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CEO’s Marriage Seduction by Anna DePalo

“You want a baby, so I’ll give you a baby,”

Griffin said evenly, making sure to hold her gaze. “I’m the guy who created your present problem, and I’ll fix it.”

A half laugh escaped Eva, her expression disbelieving. “Isn’t it a bit much to be volunteering to fix it this way?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that part?” he responded.

“There’s no spark between us.”

“I disagree.”

The words hung in the air between them, and he could tell she was remembering the kiss they’d shared at her apartment, just as he hadn’t been able to forget it, either.

She laughed again, but it came out a trifle forced. She attempted to step around him. “Griffin, be serious – ”

“I am,” he said, blocking her with his arm.

She looked up at him mutely. Her lips parted.

“Why don’t we kiss and put it to the test?”

His Style of Seduction by Roxanne St Claire

“You’re a master of seduction, Jackson Locke,” Lily said.

“I’m not going to seduce you,” he said softly. “I just want to know your secret.”

“My secret?” Her heart kicked a little, and not just because of the way he looked.

He tugged gently at her hair. “Your secret. I know you have one.”

“Everyone has secrets, Jack.”

“I mean the secret you are trying so hard to hide. There’s something about your past that makes you evasive. And tonight, you’re going to tell me what it is. Now, as a matter of fact.”

All she could do was stare at him. Because when she opened her mouth, the truth was going to come out and she was going to tell him the one thing she’d never admitted to anyone.

And that, she realised with a wallop of her heart, was his real secret weapon.

CEO’s Marriage Seduction

ANNA DEPALO

His Style of Seduction

ROXANNE ST CLAIRE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CEO'S MARRIAGE SEDUCTION

by

Anna DePalo

ANNA DEPALO

discovered she was a writer at heart when she realised most people don’t walk around with a full cast of characters in their heads. She has lived in Italy and England, learned to speak French, graduated from Harvard, earned graduate degrees in political science and law, forgotten how to speak French and married her own dashing hero.

A former intellectual property lawyer, Anna lives with her husband and son in New York City. Her books have consistently hit the bestseller lists and Nielsen BookScan’s list of Top 100 bestselling romances. She has won a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best First Series Romance and she’s been published in over a dozen countries. Readers are invited to surf to www.desireauthors.com and can also visit Anna at www.annadepalo.com.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes we can’t see that love is nearby… until the right circumstances intrude.

Eva Tremont is determined to marry the right man. But figuring out who’s right and who’s wrong proves to be trickier than she imagined. As Eva discovers, behind Griffin Slater’s cool, steady exterior lies a sexy, passionate man.

I hope you enjoy Eva and Griffin’s story!

All my best,

Anna

For Angelica Compagnone

One

“I’m going to marry him.”

The wrong man.

No, the right man, Eva corrected herself, irritated for even momentarily adopting her father’s negative perspective.

True, there was no gut feeling of rightness, of destiny, but then she told herself to stop being illogical.

How many times during her party planning career had things seemed off before proceeding without a hitch? She’d also seen what should have been perfect events erupt into flaming disasters.

No, there was no predicting the future, she decided, even as she met her father’s annoyed and disbelieving gaze.

Marcus Tremont stood and slapped a hand on the massive oak desk before him. “Damn it, Eva! Are you out of your mind? Carter Newell is a fortune- hunting snake. You won’t get a penny from me!”

Her lips tightened, but she refused to show how her father’s words hurt. She’d come from work today—Mondays were her slow days—to meet her father in his wood-paneled library at the family estate in exclusive Mill Valley. She’d girded herself for this battle.

“Fortunately,” she responded, “we don’t need a penny from you. Occasions by Design is doing very well.”

Her reputation in the Bay Area as a party planner had grown in the past several years. She was regularly called on by many of San Francisco’s high- profile society hostesses, as well as by well-known philanthropic organizations.

Her father raked his hand through his shock of gray hair. “What you see in Carter Newell, I’ll never understand.”

They’d been over this ground before, each time with the same result. Somehow, though, now that her engagement was a reality, she’d hoped today would be different.

