Her Alpha Saviors [The Hot Millionaires #2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (3 page)

“With a few subtle differences,” Luke muttered.

The woman stomped down the stairs ahead of them. Luke rolled his eyes, clearly trying not to laugh. Jay wasn’t similarly afflicted since laughing wasn’t on his agenda today. He was still trying to figure out what to make of Skye Harrison. He knew a fair bit about her, of course. Jay never entered into negotiations of any sort without first finding out as much as possible about the person he’d be crossing swords with.

The Fox and Firkin was three hundred years old, situated on the outskirts of a small village in the New Forest on England’s south coast and had been used as a tavern for its entire existence. Apparently Skye could trace her ancestors back those three hundred years, and the pub had been in her family all that time. Jay couldn’t begin to imagine such ancestry. He was half-British himself but didn’t have a clue about his mother’s family history, beyond a stern grandmother whom he could vaguely recall making duty visits to when over from the States as a child.

Skye was the last of the line and was in deep financial shit. The pub was a free house, which meant it wasn’t attached to any particular brewery. The upside of that was that she could buy her beer from whichever brewery she liked, shopping around for the best rates. The downside was that some of the bigger breweries wouldn’t do business with her because they had establishments of their own in direct competition in the area. Another reason, Jay happened to know, was because she was slow to settle her accounts, presumably because she couldn’t.

Free houses were dwindling in number as their landlords struggled to make ends meet and finally went under, only to be snapped up at bargain basement prices by the big boys. Jay knew that the large breweries were aware of Skye’s parlous state and wouldn’t offer to buy her out. Instead they’d wait for the bank to repossess. That way they’d get The Fox even cheaper when the bank offloaded it at auction.

Business was business, and in the bank’s position he’d do exactly the same thing. Besides, if Skye Harrison was that desperate to save her family business she might at least get the date straight and be there to meet him instead of charging about the countryside on a bloody horse.

“Nice place this,” Luke said, running his hand down the worm-eaten oak bannister. “Just needs a bit of TLC.”

Jay quirked a brow. “A bit!”

“Yeah okay, it’s neglected, but it has real old-world charm.”

“Tell me what you saw on your look around later,” Jay said, indicating the old woman with his eyes. Unless he missed his guess, she wasn’t as senile as she made out and was taking in every word they said.

They reached the door to the tiny snug bar, an offshoot of the main room that used to be reserved for ladies’ exclusive use in days gone by. Luke forgot to duck and bashed his forehead against the lintel.

“Shit, that hurt!”

Jay laughed. “People were a lot shorter three hundred years ago, it seems.”

“I suppose you want coffee,” Hannah said, making it sound like a massive chore.

“If it’s not too much trouble, Mrs.…er—”

“Just Hannah. Don’t answer to anything else.”

She shuffled off and returned a short time later with a laden tray. She dumped it on the table so hard that the cups rattled and took herself off again, clearly having no intention of pouring. With a shrug, Jay did the honours.

“What did you make of our Ms. Harrison then?” Luke asked.

What indeed?
All that tangled russet hair, those sparkling silver eyes shooting daggers at him just because he took possession of her office in her absence he could just about handle. But her finely etched features and the dusting of freckles across her retroussé nose had taken him totally by surprise. She wasn’t beautiful in the accepted sense, more sensual.

Yes, sensual. That was it. The word suited her well because she exuded sex appeal without being aware of it.

He’d seen pictures of her so had some idea what to expect, but those pictures hadn’t done her justice. Being dressed in those bloody tight-fitting jodhpurs and leather boots hadn’t helped Jay to maintain his composure either. And when she’d started tapping said boots with her riding crop he’d reacted in the time-honoured manner. Not to put too fine a point on it, it caused him a raging hard-on, and that infuriated him. Jay liked to be in control of himself in such situations. He absolutely never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. His anger at himself for letting her appearance get to him had caused him to speak sarcastically.

Ms. Harrison might have a figure that could reduce grown men to tears of desperation—pert tits that fought against the thin fabric of her shirt when she got angry with him, a waist so slender that he could probably span it with his two hands, a cute butt, and legs to die for—but that was beside the point.

Hold that thought, Blanchard.

He was here for one reason and one reason only. He figured Luke was probably right about the pub, just like he was right about most things to do with their business. That was why they got along so well. One of the reasons, anyway. With an injection of his cash and the right managers in place, it was a potential gold mine. Jay already knew as much, and he hadn’t seen the whole place yet. Problem was, Skye obviously wasn’t the right manager. Otherwise the place wouldn’t be going to rack and ruin. He also suspected that she was stubborn enough to let it go to the receivers before she allowed herself to be replaced by anyone, much less someone of his choosing.

Jay anticipated that she would come to this meeting, contrite now that she’d had a chance to calm down and remember he was her last hope of salvation. She’d try and sell him on her wild ideas for the place, and he’d pretend to play along until he decided how to oust her.

“Just bear in mind why we’re here, Luke,” Jay said, avoiding Luke’s request for his opinion of Skye Harrison. “Don’t start thinking with your prick.”

“What me?”

Jay laughed. “Yeah you. She’s sex on legs, but we’re not buying.”

“Shit, you’re no fun anymore.”

The door opened and a transformed Skye materialised, a sheaf of papers under her arm. Jay took one glance and knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble. She’d changed into a pencil-thin black skirt that finished just above her knees. She wore almost-black hosiery, which he sincerely hoped wasn’t tights, and shoes with three-inch heels, unsuitable for the tour they were about to make of the premises but they probably gave her confidence. Hell, she was going to need it! He was willing to bet that she’d dressed like this to try and soften them up. Jay curled his lip. If she thought he came down in the last shower, she was about to learn a hard lesson in life. Not the sort of hard lesson he’d like to teach her, unfortunately, but a lesson all the same.

