Billionaire's Matchmaker

Rafe Sterling strode through the door of his downtown Houston office and into a Monday morning predawn ambush.

To make matters worse, his shoulder hurt from where he’d landed on it during a bicycle race the previous day, he’d slept badly, and he hadn’t had a single cup of coffee.

Three women stood with their backs to the window, a terrifying army in silk and stilettos.

His mother, Rebecca, had her arms folded across her chest, wearing resolve like armor. His sister, Arianna, was in the middle, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. Good. At best, she was a reluctant accomplice.

The third woman, all the way on the right, he’d never met.

Her well-defined cheekbones were striking, and her lips were painted a wicked shade of fuck-me red. She wore her long brunette hair loose, the locks flowing around her shoulders. But it was the way she studied him, with total focus, that riveted his attention. Her eyes were a startling shade, not hazel but deeper, like gold. For a moment—a fascinating, unwanted, and mercifully brief flash of time—he imagined them swimming with tears of submission.

He cleared his throat, and she broke their connection by glancing toward the floor.

Fuck. Her gesture arrowed through his gut. For the first time in years—since Emma—he was captivated.

Rafe shook his head. He had no patience for relationships, not even with a woman who wore a skirt that hugged her enticing curves.

“Rafe, darling!” His mother broke ranks and took a couple of steps toward him.

Galvanized, he closed his office door behind him. Better to meet the battle head-on so he could get on with his day. “Morning, ladies.”

He crossed the room to drop an obligatory kiss on his mother’s cheek, then he noticed a pile of folders on his desk. Something to do with the visit from the unnamed woman, no doubt.

With distrust, he flicked another glance in her direction. Who the hell was she? “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Rafe eased into his leather executive chair.

His mother took a seat across from him and skipped any further pretense of pleasantries. “You need a wife.”

“Ah.” He slid the manila menaces to the edge of the desk and resisted—barely—the urge to knock them into the waiting trash can. “Understood. Now this is the part of the confrontation where I tell you I will find a bride when I’m damn well ready. Thank you for your time and concern.” He attempted a smile. Judging by his mother’s wince, the curl of his lips was closer to a snarl. “I’m sure you can show yourselves out.”

“Don’t be rude, Rafael Barron Sterling.”

He quirked an eyebrow. His mother hadn’t used his full name since he was in college.

“Your father is planning to marry Elizabeth.”

Rafe opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He didn’t need to state the obvious. His parents were still married.

“It’s imperative we make you the CEO of Sterling Worldwide. This madness must stop at once,” Rebecca finished.

“Mother—”

“He bought her a forty-thousand-dollar ring. I saw a picture of it in his email. Gaudy. He has terrible judgment and even worse taste.” She shoved the manila folders back to the center of the desk.

Because of Theodore’s unstable behavior, his mother suspected her husband had the early stages of dementia. His physician disagreed, saying that Theodore was at an age where he’d acquired vast wealth and wanted to enjoy it. The motorcycles he couldn’t ride and the yacht that needed a crew were proof of that, as were the classic Rolls Royce, a chauffeur, a château in France, and a twenty-three-year-old mistress to enjoy it with.

Rafe suspected that both his mother and the doctor were partially correct. Theodore had never wanted any part in Sterling Worldwide. He’d been the unexpected and much pampered late-in-life and third-born child of Barron and Penelope Sterling. His parents had believed Theodore to be nothing less than a gift from God, and they’d treated him as such, indulging his every whim, allowing him to travel the world from a young age, buying him gifts that had been denied to his siblings. He’d also bypassed the boarding schools that the other Sterling children had attended. But his parents had insisted on a college education. They’d made a sizable donation to the university’s foundation to ensure he received passing grades. Surprising everyone, including himself, he’d excelled in business school.

When his older brother, Barron Sterling, Jr., had been killed in a hunting accident, Theodore had been thrust into the unwelcome role as heir and CEO of a worldwide hotel empire. He hadn’t known that his much more qualified sister couldn’t inherit the business. He’d hired attorneys, but in the end, the terms were absolute. Theodore had lost his freedom and his jet-setting lifestyle. Within weeks of his brother’s burial, he was married to the formidable Rebecca, a woman his mother had selected.

Now that Rafe had proven himself competent as the conglomerate’s Chief Financial Officer, Theodore had run away from his day-to-day responsibilities in favor of living the life he’d imagined.

Unaware or uncaring that her son hadn’t responded, Rebecca continued. “Ms. Malloy”—she pointed to the brunette—“has compiled a list of suitable candidates for your consideration.”

“Candidates?”

“To become your wife,” Ms. Malloy clarified, taking over the meeting. She crossed the room toward him, her hips swaying and her peep-toe shoes sounding a tattoo that did evil things to his libido.

When she stopped near his desk, her scent reached him, lilacs and summer, a contrast to the darkness that hovered over his life.

“The list has been narrowed to five finalists for your consideration.” Obviously she had no clue she was rearranging his brain cells. “Each of the ladies is qualified to be your wife. Of course, for your privacy, they only know certain things about you. A general description, the fact that you’re an executive, that you live in Houston. The women have been interviewed and prescreened. We have nondisclosures on record, so any exchange of information will be confidential. Because time is of the essence, a mixer on Thursday or Friday would be most expeditious. If you prefer, we can arrange casual meetings, coffee or breakfast, perhaps lunch as you narrow your selection to three. From there we will be happy to set up dinners. That way you can get to know her before actual social events. We can make it appear like a whirlwind romance and—”

“Stop.” He held up a hand and trapped her gaze. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I didn’t realize that you weren’t aware…” She glanced toward his mother, but Rebecca looked down to pluck a piece of lint from her skirt Recovering, the brunette smiled. The gesture was quick, practiced, and polished—meant to impart confidence without being too familiar.

Irrationally, it—she—irritated the hell out of him.

“I beg your pardon. I’m Hope Malloy.” She extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”

He ignored her gesture. “I asked you a question.”

As she dropped her arm, her smile vanished. When she spoke, her tone was more formal. “I own The Prestige Group. Celeste Fallon recommended my team to your mother.”

“Team of…what?”

“We are an elite matchmaking service for the world’s wealthiest, most discerning individuals. We understand that it’s difficult for men such as yourself to meet appropriate—”

“You’re a matchmaker? You stick your nose in other people’s business for a living?” Stunned, Rafe swung his gaze toward his mother. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“Watch your tone.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds before I throw all of you out.”

“I know this is a shock, so I’ll forgive your bad manners. Prestige will be discreet on this search. No one needs to know it’s happening.”

He stood and slammed his palms flat on the desk surface. “You hired them to find me a wife?” The killer-heeled woman was here to marry him off to some nameless woman to safeguard the Sterling empire?

“Celeste has assured me that Ms. Malloy is the best.”

Of that, he had no doubt. Fallon and Associates was one of the world’s most exclusive crisis management firms. For more than a hundred and fifty years, they’d specialized in high-profile cases, restoring reputations, saving careers, ensuring people never talked. Like Sterling Worldwide, the Fallons had also kept the business private, and all owners had been related to the founder, Walter Fallon—who’d been part of a secret society at the University of Virginia with Rafe’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, John.

Along with five other young men who’d been in the same organization, John and Walter had become lifelong friends. Over the years, the Sterlings and Fallons had helped each other numerous times, including earlier in the year when Theodore and Lillibet had been caught in the first-class toilet of a commercial aircraft.

Thanks to Fallon and Associates, the investigation had gone away, and Celeste had managed to kill the story before a prominent East Coast newspaper could get anyone to verify the distasteful rumors.