Unlike her father and his kind, work wasn’t Carter’s mistress. Instead he made her a priority.

“Carter loves me,” she said simply.

Her father’s brows snapped together. “Or your bank account.”

She ground her teeth. Her father had always been wary, suspicious even, when meeting her boyfriends. She supposed it was because she was an heiress and an only child. But with Carter, the initial wariness had never eased. Of course, she’d never gotten close to the altar with any of her prior boyfriends….

“Does Carter even have a job?” her father continued. “Refresh my memory, Evangeline. What’s his line of work again?”

Her father knew very well what Carter did for a living, but Eva decided to play along with his game. “Carter is an independent financial consultant.”

She’d thought, the first time she’d mentioned it months ago, that Carter’s profession at least would meet with her father’s approval. Marcus Tremont respected getting a return on his dollar.

Instead her father’s response had been lukewarm. And when she’d started hinting she was considering marrying Carter, her father’s reaction had taken a sudden nosedive.

“Baloney,” her father pronounced, echoing his skepticism on previous occasions. “A trumped-up title to provide window dressing for his real occupation as an heiress hunter.”

“Carter comes from money!” Despite her best intentions, they were revisiting previous arguments that had gone nowhere. She felt a headache coming on.

“He came from money,” her father countered. “He makes a show of managing other people’s money since he doesn’t have any of his own.”

That did it. “You’re impossible! Just because the Newells aren’t as wealthy as they once were, you think Carter is a fortune hunter!”

Even as she spoke, she regretted that she so frequently fell back into sounding like an adolescent when dealing with her father.

“Trust me on this, Eva. There’s nothing more tenacious than a person who’s trying to hold on to his economic perch in life and avoid a nasty fall.”

They’d both raised their voices, and Eva gave up on trying to make the announcement of her impending marriage into a joyous occasion.

“Where’s the ring?” her father asked abruptly, looking at her hand. “I don’t see one.”

“I don’t have one yet.”

Her father’s expression said it all: See? What other proof do you need?

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, heading him off before he could give voice to his thoughts. “We’re picking one out together.”

“With what?” her father asked pointedly. “A loan from the bank?”

She supposed her engagement wouldn’t really be official until she had a ring, but she refused to have the argument with her father focus on mere symbolism.

A knock sounded, calling a halt to their argument and making them both turn toward the closed library door.

“Come in,” her father barked.

The door opened, and Griffin Slater strode in.

Eva’s eyes narrowed.

Griffin Slater. Her father’s right-hand man.

If anyone had the perfect credentials for a husband in her father’s eyes, it was Griffin.

She disliked Griffin Slater intensely. She had since she’d met him a decade before, soon after he’d started working at Tremont Real Estate Holdings.

At first, she’d barely been aware of his existence, since he’d been just another newly minted Stanford MBA learning the ropes of the real estate business and climbing the corporate ladder.

Now thirty-five, he was more boss than employee, especially since her father’s advancing age necessitated that he loosen his grip on the family real estate empire.

Griffin was also a constant reminder of her own shortcomings as her father’s sole heir. She’d shown no interest in the family firm, and had instead embarked on her own business ventures right out of college at UC Berkeley.

She was well aware that her field was regarded by many as frivolous—just glorified debutante busywork. And she had no doubt Griffin Slater shared that opinion.

But at least she’d had the guts to build her own business rather than usurp someone else’s.

Now, looking at Griffin Slater’s face, she noted his expression gave nothing away. He was a master of the poker face—that is, when he wasn’t baiting her.

Over six feet, he had rough chiseled features more suited to a boxer than a male model. Still, his effect on women was potent. She’d witnessed that herself at numerous social occasions over the years.

She supposed it had something to do with his piercing dark eyes. Or maybe the sable hair that insisted on curling despite being kept regimentally short. And certainly a body that was all leashed male power didn’t hurt. She’d even given it a lingering look on more than one occasion—before she’d trapped her runaway mind.

“You’re just in time for the show, Griffin,” she said.

Griffin raised his eyebrows in mild interest as he shut the door behind him.

She hated the fact that her father looked relieved to see Griffin—or as she secretly liked to call him, Mr. Fix-It.

