The Donovan Dynasty: Bind Part 2

From experience, she knew she'd get no further with him. He could be right that the offer had been an intentional lowball, but she didn't know that.

"Go home, Lara Marie," he said softly.

"Only if you will," she countered.

"Donald will be coming for me in half an hour."

His driver, confidant, butler. She nodded. "We are not finished with this conversation."

"Believe me, Lara. I know." He sighed. Then, obviously realizing he'd revealed a weakness, he stood. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She was being thrown out. Like Connor had been.

Her father waited for her to pick up her bag before escorting her to the door.

Once she was out, he snapped it shut.

Frustration churned through her. Instead of cleaning up her desk, she exited the building and headed for the parking garage. She knew she should follow her original plan and hit the gym, but she wanted to go home, have some peace to think things through. It'd been a h.e.l.l of an evening.

Her fast pace didn't alleviate any of her anxiety, and she was still simmering as she slid behind the wheel of her sedan.

Her car was cool, and she took a moment to unpin her hair and roll her shoulders, trying to ease some of the knots there. Unfortunately they seemed to have become permanent.

This evening there was no baseball game or concert, so traffic was as light as it ever was in Houston, and it took her less than twenty minutes to reach her historic bungalow in the Heights.

All the way home, she turned over Erin's words and the unexpected meeting with Connor.

Before going inside, she stopped long enough to water the bougainvillea and the potted plants that looked as wilted as she felt.

She headed straight for the bedroom to stow her bag, kick off her shoes, remove her thigh-high stockings then pull her s.h.i.+rt over her head. As usual, she left everything in a discarded heap. At times she was grateful she lived alone and wasn't dating anyone. There were benefits.

After she'd changed into a pair of shorts, a tank top and flip-flops, she went into the kitchen for that gla.s.s of wine her father had suggested. Since the day had been so frustrating, she added sparkling water to the gla.s.s to cut the alcohol in half. She had a feeling she'd be wanting at least one refill.

Gla.s.s in hand, she grabbed her iPad from the counter and went into the backyard, her favorite retreat. The outdoor s.p.a.ce was the feature that had convinced her to offer full price for the house. In addition to the covered deck, there was a small vegetable garden, numerous oleander trees, lush banana plants, several types of palms and a fishpond that she had to constantly replenish thanks to the hungry local bird population. It was a small oasis in a busy city.

In cooler months, she had a heater on the deck, but today, she needed the overhead fan to churn through the humidity-laced air.

Lara sat on the porch swing and took a long drink before putting down the gla.s.s. Then she powered up the tablet. While she waited for it to connect, she used her toes to push off and set the swing into motion.

She became aware of children playing in the yard behind her. And soon after, the sounds of dogs running around. Mrs. Fuhrman, her next-door neighbor, must have let her five rescue animals outside.

Their excited yips and barks soothed her.

Without conscious thought, she did a search on Connor's name.

Not for the first time, she scrolled through a few articles about him. Most of it, she knew from Erin, so Lara only read the first couple of paragraphs before moving on.

After their father's death, Connor had been called home from his graduate school studies back east to take the helm of Donovan Worldwide. Though his grandfather, William, referred to as the Colonel, still served as CEO, Connor was president, and he was responsible for most of the decisions. According to unconfirmed reports, the Colonel had recently had a stroke, which meant that Connor had a.s.sumed even more obligations.

Lara saw a couple of references to Erin's role as a human resources guru, while Connor's younger brother handled research. According to Erin, they had a step-brother, Cade, who was the eldest child. Though she seemed to adore him, he wasn't around much, and there were only hints about the scandal of his birth. He ran a ranching operation-or, as it was referred to deeper in the story, the family's agribusiness interests-in west Texas.

As she'd mentioned to Erin, Lara had previously looked Connor up online, searching for any indication he had a girlfriend. She hadn't seen recent pictures of him with any women, though he'd been photographed at a Boston event with Julien Bonds, the renowned technology genius. But there was frustratingly little to give her a glimpse of who he really was or what mattered to him.

Without conscious thought, she pulled up the bookmarked images of him. All of them were mouth-watering. No matter what he was wearing, from khakis and a polo s.h.i.+rt with deck shoes, to a suit like he'd worn today, the man looked delicious. Tall and handsome, he had the lean frame of a runner or bicyclist. He was powerful and s.e.xy. And he tripped all her physical responses.

She glanced up from the screen and stared into the distance, replaying their unexpected meeting near the elevator.

As a professional, she'd understood that Connor had been visiting on business, but the woman in her had pulsed with awareness.

Unbidden, Erin's words returned to tumble through Lara's mind.

Marry Connor?

The idea was absurd.

But for a moment, the idea of being with him tantalized. She wondered what it would be like to be with him, to surrender to his kiss. Would he be as bold in the bedroom as he was outside it? For a moment, she pictured him with his fingertips poised to open the top b.u.t.ton on her favorite blouse. Would he skim her skin as he bared it, or would he move aggressively to the next b.u.t.ton?