As it was, only one blog had run the story, under the headline, Little Girl and her Teddy Join the Mile High Club! The teaser, as vile as it was provocative, had been a clever play on his father’s name and the ridiculous age difference between the lovers.

A week later, the website had vanished.

“Ms. Malloy has done a fine job. At this rate, we can announce your engagement within a few weeks.”

“Goodbye.”

Undaunted, his mother went on. “It’s a matter of time before your father causes a disaster we can’t recover from.” Even though anger strung her words together, she didn’t raise her voice. As always, Rebecca was the picture of calm, focused resolve. “You’re over thirty. If you had done your duty years ago, we wouldn’t be facing this situation now.”

He winced at the truth of the accusation. Ever since Rafe was a child, his mother had been clear about his obligations. But to him, love equaled drama, and he despised both.

“You need to be sensible.” She brought her index fingers together and studied him.

Arianna joined them. “I know you don’t like people meddling in your life, but—”

“Meddling?” He’d had enough. “You call this meddling?”

“Things are going to get worse, not better, with Dad and his—” Arianna caught her bottom lip with her teeth. “With Elizabeth.”

Every day, Rafe hoped his father would return to Houston and his office, but since his dad and Lillibet, as he called her, had been ensconced in their St. Pete’s Beach love nest for two weeks, that didn’t seem imminent.

Rafe sighed. “I know you’re concerned, and I understand it.” More than ready to get out of this mess, he said, “I’ll talk to him again.”

“You’ve done so numerous times,” Rebecca pointed out.

Dozens. Maybe more. “If necessary, I’ll fly out there.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Rebecca asked in a chilled tone. “This cannot continue. You’re a smart man, Rafe. You know how delicate this situation is. Let’s not make it any more complicated than it needs to be.”

Possible scenarios lined up in his mind and fired across his brain in a burst of nightmares, each worse than the last. Theodore asking for a divorce. His mother being awarded half of the company and the courts being involved in the painstaking divisions. It could drag on for years while his father played with his mistress. In a worst-case situation, Theodore might, indeed, commit bigamy, which would create a public relations quagmire that Sterling Worldwide might not recover from.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Noah stopped by the house Friday evening,” Rebecca said. “Your father isn’t returning calls. I understand from his assistant that Noah’s been dropping by the executive office every day. She’s been making excuses, but she isn’t convinced he believes her.”

Rafe struggled to hold his temper in check. His cousin, Noah Richardson, son of Rafe’s aunt, Victoria Sterling-Richardson, believed he had grounds to challenge Rafe’s position as heir apparent. According to the archaic terms of the trust, succession went to male descendants in birth order. Even then, the heir was required to be married.

Noah ran one of the divisions, was a multimillionaire in his own right, and he believed he was the rightful heir since Rebecca and Theodore hadn’t been married when Barron, Jr., had been killed. Noah itched to break up the corporation and sell it off, a philosophy Rafe was against. Noah had threatened to see Rafe in court numerous times. Rafe had responded that any challenge should have come a generation ago. But because Noah was married with children, there was a chance, however slight, that he might prevail in a court case. Even if the decision was in Rafe’s favor, the litigation could drag on for months, even years. The financial cost could be devastating.

“I’m sorry.” Arianna wrung her hands. “I hate this, and I didn’t want to be part of it. It’s awful that we have to coerce you into doing something you’re not ready to do.”

He believed her. Unlike him, she was a romantic, a dreamer shattered by her second divorce.

“Arianna and I will leave you to it.” Rebecca stood.

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” He refused to be railroaded.

“You’ll do what you need to.” His mother wasn’t backing down.

She closed the door with a decisive click, sealing him in with the enemy. Hope was a beautiful, seductive temptress, but the enemy, nonetheless.

“You’re a matchmaker.”

“It’s an honorable profession.”

“Is it? Much like operating an escort service. I hire you. I will end up paying to fuck a woman, one who’s interchangeable with any number of other candidates.”

“That’s as insulting as it is crass.” She set her chin and didn’t sever the connection of their gazes, meeting the heat of his anger with cool, aloof professionalism.

He wanted to shake it from her, strip her bare, discover what lay beneath the surface to leave nothing but aching, pulsing honesty between them.

Either not noticing the tension or ignoring it, she continued. “Throughout history, families arranged marriages all the time. In parts of the world, it still goes on. Today, there’s a bigger need for my services than ever before. I have clients all over the world, from all sorts of backgrounds and of all ages. Often, men in your position don’t have time to meet women in the traditional way. You’re far too busy, important, insulated.”

“Spare me the sales pitch.”

“It makes sense to select someone I’ve interviewed, a woman who suits the needs of a man such as you. A woman of the right temperament, with the same interests, goals, morals, outlook, political leanings, religious preferences. A woman who understands what is expected of her and is willing to assume those responsibilities.”

“A business arrangement.”

“If you like.”

Rafe took his seat and left her standing. It was undoubtedly rude, but justified. His mother had hired Prestige, but Hope had been part of the early-morning intervention. She could have refused, but she hadn’t. That made her complicit. “So that’s what’s in here?” He flicked a glance at the folders. “A money-hungry bride-to-be—I beg your pardon, candidate—who understands what she’s getting herself into?”

“These women all deserve your respect.”

“And an expensive engagement ring?” He leaned back. “Why should I trust you?”

“Five years of success. Thirty-seven marriages.”

“Divorces?”

“Two.”

“Much better than the national average. Yet five years in business means your experiment hasn’t made it to the seven-year itch yet.”

“Whether that exists or not is a matter of debate. There’s a study that suggests there’s a four-year itch as well as a seven-year one. Oh, and a three-year one. And most couples who divorce tend to do so after a decade. So that means there’s a twelve-year flameout as well.” She lifted one delicate shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever your bias, you can find a study to support it. The truth is, each individual is unique, and so are their relationships. People divorce for a lot of reasons and after any length of time.”

“Fair enough.”

“There are, however, a number of factors that enhance chances for success. I call them the Three C’s—compatibility, chemistry, and commitment.”

“Define success.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I suppose that’s in the eye of the beholder.”

“Take my parents. They’ve been victims of wedded bliss for thirty-three years.”

“There are financial and legal benefits for people who are married.”

She’d sidestepped his point neatly.

“Couples who are wed, versus those who cohabitate, tend to live longer.”

“Or perhaps it only seems that way.”

She smiled, and it transformed her features, making her no longer standoffish and professional, but warm and inviting. No wonder lemmings turned to her for matrimonial advice. “Have you always been a cynic, Mr. Sterling?”

“About marriage?” Not always. But the few illusions he’d held had been shattered. “Can you blame me?”

“You can’t think of any positive examples?”

“Like my sister? She’s twenty-seven and going through her second divorce, and this one is more gruesome and costly than the first. My best friend and college roommate, Griffin Lahey? His wife of three years just walked out, dumped him, ripped apart their future, and took away their son. For the final knife in his heart, she’s suing for half of his estate because she met an artist who she fancies and wants to move to Paris with him. Noah’s parents live on separate continents. My grandmother had to be coaxed into attending my grandfather’s funeral. I’m told she was drunk at the time, and not from grief. On the morning he was to be buried, legend has it that she knocked back an entire bottle of champagne…from the private reserve he had saved for special occasions. So, no, I’m not anxious to stick my neck in the matrimonial noose.”