Now Griffin would be witness to another epic Tremont family battle. Somewhat fittingly, she thought, since he seemed to have an instinct for turning up at key moments.

“What show? I have to admit to being curious,” Griffin said, his voice continuing in that mild, amused tone that never failed to irritate her.

Her father slapped his hand on his desk. “My daughter has decided to marry the most worthless man I know.”

“Dad!” she said, outraged.

Griffin’s gaze shot to her, and she felt the tension in the room shoot up.

“Who’s the lucky man?”

As if he couldn’t guess, Eva thought. Griffin had met Carter on a couple of occasions. Once at a casual social gathering at her parents’ house, and another during a chance encounter at an art gallery opening.

Both times, Griffin had been without a date, but Eva wasn’t fooled. She’d seen women come and go. Mostly go, since Griffin seemed disinclined to bestow his greatness on any one woman for too long.

Her chin lifted, her eyes locking with Griffin’s. Despite her father’s poor introduction, there was no reason she should be defensive—she was perfectly comfortable with her decision.

“Carter Newell,” she said emphatically.

Griffin strolled farther into the room. “So congratulations are in order.”

She noticed he didn’t say he was offering any, just that it was what politeness dictated—if he were being polite.

Griffin’s gaze swept over her, and despite being dressed appropriately enough in a vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, she felt as if she were on display.

Her blood pressure went up. This was par for the course in her interactions with Griffin. Their conversations always had a subtext that her father was oblivious to.

“Congratulate her, but send condolences my way,” her father grumbled.

Griffin’s eyes focused on her hand. “Where’s the ring?”

His words were such a perfect echo of Marcus Tremont’s, she ground her teeth. “You’re just like my father.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” her father said.

Her eyes stayed on Griffin’s, daring him to make some other comment.

Griffin’s lips quirked, almost as if he was ready to diffuse the challenge that hung in the air. “You look as if you’d like to lob hors d’oeuvres at me—or maybe spear me with a dessert fork.”

There it was again—an oblique, patronizing reference to her business, sailing straight over her father’s head. She should have known better than to believe for a second Griffin would back away from a challenge.

She smiled thinly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Turning to her father, she decided to change tactics. “You know, you should be happy,” she offered. “After all, the sooner I’m married, the sooner you might get the grandchild you keep referring to.”

To herself, she admitted the timing of her engagement to Carter might have the teeny, tiniest thing to do with the fact that she longed for a baby.

Though she’d dated through her twenties, the right man had never come along. Her mother had entered menopause prematurely, and she didn’t know how much time she herself had left. Of course, she’d taken a test, and while it indicated her egg supply wasn’t dire at the moment, she also knew waiting was a gamble with increasingly bad odds.

She’d told Carter about her issue with premature menopause, and he’d been enthusiastic about starting a family as soon as possible after the wedding.

“Anyone but Carter Newell,” her father shot back now.

She read Griffin’s silence as tacit agreement with that statement. Damn him.

Her father looked from Griffin back to her, his expression grumpier than ever. “If you two were at least friendly, I could have entertained the hope you’d marry each other.”

Eva sucked in a breath.

There it was, out in the open. Her father had finally given voice to what she’d always suspected he’d been thinking.

With a quick, sidelong glance, she noticed Griffin continued to look unruffled.

His reaction was so true to form, it was maddening.

She, on the other hand, was still waiting for the hot sting of embarrassment to recede from her face.

She opened her mouth.

“Marcus,” Griffin drawled before she could speak, “you know Eva is too—”

If he said frivolous, she swore she’d kick him in the shins.

“—hot-tempered for me.”

She clamped her mouth shut. How could she argue when she’d just been thinking of clobbering him?

Griffin’s eyes mocked her, as if he knew what she’d been contemplating.

She swung her attention back to her father.

She sometimes felt like just another prized possession in Marcus Tremont’s asset portfolio—and by marrying Carter Newell, she supposed her father wasn’t getting the return he’d banked on.

Still, she refused to weaken. “Mom and I will be checking out possible venues and going dress shopping.”

