Chapter One

 

Emma Sanders stood tall next to the Rolls Royce as she watched the private jet taxi closer. It had taken considerable efforts of various parental figures, teachers, and coaches over the years to get her to do that. Like many taller girls, she had had a tendency to slump, as if to unconsciously try to disguise her height.

The desire to fit in was strong in young girls, and towering over her classmates, particularly the girls, was not something which allowed that very well. She stood out wherever she went. Thus her teen years had not been as pleasant as they might have been, given all the teasing she'd been subjected to.

She'd topped out at six feet tall by seventeen, and worse in heels, and only the tallest and cockiest of boys had much desire to date or dance with her. That was despite a willowy figure which grew more lush with the years, and a face which turned heads wherever she went.

College was less of a trial, though mainly because there were more tall men there than there'd been in high school. An annoyingly large number of them seemed to prefer more diminutive girlfriends, however.

Still, she had no lack of suitors. Unfortunately, her height and beauty meant that most of those who dared, who had the cocksure attitude and confidence, tended to be, in her vernacular 'fucking arseholes'. Not that she would say that, of course, for Emma was still, even at twenty-one, trying to fit in, and both her classmates at law school and her colleagues at Jennings, Backstrom and Thorne frowned on such 'gutter language'.

She had only just started her term with them and had to be quite careful about her appearance and behavior. Most of them came from a more upper-class background than she did. Not that her family had been exactly poor, but she'd certainly never ridden in a Rolls until today, and it was almost unimaginable (and she had an excellent imagination) that she would ever own one.

The Lear jet turned, and the engines wound down. Emma did a quick self-check, straightening her shoulders, unconsciously moistening her lower lip, and bracing herself. Mister Stone was a very wealthy man and his company represented a considerable amount of business for the firm. They would not forgive her if she gave him the wrong impression or displeased him in some way.

Stone. Stone cold Stone was how one of the other solicitors had referred to him. He was a dour, humorless, and intolerant American with a quick temper and a bark which was only slightly worse than his considerable bite. There had, needless to say, been no rush of eagerness on the part of the firm's solicitors to go and meet him at the airport.

Someone had to, though. The firm did more than handle his legal affairs. They, like other 'quality' firms, were fixers. Whatever problem needed fixing, they would arrange for someone to do it. Whether that meant finding a flat for a mistress, getting a drug-addled son out of jail, or arranging to lobby government for a change to a regulation, they would do whatever satisfied the client.

And so she got voluntold to meet his plane. She was not happy about it and did not think Mr. Stone would be either. He would probably consider that being met by such a junior solicitor was less than he deserved - because it was.

Other, more senior solicitors had carefully arranged reasons why they could not possibly be free this morning.

Cowards, she thought, slightly nervously.

She felt that not only was Stone being insulted but so was she. She had little doubt the reason she'd been sent, as opposed to one of the other powerless juniors, was her sex and looks. They were probably hoping an attractive young woman, who would be rather more pleasant to middle-aged male eyes, would diffuse the insult of not sending someone more senior.

One of the older solicitors, in fact, a chubby, middle-aged woman named Strawl, had even hinted that perhaps Emma might let her hair down, rather than keep it pulled back into a ponytail.

As if!

She had fumed at that, and privately decided to pull it back so tightly it would practically pull her eyebrows up! But then she had relented - sort of. She had done it half up, half down. That left soft golden blonde tendrils spilling down to curve in below her ears, then back behind her and tidily tucked in with pins.

As tall as she was, Emma felt long hair helped to somehow disguise this, or at least, flattered her body more. She couldn't wear it out at work, of course, for the firm was quite conservative, and she wanted to appear very businesslike.

She couldn't really afford it but had sprung for tailored suits to give off the proper degree of impressive, efficient and upper-class appearance. Her double-breasted blazer was not the least bit feminine in color or appearance. It was such a dark shade of gray as to almost be black. Her blouse was white, and she wore a red, white and black silk scarf draped across her neck and dropping down just inside the open blazer.

She braced herself as the door opened and the stair lowered. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit got out and looked around suspiciously. A second such man followed, the two flanking the door. Then a third, taller man got out.

She understood Stone had bodyguards wherever he went, but given the size of the man, several inches taller and of broader shoulder than either of the first two younger men, she wondered why he thought he needed them.

The two men strode towards her, while two more got off the jet.

"Your name?" one of them rudely asked.

"Ahm, I'm Emma Sanders from Jennings, Backstrom, and Thorne."

The other man was confronting the chauffeur and demanding to see his license. The first man seemed content with Emma, and inspected the car as the older man she had to presume was Stone walked towards them, flanked by two more men.

"Good morning, Mister Stone," she said. "I'm Emma Sanders from Jennings, Backstrom, and Thorne."