“You asked why you should trust me. You shouldn’t. You have no reason to, yet. I could give you references from satisfied customers. I could reassure you that I’ve signed a nondisclosure. Or that Celeste Fallon believes in me. But none of that means anything. You need results. If the potential women I’ve matched you with don’t suit your needs, I’ll give you another five. Or fire me and I’ll refund your mother’s fee.”

“Fee?” He narrowed his eyes. “How much do you charge?”

“I’m expensive, Mr. Sterling.”

“Ten thousand dollars? Twenty?” When she didn’t react, he tried again. “More than that?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“Shit.” People were willing to pay a hundred grand to meet someone? If it worked out, he’d have the honor of shelling out thousands more for baubles to go along with it? Then, when the shine wore off, she’d keep them and half his fortune?

“I’m worth every penny.”

“That’s pretty confident.”

“I am.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I work hard to ensure I satisfy my clients.”

He glanced at the top folder as if it were rabid. “How did you choose these particular women?”

“In normal circumstances, I meet with a gentleman so I can get a sense about him. Then he fills in a questionnaire. It’s rather detailed. Fourteen pages of likes, dislikes, things that worked in previous relationships. Things that didn’t.”

“Go on.”

“Expectations around traditions are important as are roles in the relationship. To some, religion is important. I find out if he wants children. If so, how many? Will he want them raised in a particular religion? Where does he plan to live? In the US or abroad? Will the children attend private school? Boarding school? Will a nanny be hired? A housekeeper? After I’ve reviewed that, I have a second meeting with him for further clarification.”

“And they need you for this?”

“Most of the men I work with don’t have the opportunity to meet women they might be serious about marrying. They’ve often focused their attention on their careers or education. Some of them are famous, but they don’t want to settle down with a woman they’ve met on the road or someone who’s been part of their fan club.”

“And where do you find the women who are anxious to throw themselves at the feet of these rich men?”

“I belong to a number of organizations, and I’m active in Houston’s art and business communities. It may surprise you, but I’m often invited to high-society events. I’ve seen you at a few.”

Rafe regarded her again. “We haven’t met.” He would have remembered. Her eyes, her voice, the sweet curve of her hips, the way her legs went on forever in those shoes. Yeah. He would have remembered.

“No. I spend most of my time talking with women. Part of my value is that I’ve met all the candidates, interviewed them, watched them interact at social events.” She nudged a folder toward him. “Try me.”

“Have a seat.” Rafe wondered at his sudden offer of hospitality. He didn’t need Hope and her lilac-and-silk scent in his office while he looked through the files.

She sat opposite him, her movements delicate. Her skirt rode up her bare thighs, just a bit. He imagined skimming his fingers across her smooth skin while she gasped, then yanking down her panties, curving his fingers into the hot flesh of her ass cheeks.

Christ. He’d spent all Saturday working on next quarter’s business plan. In the previous day’s bike race against some of his friends, he’d pushed too fast, too hard, on a grueling part of the course and crashed. He’d had a shot of Crown before going to bed but skipped taking anything else for the pain. He’d slept like hell, and he’d spent too long working out cramps in the shower to even think about masturbating.

Now, he wished he had taken the edge off.

It had been over a month since he’d visited the Retreat, a BDSM club in a historic warehouse on Buffalo Bayou in downtown Houston, and even longer since he’d enjoyed the singular pleasure of playing with a sub at the discreet second-story Quarter in New Orleans. Of course being this close to an attractive female after such an intense drought would give him an erection. Shit. He couldn’t force himself to believe his own fucking lie. Every day, he was surrounded by beautiful women. He wanted Hope. With her ass upturned, listening to her frantic breaths as she waited for his belt…waited for his touch. It was more than the sound of her voice or the innocent-yet-provocative shoes, it was carnal desire. Lust. The last time he was gripped by its power, he’d been in college and far more helpless than he was now.

He imprisoned his thoughts and focused on the task in front of him.

Picking up the first file, he flipped it open.

The top page had a name, a picture, and the vital statistics of a beautiful twenty-four-year-old blonde. She was a UT Austin graduate, a pageant winner who flashed a tiara-worthy smile and worked as a fundraiser for underprivileged schools.

In every way, on paper, she should interest him. She was attractive, knew how to handle herself in public, and she had philanthropic inclinations.

Naturally his mother would approve. And yet… He felt nothing—less than nothing. He was uninspired and disinterested. The hard-on he’d been sporting vanished. He glanced up at Hope Malloy. “You said chemistry matters?”

“She doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not in the least.”

“Perhaps you’ll have better luck with another choice?”

He didn’t.

After perusing the second picture, he glanced back at Hope.

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“It’s possible the attraction would develop after you meet someone. Her choice of conversation, the way she moves or looks at you.” She shifted. “Pheromones.”

Those, he was starting to believe in. Keeping his mind on the folders, he said, “I see. My mother hopes I will select a bride, whether I want to fuck her or not?”

Hot pink scorched Hope’s cheekbones before she recovered. “So, you would rather have a spine-tingling attraction to someone who consumes you?”

“No.” He’d had that. Once. With Emma, in college. He’d been crazy enough about her that he’d bought her a stunning ring.

He had been invited to join her family for Christmas brunch, and he’d intended to propose then. Unbeknownst to him, Emma had been so intent on getting married that she’d been juggling dates with three different men. One of them had popped the question on Christmas Eve in front of the tree’s twinkling lights.

When she’d called to let him know, she wasn’t apologetic. She reminded him she wanted a wedding as a college graduation present, and Aaron had offered her just that. It was nothing personal. She would have been happy marrying any of them.

Rafe had hit the local bar near a shopping center. When he left, there’d been a red kettle set up outside. A man nearby was ringing a bell and asking for charitable donations. Rafe stuffed her ring through the slot and accepted the candy the bell ringer offered as thanks.

A sucker. If there’d ever been a more appropriate gesture, he didn’t recall it.

Rafe had spent every day until the new year in an alcohol-induced stupor, calling her at all hours, sending desperate text messages, even driving to her home in a stupid and embarrassing attempt to get her to change her mind.

“Mr. Sterling?” Hope’s questioning voice cut through the morose memories.

He flipped the folder closed without reading any of the pages. He refused to be out of control over a woman ever again. But if he was expected to marry and produce an heir or two, he should at least want to go to bed with her.

“Perhaps of the three C’s, compatibility and commitment are more important than chemistry?”

How much longer until he could dismiss her?

When he didn’t answer, she filled the silence. “Can you tell me what it was about the first two candidates that didn’t suit your needs? It will help me refine the search.”

“Ms. Malloy…” He struggled to leash his raging impatience. “Show some fucking mercy, will you? Until ten minutes ago, I didn’t know I needed a candidate.”

She edged the third folder toward him.

With great reluctance but with a sudden urge to get through this, he thumbed it open. Another blonde. Another perfect smile. Another impeccable pedigree. “Since I didn’t fill in your forms, I assume it was my mother who decided what college degrees and background were important?”

“Your sister rounded it out as far as activities you enjoy.”

“Yet I don’t see any of them who like to ride a mountain bike.”

“Not a huge demand in this part of Texas.”

“Kayaking?”

“I’ll add that to the next search.”

He gave in to curiosity. “Was Celeste consulted?”

“I invited her to be part of process. She declined.”

If Celeste had been involved, perhaps there would have been a redhead or a brunette. Even someone with pink toenails in peekaboo shoes.

For the second time, he resisted the impulse to hurl the files in the trash. Instead, he opened his top drawer and swept the offensive lot inside, then slammed it shut.

Hope uncrossed her legs and leaned toward him. Then, evidently thinking better of it, she sat back and recrossed them.

He swore her skin whispered like the promise of sin.

