An offer from mr wrong, p.1
An Offer from Mr. Wrong, page 1
“What do your instincts say now?”
With her upper body pressed down upon Lincoln’s chest and a glean of pure, intense raw desire in his eyes, Bobbie fought for control.
Of her body.
Her desire.
The need to kiss him. Taste him. Have him.
You can’t. You can’t.
Then Lincoln reached up to free her hair and entwine his fingers through the waves as he pulled her head down to his.
Bobbie gasped softly.
The anticipation was intoxicating and not to be denied.
The first feel of his tongue flicking against her mouth was the beginning and the end of her resistance. Her entire body felt a spark like nothing ever before.
Ever.
She trembled as she tumbled face-first into passion. It was exhilarating. New. Different. Addictive.
“Lincoln,” she sighed just before he deepened the kiss with a guttural moan.
Like he was starving for her.
She matched his hunger with her own, clinging to him as she succumbed…
* * *
An Offer from Mr. Wrong by Niobia Bryant is part of the Cress Brothers series.
Dear Reader,
It’s time for another of my “Sexy, Funny & Oh So Real” romances. While writing An Offer from Mr. Wrong, book three in the Cress Brothers series, I smiled, chuckled and cried. Lincoln, the new eldest son of the Cress family, is fighting for the love of his life—Bobbie, the strong-willed and sexy private investigator—and his place within the high-profile family of wealth and means. I loved writing this story so much. Lincoln and Bobbie go from adversaries to allies to friends to lovers and then back to friends before finally welcoming the love. Even with all the ups and downs, in the end, it’s worth it—just like a roller-coaster ride.
What’s your reading routine? Mine includes a warm drink, a comfy spot, usually a soft blanket and some quiet to get lost in the story—especially an emotional one. And this one is packed with all the feelings in the best way. I love it, and after more than twenty years as a writer, I can say its one of my faves. I am so happy it is finally ready to be shared with the world.
Here’s to hoping you all enjoy the ride.
Best,
N.
Niobia Bryant
An Offer from Mr. Wrong
Niobia Bryant is the award-winning and nationally bestselling author of fifty romance and mainstream commercial fiction works. Twice she has won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award for African American/Multicultural Romance. Her books have appeared in Ebony, Essence, the New York Post, the Star-Ledger, the Dallas Morning News and many other national publications. One of her bestselling books was adapted to film.
Books by Niobia Bryant
Harlequin Desire
Cress Brothers
One Night with Cinderella
The Rebel Heir
An Offer from Mr. Wrong
Harlequin Kimani
A Billionaire Affair
Tempting the Billionaire
Visit her Author Profile page at Harlequin.com, or niobiabryant.net, for more titles.
You can also find Niobia Bryant on Facebook, along with other Harlequin Desire authors, at Facebook.com/harlequindesireauthors!
As always, this one is dedicated
to the wonderful thing called love.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Excerpt from How to Fake a Wedding Date by Karen Booth
One
March
Over the rim of her flute of champagne, Bobbie Barnett eyed the couple across the restaurant sharing intimate kisses in their booth seating. The champagne chilling in ice, lit candles and strawberry-with-cream dessert were romantic. A Midtown Manhattan restaurant of such quality would offer nothing less.
“Aww so sweet,” Bobbie drawled as she used black-framed camera glasses to secretly record them. “Too bad it’s not his wife.”
When the man’s hand dipped beneath the table, Bobbie looked away, sparing herself and his wife from viewing the scandalous spectacle. She was being paid a hefty fee to prove what women’s intuition—and probably many late nights spent alone in bed—had already alerted his wife to regarding his infidelity.
The gut never lies.
As a private investigator, Bobbie relied on hers.
She was called upon by wealthy and influential people to solve mysteries, investigate crimes and prove betrayals. She loved it—almost as much as her father, Bobby. She’d inherited the business from the PI and former police detective upon his retirement. After being raised from childhood to be observant and inquisitive she became a detective and passed her private investigator test at twenty-five. With twelve years in the game, she was one of the best.
Bzzzzzz.
She flipped her phone over on the table. A text from her client Mrs. Ferguson. “‘Any updates?’” Bobbie mouthed, before biting off a bit of her caramel-tinted lip gloss.
She understood the desperation and stress of suspecting a spouse of cheating all too well. Long gone was the anger of discovering her husband, Henny Santana, in bed with another woman. Now hurt remained. It clung to her like a second skin.
For the lost years of her life.
For broken trust.
For feeling foolish in ever believing in him.
With a slight shake of her head that caused the loose waves of her wild hair to bounce, she tapped her glossy almond-shaped nails against the stem of the crystal flute. Pushing aside feelings she fought hard to forget, she raised the glass and took a deep sip of the vintage champagne.
Rehashing my marriage to Henny is a waste of time.