Her father’s eyebrows lowered. “Your mother knows about this already?”

She pasted on a sunny smile. “I suggested that’s what my plans were to her before I came in here, yes. But I decided to go beard the lion in his den by myself.”

Her father glowered.

“I hope to see you at the wedding—whether you can bring yourself to give me away or not.” The words were said flippantly, but a thread of emotion ran beneath them that she refused to analyze too closely.

She turned on her heel and, not sparing another glance at Griffin, strode out of her father’s library.

She was everything he desired, but in the wrong package.

Griffin watched Eva Tremont sashay out of the library, her clingy knit dress hugging every curve.

His lips twisted.

She was quite a package, and had been ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. She was equal parts headstrong heiress, savvy businesswoman and sexy single woman.

It was also clear she despised him. If he had to guess, he’d say it was because he reminded her of every way she fell short as Marcus Tremont’s heir.

That he’d more recently become CEO of Tremont REH was probably just rubbing salt in the wounds.

Still, his ties to Marcus Tremont and Tremont REH were also the reason Eva was off-limits to him, he reminded himself. He wasn’t the commitment type, and committed was the only type of relationship that would be acceptable with the boss’s daughter.

Of course, now that he remained on as CEO of Tremont REH more as a favor to Marcus than anything else, Eva wasn’t really the boss’s daughter any longer, but she remained related to someone he valued as a friend, a colleague and a mentor.

“That bastard Newell,” Marcus Tremont said, calling him back from his thoughts.

Griffin had met Carter Newell only a couple of times. But he’d been able to size the guy up as a smooth operator on the make.

When Carter had trumpeted his skills as a financial advisor, Griffin had listened detachedly, unimpressed by the guy’s salesmanship—not to mention that he was happy with his stockbroker and liked to keep an eye on the markets himself.

And yet, despite the sales pitch, he’d gotten the impression Carter didn’t like him much, judging by the sour expression that had flitted across the guy’s face from time to time.

Carter had obviously done some sizing up of his own and come to a conclusion he didn’t like: Griffin was Marcus Tremont’s anointed successor. His possible future father-in-law’s single, unattache successor.

Without a doubt, Newell had put him down as a rival for control of the money spout, and possibly for Eva as well.

Evidently, though, Carter had been willing to put personal feelings aside where financial gain was concerned—namely, reeling in another client.

And that’s what bothered him, Griffin thought. Not just for himself, but for Eva. If Carter was willing to overlook a lot to score another client, how much would he be willing to do to acquire a rich wife?

Griffin watched as Marcus Tremont’s eyes met his. “Look into it for me.”

He tensed. “What are you asking?”

He had a good idea, but he didn’t want there to be any room for misunderstanding.

Marcus gestured dismissively. “I mean, find out what you can about Carter Newell. Get the investigator that we use for Tremont REH.” The older man’s look turned grim. “I want to know what Carter Newell is hiding before he becomes my son-in-law.”

Griffin lifted his eyebrows but was careful to keep his expression in place otherwise. “You have reason to believe he’s hiding something?”

Marcus regarded him steadily. “What I know about the Newells, I don’t like. They were able to hide their decline in wealth for a long time. Subterfuge is the family currency.”

“I see. Still, if Eva found out…”

He let the thought trail off. He just wanted to make sure the older man appreciated the possible consequences of his decision. Marcus might do irreparable damage to his relationship with his daughter if Eva discovered they’d had Carter investigated.

And as far as his own relationship with Eva went, well, that was bound to head further south.

“There’s no reason for Eva to know,” Marcus said brusquely, his eyes sharpening. “Unless of course, we pin something on Newell—in which case, it’ll be well worth the price to save her from that slick salesman.”

Griffin nodded.

The truth was he’d derive some pleasure in bringing down Carter Newell if the guy wasn’t on the up-and-up.

He pushed aside the thought that the cost to himself of having Carter investigated might be too high….

Two

Griffin stared out the window of his Pacific Heights mansion at the twinkling evening lights of San Francisco Bay. His grip on his wineglass constricted, putting dangerous pressure on the delicate crystal, as he thought back over the events of earlier that day.