“Perhaps you should consider the options at a more convenient time,” she suggested.

“I’ll see you receive full payment.” He stood.

“I’ve already received it.”

His mother had written this woman a check for a hundred grand? “Thank you for your efforts.”

“Mr. Sterling—”

He walked past her to the door and opened it.

She sighed but stood. After gathering her purse—a small pink thing shaped like a cat, complete with ears and whiskers—she joined him. Instead of leaving, as he’d ordered, she stood in front of him, chin tipped at a defiant angle.

Hope projected competence, but the heels and fanciful handbag gave her a feminine air. A sane man would think of her as a vendor or business associate, so he could slot her into the off-limits part of his conscience. She wasn’t a potential date or wife. Or submissive.

He wanted her.

She isn’t mine.

Fuck his conscience.

Before this ridiculous idea about finding him a woman to marry went any further, she needed to know the truth about him, the side he locked away and kept hidden unless he was at one of his favorite BDSM clubs, the side that Celeste should have informed his matchmaker about.

Bare inches separated him from Hope, and he halved that distance by leaning toward her. “Is there a place on your fourteen-page questionnaire to discuss sexual proclivities?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her knuckles whitened on her purse strap.

“Let me clarify.” Rafe spoke softly into the thick air between them. “Kinks. Those nasty, scandalous things that people do in the privacy of their own homes. Things they don’t talk about in public. Salacious acts that make them drop to their knees in church as they beg forgiveness. Would you consider that compatibility or chemistry?”

Tension tightened her shoulders. “Is there something…” Her tone suggested she was trying for professionalism, but her voice cracked on a sharp inhalation.

After a few more shallow breaths, she ventured, “What do I need to know?”

“I’m into BDSM.”

Her beautiful, pouty mouth parted a little.

An image scorched him—that of him slipping a spider gag between her lips, spreading her mouth and keeping it that way. He’d force her to communicate with her expression and her body, like she was now. “Your eyes are wide, Ms. Malloy. Are you shocked? Interested?” Her soul was reflected in the startling depths. “Curious, perhaps?”

It took her less than three seconds to close her mouth and regroup. “No. I’m wondering how I should phrase this for your candidates.”

She’d lied. Instead of meeting his gaze, she stared at the potted plant near the window.

Rather than unleashing the beast that suddenly wanted to dominate her, he kept his tone even. “I’m sure you’ve had clients who like that sort of thing?”

Finally, after a breath, she looked at him. “I’ll make some discreet inquiries of the candidates. What is it you’re looking for?”

He ached to capture her chin and force her to look at him. “How much do you know about BDSM?”

She pulled back her shoulders, as if on more stable ground. “I’ve heard of it.”

“No personal experience?”

“That’s not relevant.”

Damn her dishonest answer. Some? None? Would he be her first? Could he take her, mold her into what he wanted?

What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d already decided she was off-limits. “There are as many ways to practice BDSM as there are people in the lifestyle. No relationship is the same.”

“Makes sense.”

Mesmerized, he watched the wild flutter of her pulse in her throat. It was like oxygen to a dying man. He wanted more. “Some people prefer to confine their practices to the bedroom—at night, for example. Others, on occasion, indulge at a club or play party. A number of people practice it in varying degrees on a twenty-four-hour basis.”

“Where do your…proclivities lie?”

Until now, he hadn’t considered he might want a submissive wife. Over the years, he’d found it easier to go to the club. He was a Dom who would give a sub what she wanted, whether it was pain, roleplay, humiliation, a sensuous flogging, hours with torturous toys.

When he’d planned to marry Emma, he assumed she would work at a job that inspired her. Alternatively, she’d have been free to engage in social activities or charity endeavors like the wives of some of his associates. Giving up his clubs hadn’t been a consideration. Nor had he allowed himself to think of calling his bride at five p.m. and telling her to meet him in the foyer of his loft, naked, with her thighs spread and cunt shaved.

Now, however, he couldn’t banish the thought. And since his mother had already squandered a hundred grand, he figured he should be specific in his requests. More, he wanted Hope to know what she was getting into, even if she didn’t yet realize he’d chosen her. “I want my wife to be submissive twenty-four hours a day.”

“Can you clarify what you mean?” She clenched the handle of her kitty bag, seeming to pretend this was an ordinary conversation with a normal man.

Jeanine, the best executive assistant on the continent, entered the outer office. She’d been with Sterling Worldwide for almost thirty years, and with him for the past seven. With her polite smile and firm voice, she protected him against the world. “Morning, Mr. Sterling.”

“Jeanine.”

She angled her head toward Hope. “Everything all right, sir?”

“Unscheduled meeting with the Prestige Group.”

“I see.”

“My mother arranged it.”

Jeanine scowled with understanding. Like a she-dragon, Jeanine would have protected him from his own mother. “Anything you need, Mr. Sterling?” She was asking if he wanted her to call security or to show the woman out. “Coffee?”

Her combination of savviness and loyalty made her indispensable.

“Just one cup, please. Ms. Malloy won’t be staying.”

He captured Hope’s shoulders and pulled her into his office so he could close the door. He held on to her for a whole lot longer than was necessary but not as long as he wanted to. How would she react if he eased his first finger up the delicate column of her throat?

Would she surrender? Fight the inevitable?

Forcing himself to resist the driving impulse, he dropped his hands and curled them into fists at his sides.

“Proclivities,” she prompted.

The word echoed in his head. “She’ll wear a collar—my collar…” And because he could no longer resist, he traced an index finger across the hollow of her throat. Her pulse fluttered, and her breaths momentarily ceased. “My woman will know that she belongs to me and she will behave as such.”

Hope’s gaze remained locked on his. When she spoke, her voice wobbled. “And this…collar. She’ll have to wear it all the time?”

“That’s what twenty-four seven means.” A devilish grin tugged at his lips. He kept his fingertip pressed to her warm skin. “It will be subtle, however. Nothing gaudy. Unless people knew, I doubt they’d think she was wearing anything other than a striking piece of jewelry. But her play collar, the one she wears in private with me or at a lifestyle event, may be different.”

“Like at a BDSM club or something?” She nodded, as if she were on ground she understood.

Not that he’d let her stay there long. “I enjoy showing off my sub. There’s a certain restaurant in New Orleans, Vieille Rivière, that she will go to. And she’ll join me when I visit people in similar social circles.” Including other Titans. But there was a limit to how much he should tell her. “There are certain things I would want her to go along with. Bondage. Sensory deprivation.”

“You mean like blindfolds and handcuffs?” There was no hesitation in her words, so he ascertained she’d made sense of what he’d said and decided that fell under the category of typical bedroom shenanigans.

“Among others, yes. I use blindfolds on occasion. I like gags so that my woman must beg with her eyes. Her tears are like dripping nectar from the gods.”

Wide-eyed, uncertain, she sucked in a deep, disbelieving breath.

“Clamps,” he added, skimming the column of her throat.

“I…”

“On her nipples, among other places. And I will want to her to wait for me at the end of a long day, on her knees, head tipped back, her beautiful mouth held open by a dental dam.”

“You mean…she’d have to do this herself?”

“Prepare for my homecoming?” He imagined Hope parting her lips, sliding in the dam and positioning it, pictured her naked in front of the door, hungry for his touch. “Yes.”

She retreated a step. “Mr. Sterling, I—”

“My wife will focus on me and my pleasure.”

“That sounds rather old-fashioned.”

“Does it? What you’re not aware of is what I’m willing to do in return.”

“In return?”