He nodded as the chauffeur popped the boot of the Rolls. An employee of some sort rushed to the plane with a cart as one of the bodyguards opened the rear door of the Rolls. Stone got in, and Emma felt flustered, wondering what she ought to do. Then she hurried around to the other side and got in the rear, smiling uncomfortably at Stone.

He was a very large man! It was rare she felt that way, given her own height. But he was taller than her, even in her heels, and had a very deep chest! He also had a face which looked vastly dangerous if angered, with thick, dark hair, beard and mustache, heavy brows and dark, flinty eyes.

"Is there anything else the firm can do for you while you're in London, Mister Stone?" she asked. "I'm given to understand you were not informative of your intentions or needs."

"When I know what I want I'll let them know," he said.

He turned and looked at her, then rolled down the window and told one of the bodyguards to get a move on. Then he turned back to her.

"So, you're a lawyer?"

"Ahm, we call them solicitors in the UK," she said.

"You look like a college freshman. You can't be very senior in the firm."

"I assure you, Mister Stone, I'm not in college anymore," she said with what she hoped was a disarming smile.

"You're registered, are you?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

That took her by surprise since most people, and in particular, Americans, knew little about the process of becoming a solicitor in the U.K.

"Ahm, well, not as yet," she said hesitantly.

"So on your training are you?"

"I... am on my training contract with the firm, yes," she said, face flushing.

"So not quite a solicitor then."

"If there's anything you need, sir, which I can't handle, the firm has any number of very senior solicitors - ."

"Who ran off and left you here as a virginal offering, right?"

Emma opened her mouth, but froze, unsure what to say.

"Your mincing weakling senior solicitors have shoved you off on me because you're a beautiful blonde and they figure that might appease me. Well, if they were going to do that they should have at least advised you to pop a button or two and show some cleavage."

Emma felt a sense of outrage at his blunt and insulting words, but it was tempered by the fact they closely mirrored what she herself had been thinking minutes earlier. Well, except for the cleavage part! No one in the firm would have dared to even think of such a suggestion!

"I... you... m-my understanding is that given the short notice the firm received none of the other more senior - ."

"Spare me, honey. I'm far too smart for that crap, and couldn't be bothered to pretend to go along with it."

The boot was shut, and the car started forward, with a Mercedes containing the other four men trailing them.

He slid aside a panel, took out a bottle of scotch and poured himself a drink. No, he poured two, then thrust one at her.

"Ahm, no thank - ."

"Take it."

She gulped and obeyed. He had a deep, rumbling voice with a sort of gravelly undertone that almost made her feel as if it were echoing off her breast bone. But he also had a tone which made it seem almost unnatural to refuse!

"How long you been working for those cowards?"

"I uhm, have been employed with the firm since passing my Legal Practice Course, which is - ."

"What you take after graduating law school. Yeah, I know."

Emma was startled again.

"You're not an, er, attorney, are you, Mister Stone?"

"Christ, no. I'd have gone insane and torn people's heads off by now if I had to put up with that sort of shit."

And with his arms and shoulders - and enormous hands - Emma thought, he could probably do it!

"I do not like to bother myself with minutia, Ms. Sanders. That's why I employ people like your firm, mincing pansies though they are, to spare me the bother."

"Yes, sir. And if there's anything, we can do for you - !"

"You mean other than popping a button or two?" he asked with a sardonic smirk.

Emma flushed and frowned warningly at him. She wasn't really sure what the rules on sexual harassment were in the United States, but they were quite restrictive in the U.K.! Still, it wouldn't do to point that out to him when he was already annoyed.

"You've arranged everything at the hotel?"

"Of course, sir. The Royal Suite at the Savoy will be waiting, stocked with all the goods and articles your people requested."

"Such as?"

"Ahm, well, I'm not personally familiar with - ."

"Someone else took care of it? Presumably someone more senior?"

"Well, yes."

"Do I scare you, Sanders?"

"Certainly not, sir!"

"I seem to scare the crap out of the others at your firm. Maybe I'm too blunt for them. But I rarely feel the need to spare someone's feelings or put up with mistakes or ignorance. Anyone who doesn't like my attitude is free to leave and not do business with me. Few do, because they're greedy enough to put up with me, much like the snobs at your law firm."

He looked out at the streets and made a face.

"London is coming to look more and more like a third world shit-hole," he said. "You people really need to get control of your immigration."

That was another rather stunningly politically incorrect statement, and Emma had no idea how to respond. Especially since she privately agreed. Still, saying so could get you fired in this town.

"I'm sure the government does its best, sir," she said.

He snorted. "Their problem is pretty girls like you aren't having babies. Instead, you're pursuing careers. What good's a career, Sanders, without kids?"

"I... that is... eventually I... would expect - ."

"When you've made enough money you'll consider cutting back on your eighty-hour work week and maybe finding a boyfriend and having a kid? Yeah, I hear that a lot from young professional women."