Though he’d agreed to it, Marcus’s request had put him in a difficult position.

Over the years, he’d put his own selfish desires aside where Eva was concerned. Still, he’d fantasized about making love to her on numerous occasions—even though she irritated and perplexed him by turns.

She reminded him of a sleek, lithe cat. Everything was perfectly proportioned, and exercise kept her body limber and supple.

Her straight black hair hung in a curtain past her shoulders in a blunt cut. Her mouth was a little too large for her face, and her topaz eyes tilted upward at the corners. And yet, those elements added character instead of suggesting she fell short of ideal beauty.

Now he was being asked to dig up dirt on the man that she intended to marry—the man, his lips curled tightly, she fancied herself in love with.

But he couldn’t say no to Marcus Tremont’s request. Because, all else aside, Griffin found himself agreeing with Marcus’s instincts where Carter Newell was concerned.

Not to mention he owed Marcus a debt that couldn’t be repaid.

After his parents’ death in a private plane crash when he’d just gotten out of high school, he’d become guardian to his fifteen-year-old brother, Josh, and fourteen-year-old sister, Monica. He’d had to become an adult almost overnight and had become grimly determined to succeed on his own in the world.

Fortunately, though his parents had not left behind a lavish estate, it had been significant enough to allow him to send his younger siblings to boarding school and to further his own education.

After college and business school, he’d been given a break by Marcus, a business acquaintance of his father’s, in the form of a job with Tremont REH, where he could learn the ropes of the real estate business.

The business relationship had proven lucrative to them both. Griffin had soon discovered he had the Midas touch when it came to real estate deals. He’d eventually formed his own company, Evkit Investments, and become immensely wealthy through savvy management of his own ever-expanding real estate portfolio.

But loyalty to Marcus Tremont had kept him involved with Tremont REH. When Marcus had decided two years ago it was time to step back from the day-today management of Tremont REH, he’d asked Griffin to take over the reins as CEO. Marcus had insisted that, in his continuing position as chairman of the board, there was no one he trusted more at the helm of the company he’d spent a lifetime building.

The two companies had merged their office space when Griffin had become CEO of both. And since Evkit Investments and Tremont REH pursued different business interests, there’d been no issue of competition between the companies. By Griffin’s deliberate design, Evkit had acquired residential real estate rather than become a player in commercial office space.

Griffin wouldn’t betray Marcus by competing with Tremont REH.

He paused now, his mind turning back to Eva.

As much as he wanted her, he didn’t understand her. She exasperated him with her blithe lack of interest in Tremont REH. As a family member, she had a position on the company’s board of directors, but that was the extent of her involvement.

He, on the other hand, could appreciate firsthand what Marcus had built. He’d spent years creating a company to match—and by many measures, exceed—Tremont REH’s reputation. He’d also put time and effort toward growing Tremont REH, especially since he’d become CEO.

Griffin stared unseeingly at San Francisco’s lights.

Still, he couldn’t escape the fact that, against all reason, he remained attracted to Eva. When he was around her, he got an adrenaline rush—a heady sensation that had him feeling as if he were drunk on euphoria.

She challenged him, and he thrived on challenges.

He’d never acted on the attraction because he couldn’t sleep with Marcus Tremont’s daughter without there being…consequences. And Eva’s obvious dislike for him made it easy to walk the line.

He’d also already had enough commitment to last a lifetime. He certainly wasn’t looking to jump into another to, say, a wife.

He’d been committed to raising his younger siblings and committed to making sure they found their paths in the world.

It was only in the last couple of years, in fact, that he felt as if he could exhale. His brother, Josh, had finished his medical residency and become a surgeon in Denver, where he’d recently married his college sweetheart, Tessa.

Likewise, his sister, Monica, the head of a school for learning disabled children, had gotten married two years ago to a film producer, Ben Corrigan, and was settled in L.A. She was expecting her first child in five months.

He was proud of his siblings, and relieved they’d become well-adjusted adults who’d found their personal happiness.

His job was finally done.

He wasn’t taking on responsibility for anyone else.

