Volatile Chemistry (Billionaires' Secrets Book 1) (2 page)

A spark of surprise leapt inside her. “Yes. We’ve found that by manipulating photons in layers we can create dramatic effects with both colors and surfaces.”

“Fascinating.” He ran a big thumb over the top of a microscope, which caused a disturbing ripple of sensation in her belly. “And you’ve created a marketable product?”

“I can see you understand the business. Our biggest challenge wasn’t finding something that worked, it was making it marketable. People won’t buy a cake of white powder just because they’re told it’s a great red lipstick that never bleeds and won’t wear off. We’ve come up with a compound we’re calling ReNew, because it makes damaged skin look new again.”

“Are you a chemist?” His eyes drifted over her lab coat
a
gain.
Made it feel hot against her skin.

She lifted her chin. “I have degrees in chemistry and business. I’m here to lead the team.”
And take back my father’s stolen legacy.

Tarrant Hardcastle would never give her dad a word of credit, even if his life’s work made millions for the company. They had no idea she was his daughter. If Tarrant found out he’d probably fire her.

She needed to get this new Hardcastle out of her lab, and now. She’d been surprised in the middle of her unofficial “research” and didn’t want Tarrant’s son poking around and jumping to any conclusions.

She started to unbutton her lab coat. “You wanted to see the public areas. Shall we start with the department store?”

He seemed distracted by her fingers on the buttons. When his eyes lifted to meet hers they were darker than ever. “Sure.”

His voice was low, suggestive.

He hung behind her as they walked out of the lab and she could feel his gaze on her. Her fitted, dark red skirt and blouse had been chosen to curry favor with her boss, Tarrant Hardcastle—lover of all things expensive and feminine. Making an effort to look good was part of the unofficial job requirements around here. Apparently she’d succeeded, because she sensed Dominic Hardcastle’s approval radiating like a heat wave.

She hung her lab coat on a hook by the door, ushered
him
out then locked the door behind her.

Phew.

The tour didn’t require much travel, since Tarrant was such a megalomaniac and control freak that he had gathered his entire empire under the slate mansard roof of a former hotel, a robber-baron-era extravaganza overlooking the southern tip of Central Park. The palatial building contained the corporate offices, conference rooms and auditoriums, the lab, a private art gallery, three glittering retail floors and a world-class restaurant on the top floor.

Costly fragrances hung in the air as they stepped out of the elevator on the ground-level retail floor. Hardcastle’s exclusive products took pride of place among Chanel, Dior, et al, in the cosmetics department. Bella watched
Do
mini
c
stride unselfconsciously past counters laden with seventy-dollar lipsticks and “miracle” skin-renewing potions.

His easy chatter with retail associates demonstrated
ins
ider knowledge of the business. It also revealed total ignorance about cosmetics—or was that feigned to encourage more blushing and fluttering explanations from the stunning girls behind the counters? He even let one raven-haired goddess spray him with the latest unisex Calvin Klein scent. Bella resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Where are you going so fast?” A big hand closed around her upper arm as she tried to march onward. Heat gathered under the silk of her blouse.

She eased her arm out of his grasp. “There’s a lot to see.”

“Indeed there is. Can you blame me for wanting to take my time to enjoy the view?” His face revealed a raised eyebrow and a twinkle of humor. Though his eyes were on her face she had a distinct impression he was appraising her body.

She lifted her chin. “It’s nearly seven o’clock and I imagine you’ll want to at least see the couture and designer collections on our women’s apparel floors.”

“Not really.” He continued to smile pleasantly. “I had something else in mind.”

For a second she thought his voice was thick with suggestion, then she decided she must have imagined it.

“What, exactly?” Her voice sounded clipped.

“Food.”

“Oh.” She distracted herself from his hungry stare by brushing a tiny piece of white lint from her sleeve. “Is that your specialty as a retailer?” She was following the usual lawyer’s advice to never ask a question unless you knew the answer. Several associates had gushed over his chain of food stores.

“In fact it is, but I was thinking dinner.”

She blinked rapidly. Did he expect
her
to have dinner with him? She needed to get back to the lab and put those files away.

“I think you owe me, don’t you? You did try to get me thrown out of the building.”

He cocked his head and let his gaze drift over her mouth. The mouth that had called security to eject the boss’s son.

She swallowed.

“I hear The Moon is quite the place to be.”

“Oh yes. Five stars,” she murmured. She’d read the reviews but had never been there. Way out of her price range.

“Tarr—my
father
told me to be sure to eat dinner there, on his tab.” Something about the way he said the word
father
made her ears prick up. His tone had a guarded quality that surprised her. “It would be my pleasure if you’d join me.”

His expression looked entirely genuine, and warmth shone in his dark eyes.

She blinked as part of her brain demanded that she agree without hesitation and another more sensible part told her to make up a good excuse, and quick.

“Um, gosh.” She checked her watch while she racked her mind for a way out.
It’s my hair-washing night?
“Sure, I’d love to.” She forced a smile.

It was an interesting experience, walking beside
him
through retail floors, amid the glamorous, well-heeled shoppers. Every female eye swiveled to Dominic,
d
rinkin
g
him in, from his slightly unruly black hair to his black wingtip shoes. After about forty-five seconds Bella began to feel like a cheap handbag draped over the arm of a couture- dressed model.

There was definitely such a thing as being too good-looking, she reflected, as another beauty narrowed her heavily made-up eyes at Dominic Hardcastle. The chiseled jaw, the I-just-got- back-from-the-Caribbean tan that no doubt extended well underneath his custom-tailored suit.