“I wouldn’t expect a woman to give me everything she has to offer without me giving equal parts of myself. Her wants and desires will be my highest priority. I will give her the heavens if she wants them, the stars, the moon.” He paused. “Then I’ll take her to the depths of hell as she uncovers what sets her depraved soul free.”

She shuddered.

“Can you find me all that in a candidate, Ms. Malloy?”

“You’re rather particular.”

“Indeed. I require a woman of impeccable breeding who presents her ass for my punishment when she displeases me.”

The air conditioner kicked on. The whispering cool air did nothing to dissipate the heat between them.

He slid his hand around to the back of her neck, then feathered his fingers into her hair. “I want to kiss you, Ms. Malloy.”

“Uhm…”

“Ask me to.”

She scowled.

“I won’t have you pretending that you’re not curious. When you’re at home this evening, by yourself with a glass of wine, horny and considering masturbating—”

“That’s not me.” She shook her head so fast it was obviously a desperate lie.

“No? Ms. Malloy, the room is swimming with your pheromones. Deny it.” She sagged a little against his hand, and he tightened his grip on her hair, as much to offer support as to imprison her. Then he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “You’ll remember this moment, fantasize about being mine.”

“No…”

“Invite me to kiss you or tell me to release you. The power is yours. Yield to temptation or leave this room wondering if it’s as good as you imagine it will be.”

“Mr. Sterling, this can’t be happening.”

Despite her protest, she didn’t try to escape. “I agree. This is the first time I’ve had three women”—four if he counted Celeste—“attempt to force me down the aisle.” He paused. “And it’s the first time I’ve had this kind of sexual longing for an adversary. Ask me to kiss you,” he repeated instead of arguing. “Be sure to say please.”

“Ah…”

He loosened his grip, and she leaned toward him, keeping herself hostage. Rafe didn’t smile with triumph.

“Kiss me.”

“There’s nothing I’d enjoy more.” That wasn’t the entire truth. There were a hundred things he’d like to do to her, but he made no move Her internal standoff lasted longer than he thought it would. Excellent. She had a stubborn streak.

Hope glanced away and sighed. Then she looked at him with clear, confident eyes. “Please kiss me.”

He could drown in her and be happy about it. He captured her chin to hold her steady. On her lips, he tasted the sweetness of her capitulation. “Open your mouth, sweet Hope.”

She did, and he entered her mouth, slower than he would ordinarily, softer than he would if she were his submissive.

Hope responded with hesitation, and he continued, driving deeper, seeking more. Within seconds, she yielded.

She moaned and raised onto her tiptoes to lean into him. A few seconds beyond that, she wrapped her arms around him. Hope, his adversary, had now become his willing captive.

He released her chin and moved his hand to the middle of her back, then lower to the base of her spine.

Rafe drank in the scent of her femininity. His cock surged, not from ordinary arousal, but from soul-deep recognition. Her eagerness sought the Dom in him. It took all his restraint not to press his palm against her buttocks.

Earlier he’d said she’d be thinking of him as she masturbated. The truth was, he wasn’t sure how he’d banish this memory of her—strength and suppleness in one heady package.

He plundered her mouth.

She offered more until she was panting and desperate, gripping him hard.

Instead of giving in to the driving need to rip off her clothes and fuck her, he distracted himself by tugging on her hair harder. As he’d requested, her eyes were open. So goddamn trusting. Did she have any idea how close he was to shredding the veneer of civilization that hung between them to claim her, mark her as his?

He ended the kiss while he still could. Her mouth was swollen, and he couldn’t stop staring at her lips.

Hope took tiny breaths that didn’t seem to steady her. She held on to him while she lowered her heels to the floor. Then, over a few heartbeats, she dropped her hands.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he prompted.

“Are you serious? I’m supposed to thank you?” She continued to look at him and undoubtedly saw his resolve.

Would she give him what he demanded? “Unless you want me to spank—”

“Spank?” Her chin was at a full tilt.

“Spank.” He repeated with emphasis. “Unless you want me to spank your pretty little ass so hard that you can’t sit down after you leave here.”

“That kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

“Under normal circumstances,” he agreed without hesitation. “Unless you ask me for it.” Part of him hoped she’d take him up on it. It would be a pleasure to prove she liked the feel of his hand on her bare skin. “I’ll go first.” He softened his tone, letting her glimpse his inner thoughts, a rare confession of his soul. “I enjoyed kissing you. Thank you.”

“I…” She smoothed the skirt that he wanted to rip off her body.

“Look at me.”

She followed his command. Then, with a soft and decidedly insubmissive tone, she said, “Thank you.”

“Ms. Malloy, as I said, it was my pleasure.”

Silence hung between them. Her inexperience thrilled him, and he wanted to give her another hundred firsts. Instead, he let her go. The real world—with its complex demands—was waiting. And if he wanted her at his feet, he had a lot of work to do.

“I’m not certain how much of what you said, and what we just did, is to get me to admit defeat, to quit…” She stiffened her spine.

“Maybe it started that way.” His father’s behavior had pissed Rafe off, and so had his mother’s ambush, even Hope herself. He’d wanted to shake her as badly as he’d been shaken. As he’d spoken to her, his desires had churned to the surface. Until now—until her—he had been willing to confine his kink to a club. “It didn’t end that way. That I promise you.”

“I will ask the candidates about their openness to your suggestions.”

Fuck. She wanted to retreat behind a facade of business, as if their kiss hadn’t changed something. “Requirements. Not suggestions. Requirements. Be clear about that. If I’m to be saddled with a woman that I don’t want until death do us part, there will be none of the hysteria that my family members seem to thrive on. My wife will know her place and her role, and she will meet my expectations. And to be clear, she will ask for my kiss. Like you did.” He opened the door.

Jeanine was walking toward his office with a cup of coffee, and he waved her off.

Then, voice so soft that only Hope could hear, he finished. “You have a fourteen-page interview form. I will have something similar for the women you bring to me. It will cover things such as anal play, being shared with others, edging, exhibitionism. Shall I send it to you first?”

“Please do. It will save some time in your selection process.” She started past him, and he snagged her elbow.

“And Ms. Malloy? She’ll fucking address me as Sir.” He was unaccountably furious at her rejection. At himself. “And if you come here ever again, so will you.”

Her hand trembled where she grasped her purse strap. She flicked a glance at his hand before yanking her elbow free and continuing.

She paused at Jeanine’s desk to say goodbye. Why did that matter so much to him?

He should have snagged the cup of coffee and returned to his office to call his father, but Rafe continued to watch Hope. Each damnable step made her hips sway, and his still-hard cock throbbed in response.

At the door leading to the hallway, Hope paused, her hand on the knob. She glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze without blinking. He might have unsettled her, even shocked her. But he hadn’t scared her.

Round one to the beautiful matchmaker.

Hell and a handbasket. The world shifted beneath Hope’s feet. Who the fuck did he think he was? The Lord of Domination? And why had she responded with such abandon? As she strode down the marble hallway to the elevator, Hope forced herself to keep her chin high. It wasn’t until after she’d pushed the call button and made sure she was alone that she allowed her shoulders to collapse against the wall, right beneath the scripted silver letters bearing Rafe’s last name.

Celeste had warned that he was formidable and had coached Hope to be unflappable when dealing with him. Though she’d done a good job of presenting a cool exterior, nothing could have prepared her for meeting with the CFO of Sterling Worldwide.

He stood over six feet tall, was broad-shouldered and lean, showing he worked out as hard as he did everything else. As elegant as his suit had been, it hadn’t concealed the force of his primal nature.