His eyes drifted to her upper body. Big mistake! She wore a, clean this time, white silk blouse, thin enough that he could see the outline of a lacy bra beneath it. Her hair had been tamed, after a fashion, and was held back with a clip at the back of her head. It fell forward over her shoulders in a tumble of curls. Its colour was a kind of russet, streaked with natural blonde. She wore minimal makeup, and her eyes, now that she was no longer angry, were wide, wary, and carried just a trace of anxiety.

“Sorry to have kept you, gentlemen,” she said, taking the vacant seat between them and placing her papers on the table. “I see Hannah supplied you with coffee. The biscuits are made by our executive chef to his own secret recipe.”

Executive chef indeed!
Jay puffed air through his lips. The broad obviously had pretentious ideas about this ruin of a pub. As for the bloody biscuits, Jay hadn’t even noticed they were there, not even before she came into the room and distracted him with her feminine scent and even more feminine aura that screamed needy and capable at the same time. Christ, this was going to be hard! The attraction he felt toward this wayward landlady was like nothing he’d ever known before, and it socked him in the gut every time he looked at her. He could see that Luke was similarly affected, probably already wondering if Skye could be persuaded to play some of their favourite games at a later stage.

Ain’t gonna happen, buddy.

Luke couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her but did so now, just to pick up a cookie—no biscuit—and bite into it.

“Delicious!” he said, grinning at her. “Don’t know how you do it.”

“Trust me, Luke,” she said with a soft little laugh. “It’s nothing to do with me.”

A streak of jealousy ripped through Jay when Skye treated Luke to a sultry smile that explicitly excluded him.

“Then it should be,” he said in a tone that made both Skye and Luke swivel to look at him with identical expressions of surprise. He’d obviously spoken too harshly, even by his standards, but if sex wasn’t going to rear its not-so-ugly head in these transactions, then he needed to set the right tone. “You ought to be on top of every single operation that takes place in this establishment, however small.” Jay shrugged. “That’s probably one of the mistakes you’ve made.”

Skye sucked in a sharp breath. She obviously had a quick temper, and Jay wondered if he’d roused her to it already. Damn it, there were a lot of other things he’d like to rouse her to while he was at it. Couldn’t seem to keep his mind on the business in hand, and it was a mark of his success that he
never
allowed himself to be distracted in a business environment.

“I think you’ll find, Mr. Blanchard—”

“It’s Jay.”

“All right, Jay,” she said archly, her tone barely suppressing her annoyance. “I think you’ll find that I have my finger firmly on the pulse round these parts.”

Her pulse wasn’t where Jay wanted his finger to be, but it would be a start.

“Then perhaps you’d care to run through your plans for the place. Start at the beginning. I want to know how you came to be running it alone, why you think income dried up, and what you hope to do about it with my money.”

“Well, I—”

“Have some coffee before you start,” Luke said, pouring it for her. “And have a couple of cookies, too. I’m betting you didn’t have breakfast before you went out riding, and no one deserves to face Jay on an empty stomach.”

She lifted her face and directed her remarkable eyes on Jay’s profile. “He doesn’t frighten me,” she said evenly.

Well, I damn well should. Careful, lady. Look at me with your heart in your eyes one more time and I’ll break the habit of a lifetime, put you over my knee, and spank that cute little butt of yours for being so impertinent. Then I’ll fuck you into the middle of next week.

Jay shook his head, disturbed by the turn his thoughts kept taking.

“I’m glad I don’t frighten you, Skye,” he said softly. “Now, what you need to do is impress me. Make me care about your business. Make me want to help you.”

She looked at him as though trying to decide if he was merely playing her. Clearly deciding that he wasn’t, she tossed her head, an air of fiery courage lighting her eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

Skye sipped at her coffee, using it as an excuse to gather her thoughts before opening her mouth. Jay Blanchard didn’t think much of her, either as a person or as a landlady. He’d made that much plainly apparent. Such a pity it wasn’t Luke she had to convince. He’d be a much softer target. No matter, she didn’t care if Blanchard liked her or not since the feeling was entirely mutual. All the articles she’d read online about him said the same thing. He had a brilliant mind and could spot a good opportunity at twenty paces with the wind in the wrong direction. Shame about the nonexistent personality.

Right, all she had to do was convince him that The Fox was the deal of the century. No pressure then. She straightened her shoulders and carefully placed her cup back in its saucer—no easy task since her hands were shaking with nerves. She folded them in her lap, determined not to let either man see the extent of her anxiety.

“This pub is three hundred years old,” she said, unable to keep a note of pride out of her voice, “and has been in my family, in one way or another, for that entire time. My father and uncle ran it for years—”

“And your mother?” Jay asked.

“She died when I was small. I don’t remember any mother figure in my life, except Hannah.”

“I see.” Was it her imagination, or did the storm in Jay’s eyes soften? “Go on.”

“My uncle died five years ago, and my father went into sheltered accommodation a year ago. He has Alzheimer’s. I came along late in my parents’ lives,” she explained in response to Jay’s raised brows. “I’m twenty-eight now, but Dad’s in his early seventies.”

“I’m sorry about the Alzheimer’s,” Luke said, touching her hand. “It’s a cruel disease.”

“Yes, it is.” Skye sighed. “He barely knows me when I visit, but the staff at the home tell me he’s comfortable and happy enough in his own little world.” She mentally shook herself. Going off on sentimental sidetracks would get her nowhere with the hard-nosed businessman seated across from her. “Anyway, I took over from my father. I’d been helping him ever since I graduated from university, but he’d always jealously guarded the financial side of things and I had no idea we were so badly situated. He took a large loan from the bank just before the credit crunch hit, putting up the freehold of this building as collateral.”