"And young professional men?" she asked, daring to be mildly sarcastic.

"Men can't have babies. Nature has conspired against you, Sanders. If there's going to be another generation, you'll have to be the one who takes time off work to raise it."

"And uhm, your wife presumably did so?"

"Wives. Four of them. Yes, with all eleven kids."

Emma blinked in surprise. That hadn't been information given to her. She wasn't surprised he had several ex-wives, but very few men could boast of eleven children in this day and age!

"That's... a lot of kids," she said.

"And all my ex-wives are blonde. Do you think your firm knew that, Sanders?"

She blushed, suddenly quite certain they did!

"I-I'm sure that they presumed I could handle whatever you required, Mister Stone," she said stiffly.

"Very few people can handle me, Sanders. Some can tolerate me. Some few accept me as I am, much like the weather - which, by the way, sucks."

"Yes, sir. It was supposed to rain heavily today," she said as the rain began to come down heavily.

"Do you resent the weather, Sanders?"

"That would be pointless."

"Right. The weather does whatever the weather does, and you just have to deal with it and dress appropriately. Think of me as the weather and you'll be fine."

He turned and examined her again, and Emma gulped, feeling a sudden strange tightness in her chest. That look was more considered than the previous ones, and unless she missed her guess it was the sort of look a man gave a woman he thought was attractive... perhaps even desirable!

He liked blondes, clearly! That bastard, Robinson had to have known that when he'd assigned her! Well if he thought she was going to provide any 'services' for Stone that involved any part of her body touching any part of his he was sadly mistaken!

She didn't really think that was his intention, however. He simply told himself that if Stone fancied pretty blondes, then having a pretty blonde solicitor would disarm his anger.

Still, the way Stone had looked at her gave her the sudden sensation of a small sheep being examined by a large wolf. It wasn't a slavering, drooling wolf, but a wolf completely in control of itself, a wolf which wasn't particularly hungry, but might decide to take a bite anyway if she looked tasty!

It was impossible to not imagine what it might feel like to have a man like Stone 'bite' her! There was a rough edge to him, the sort of edge of a man prone to violence. Yet in his expensive suit, he looked the part of a very civilized man. And billionaires rarely attacked people physically anyway.

Still, what would it be like to have those enormous arms wrapped around her, and those flashing eyes right in front of her as he pulled her in against that powerful chest!?

That was a truly alarming thought! It would certainly not be a partnership where she had much say in what happened, she thought. This man would be completely in control, and she merely along for the ride!

So to speak.

Still, she also felt a sense of curiosity. What would it be like with a man like this? So big! So powerful, both physically and, well, emotionally. He was clearly a take-charge man who knew what he wanted and took it! There was something undeniably attractive about such a man, even without regard to his looks.

Certainly, he was a handsome man, though his looks were somewhat - forbidding. He was also much older than her, she thought, certainly more than twice her age! Four previous wives! What did this man know about sex? Certainly far and away more than her own limited experience had taught! She would be as out of her league there as she was here!

Not that she had any intention of allowing such a thing to happen, of course. She had her reputation with the firm to consider!

Still, the idea was... intriguing.

They reached the Savoy, and the doorman rushed forward to open the door. Stone climbed out nimbly for a man his size, as she scooted across the seat. He held out his hand, and she flushed slightly as she took it, allowing him to help her out.

He had such a big hand!

The feminist in her upbraided herself for not saying she was perfectly capable of exiting a car on her own. But that would have been rude, and the thought of being rude to this man - even without regard to what that would do to her at the firm, was more than slightly intimidating.

Old fashioned civilized manners weren't such a bad thing, she thought grudgingly, as she followed him into the luxurious lobby of the hotel. She glanced around admiringly. Such opulence! She would certainly never stay at a hotel this pricey! Why, the suite she'd reserved for him went for fourteen thousand pounds - per night!

And he'd booked it for a week!

He'd casually put out almost twice her yearly salary for a week's stay!

They didn't get very far before being greeted by an obsequious concierge, who introduced Stone to the butler who would serve him in the Royal Suite and accompanied them to the elevator - surrounded by Stone's bodyguards.

"I realize, of course, that you've stayed in the Royal Suite before, Mister Stone," the concierge said, ever-smiling, but if there's anything at all you are uncertain of and which Jeffrey cannot deal with please don't hesitate a moment to have someone contact me."

Stone nodded brusquely, striding ahead while barely acknowledging the man's existence.

They rode the elevator up and were greeted by more people at the entrance to the Royal Suite, including a chef who would look after Mister Stone's every culinary desire. Stone dealt with this lot as brusquely as he had the concierge, and all quickly faded away, to be summoned back at the push of a button.

Emma stared around the place in awe. She'd never been in a room or building or home so immense and so luxuriously furnished. How did one get used to such luxury, she wondered.

Wouldn't be a bad thing to try, she thought.