Acquired: The CEO's Small-Town Bride

“Do not call me that.” Her knuckles went white as she clenched her pen tighter.

Her ire fueled his own. “But that name holds such fond memories for me. Remember the way you—”

“Argh!” She stomped her foot. “I never thought you would turn into a smug, stuck-up snob.”

“Why don’t you speak a little louder? I don’t think they heard you over at table ten.”

“Why do you care what they think? What does it matter to you if I lose my job?” She plowed ahead with her rant, until the two women at the next table gave up all pretense of studying the menu and listened openly. “Do you even remember what it’s like to work for minimum wage? To live paycheck to paycheck, all the time knowing you could lose your car or worse if a case of the flu keeps you out of work for a week?”

Conversations dwindled to a stop around the club. Not even a tink of silverware sounded, only muffled clanks from the kitchen.

“Sarah, perhaps we should talk this out somewhere more private.”

“Oh, so now you want to speak to me? After five months of ignoring my existence? After fourteen years of not even a postcard when you left for L.A. after graduation? Well, screw you. I’m so sorry if hearing the truth makes you uncomfortable.”

He’d opened his mouth to take her down a peg … then the absurdity of it all hit him. He was renowned for making top corporate raiders quake in their Gucci loafers, but fearless Sarah took him on without a wince.

A laugh rumbled low in his chest, rising and rolling out to fill the exclusive dining room.

“Damn it, Rafe, don’t you dare laugh at me.” Her face turned redder.

And he laughed harder.

A man with a “manager” pin on his jacket and harried look on his face wove his way around a table toward them. “Is there some kind of problem here, Mr. Cameron?”

“Not at all,” Rafe said, trying his best to tamp down the laughter if not the urge to smile. “Ms. Richards and I were just catching up.”

The manager turned to Sarah. “Ms. Richards, please do your ‘catching up’ on your own time.”

“Of course. I’ll be sure to keep my voice down, sir,” she said tightly before facing Rafe again. “My apologies for popping your eardrums. Could I start you off with something to drink?”

She looked about as sorry as a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar—after she’d eaten her fill.

“No apologies needed,” Rafe answered, and couldn’t resist adding, “Kitten.”

Her eyes narrowed. Her chest heaved with a deep inhale, bringing to mind prom night when he’d seen her gorgeous breasts in the moonlight. They’d been in the back of his beat-up El Camino, under the stars, making out by the ocean. There hadn’t been enough money to attend the after-party with their friends. He’d felt like crap for shortchanging her. But she’d sworn she didn’t mind.

The next thing he knew, she’d skimmed aside the spaghetti straps on her gown and bared her breasts. He could still remember the smell of her wrist corsage, the feel of how she’d dug her kitten claws into his back with a sweet sigh.

Then he’d learned she was drunk because someone had spiked the punch. Their evening ended abruptly and he’d driven her to his house for sobering coffee.

Rafe skimmed a finger along his shirt collar. “Um, I’ll take you up on that drink offer while I wait for Chase to finish his call.”

Sarah smiled full out and with his brain too fogged with memories of her tight nipples against his chest he didn’t bother analyzing what had made her grin.

She gestured to the silver drink cart a few feet away. “Some iced tea … or coffee perhaps?”

“Tea, thanks.” He didn’t need any more heat coursing through his body right now.

“Coming up in a jiffy.” A gleam in her eyes, she hefted the cut-crystal pitcher full of amber and ice.

He picked up his empty glass and held it out for her. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

The sparks in her jade eyes gave him a scant second’s warning that she wasn’t done with him yet. He should have remembered that Sarah didn’t back down. He should have shaken off the mind-numbing memory of seeing her half-naked. Green eyes jewel-tone hard, she upended the pitcher ….

And poured iced tea squarely onto his lap.

Two

Rafe jerked back in shock as Sarah dumped the pitcher full of iced tea over his lap. He dodged most of the contents, his chair clattering back against the floor. All the same, a hefty splash caught his legs, leaving his Brioni suit pants cold and clammy against his skin.

Sarah had always delivered the unexpected, something that apparently hadn’t changed in fourteen years. Not many dared stand up to him these days and he had to confess he found the challenge refreshing. Chuckling softly, he swept beads of liquid from his thighs.

Around the room, silverware clattered against plates and chairs scraped back as curious diners zeroed in on them. Not that Rafe had ever cared what anyone else thought.

The manager charged toward him, face red. Rafe held up a hand stopping him in his tracks, then waving him away. He didn’t have to bother checking to see if the manager honored his request. No one argued with him anymore.

Except Sarah.

Right now his entire focus stayed on the female in front of him, the one woman he could never forget. Fourteen years ago, she’d been a great big risk to his ambitions.

And now? Apparently he was every bit as drawn to her as ever. He laughed—at himself this time, because staying away from Sarah hadn’t done him a damn bit of good.

Sarah slammed down the pitcher, anger steaming off her. “You think this is funny?”

Standing, he dipped his head close to her ear, close enough to catch a whiff of her floral shampoo. “I think I got under your skin.”

Awareness crackled and the bustle of the dining room faded away. Her breasts swelled with each rapidly increasing breath. If he stepped so much as an inch closer, their bodies would brush, tempt, ignite. Her pupils widened with arousal, pushing through the sparkling green. Once he’d dreamed of draping her in emeralds to accent her eyes and making love to her naked other than the jewels. As a man who prided himself on reaching every goal he set for himself, leaving loose ends grated. But there wasn’t going to be a positive outcome with Sarah. Only frustration piled on top of more frustration.

This was the very reason he’d stayed away from the Tennis Club and away from Sarah. He didn’t need the distraction of an unresolved attraction dogging him,

especially not now when he was so close to finally having his revenge on Ronald Worth.

Hauling his eyes off her, he snagged his suit coat from the back of his chair. “I’ll need a to-go box for my lunch. How about you just have them pack up the daily special for both Chase and me? I’m not picky, but I am now in a hurry.”

“Happy to accommodate that request.” She smiled tightly.

“And put a lid on my tea,” he couldn’t resist taunting. “You’ll have to pardon me if I’m suspicious of open containers around you.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t pick the coffee,” she said softly between gritted teeth.

He blinked back his surprise at the level of her anger, all because he hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. Including that one last urge to call her Kitten. Apparently that had crossed a line for her. While he knew she still stirred up a helluva fire in him, seeing that he ignited such a strong reaction in her as well gave him pause.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. He glanced back to see his stepbrother. Chase Larson didn’t even bother hiding his surprise about the whole tea-soaked situation.

Anger faded from Sarah and a pink blush stole up her face as if she’d only just realized the magnitude of the scene she’d caused. Without a word, she spun away, sidling past the wary manager. She whipped her apron off and thrust her way through the double doors leading to the kitchen.