He’d studied her in a way no other man ever had. His questions had been pointed as he’d probed for her deepest secrets. Even though she had wanted to protect herself, she hadn’t been able to look away from his threatening, turbulent deep-blue eyes.

The moment his mother and sister left the room, his danger had seared her. “She’ll wear a collar—my collar—and she will know she belongs to me.”

His voice had been cloaked in the most delicate silk, and his words had struck with a force that had left her speechless. They’d penetrated deep inside her brain, weaving an image until she pictured herself on her knees—waiting for his every command as he claimed what was his.

Any man speaking in such blunt, sexual terms would have triggered the same sort of feminine reaction from her. No. That was a lie. Every day, she spent time with rich, powerful men who had specific demands. Those words from anyone else would have left her cold. Rafe’s image left her hungry.

Sex had always been unremarkable. It was required once a relationship progressed to a certain point, but it was a chore.

In Rafe’s office, however, unfamiliar desire had crawled through her. He’d been right about her pheromones. She’d never been aroused like that. When he’d caressed her throat, his prediction that she would ask for his kiss had become inevitable.

His mouth had demanded, and his tongue had plundered. Then he’d moved one hand to the small of her back. In that terrifying moment, she would have knelt for him, and part of her had unraveled at the idea that he might redden her ass. Even now she couldn’t stop thinking about how his hand would feel on her naked buttocks. The wicked humiliation of it all…

When the kiss had ended, she’d been confused. Reality had crashed in on her. When had she become so wanton? Not knowing what else to do, she’d gathered her professional aura around her. The way he grabbed her elbow meant he sensed her withdrawal and had disliked it as much as she had.

She could have pulled away at any time. Why hadn’t she?

The bell dinged, jarring her, and she pushed away from the wall. Her bag clutched in her hands, she rode the elevator to the lobby.

People strode past, some talking on phones, others staring at the screens, with most of them wearing earbuds, lost in a world of music, books, or podcasts. All were going through their day while her insides were in turmoil.

On the sidewalk outside, she paused.

Though it was ridiculous, she glanced up at the fifteenth floor and swept her gaze across the windows. Most were still dark. But at the end of the row, a man stood in one, unmoving, framed in glass and steel and power.

It couldn’t be Rafe. He was far too busy running his conglomerate to look for her on the street.

No matter what her mind insisted, her heart had no doubt it was him. She’d had a connection with him that transcended common sense.

She shook her head and hurried to the parking lot where she’d left her car.

When she was inside with the doors locked, she exhaled. Her heart thundered as if she’d run down the pavement. And her skin was both hot and chilled. She allowed herself another thirty seconds to pull herself together before slipping her car into drive and navigating Houston’s ever-thickening rush-hour traffic toward her own downtown suite of small offices.

In her purse, her phone vibrated half a moment before her upbeat marimba ringtone bounced through the passenger compartment, too loud and chipper for her current mood.

She glanced at the screen on her dash. Celeste Fallon. Curious, Hope connected the call. Her internship at Fallon and Associates during college garnered her a mentor and invaluable experience. The long, dedicated hours were rewarded with an invitation into Celeste’s inner circle.

As usual, Celeste skipped a greeting. “He didn’t like any of the women.”

“No.” Even though Hope had spent hours with his mother and sister, searching through pictures and reading biographies of more than a hundred women, Rafe hadn’t given any of them more than a cursory glance. “Is that a good guess? Wait—did you already talk to him?”

“I know Rafe.”

“You could have saved me some time.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

Hope scowled. “You could have guided me in the right direction.”

“Meaning what?”

Did Celeste know that he was into BDSM? “He has…” Hope stumbled around. How did she repeat what he’d said without revealing his secrets? “He’s seeking a specific set of attributes in a wife.”

“If you decide to look for a career in PR, see me first.” Celeste’s voice was droll. “You can’t terminate your contract with him.”

Hope’s scowl deepened. As long as she refunded Rebecca’s money, Prestige was under no obligation to the Sterlings.

“I know he’s challenging—”

“That’s not the word I’d choose.”

“This is delicate, Hope.” Celeste was direct to the point of bluntness, so her sudden vagueness was surprising.

“His tastes are unusual,” Hope said.

“It’s more than that. Finding Rafe a wife will open avenues that you can’t imagine.”

Instead of cruising through a yellow light, Hope stopped so she could concentrate on what Celeste was saying.

“There are others…”

Like Rafe? “Listen, Celeste…” She’d accepted Rafe’s challenge. Pride alone wouldn’t allow her to walk away. “I will find him a suitable wife.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

The car behind her blasted its horn. Without her noticing, the light had turned green. Before she could respond to Celeste, the call ended.

A few minutes later, Hope pulled into her spot in the parking garage. Although it was April, the humidity was oppressive, the sky a milky, churning gray. She slipped out of her blazer as she took the stairs to the third floor.

This morning, she was the first to arrive, and she unlocked the suite before walking into her office. After dropping her belongings on the credenza, she sank into the white utilitarian leather chair behind her glass-topped desk.

Her desk phone’s light flicked on and off, indicating waiting messages. Since Skyler, her assistant, wasn’t in yet, Hope listened to the first voicemail, from a potential client who preferred to talk rather than use email.

The second was from a woman she’d talked to last week at a business mixer, hoping to meet an older gentleman she’d seen listed on Prestige’s website.

Rafe Sterling not withstanding, the week was off to a promising start.

A knock on her doorjamb made Hope look up.

Skyler stood there, carrying a tray that held two extra-large cups bearing the logo of their favorite shop. She also held up a small pastel-pink bag. If there was a God, there would be a chocolate cake doughnut inside. Without waiting for an invite, she sashayed in. “I come bearing gifts. A quad latte for the Matchmaking Maven.”

Four shots of espresso? “Are you a mind reader?”

“You were still emailing me at midnight, and I know you had to get up before five to meet Mr. Sterling.”

Greedy for the gift, Hope held out her hand.

“I want the details.”

“Anything. Even my firstborn. Just hand it over.”

Skyler held the cup just out of reach. “You have to promise not to leave anything out.”

Except for the ones about the collar, the kiss, or how impossible it was to banish the image of waiting for him at the end of the day. “What’s in the bag?”

“Exactly what you’re hoping is in there. You just have to share the details in return.”

“Anything you want to know,” Hope lied. All was fair in love and doughnuts.

With a grin, Skyler handed over the latte, then shoved the bag toward Hope before dropping into a chair. “How did that colossal piece of McHottie sexiness take the news that he’s getting married?”

“McHottie? You didn’t just say that.”

“His picture’s in his file.” Skyler flipped her long blonde braid over her shoulder. To Skyler, hair was the ultimate accessory.

Hope took a sip before exhaling a deep, thankful sigh. The coffee was still hot, and Skyler had opted for whole milk instead of the fat-free version that Hope usually selected. It was heaven in a cup. “We don’t refer to clients that way.”

“Of course we don’t.” Skyler popped the lid off her cup and blew on the contents, sending foam skittering over the rim. “My question remains.”

“He was less than enthusiastic.” She’d expected that, however.

“He looked at the candidates, though. Right? And did you slide my folder in there?”

“You’d miss working with me too much.”

“Yeah. Working is so much better than shopping and having spa days on an unlimited credit card.”

Hope captured the corner of the small pink bag and dragged it toward her. If she ate the pastry, she would have to hit the gym before she went home. Suddenly that seemed like a reasonable choice.

“Who did he like the best?”

Hope broke off a chunk of the doughnut and popped it in her mouth. “No one.”