“Speaking of my time,” Bobbie muttered, checking her phone.
8:28 p.m.
She was killing two birds with one stone. Surveillance for one client and an appointment with a potential new one.
That morning she had closed a case on a missing A-list celebrity whose manager was panicking at unreturned phone calls. Some old-school sleuthing aided by modern-day technology and she learned the actor was tucked away at a luxury hotel recovering from secret plastic surgery to “revitalize” his face. Without revealing the actor’s truth, she assured the manager his client was alive and well.
It was a long day and she was ready for a relaxing lengthy bath, meditation and then—hopefully—deep sleep in the middle of her big comfy bed with her crisp sheets pressed against her naked—
“You’re B. Barnett?”
Bobbie stiffened.
Rarely was she surprised, but the sound of the male voice did just that. She recognized the deep timbre and the British accent.
Lincoln Cress.
She raised her head to look up at the tall and broad-shouldered man with rugged features. Square jaw and chin. Broad nose. Deep-set eyes beneath slashing brows. High cheekbones. Trimmed goatee framing his soft mouth currently diminished by a frown.
A handsome man with an ugly countenance who was no happier to see her than she was to see him.
No matter how fine.
On the edge of her aggravation were awareness and excitement.
Bobbie cleared her throat and offered him the seat across from her as she crossed her legs. “Nice to meet you, Lincoln,” she said as he remained standing.
“Meet me?” he snapped, his face the epitome of annoyance. “You invaded my life for weeks!”
She understood his annoyance.
Last fall, she was hired to investigate Phillip Cress Sr., acclaimed chef and giant in the culinary empire, by two of his five sons, Coleman and Gabriel. She was thorough, even going back to Phillip’s days growing up in the small seaside town of St. Ives in Cornwall, England. A perfunctory background check revealed his name on the birth certificate of Lincoln Cress, his illegitimate son born before he met and wed his wife, Nicolette Lavoie.
When the Cress brothers then hired her for an extensive background check of their newly discovered half brother, Bobbie traveled to St. Ives pretending to be a biographer of local England chefs. She found Lincoln to be rude, stiff and intolerant of her attempts to learn more about him for her feigned work. She lost count of just how many times he had escorted her out of his Michelin-starred restaurant.
Foolishly, she’d thought she’d never come face-to-face with the wickedly handsome grouch again.
“If you’d like to have a conversation, I’d prefer you weren’t scowling and looking down above me, Mr. Cress,” she said, glancing past him to see Mr. Ferguson was busy enjoying his date with his mistress.
Lincoln jerked back the chair and finally folded his towering frame to sit.
A uniformed waiter instantly appeared. “Would you like to start with a drink?” he asked.
“Trust me—what he needs, Kevin, you do not serve,” she drawled, picking up her flute.
An enema would change his attitude because he was full of—
“First intrusion and now insults,” Lincoln said, his dark eyes locked on her face.
Her curiosity of what he thought of her looks was the second surprise of the night.
Lincoln Cress annoyed her but his presence gave her an undeniable thrill.
“I’ll give you some more time,” Kevin said before quickly backing away.
“I was hired to do a job,” she began, ready to send him and his negative energy on his way. “And since you’re here in New York and aware of my involvement I assume you have connected with your long-lost father and half brothers—who are all extremely wealthy. So...you’re welcome.”
“Is that how you sleep at night? Without conscience or integrity?” he asked.
“And how do you rest on that high horse?” she countered.
“I knew you were up to no good when I first spotted you in my restaurant,” Lincoln said.
“Oh,” Bobbie said, drawing it out. “O-kay then. So, you want to take it there?”
Lincoln shook his head and released a sardonic chuckle. “We were there ever since you invaded my life to spy on me.”
“Life is about perspective, Mr. Cress,” she began, tracing the rim of the glass with her fingertip. “You could see my role in your life as a negative and intrusive thing...or...be thankful that my actions led to you being reconnected with the father you’ve never known.”
Lincoln’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need his money,” he said, with coldness.
Bobbie held up her hands and nodded. “I know,” she said with confidence.
Renewed anger brought a spark to his dark eyes.
“Listen, it was nothing personal for me. It was a job,” she explained. “Just like I’m trying my best not to hold a grudge for you being an intolerable butthole toward me.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he drawled, leaning forward to rest his elbows atop the table.
“And you are the epitome of a miserable soul,” she snapped, leaning forward to do the same.
Just inches separated them. The scent of the small bouquet on the center of the table wafted up between them as his eyes pierced hers with an intensity that made Bobbie fight not to lick the sudden dryness from her lips. She fought and failed, giving her bottom lip a tiny bite as she leaned back from being so near to him.
When his eyes dropped to her mouth to take in the innocent gesture, her heart pounded.
Fast and hard.
She had felt the same awareness when she first laid eyes on the brute...
