hadn’t kicked out her maid of honor, Archer went, but Jane only thanked him effusively before being swept away by a tall redhead, who turned out to be that maid of honor, Roxanna Lane. So she was the one who’d brought the tabloids right into the wedding party and nearly ruined the magazine deal? Archer watched her for a few minutes, until a guy in an expensive suit came and put his arm around her waist. That must be Damien Knightly. Duke had said Jane was in tears over the possible breached deal, but she was chatting amiably enough with Roxanna and Knightly now.

Well. Let Duke sort that out. Archer had more important things to think about now, like the next time he could see Natalie. Fast, she’d called it. He knew that, but didn’t want to change anything. At the moment he was completely willing to let himself be swept away by the avalanche. But he also didn’t want to end up a broken, bruised mess when it stopped, which meant he had to back up a step. Slow things down, just a tiny bit, without sacrificing any of the heat between them.

He needed a plan. And the way to a chef’s heart … had to include chocolate.

Natalie had barely come downstairs the next morning when Archer tapped on the kitchen door. She pushed it open, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face as he presented her with a small posy of flowers.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Thank you.” She held them to her nose before plopping them into the sink. “That’s a nice way to start the day.”

“I can think of one better.”

Her toes curled in her slippers. Without hesitation she raised her face, inviting him to kiss her. He did so at once, his hand molding around the back of her neck to pull her to him. Just as Natalie began to list toward him, forgetting every bit of her overnight resolution to be more circumspect and get to know him, he lifted his head. Saving her from herself, she thought.

“And I brought breakfast.” He held up a paper bag. “Stole it from the kitchen. The chef up at the hotel is a real prick, but he can cook.”

She pushed the door closed. “How nice it will be to eat something other than my own cooking!”

“I thought as much.” He pointed at a cabinet with a questioning look, and she nodded; plates were in there, along with coffee cups. She started the coffee as he took some pastries out of the paper bag. “I also thought it was fair, after you fed me yesterday, that I feed you. My first thought was dinner, but then someone at my office scheduled me on a call for dinnertime.” He made a noise of disgust. “So I thought of lunch … until the concierge informed me there are only two decent places to eat locally: the village pub and a vegan restaurant called The Pineapple of Perfection.”

Natalie began to laugh at the aggrieved expression on his face.

“I grew up in San Francisco,” he argued. “I have nothing against vegan food, and sometimes it’s quite good. Sometimes… It’s seaweed.” He shuddered. “And that left breakfast.”

“Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day,” she told him, still laughing. “Thank you.”

“Really?” His eyes heated and skimmed down her body. “It might be mine too.”

“Because of coffee?” She rested her elbows on the counter and cocked her head, feeling sexy and flirty. She wore her cutoff denim skirt, the one that ended well above her knees, and a long-sleeve shirt that was tight and stretchy with a deep V in front. It was not cooking attire. But as Archer’s gaze slid right down to her breasts, it felt like the giant AGA had been on for hours.

“Coffee,” he murmured distractedly, “and other things.”

“Such as?” God, Pippa would cheer if she could hear how throaty Natalie’s voice had gone. Even to her own ears she sounded like a phone sex operator.

He lifted his gaze back to her face. “Such as doing something right. Not rushing it.”

“Were you rushing it yesterday?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on her. “But I don’t want to risk anything.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You’re doing fine so far.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward. “Thought so.”

Thankfully the coffee machine beeped, and she busied herself with it. Was there anything wrong with him? Most guys she dated were happy to let her cook for them, including serving. Archer moved around the kitchen as she fixed the coffee, finding napkins and even a vase for the flowers. By the time she had the cappuccino prepared, he had set the table, complete with bouquet, and stood waiting to pull out her chair. It felt so comfortable, so
right
, she almost didn’t know what to say.

“Chivalry,” she joked lamely, letting him seat her. His fingers ran over her shoulders and lingered at her nape for just a moment, but it was enough to send a thrill down her spine.

He took the seat next to hers. “My mother told me it would make an impression.”

“She gives good advice.” Natalie studied the selection of pastries. “But then, making an excellent chocolate pudding cake is already a sterling recommendation.”

“I quite agree. And speaking of that—” He fished a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “I got it. My gift to you, as no cookbook should be without chocolate pudding cake.”

She unfolded it and read the printout of a scanned, handwritten recipe. His mother had elegant handwriting, and she made very careful and exact notes about how to melt the chocolate and how to tell when the cake was done. Natalie was impressed. “It looks delicious.”