“Are you kidding me? What man wouldn’t want a former pageant winner?” Skyler took a drink. “Maybe he is waiting for me.”

How had she managed her business without Skyler? Since she’d joined the team, business had doubled. She showed up with a good attitude, worked as long and as hard as Hope did, and she could be trusted with all their clients’ secrets, which was why Hope added, “He has certain…requirements that we weren’t aware of.”

“Oh?” Skyler scooted back in her seat. “Do tell.”

Until now, Hope thought she was unshockable. Their clients were from all parts of the globe, men who had the means to be as discriminating and unique as they wished. She’d had requests that a woman have a soft nature or that she wear heels at all times, even in the house. Other clients specified that any potential match had to be fluent in a specific language—French, Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin. Several had requested advanced degrees, including PhDs. A memorable octogenarian had been in search of a voluptuous twenty-something-year-old who was willing to read him bedtime stories. “He is into BDSM.”

“He’s into…” Skyler’s coffee spilled over the side of her cup.

Praying her voice didn’t waver, betraying her conflicted emotions, Hope continued. “He expects his wife to drape herself across his lap to have her ass spanked when she makes mistakes.”

“That’s hot. I’d fuck up all the time.”

Hope raised her eyebrows.

“What? You wouldn’t want Hottie McHottie to light up your butt?”

“No!” Hope guzzled the burning-hot latte to cover the fact that she was flustered at wanting just that. Then she leveled her gaze at her assistant. “You would?”

Skyler squirmed. “Oh, yes.”

“And greeting him on your knees at the end of the day?”

“Yum. Bonus points if I get to be naked.”

Hope’s hand shook. “Are you serious?”

“Why not?” Skyler placed the lid on her cup. “Variety being the spice of life, right?”

Skyler’s reaction was reassuring.

“Do you want me to ask the candidates if they’re willing to be tied up and spanked by their future husband, or are you planning to call them?”

“Jesus.” Hope shook away her thoughts and forced herself to focus on the problem at hand. Should she come right out and ask the women if they were amenable to a BDSM relationship? Or should she paint a vague picture? After all, she would have said no way until his compelling voice had wrapped around her and his touch had all but incinerated her.

Too bad she didn’t have more time to craft a strategy. “He has a—I’m not sure what you’d call it—some sort of form for the potential women to fill in.”

“Limits list.”

“What?”

“It’s a great way to talk about where each person is. The submissive can redline certain things—like humiliation, or an implement such as a paddle or a cane.”

Hope shivered. “And you know about this, how?”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Tony Kingston, her new associate—and Prestige’s lone male employee—stood in the doorway.

“Looks serious,” he said. “Is this private?”

Most mornings, they all gathered in Hope’s office or the conference room for an impromptu meeting to catch up and set the day’s agenda. “Come in,” Hope replied.

“You look as gorgeous as ever,” Skyler said. “The purple tie is fabulous. Brave. Confident. Inviting without being too decadent.”

“Uhm…thank you?”

“It was a compliment,” Skyler assured him.

Tony did some modeling on the side. He stood a couple of inches over six feet tall, had well-defined biceps that came from lifting weights, and he offset his weakness for M&M’s with grueling runs each night after work. His inherent fashion sense ensured he complemented his golden-brown good looks with the perfect attire.

When he’d first applied for a job, Hope had shied away from the idea of hiring a man, but Celeste had convinced her it was a good idea. Hope’s mentor had been correct. With his wardrobe full of gray suits and bold-hued ties, he exuded class in an old-world way. His soothing tone invited intimacy, and his eyes promised trust. His quiet confidence appealed to men and women both. Since he’d come on board, Prestige had begun accepting female clients.

“All this coffee and sugar. Carbs. What’s up?” He pulled back a chair, then sat in it with legs outstretched.

“We’re just talking about the Sterling Worldwide heir and his kinky demands.”

“God, Skyler!” Hope waved her hand. “Show some restraint.”

“Sounds like my kind of conversation.” Tony grinned.

“Not you too.” The discussion spiked Hope’s blood pressure “Catch me up.”

“He has a limits list,” Skyler said.

Tony pressed his palms together. “He’s twenty-four seven?”

Both of her employees looked at her, and Hope shifted. “Yes. Collars and…” She broke off another piece of doughnut to cover her discomfort. “He wants his wife to call him Sir.”

“We’re trying to figure out the best way to talk to the candidates,” Skyler finished.

“It’s delicate.” He thought, then shrugged. “Our general nondisclosure should cover this.”

Hope hesitated to even run this past the firm’s lawyer.

“I suggest we talk to each candidate, see if she’s at all interested in that type of relationship. If so, invite them to a mixer. He’s adept at handling his own negotiations. We stay out of it as much as possible.”

Hope nodded. “Skyler?”

“I think we should let them know as much as we can in advance.”

“I disagree.” Tony leaned forward. “As long as the woman is open to BDSM, it’s up to Sterling to handle it.”

Decision made, Hope nodded. “I agree with Tony. Skyler, after nine, start making the calls.”

“To the women we’ve already presented? Or should we expand it to the next set of ten?”

“Let’s start with the original five.” Even though he’d professed not to like any of them.

Assignment understood, Skyler and Tony headed toward the door.

“Wait.”

They stopped.

“See if we have anyone who likes kayaking or mountain biking.”

“Mountain biking?” Skyler asked. “In Houston?”

“I hear Memorial Park has some trails. And we’re not that far from Hill Country. There has to be someone who enjoys it, right?” Who also wanted to wear the collar of one of Houston’s most eligible bachelors. And have his baby. She wasn’t certain why those thoughts made her uncomfortable.

* * * * *

After Hope fled from his office, Rafe had crossed to the window and placed a palm on the wall as he looked down. He’d replayed their conversation, and he struggled to vanquish the thought of her as his submissive. He scened with women who were experienced, but he was captivated by the idea of instructing her in the joys of surrender. He wanted her mouth to part from his caress of pain, gasp with the sting of pleasure.

Proving he already had power over her, she’d stopped on the sidewalk and glanced up. He stayed in place until she hurried off, as if frightened by what she saw.

She had reason to be.

When he crossed his office to return to his desk, he inhaled the scent of lilacs, and he wasn’t certain whether or not he’d imagined it.

After shaking his head, he emailed her his limits list. Though she intended to use it to screen his candidates, he wondered which things she’d cross out and which she might be willing to try.

Those unanswered questions made his cock hard, so he shoved them away to concentrate on business. Getting his father reengaged with the business would settle the issue with Noah, take the marriage pressure off Rafe, and allow him to pursue the curvy little matchmaker.

Resolved, he’d called his father again. Annoyance flashed through Rafe when the call went straight to voicemail. He left a message before rolling the gnawing ache from his shoulder.

When the phone rang sometime later, he snatched it up, expecting his father.

Instead, it was Celeste.

“You met with Hope.”

Like him, she rarely wasted precious moments on pleasantries. “If that’s what you would call it.” He sat back.

“Don’t blame her.” And before he could say anything, she added, “Or me. We were tools for your mother’s use.”

As if Celeste would ever be a mere tool for anyone. “Which makes both you and Ms. Malloy complicit.” He reached for the mug of coffee that Jeanine had brought a while ago. He’d ignored it until now. “Your input might have made their task a little less burdensome.” He took a drink. The contents were tepid, but caffeine was caffeine and maybe it would help ward off the headache grinding at the back of his skull. “All beautiful. All…goddamn perfect.” It was a glimpse of his ideal woman and make-believe life. No wonder he was pissed off.