Bobbie entered the beautifully rustic seaside restaurant and was drawn in by the charm of the wood interior, teal decor, wild floral arrangements at each table and the scent of fresh seafood cooked in butter, garlic and other flavors. In the center of the intimate space was an open kitchen. Her eyes had sought and found Lincoln Cress where he was busy giving out sharp orders to his staff.
Her heart skipped a beat and then pounded.
The photo of him from his website did him no justice. It lacked the intensity lining his face as he shifted a pan atop a fiery burner back and forth and then flipped the contents inside it with impressive skill.
And it was surprisingly arousing.
“Welcome to SHORES. I’m Shirly. Can I start you off with a drink or appetizer?”
With reluctance, Bobbie shifted her eyes away from the chef and up at the waitress offering her a welcoming smile as she clutched a small tablet to enter orders. “Actually, I’m Kimberly Madison, a biographer researching local chefs,” she lied with ease.
“Oh. The American that’s been callin’,” the waitress said with a British accent heavy with Cornish dialect.
Bobbie didn’t miss that the woman cast a nervous glance back at the kitchen in Lincoln’s direction. “I thought reaching out in person to see if he was interested in participating in the project would get me a little further,” she said, as she looked down at the paper menu atop the place setting. “And I would love to try the squid.”
Shirly gave her a nod and smile before moving away.
Bobbie looked on as the waitress made her way behind the bar to the opening of the kitchen. They shared words before Lincoln leaned his head over to look directly at her. She gave him a warm smile and wave of her fingers.
He glared back in return.
She looked on as he finished something he was cooking and plated it before barking a few orders to the rest of the cooking staff. Her heart pounded as he left the kitchen and moved with long strides toward her. His black chef’s coat against his shortbread complexion and slashing brows was eye-catching.
Lincoln Cress was eye candy ready to be devoured—in the best way.
As he neared her, Bobbie’s brows raised with each step. The look of annoyance on his face became clearer. She rose to her feet and extended her hand as he came to a stop near her table.
“I already told you I wasn’t interested and would appreciate not being harassed,” Lincoln said, ignoring her hand as he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re annoying.”
Bobbie fought the urge to fold her hand into a fist and gut-punch him. “And you’re rude,” she countered, losing patience with his insolence.
He nodded sharply. “When annoyed? Yes,” he agreed.
“When breathing is more like it,” she shot back.
“Goodbye,” he stressed, widening his eyes with incredulity before lightly touching her elbow and steering her toward the glass front door.
“No. You. Are. Not,” she snapped as he gave her a wave before closing the door in her face, leaving her with her mouth still open in shock.
Bobbie frowned at the memory. She couldn’t stand the man.
“What do you want from me? I already apologized,” she said, thinking of the bath and other relaxation activities she had planned.
“For you to find another occupation where you’re not paid to lie, pretend and exploit people who did not choose to have you in their lives,” Lincoln said, his eyes raising to lock with hers.
And just like their first meeting, as her heart pounded and her pulse raced, he opened his mouth and threw cold water on the heat building inside her.
* * *
Lincoln Cress was an honest man. He prided himself on that. And the undeniable truth was Bobbie Barnett was a beautiful woman. From her wild mane of loose waves that reached beyond her shoulders in length and breadth, to her brown complexion, and the most glorious full lips covered in a sheer brown gloss. Her look was a throwback to the 1970s’ Donna Summer vibe and it was hard to deny the allure.
Her allure.
He tapped his index finger atop the restaurant’s table as he sat back in his chair and continued to eye her. He recognized her at first sight, but now knew she had lied about who she was when they first met. “Kimberly,” he said with snark.
“Bobbie—with an IE, not a Y,” she countered.
It fit. It was a perfect match for her.
“Again, I apologize,” she added.
Kevin the waiter reappeared.
“Nothing for me,” Lincoln said, his thoughts full.
There had been a lot of changes and discoveries in his life in the last week. The sudden phone call from the man he’d always been told was his father had been shocking enough. His proclaiming to never have known of his existence until a report by a private investigator revealed it to him had truly shaken Lincoln. He had gone through a wide range of emotions before settling on curiosity.
About the father he knew only by name.
About the truth. Every day of his forty-four years his mother declared his father knew about him.
About his siblings after being an only child all his life.
About so much more.
Lincoln got the call and the next day he was on a private jet to New York to meet the world-renowned Phillip Cress and take two DNA tests—an at-home test and then a court-admissible one for confirmation. The next day after that he met Nicolette Lavoie-Cress, Phillip’s wife, and his five half brothers.
Five.
Phillip Junior, Sean, Gabriel, Cole, and Lucas.
All younger than him.
And that meeting had been wild.
Lincoln didn’t know who was angrier at him: his mother for him agreeing to connect with his father or Phillip Junior for his very existence uprooting him as their father’s eldest son.
