"Mr. Shade is ready for you."

I adjusted the lines of my skirt, a deep and powerful red to match the trim little blazer cut high on my waist. I wanted this meeting to be quick, efficient, and for the man on the other side of the desk to know that while I may be backed into a corner, Laura Pierce was no push over.

Far as I was concerned, this was still my company, and the man waiting for me in the boardroom was an intruder. An enemy crossing into my turf. It galled me enough that I, not only had been summoned, but also had to wait for him to be ready to receive me. In my own conference room, no less.

But I had my game face on, and wasn't about to let it crack.

I smiled at the receptionist, a tidy little blonde with a soft, competent look about her. The sort of assistant that could serve coffee and compliments with a smile to a room full of men and just be complacent with her station in life.

I tried not to pity her; it's not in my nature to sympathize with the under achieving. Or the weak. But I'd been off my game lately. Standing on the precipice of losing a fortune five hundred company to the only other conglomerate in the U.S. big enough to take me on was bound to dull my edge.

I stood outside the doors, wide panels of exotic Brazil wood polished to a ruthless gleam. I gathered myself, my breath and my wits, before I pushed them open. He stood before the bank of windows. Framed by the glass and the imposing backdrop of New York, the sky a wash of clouds knit so close together not a scrap of blue was visible. I'd been in this room countless times, but had never found the scene quite so engaging or impressive as I did now. The monochromatic spread should have been unassuming, but with him, I lost my breath. My tread.

And almost—almost—stumbled.

He turned at the sound of my clacking heels against cool, pale white marble. Sleek waves of hair, a shade of deep gold women would have paid a fortune to possess. Just a little long, giving him a rakish edge to his business charm. Hands tucked into his slacks, dressed in a tailored grey suit, butter soft leather shoes of gleaming, ruthless black and a crisp white shirt—no tie. Put together and corporate, but casually so. Arrogantly so. Probably trying to send a message, I thought, just as I had by selecting red.

He smiled but those chilling silver eyes didn't warm with the gesture; oh they burned, to be sure. I felt the scorching heat of them blister my skin, and hated how he so effortlessly worked his way beneath to touch me where not many have.

"Ms. Pierce, how lovely to see you again." His voice rolled over me, deep and masculine. The tone all smoke and granite, thickened with an accent that was not quite cultured London, and not quite his native Irish, but somewhere between the two. And undeniably sexy. If a voice could trigger an orgasm, his certainly would.

"I'd like to say it's mutual," I replied. Leaving the rest to unspoken. Amused in the face of my displeasure, Tristan only smiled.

"Shall we?" He gestured towards the stretch of the conference room table that lay between us like a sea of gleaming stone. Of which variety, I couldn't be sure, but the color was a deep and unyielding grey. A fraction or so on the verge of black. His face reflected in the surface with almost perfect clarity.

He took the head of the table. As he was here to pull the rug out from under me, I guess it was only appropriate he staked his claim on my territory. Rather than challenge him for it, I opted for a seat to his right, leaving one or two spaced between us. I needed to create distance. Boundaries. But the closer I got, the more my skin hummed and burned with the wicked thrill of just being in the same room as Tristan Shade.

Bigger, I thought, assessing the broad stretch of shoulders encased in tailored wool. Definitely bigger then I remembered, perhaps from spending added time in the gym. Had he always been this impressive, I wondered? Or was I just late to the game?

We'd met a few years ago. Shortly after he'd married the demure, wallflower. Like every other woman at the charity auction, I'd appreciated a fine male figure, married or otherwise—I wasn't dead below the waist, or a saint. But certainly had not been affected to this degree.

I wondered if the recent separation of him and Ms. Saunders might have been a contributing factor—he was available, now. A single man with the world in the palm of his hand. Free to choose. Free to conquer. And for whatever reason, he'd set his sights on me.

"I'm pleased you were able to make time to see me." He smiled, just a small curve at the left side of his mouth, his eyes sweeping across my face with all the tenderness of a caress.

"My Board of Directors didn't give me much choice. They were seduced by your bid." I tried to grin but the muscles in my face were too tight. Too rigid. He'd gone to George Wyatt behind my back. A smooth and easy sort of approach at some swanky boys club, where the corporate elite gathered afterhours to stroke egos with their peers as they gorged on overpriced wine.

Irritated, I drummed my fingers on my thigh. "Going behind my back was tacky, wouldn't you agree?"

"Was it?"

"As CEO, I think you should have had the curtsey to—"

"I tried, but you turned me down, remember? I proposed we have dinner, three months ago."

My arguments died on my lips. My eyes narrowed. "You had your assistant call to schedule a dinner, yes. At no time did she express anything other than the fact that it was a social call. Not business."

Tristan shrugged. "You're an attractive, accomplished woman, Ms. Pierce. Of course my interests and intentions were not entirely business centered, but neither were they entirely personal. I wanted to meet with you to discuss the proposal, but you'd turned me down. Several times, in fact."

"Maybe you should schedule your own dates instead of having your assistant do them for you."

He blinked at me, genuinely puzzled. "So the fact that you turned down my invitations to dinner wasn't a due to a lack of interest, but merely an objection to my methods of approach?"

"What I object to," I snapped, "is being objectified. Thinking that you can sway me with a fancy dinner and a charming smile instead of giving me the respect my position demands and I deserve. If George were still sitting at the helm of this company, you would have approached him very differently."