Still, the thought of Eva throwing herself away on a loser like Carter Newell made him want to put a hole in the wall.

If he couldn’t have her, he damned well wasn’t going to let her waste herself on a gamesman like Newell. Even if he knew that if Eva ever found out he’d done her father’s dirty work, he could kiss goodbye to any minimally civilized relationship they continued to have.

With that thought, he grimly reached for his cell phone. He had Ron Winslow’s number programmed in.

From time to time, he’d used the private investigator to smoke out the truth about potential real estate investments.

When Ron picked up, they exchanged brief greetings.

After a moment, Griffin cut to the chase. “I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

“He’s impossible.”

“He’s your father.”

Eva sighed. She’d left her parents’ estate earlier that day, right after the conversation with her father, and retreated to her town house condo in San Francisco’s Russian Hill neighborhood.

Now she sat, curled up on her couch with her cell phone, talking to her mother, who’d called to make sure everything was okay.

“I was hoping for the best.”

“He’ll come around.”

Eva silently disagreed with her mother’s assessment. She knew just how stubborn her father could be—and during moments when she was being honest with herself, she could admit she’d inherited his stubbornness.

“The more important question,” her mother continued, “is whether you’re sure you want to marry Carter—”

“Of course!” Her reply was quick and snappy. She was still smarting from the confrontation with her father—in Griffin Slater’s presence, of all people.

“Because there’s no rush,” her mother persisted. “The test showed you have time.”

“Yes, but how much?” she replied automatically.

She’d told her mother that she’d gone in for a test to gauge the quality of her egg supply. Now she wondered from her mother’s concerned tone whether she’d appeared too preoccupied with her biological clock.

“Eva—”

“Mom.”

Her mother sighed.

“What do you think of Carter?” Eva blurted, and then could have kicked herself.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I want to marry Carter. I do,” she said, adopting her most reassuring voice—the one she used to sooth jittery clients before a big bash.

A beep sounded on her cell phone, followed by another.

“Mom, I have another call coming in.”

She checked the screen and realized it was her friend Beth Harding. She was deep into planning with Beth for a party the Hardings would be throwing at their mansion in a couple of weeks.

“It’s Beth,” she said to her mother.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll let you go. We’ll talk another time about picking a wedding venue so you can set a date.”

She felt her spirits lift. At least her mother was willing to go into cheerful wedding mode.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, before switching over to the incoming call.

“Hi, Beth,” she said. “I’ve found some great Art Deco props for the party. It’s a company that supplies movie sets down in L.A.”

Beth and her husband, Oliver, would be hosting a party in a couple of weeks at their Palo Alto estate to benefit San Francisco–area children’s hospitals.

She and Beth had decided that a 1930s theme would be a nice surprise for Beth’s octogenarian grandmother, who lived in a guesthouse on Beth’s estate and who was still spry enough to hit a dance floor.

Beth laughed. “Wonderful.”

“I’ve rented some fantastic mohair club chairs, a couple of burled wood wet bars and several frosted glass lighting pieces. And I found these ideal cobalt mirrored serving trays!”

“It all sounds great, but the party isn’t the reason I was calling.”

Eva slumped. “Let me guess.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t hold out on me.”

She’d filled in Beth on the fact that she and Carter were going to pick out a ring, and that she was making one last attempt to sway her father.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where do I begin? The bad or the worse?”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that terrible!”

Beth had an unswerving sunny outlook. “Oh, come on” happened to be one of her favorite sayings.

“It was bad,” Eva replied ominously. “Let’s see, the bad was that my father went postal. The worse was that Griffin Slater happened to be around to witness it.”

Beth sucked in a breath. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes.”

She filled in Beth about the details of the confrontation in her father’s study, and Beth made sympathetic noises at regular intervals.

“I hope I never see Griffin Slater again,” she declared when she finished the sorry story, though she knew it was a vain hope.

“Umm…”

Beth’s tone made her suddenly wary. “Tell me you didn’t invite him to your party?”

“Eva, I had to! He and Oliver have known each other for years.”

She groaned. She and Beth had picked out the invitation together, but Beth had submitted her final guest list directly to the printer.