“There’s another matter…”

Celeste was a master of the expectant pause. In fact, she had studied theater along with psychology and business. A shrewder woman he’d never known.

While he waited for her to speak, he traced the logo on the cup. Instead of the Sterling crown, this one was emblazoned with the golden Titans logo, a laurel wreath cradling Athena’s owl.

“You’ve had this thrust on you. So much responsibility. You’re capable of it, no doubt.”

“Get to the point, Celeste.”

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with Gideon.”

Judge Gideon Anderson was the chairperson of the Zeta Society, nicknamed the Titans by an enterprising young reporter sometime during the 1930s.

“Noah has been in contact with him, and the judge wanted to know if I’d spoken with Theodore. There’s a steering committee meeting at the Parthenon on Saturday to finalize plans for the annual gathering. There’s also some executive business that requires a quorum. Your father hasn’t said he will be there. We can assume he won’t.”

“Christ.” He stared at the owl representing wisdom. Was it a coincidence the paint was peeling from the edges?

For more than a hundred and fifty years, a Sterling had been seated at the board table.

“Noah offered to attend in his stead.”

Tension gripped Rafe’s shoulder, making pain from the bicycle crash jackknife through his body.

“Find a woman who will best suit your needs and take away any doubt or potential challenges to your role as the leader of Sterling Worldwide.”

It was a warning, not a suggestion.

After Celeste rang off, Rafe pushed redial on his father’s number.

“Ahoy, Rafe!”

In relief, he loosened his tie. “When are you coming home, Dad?”

“Not anytime soon. Lillibet wants to go on an around-the-world cruise for our honeymoon.”

“Listen…” Rafe plowed a hand through his close-cropped hair. “A honeymoon happens after a wedding.”

“I’m aware.” Impatience clipped Theodore’s words.

“As far as I know, you already have a wife.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Rafe. Don’t burden me with your details.”

“That you haven’t taken care of. Bigamy is against the law. You’ll need to file for a divorce if you’re serious. Have you even spoken to a lawyer?”

“Lillibet wants this trip, and I’ll damn well ensure she gets it.”

“Whether or not you’re still married to my mother?”

In the background, a female voice called out to his father, “Teddy! Teddy Bear!”

“She’s always wanted to see Casablanca.”

“Morocco?”

“So romantic.”

“She does know it doesn’t end well, right?” When his father didn’t respond, Rafe prompted, “The movie. Bogart doesn’t get the girl.”

“I’m not sure she’s interested in the details. We’re leaving in May.”

Next month?

“We’ve hired a crew for the Lunar Sea, and we’re planning to be gone something like ninety days, maybe a hundred.”

“Ted-dy!”

“Goddamn it, Dad. You need to think about the business.”

“Ted-dy!”

“Coming, my love!” His father was laughing as he ended the call.

Rafe lowered his phone. Then, uncharacteristically, frustration overtook him, and he slammed it onto the desktop.

“Problem?”

He looked up to see Noah on the threshold.

This was turning into Rafe’s lucky day. “What can I do for you?”

“Jeanine’s not at her desk, so I took the liberty of seeing if you were in.”

He wouldn’t put it past Noah to have waited until Jeanine left. How long had he been there? How much had he overheard?

“I’ve been trying to reach Uncle Theodore.”

“Have you?”

“There’s a piece of property that might be become available in Hong Kong. High-density area. Looking at it for a boutique-type of operation.”

“Send me the information.”

Noah adjusted his tie. “It’s not your particular expertise, is it?”

It wasn’t. Rafe had spent a lot of his career at Sterling in the financial department. In addition to oversight and compliance, he’d been focused on expanding the company into new areas, muscling into parts of the hospitality industry that were ripe for disruption. But in his father’s absence, he’d been sleeping less than usual as he juggled all the various arms of the conglomeration, adjusting to a steep learning curve while pretending his father was still in charge.

Aware of Noah waiting for him to snap, Rafe countered with, “Is there a reason you’re not confident in your own opinion?”

Noah blinked. “It’s a lot of money.”

“You have the authority as well as a budget. You’re responsible for real estate acquisitions in Asia.”

“I enjoy hearing Uncle Theodore’s perspective.”

Rafe also appreciated his father’s guidance. Theodore might not want any part of day-to-day anymore, but it was his view of the industry that had shaped Sterling for the last generation. He might not like the responsibility, but he’d been damn good at it. “As I said, it’s on you if it fails.”

“You need to stop covering for Uncle Theodore.” Uninvited, Noah took a seat and propped his ankle on top of his opposite knee. “I’ve been leaving him messages for a couple of weeks. And I stopped by the house on Friday. If he’s not going to run Sterling Worldwide, he needs to be removed as CEO. The attorney I spoke to—”

“Close the door on your way out.”

“Listen, Rafe, even you have to admit—”

“Close the door on your way out.”

For long, tense moments, Noah remained where he was. But Rafe raised an eyebrow, refusing to yield.

Eventually, Noah stood. “Consider yourself warned.”

When Rafe was alone in the reverberating silence, he sighed. Then he called his attorney.

With the few details that Rafe outlined, Mercedes confirmed what Rafe already knew. As long as Theodore was absent, uncertainty abounded. Noah could file a lawsuit. Mercedes would challenge it, and perhaps a judge would throw it out. If not, Sterling Worldwide had a protracted, expensive mess in front of it. The press would feed from the carcass for years.

If Rafe were married, the succession would be clearer, making it much more difficult for Noah to prevail in court.

Rafe was trapped. Hopelessly fucking trapped.

Mouth set in a grim line, he ended the call, then pulled out the folders containing his bridal candidates. With determination, he flipped each one open in turn.

He glanced at the pictures and read the brief biographies that the women had written. And he reached his decision. None of the above. He wanted sexy Hope Malloy.

An hour later, Jeanine interrupted, saying that the Prestige Group was on the phone for him.

Heat flared in his blood, unexpected and unwelcome. To focus on his pursuit of Hope, he shoved away the desire that was so strong it disturbed him.

He pressed a button on his phone to accept the call on speaker so her voice could wrap around him. “Ms. Malloy.” He kept his tone controlled.

“Mr. Sterling? This is Skyler Morrison at the Prestige Group. I’m Hope’s assistant.”

Disappointment crawled through him.

As if she hadn’t crushed his fantasies, Skyler continued, “Hope asked me to call to let you know that we have a mixer scheduled for Thursday afternoon at four. We’ll have a private room at the Ivy.”

“I prefer to have it at the International.” There was no reason for him to change the venue, except for the fact that he wanted this charade to happen at his club, where he was more in control.

Silence stretched for awkward moments before she said, “Everything is already arranged. The Ivy is an excellent choice. I think you’ll find it suitable.”

“I prefer the International Club.” He’d enjoyed many fine meals at the Ivy, and she was right. The few private rooms made the upscale restaurant an adequate place for a business rendezvous.

Rafe told himself he preferred to do things on his terms. If he were honest, he’d admit it was more than that. He wanted to shake up Hope’s plans and let her know he was in charge. And Thursday was too long to wait to see her. “Wednesday is better for my schedule. My contact is Barbara Thurston. I’ll have her call you.”

“Mr. Sterling—”

“Four o’clock?”

“We prefer to handle the arrangements ourselves.”

“I’m sure you prefer to be in control. So do I.” Hope might have avoided making this call, but that was the last battle she would win. “Let Ms. Malloy know I’m looking forward to it.”

Skyler gave a frustrated sigh before conceding. “Wednesday at four. The International Club.”

He grinned as he ended the call. His round.