How restrained was he?

Would he tear the material in his haste to have her? That thought was followed by another, and she imagined him undressing, taking off his belt then looping it around his hand as he approached her.

She shook her head.

What was wrong with her? She wasn't sure where the unbidden fantasy had come from. And, as she'd found out, men thought she was too kinky as it was. She'd do better to banish the thoughts.

Adding Connor Donovan to her evening fantasies was a prescription for disaster.

Determinedly, she shoved her musings away.

She had real issues she needed to focus on, a family business that needed serious attention. And Connor had already indicated his willingness to help.

The idea of approaching him made rockets of ice shoot up her spine to settle at the back of her neck.

Lara reached for her gla.s.s and took a deep drink, contemplating. No doubt her father would see her action as disloyal. But her job as CFO was to advise and make recommendations, even if the owner didn't want to hear them.

Resolved, she went to shut down the tablet, but was once again riveted by a picture of Connor, this time adjusting one of his starched cuffs.

d.a.m.n, everything he did radiated appeal.

She headed inside and deposited her iPad and unfinished drink on the counter, telling herself she wasn't going to use her shower ma.s.sager to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e while she thought of Connor.

But as she turned on the water in the bathroom, Lara admitted she was lying to herself. She was aroused-consumed by naughty thoughts of him-and she needed relief.

Chapter Two.

Lara Bertrand.

Christ.

Five minutes before his alarm clock was set to shatter the silence, Connor Donovan threw back the sheet and crawled from bed.

Last night, he'd taken a long swim after he'd gotten home, hoping to get rid of the memory of her. It hadn't worked. Instead, he'd been tormented by thoughts of her dark brown eyes, long hair that he wanted to pull and her beautiful sun-kissed skin that reflected her Cajun heritage. Her delectable fragrance-lemony and spicy-evoked magnolias and made him think of sultry, endless summer nights. He recalled the way she'd felt when he'd momentarily held her in his arms. Her softness, responsiveness, had scorched him, igniting physical hunger.

Connor rarely spent any time thinking about women. Work obsessed him, and he'd discarded the idea of dating because relations.h.i.+ps mattered to him. They demanded and deserved an investment of time and energy. It would be selfish to ask a woman out while knowing it wouldn't progress beyond something casual.

His subconscious obviously hadn't been impressed by the decision of his rational mind, and thoughts of Lara had haunted him all night.

He'd dreamed of her, imagining the sight of her in his bed, naked with her arms over her head, wrists secured to the headboard, not with silky ties, but with rope. Hemp would leave tiny marks that he could enjoy for hours. Her eyes would be closed, her back arched, legs spread as she begged for his touch, his domination.

Now, he all but inhaled the scent of her on his pillow-spiced citrus and feminine seduction.

Connor shook his head. What in the h.e.l.l-f.u.c.k was he doing thinking about an opponent's daughter? Picturing her in a submissive pose would lead to nothing other than a hard-on.

Shoving thoughts of her aside and determined to keep his focus, Connor followed his typical predawn ritual by heading for the bathroom to take a one-minute cold shower.

Wide-awake, invigorated, he dragged his fingers through his wet hair then dried off before pulling on a pair of compression workout skins.

Silence surrounded him as he went into one of the loft's spare bedrooms. He'd set up a television and a couple of pieces of cardio equipment for the times he didn't want to take advantage of the building's fitness facility.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator and downed all twenty ounces before cranking up 1980s rock music. Then he turned on the wall-mounted television and pushed the mute b.u.t.ton.

Focused on the hour ahead, he settled onto the seat of the rowing machine and reached for the handle. As he pulled, he concentrated on his breathing until he reached the cadence he wanted.

Occasionally, he glanced at the television screen, noting what was happening with the world's financial indexes. He'd only been ten when his grandfather had started instructing him on the importance of understanding how each market was connected to another, explaining that a hiccup overseas could cause disaster in the Donovan portfolio.

Connor had paid attention. How could he not? The man was affectionately known as the Colonel. Even though he'd never risen higher than the rank of captain in the army, he'd married Libby Sykes and had become honorary patriarch of the family and its fortune. He'd worked d.a.m.ned hard to increase the family's wealth, and he constantly reminded his descendants of their obligations. Connor had dutifully taken it all in, even filling notebooks with the man's wisdom.

His father had been killed in a horrific car accident. Connor's half-brother, Cade, had survived-physically, at least. Guilt at being the driver continued to gnaw on him.

Connor had returned home to work alongside his grandfather at Donovan Worldwide. Four years ago, at the age of twenty-three, Connor had accepted the mantle of president, two decades earlier than expected. Like all trials he'd been presented with, he'd conquered it.

