The Elliotts: Mixing Business with Pleasure: Billionaire's Proposition / Taking Care of Business / Cause for Scandal

If Erika would strip off her clothes, straddle his lap and kiss him into next week, the evening would be perfect.

Instead she was bundled in an extra sweatshirt, sipping her doctored hot chocolate and positioned too far away from him. It was only three feet, but Gannon knew it might as well be a mile.

“I’m glad you talked me into this,” she said, leaning her back against the couch. She lifted her cell phone. “Since I asked my neighbor to give me a call when the power returned, I know it would still be cold and dark at home.”

“Feeling grateful?” Gannon asked.

Erika met his gaze and caught his unspoken suggestion.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Yes. I’ll have to bake some brownies for you in a few days.”

He swallowed a groan. He didn’t want brownies. Why did this woman remind him that he hadn’t had sex in a while? Why did she affect him so strongly? She was pretty but not drop-dead gorgeous. She clearly spent a minimal amount of time on her appearance. He was certain that was due to the fact that she had more important things to do.

He just wished she would do him into oblivion. Maybe that would get her out of his system. The problem with that theory was that he’d had an affair with her before. He should have gotten enough of her then, especially after the rumors started.

Something about Erika made him want to break all his rules. It was more than the need to get her sexually, although that need was damn strong. He liked just having her in his apartment with him. Her presence calmed and aroused him at the same time. He liked talking with her. He liked the way she didn’t take crap from him, yet he could tell she admired him and was attracted to him. She clearly liked his genes, he thought, scowling as he recalled her desire for him to donate his sperm to her. For Pete’s sake, this was a complicated situation, the kind he always avoided.

“You didn’t ever tell me your five things you’d want on a desert island.”

“Oh.” She took a sip from her hot chocolate and thought for a moment. “An iPod. With a battery that never dies.”

He chuckled. “Okay. What music?”

“Everything,” she said. “Alicia Keys, Seal, some beach tunes to cheer me up when I’m blue.”

“For a girl from Indiana, you seem to have a thing for the beach.”

“I do. I was landlocked entirely too long. I love the warmth, the sand, the water.”

“The hurricanes,” he interjected.

“Cynic,” she said and gave a sniff. “You don’t have to visit during hurricane season.”

“Back to your music,” he said.

“Some classical music played by a full orchestra, some standards and ‘Marshmallow World’ by Sammy Davis Jr.”

“Sounds eclectic,” he said, hiding a grin behind his glass of whiskey. “Two items left.”

“Hot chocolate mix with marshmallows. I would be very sad without my hot chocolate and marshmallows. And the complete unabridged collection of Louisa May Alcott.”

“No blow-dryer?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Why bother? The humidity would make my hair curly.”

“No cosmetics?”

“Some soap would be really nice. Maybe I’d trade soap for the cell phone that doesn’t work. What about you? Not that such a thing could ever happen to an Elliott because you, of course, would have a satellite cell phone. Plus a search party would be combing every inch of the planet for you.”

“Are you mocking my wealth again?”

“No. Just your family position this time,” she said with a sassy smile. “Five things.”

“Sports radio with extra batteries.”

“Can’t do without your Knicks.”

“Or Yankees, depending on the season. The complete works of Tolstoy. A bottle of great Irish whiskey. And a woman.”

She blinked. “A woman? Who?”

He nodded. “A woman who satisfies my soul and body so much that I don’t care if I ever leave the island.”

“Tall order,” she said, lifting her eyebrows skeptically.

He looked her over and remembered how she’d looked naked, how she’d felt in his arms, the sexy sounds she’d made when they’d made love. She was there. He was here. They were dressed. What a waste. He bit back an oath and took a long swallow of whiskey.

She pulled out his game of Scrabble and he beat her in the first round. She beat him in the second because he couldn’t stop thinking about convincing her to play strip Scrabble. Just past midnight the Godiva Liqueur took effect and she began to yawn.

“Hot chocolate with a kick kicking in?” he asked, liking the way she looked with her eyes sleepy and her hair mussed.

“A little. Do you mind if I take your couch tonight?”

“I have a guest room.”

She nodded and glanced at the fireplace. “But the fire is so cozy.”

“It is,” he agreed, wishing he hadn’t made the stupid promise not to touch her unless she begged. Inbred cockiness had caused trouble for more than one Elliott.

“You can go to bed if you want,” she said.

“No rush. I’ll get a pillow and blanket for you.” He ambled down the hall in his sock feet and pulled a pillow from the guest bed and a soft, warm blanket from the closet. He returned to find her with her legs folded against her, her arms wrapped around them as she stared into the fire.

“I always wondered why you didn’t have a full-time servant. Or several,” she mused aloud.

“Privacy,” he said. “This is one of the few places I can be totally alone if I want to be. The cleaning lady takes care of everything when I’m not here.”

“Phantom help,” Erika said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t get a phantom check,” he said drily. He watched her expression turn serious, pensive. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just wondering.”

“Wondering what?” he prodded, joining her on the sofa.

“You said that you keep the people who are important to you out of the press. I’m wondering how many women you’ve kept out of the press.”

He studied her. “Not many.”