The Bride and the Bargain. Allison LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
his heartbeat charging in his chest. The sweat soaking his shirt felt cold.
He spent precious time driving most mornings to this particular park because it was far enough away from his digs near the waterfront that he’d never once run into someone he knew.
The park wasn’t a fancy place. It didn’t have paved paths. It didn’t have riding stables, or formal picnic areas or art displays. And often, he seemed to have the hilly tree-congested expanse to himself, but even when he didn’t, it was rare to encounter more than one or two other runners.
Pretty much the way he liked it since his time was generally used up dealing with others. That was just one of the prices he paid for being president of a major corporation. A price he’d gladly pay many times over since—according to those who knew him—he’d been aiming for the helm of HuntCom since he was in the womb.
Until lately, Gray had never doubted that he would someday succeed his father as chairman of the board.
Until lately.
He set off down the hillside, oblivious of the slim rim of golden sunshine working its way into a sky that was unusually clear.
Find. Wife. Find. Wife.
He muttered an oath, and picked up speed.
Nearly a year had gone by since Harry called him and his brothers into his library and issued his damn marriage decree. Nearly a year since his brothers—and he, he admitted reluctantly—came to the consensus that they had to fall in line with their father’s wishes or lose everything that mattered.
Everything. Not that giving in had been easy. Hell, no. In fact, Gray’d had his attorney come up with the flipping contract he and his brothers had all signed—as well as Harry, after some serious arm-twisting of their own—that detailed everything from marital deadlines and requirements of intent to procreate on one side to transfers of HuntCom voting shares on the other. But he’d only done it when it had become clear that Harry was not going to come to his senses.
Harry was a literal-minded soul. Not good with relationships of any sort, pretty much. He was more like the early computers he’d once programmed. Want results of X? Then do A. Then do B. Then do C.
He hadn’t been successful in his marriages and family life and didn’t want his sons ending up like him. So the answer?
Do what Harry hadn’t done.
Marry the right woman. Resulting in the right kids. Resulting in an existence unlike Harry’s.
Find. Wife. Find. Wife.
Gray gritted his teeth, moving even faster down the sharply curving trail, muscles warm and fluid from years of running, even though his brain felt uncommonly cold and tight. He’d thought that Harry would realize the error of his ways before it came down to the crunch.
But Harry was immovable. And he’d started talking to those in the industry who could possibly buy out portions of HuntCom.
Find. Wife. Find. Wife.
Everything that Gray had ever wanted to accomplish in life, he had. He was successful in every endeavor, because that was who he was. What was the point of wasting his time if he didn’t plan to succeed?
But in this one…damned…thing…he was—
Barreling straight for a runner squatting square in his path.
Cursing a blue streak, he tried slowing up, but momentum had him in its grip. “On the left,” he barked, hoping the girl—oh, yeah, definitely a girl—would heed his warning and move to the side. But the path was too narrow and Gray’s speed was too fast and maybe if she hadn’t decided to straighten from her crouch, he could have hurdled over her—
Instead, he got a glimpse of pale skin, wide dark eyes and flying dark hair as she rose and took the impact with a gasping “oomph!”
He cursed again, reaching to catch her in the same moment that he’d been trying to avoid her, and managed to miss the mark as completely as he’d managed to plow over her.
His shoes skidded on the dirt as he finally succeeded in slowing enough to turn around and run back to her.
She was flat down, sprawled across the rocks that lined the edge of the path.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously.” Her voice was muffled as she gingerly pushed herself to her hands and knees. The gray sweatpants she wore were as utilitarian as the ones he had on, but she’d rolled the waist over a few times and as her rear pushed off the ground, the skin between the nearly threadbare sweats and the hem of the thin T-shirt she wore gleamed smooth and pale in the dawn.
His lips tightened, as much from noticing that band of skin below the white shirt as from her husky sarcasm. “I tried to warn you,” he reminded.
She tossed back her head, giving him a severe look that not even the half-light could dim. “If you’d given me more than a microsecond, it might have helped.” She drew her knees up farther beneath her, which only caused that shapely derriere to round even more.
He grimaced again, well aware that she was right. “Let me help you up.” He closed his hand around her arm and felt her instantaneous recoil. He let go, backing up a step. “Relax. Just trying to help.”
“Well…don’t. I can do it myself.” She ducked her chin, and her hair slid over her shoulder. Muttering under her breath, she finally pushed herself to her feet and faced him, only to sway unsteadily.
His hands shot out and caught her shoulders. “Easy there.”
She hitched her shoulder, clearly wanting him to let go again.
Which he did.
She leaned over, plucking at the knees of her sweatpants and he realized they were both torn right through.
“You’re hurt.”
She gave him a quick “you think?” look that made him grimace all over again. This time at himself.
A preoccupied bastard is what he was.
Just like Harry.
He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Are you parked in the lot?”
“No.”
Which could mean anything, he knew, but most likely that she lived within close proximity. “Can you make it to the bottom of the hill?” His cell phone was in his car. It would be a simple matter to call for assistance whether or not she could make it there under her own steam. He’d get her bandaged up, make sure there were no lasting effects that would come back to bite him or HuntCom in the butt, and on their way they’d go.
She nodded and started to move past him, only to gasp again, hitching forward to grab her left knee.
He caught her around the shoulders. “Don’t put any weight on it.” She’d stiffened again, but this time he ignored it. “If you want to sit, I’ll go down and call for help.”
“No.”
“Then you can let me help you walk down. Your choice.” He realized her hands were scraped, as well, when she pressed them gingerly against her thighs, leaving behind a smear of blood. “Something tells me you’re not going to let me just carry you down.”
Her head ducked again. “That won’t be necessary,” she assured stiffly.
He eyed the top of her head. The brightening sunlight picked out glints of gold among the soft brown strands. She was a bitty thing next to him, even with the shapely curves that pushed against her running clothes. And he was not bitty at all. “I am sorry,” he said quietly.
She hesitated, then looked up at him. He couldn’t quite tell the color of her eyes. Just that they were dark and rimmed with long, curling lashes.
She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I am, too,” she finally said. “I,