There was nothing that made his blood flow more than a challenge. The bigger the challenge, the greater the reward. He'd known acquiring BHI's communications division would be difficult. But they had a number of patents that he wanted, patents that would give Donovan Worldwide a greater international platform. When he'd asked his younger brother, Nathan, to gather as much information on the Bertrands as possible, Nathan had said Pernell would never agree to it.

That didn't stop him.

Like the generations before him, Connor realized that he had to take risks-calculated ones-to grow. h.e.l.l, even to remain relevant.

He spent many hours each day performing risk a.s.sessments. He carefully considered all ideas that made it past his Aunt Kathryn, his grandfather or his brothers. The ones really worth pursuing, he studied in depth, for weeks, even months. He didn't rush the process. By the time he acted, he did so with complete confidence.

Little caught him off guard.

Connor had a reputation for dealing with issues straight up. At times, his forthrightness took others by surprise. BHI Communications was prime for a takeover. Rumors had been out there for months. Pernell should have been looking to sell or at least merge.

When Connor had arrived at BHI, he'd expected to meet with the board of directors-Pernell and Lara at the least. Connor had been prepared with an offer, willing to talk, open for negotiation.

Instead, Pernell had been in his office, alone. He hadn't even stood to greet Connor. The older man was as stubborn as his Cajun roots were deep. Without even looking at the offer, he had told Connor to get out and not to come back unless he tripled the upfront cash.

No doubt Pernell considered himself to be cunningly brilliant. But for Connor, the strategy hadn't worked. With a tight smile, he'd responded that the offer was no longer available.

He'd watch as BHI's various communications holdings withered, just like some hotel investments had. Then Donovan Worldwide would pick at the remains. The problem was the d.a.m.ned patents. They were potentially worth more than the whole deal. And he wanted all of them, not just a few of them.

Which brought him back to Lara.

He missed a beat. With determination, he resumed his smooth rowing motion. He tried telling himself that his unusual reaction had been because he'd been shocked by Pernell's behavior.

Somewhere deep inside, he knew that wasn't true.

He had never experienced that kind of visceral reaction to a woman.

He'd been captivated by her the first night they'd met, when Erin had introduced them at the c.o.c.ktail party. Holding Lara's coat for her in the lobby had been natural. He'd been strangely disappointed when she'd refused his offer of a ride home.

Last night, near the elevator, her surprise at running into him had been genuine.

Attraction had sent a ragged surge of energy through him. It had made him forget his own anger.

He'd wanted to spend more time with her.

The rower's timer sounded, and he eased off with a loud exhalation. As he slowed his workout, he reminded himself that he exercised to clear his mind. Obsessing over the brunette beauty wouldn't get him anywhere.

He headed into the kitchen for a mug of coffee. He guzzled that while he sliced veggies for an omelet. As that bubbled in a satisfying amount of olive oil, he checked his email, looked at his calendar and scanned the agenda that Thompson had prepared for the monthly family business meeting.

As usual, the man had already secured RSVPs. Not surprisingly his half-brother, Cade, had declined. The distance from Corpus Christi was a challenge, even if he took a commuter flight. Erin, Nathan, Aunt Kathryn and his grandfather would all be there, though.

After eating and methodically cleaning the kitchen, he showered. This time, he didn't hurry. Instead, he allowed the hot water to work out the kinks and soothe his muscles.

By the time he had downed a second cup of coffee and was dressed in his customary suit, dawn was meandering across the horizon, changing the downtown Houston skyline from black to dark gray.

Since there was no rain in the forecast and the humidity was relatively low for this time of year, he decided against driving or calling for his car. Instead, he walked to work.

The numerous office buildings still stood dark, devoid of the energy and drive that would pulse through them in less than an hour. The city would wake, fortunes would be made, lost, traded. At the end of the day, he intended to be counted among the victors.

The sun was barely cresting the horizon when he entered his office suite.

Thompson, his a.s.sistant, was already there, near the coffeepot. Most other employees wouldn't show up for another thirty minutes, and Thompson would be at full speed by then.

"Coffee, Mr. Donovan? I'm willing to share."

"You're a good man, Thompson. Thank you." The man had a first name, but he'd asked Connor not to use it. He respected that. Some addressed him as Mr. Thompson. Others called the man Bada.s.s Thompson. That worked, as well. He was former military, and with his ma.s.sive shoulders, bald head that showcased an impressive scar and intimidating posture, he'd earned the reputation.

Truth was, Thompson didn't share much about his time in the service, and Connor had never been inclined to push for details.

The man possessed amazing organizational skills. "You never want to look for your bullets or your weapon when you're under fire," Thompson had explained during his interview. He'd started at Donovan Worldwide a few years ago when the company had launched their military veterans outreach program. Thompson had been in the IT department and had repaired one of Connor's notebook computers, which was no easy task. The machine had been a gift from Julien Bonds. Notoriously, Bonds' equipment could only be fixed by people with genius technical ability, which Thompson possessed.