His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell: His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell. Anna DePalo
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out there, from online sites and streaming to smartphones.
Namely, the viscount needed Sawyer.
And Sawyer was eager to absorb a competitor at a relative bargain.
At that thought, Sawyer paused and mentally grimaced. Correction: a relative bargain and a bargaining relative. Kincaid had turned the business into a family legacy, and he wasn’t going to let it pass into other hands without a familial tie.
He and the viscount entered the executive dining room, which was one floor below Sawyer’s office and had an equally impressive view of the Hudson. The long table had been set for two.
They dined on steak frites accompanied by iced tea. The conversation moved idly from politics and the upcoming elections to the doings of various business associates, until, finally, Viscount Kincaid set aside his fork and fixed Sawyer with a piercing look.
“Well, I know you didn’t invite me here to discuss golf,” Kincaid said gruffly, “so out with it, Melton.”
Unperturbed, Sawyer took his time wiping his mouth and setting aside his napkin. Then he looked at the other man squarely.
“I’d like to ask for Tamara’s hand in marriage.”
Kincaid’s eyebrows rose. “Bloody hell, you’ve done it.”
Sawyer nodded.
“How?”
Sawyer gave a ghost of a smile. “I don’t suppose it could be my charm and persuasiveness.”
Kincaid shook his head. “Hogwash. Tamara would never fall for it.”
“I have been wooing her.” It wasn’t far from the truth. He had been trying to convince Tamara to see things his way.
Kincaid’s eyebrows drew together. “Since when?”
“We preferred to conduct our relationship away from prying eyes.”
Sawyer thought back to his last private encounter with Tamara. She’d been so responsive in his arms, her luscious female curves pressed into him. And he—he’d wanted to tumble her backward and have hot, sweaty sex with her right there in her studio, her red hair fanning out on that damnable red velour couch.
Sawyer felt his body tighten at the memory, and shifted in his seat. “I think you’ll find that Tamara isn’t unaware of her familial obligations.”
His last statement was met with a pause, but then Kincaid waved it away with one hand. “Certainly not in character,” the viscount growled. “She’s shown nothing but disregard until now.” Kincaid shook his head. “Her sisters, too. Three daughters and not a one with an appreciation of what it took to built Kincaid News or how I footed the bill for those fine prep school educations.”
“She does bear you some affection, you know.”
Sawyer would bet that beneath Tamara’s tartness and Viscount Kincaid’s bluster lay a genuine—if oftentimes fraught—bond between father and daughter.
A light appeared in Viscount Kincaid’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a look of cloaked cunning. “Is that so? Then I’ll expect a grandchild to be in the cards in the not too distant future.”
Sawyer schooled his expression—this was a complication that he hadn’t foreseen. “Perhaps Tamara and I would like to enjoy ourselves first.”
“Enjoy yourselves later.” Kincaid settled back in his chair. “In fact, I like the idea of a grandchild so much I fancy I’ll make it a condition of the merger.”
Cagey bastard.
“My daughter enceinte before the merger goes through.”
“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“How much do you want this merger?”
“As much as you do, I would have thought,” Sawyer replied drily.
“I can wait,” Kincaid returned. “I’ve got some life in me yet, and God knows I’ve long since pinned my hopes on a third generation taking over the reins of Kincaid News.” Kincaid leaned forward. “The question is, will you or someone else be a worthy caretaker for Kincaid News in the meantime?”
Sawyer said nothing. He’d learned long ago that a tough bargainer didn’t jump in with his next best offer right away. He stayed cool and deliberated his options.
In this case, he supposed he could call the older man’s bluff. Good luck convincing Tamara or either of her sisters to marry another newsman.
But an image suddenly flashed through his mind of Tamara being bedded by some faceless pretender to the throne of Kincaid News, attempting to conceive the sought-for grandchild. He discovered that the thought of some other man fathering Tamara’s child didn’t sit well with him.
Better me than some faceless bastard, Sawyer thought.
Kincaid sat back in his seat, a smile hovering at his lips, seemingly satisfied by Sawyer’s reaction, or at least lack of immediate objection. “Marrying Tamara is the first step. I’ll do everything in my power to see that you actually make it to the altar, including making all the necessary public pronouncements that I’m overjoyed.”
“Naturally,” Sawyer said sardonically.
Kincaid leaned forward again, apparently warming to his subject. “I’ve done all I can up till now to help you, including—” Kincaid looked suddenly sly “—sharing all I know about Tamara’s comings and goings.”
Sawyer had to admit Kincaid had been helpful in that respect. Without inside knowledge, he’d have had a harder time.
“But the second step, the necessary step before I sign over Kincaid News, is getting Tamara pregnant,” Kincaid went on, quirking a brow. “And for that, you’re on your own.”
“Of course,” Sawyer said drily.
Kincaid couldn’t have put it more baldly. Sawyer would have to entice Tamara into his bed.
“Naturally,” Kincaid said, “I won’t breathe a word to Tamara about this new condition to the merger.”
“Thanks for the small favor.”
Kincaid chuckled. “I wouldn’t want her to lock you out of the bedroom just out of spite.”
“Thwarting you has been a favorite pastime of hers,” Sawyer observed with a jab.
The viscount’s face darkened briefly. “Yes, but those days are past now … as long as you get her to the altar.”
Kincaid’s new condition on the merger presented a complication that Sawyer hadn’t anticipated. He’d bargained with Tamara for a marriage of short duration. Once they both got what they wanted, they could go their separate ways. A baby had never been part of the equation.
He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having a child with a divorce envisioned in the future. But then again, he was thirty-eight, his life was destined to become only busier after the business merger with Kincaid News, and he had a duty to the earldom to produce an heir. Sure, he could wait for a woman suitable for the duties of a countess, but right now that prospect seemed highly indeterminate.
On the other side, there was the very concrete reality of Tamara, who, however unsuited and averse she might be to being a countess, made his blood sizzle.
His body tightened as images flashed through his mind of just how pleasurable it could be to try to conceive an heir with Tamara.
“So, do you agree to the terms?”
Viscount Kincaid’s voice brought Sawyer back from his mental calculations.
Sawyer knew without hesitation what his answer was. “Yes.” He reached for his glass and raised it in mock salute. “To the merger of the Kincaid and Melton lines, corporate