He stretched his arm across the bed, and his expression drew taut in his sleep. He felt around and frowned.
Any second now, he would open his eyes. She knew somewhere deep down in her soul that if she was still standing here when he woke up, she’d be flat on her back in an instant. He knew his way past her defenses, knew a hundred ways to make her gasp and moan, knew all the right things to growl and whisper in her ear.
Her palm closed around her purse strap, and she commanded herself to back off.
He gave a bleary blink, and she grasped at the doorknob.
Before he could focus, she was out in the hall, shutting the door behind her and striding for the staircase.
It was over.
It was done.
Her best hope was to never see him again.
One
Hunter was here.
Six weeks later, Sinclair’s stomach clenched around nothing as he strode into the Lush Beauty Products boardroom like he owned the place.
“-in a friendly takeover bid,” Sinclair’s boss, company president Roger Rawlings, was saying. “Osland International has purchased fifty-one percent of the Lush Beauty Products voting shares.”
Sinclair reflexively straightened in her chair. Good grief, he did own the place.
Could this be a joke?
She glanced from side to side.
Would cameramen jump out any second and shove a microphone in her face? Were they filming even now to record her reaction?
She waited. But Hunter didn’t even look her way, and nobody started laughing.
“As many of you are aware,” said Roger, “among their other business interests, Osland International owns the Sierra Sanchez line of women’s clothing stores across North America, with several outlets in Europe and Australia.”