“You can tell from reading the recipe?” He bit into a large frosted bun.

Natalie selected a sticky roll covered with finely chopped nuts. “Somewhat.” She took a bite and closed her eyes. It
was
good. “Just like I bet you can tell from reading a contract if something’s a good deal.”

His eyes had riveted on her mouth as she ate. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Usually.”

She ran her tongue over her lower lip, turned on by the way he watched her do it. “I hope your mom didn’t mind you giving it away.”

“Not at all.” His lazy grin reappeared. “Better that than I try to make it myself.”

“It doesn’t look that complicated.”

“Maybe not,” he replied, “but it needs to be done just right. When it is…” He put his fingers to his lips. “Heaven.” He carried the kiss to her hand, lying on the table. “When it’s not…” He shrugged, swirling his fingers over her hand. “Crap.”

“Now I don’t know if I can ever make it,” she said unevenly, mesmerized as his fingers moved up her wrist to play with the sleeve of her shirt. “The pressure…”

“Mmm, you’ll rise to the occasion,” he whispered. “Lick your lip.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got something sticky on your upper lip, and if you don’t lick it off, I will.”

She stared at him. Then she reached out, dragged her finger through the frosting on his half-consumed bun, and smeared it on her lip. Archer let out his breath. “I was hoping you’d do that,” he said before pushing his chair back and hauling her into his lap. Natalie’s short skirt rode up around her hips as she straddled his thighs and he cupped both hands around her head for a scorching kiss. She slid her arms around his neck and stomped any lingering voice of hesitation into silence. It wasn’t too fast if she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known him since nursery school, not when everything was just so right with him.

“Damn.” He pulled back, breathing hard. “I keep losing my train of thought around you. You said two things yesterday. One, that this was going very fast, and two, that you don’t know me.” He paused to brush his lips against hers again, then looked her right in the eyes. “I don’t feel inclined to change the first, but I can change the second.” He settled her more comfortably on his lap. Something inside her quaked as his hard-on pressed against her thigh, but aside from a brief catch in his breathing, Archer didn’t acknowledge it.

“Let’s see… My birthday is August fourteenth. I tend to get a little crazy about San Francisco Giants baseball, but not other sports. My real first name is Theodore.” She raised her brows and grinned, and he gave her a stern look. “Don’t you dare use it. It’s my dad’s name. My mother is named Patricia and she lives in Sonoma wine country. It’s beautiful out there, you’ll love it.”

Natalie ignored the way her heart jolted at the veiled suggestion she might ever visit his mother. “Is that where you grew up?”

He shook his head. “San Francisco. My father’s firm is there and we lived in the city.”

She ran her finger down his collar. “What is venture capital?”

Very subtly, he tensed. “Investment money.”

“And that’s what your dad does?”

His eyes grew dark and for a moment she thought she’d crossed a line. “Yes.”

Natalie bit her lip but forged on. “You said you hadn’t forgiven him, but it sounds like the divorce was a while ago. I only had the blowout with my brother a few weeks ago and I don’t think I could endure being angry at him for years. It just struck me as … well, as odd that you haven’t spoken to your dad in forever.”

For a minute he didn’t answer. “My dad’s a hard man, Natalie. I don’t hate him, but I don’t really like him, either. I don’t care that he divorced Mum; he was a rotten husband anyway. But he made her feel like shit when he did it, and you know what? He’s very good at that. He’s a manipulator and a snake oil salesman who always covers his own ass and is more than willing to throw other people under the bus. On the other hand…” He ran one hand up her bare thigh. “I think you and your brother are on the same team, when the going gets tough, and that you actually like him. My dad is only on his team, and he’s only likable when he wants something from you.”

She nodded. That was fair; not every parent was admirable and worthy of respect. And Archer was right about her and Paul, despite the feud between them now. She was still angry at her brother, but not as much as when she’d left. “I have another nosy question,” she said, changing the subject. “Why haven’t you got a girlfriend?”

He leaned back, his eyes glittering at her. “I work a lot.”

“So you haven’t got time for anyone?”

“No, I haven’t got time to meet anyone.” His gaze dipped to the V of her shirt. “Usually.” Without thinking she subtly arched her back, and his breath caught again. “And when I hadn’t met anyone, there was no reason to blow off work… It’s a vicious cycle.”