It was all a bit too much.

Vulgar, even. Like so many aspects of his father’s glittering retail empire.

“The Moon is on the top floor.” She pressed the button. Tried not to notice how his big body filled the tight space of the private staff elevator. “Do you live in New York?”

“Miami. But I might move up here. I’m doing a lot of business in the city these days. And Tarr—my
dad
wants me to be close to headquarters.”

Again, the word
dad
had a forced quality that intrigued her. She knew Tarrant had a daughter, but she’d never heard that he had a son. With security expert Sylvester—who she knew had been with Tarrant since before she was bom—to vouch for him, she knew he must be the genuine article, but why had he suddenly appeared out of nowhere?

She couldn’t help herself. “I don’t mean to pry, but I didn’t know Tarrant had a son.” There, she’d said it. And it was at least fractionally more polite than asking “who the heck are you, anyway?”

“I’m a love child.”

Chapter Two

B
ella’s gaze jerked to Dominic’s face. Again that hint of humor simmered in the muscles under his skin. Was he mocking her?

‘Tarrant had a fling with my mom. They met in a club. On the dance floor.”

She’d heard Tarrant had a reputation as the most die-hard partier of the twentieth century.

“At that time he wasn’t so interested in the responsibilities of fatherhood.” His jaw tightened. “But lately it seems he’s had a change of heart.”

Silence thickened the air.

Ping.
The sound of the doors opening was possibly the best music she’d heard all year.

Had this total stranger just admitted to her that he was Tarrant Hardcastle’s unwanted bastard son? His oddly
intimate
confession gave her a strange feeling.

The restaurant was already packed. The wait for reservations had been at least six months since it opened two years earlier.

“Dominic Hardcastle.”

She thought she saw a muscle twitch in his cheek as he said his own name.
Curiouser and curiouser.

“Welcome, sir. I’ll seat you at Mr. Hardcastle’s table.” The maitre d’ beamed as Dominic congratulated him on the restaurant’s success and they shared some shoptalk on the way to the table. Did everyone fall at this guy’s feet?

The decor was extravagantly minimalist; a single, perfect banana leaf in a slim black vase was the only centerpiece on each table.

Dominic pulled out a sleek metal chair, then slid it under her as she sat. Of course he’d have to be a perfect gentleman too.

She shook out her napkin. “I guess it’s too early for the moon to make an appearance. The ceiling rolls back to reveal the night sky.”

Dominic looked up. She ignored the muscularity of his neck as it strained his perfectly fitted shirt collar. “Can’t say I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’d want to worry about an owl swooping down to share my filet mignon.” His grin revealed even, white teeth.

“Oh, you don’t have to fret about that. Or mosquitoes. There’s a curved layer of microfine molded plastic to keep intruders out. If you look carefully you can see where it joins the support columns. All part of the design conception.”

Dominic stared at the ceiling with undisguised fascination. “Amazing. Tarrant Hardcastle certainly is a genius, no matter what else you might say about him.” He opened his napkin. “Shall we order champagne?”

The barb about Tarrant left her temporarily speechless. Was he testing her somehow? “Sure, champagne sounds great.”

“You’ll have to tell me what food to choose, since I’m the new kid on the block.”

That boyish grin again.

It was a shame she had no idea what was on the menu. “Supposedly it’s all good. That’s why people are willing to sell their soul to get a table.”

Lucky thing she had an invite to be here. She’d probably already parted with her soul working at Hardcastle Enterprises for an entire year. That she was doing it with a hidden agenda made it a certainty.

The poker-faced waiter handed them each a banana leaf with the night’s dishes handwritten on it.

Dominic studied it for a moment, then started to laugh. “I feel bad for the guy back there with the Sharpie.”

“Sharpie? He’s probably grinding raw pigment to make the ink and sharpening goose feathers into quills.” She couldn’t help sharing a chuckle.

Dominic had three dimples. One in each cheek and one in his chin. Not that she liked dimples or anything.

They ordered—for her the pan-seared scallops and roasted quail, and for him raw oysters and steak tartare.

He raised his glass. “A toast. To the loveliest woman in Hardcastle Enterprises.”

She narrowed her eyes and fought a blush. Bella! How can you fall for a line as well worn as Tarrant Hardcastle’s little black book?

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She raised her glass.

That’s what I’m hoping.
Dominic took a sip of champagne. Dry and crisp, an excellent choice.

There was so
me
thin
g
about this woman he couldn’t put his finger on. Reading people well—spotting their strengths and flaws and maximizing one while minimizing the other—was the skill that enabled him to grow his company so fast and with so much success.

Bella Andrews had a shield up, and apparently she wasn’t going to let it down. Yes, she was out with the boss’s son, but he’d attempted to put her at ease by pointing out that his connection to Tarrant was anything but glamorous.

She hadn’t relaxed one iota. And that intrigued him.

Her pink lips pressed against her champagne glass as she sipped. Not a trace of lipstick.

“I’m surprised you don’t wear cosmetics, given your position.” He leaned back in his chair, to better survey the effect of his comment on her beautifully unpainted face.

She blinked. The tips of her mascara-free eyelashes were golden. “They say you should stay away from your own product.”

“A good rule for drug dealers. Are your products habit-forming?” He had a feeling that looking at the sharp cupid’s bow of her upper lip could be habit-forming.

“I certainly hope so. Repeat business is where we stand to make the most profit.”

“Is Hardcastle expanding its retail outlets?” He said it casually. Managed to keep the words
what the hell does Tarrant want with fifty-three bankrupt drugstores?
in
side his mouth.