"Yes," Tristan admitted, silver eyes glittering with humour, "but that would be because I'm not attracted to George. And," he added, his tone more serious, "contrary to what you may want to believe, George approached me. He'd heard some whispers that I might be planning to court Iconic, and he wanted to step in with his thoughts on the matter."

That surprised me enough to leave me speechless.

In the face of my stunned silence, Tristan nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

No, he hadn't. And I would have preferred Tristan not been aware of that little caveat of information, but I'd already shoved my foot in my mouth and there was no wrenching it out without losing a few teeth.

"Who approached who, is irrelevant. The bottom line is I wasn't consulted or apprised of your interest."

"No, you're right. But as I said, I would have preferred to have had the conversation with you, though having George initiate has...paved the way. Now here we are." He spread his hands, gesturing around us. "And it's all down to you. I'd like an answer to my proposal." He brought his hands back together, scoring his thumb along the seam of his palm.

"I don't have one."

His brow cocked, just a smidge. There was a gleam in his crystalline eyes that shot me straight between the legs. And I thanked God I was sitting down.

"Really? Huh. I thought you weren't in a position to refuse."

"Oh, I am not," I agreed and set my hands atop the table, linked them. "But three days is not enough time for consideration of all your terms. I want an extension."

He angled his head, his face poker straight. Giving nothing away. "No. Five minutes left on the clock. What's it going to be?" He was enjoying himself. That much was apparent. Word on the street was he always enjoyed a bit of cat and mouse; exemplified in how he was now pushing and coercing me to move where he wanted me to move. It wasn't necessarily about winning, but about forcing me to give instead of him having to take.

I exhaled slowly. Pursed my lips. "This merger would be in name only?"

"For now." His smile brightened, and those arresting spheres of grey swirled with mystery. And sharpened with a predatory edge that fascinated and terrified in equal measure. "I have plans for you."

Rising from his seat, he closed in on me. Slow, easy steps meant to challenge, to intimidate, but I held my ground, didn't even so much as flinch when he eased against the table and looked down at me.

A giddy little lick of arousal knotted in my belly, and I hated myself for my weakness. For wanting him. The man who threatened to take away everything I'd worked for. Of the major communications firms in New York, I was the single female to sit at the top of the totem pole. A position I'd fought and clawed and, when necessary, spilled blood to acquire. But a company couldn't run on ambition and focused determination alone.

Iconic was suffering in the downturn of a tough economic climate.

And Shade Enterprise was holding all the purse strings.

It occurred to me that from this vantage point he was given a fine display of my cleavage, just visible in the veed section where the buttons strained. I leaned forward, letting him know I was aware of this little detail, and wasn't the least bit perturbed that he unapologetically enjoyed his claim of the high ground.

"Fuck your plans, Tristan. This is business, not pleasure." The surprised pop of his eyes was an unexpected victory in my favor, coupled with the quirk of temper along his jaw and flash of interest across his dazzling features. Dammit all to hell, the man was beautiful.

"The two don't need to be mutually exclusive." He examined his nails with disinterest, an unaffected gesture that made me vibrate with temper. "My terms are final, Ms. Pierce. No wiggle room there."

I swiveled in my seat, squaring off with him, and crossed my legs. I knew my advantages and decided now was the time to play them up. "I don't want amendments. The terms were generous, and that was the point. To make it impossible for me to turn down."  

"Strategy," Tristan agreed, biting the tip of his thumb, he lifted his eyes, a searing flash, and locked in with all the intensity of a homing missile. "You're down to your last sixty seconds." He lifted his wrist, stared at the black face of his watch with only a single diamond placed at the twelve-marker. The small hand circled the distance, closing in on my dreams. Suffocating me. "Tick, tick, tick." He slanted his wrist towards me. "All it takes is a simple yes or no."

I took a calming breath, rose to my feet. "I won't forfeit my position or authority."

"Thirty."

"I don't want you working alongside with me."

"Fifteen."

"Leave New York and I'll take it."

"I'm not amending my offer and the terms stipulated I would relocate my offices here. Down to five...four..."

Challenging him was foolish. A gamble, given the way my very bones trembled beneath my flesh--like a magnet fighting to be joined to its other half. But I wasn't accustomed to walking the path of a pushover; I wouldn't be where I was today if I had. So I moved closer, degree by sweltering degree.

A whisper. A promise. And a test--for us both.

"Okay." His scent was a rich, spiced musk that staggered the senses. I breathed him in like a drug, my lungs on fire with need for more. So much more. "I'll sign the paperwork. I'll merge our companies." I hooked my fingers under the lapels of his blazer. He hadn't moved from his perch against the table but every inch, every muscle, every tendon and fibre beneath that five thousand dollar suit went rigid beneath my delicate touch.

"But, you should know that I won't step down the ladder," I leaned in closer still, until those molten silver eyes were so close I could almost see myself reflected in their faceted depths. "And I most certainly will not bend the knee. Not to you."

"We'll see." The way he said the words made me almost tremble, the sensual timbre of his voice--as erotic as the slide of his tongue against my skin.

Business first, Ms. Pierce. The rest I'll see to later." Tristan reached into the inner breast pocket, revealed a gorgeous gold tipped fountain pen, the blue marbled body poised between strong, capable fingers. "Do you want to read through the paperwork first? Or," his eyes slid up and down, without restraint or reservation, "do you want to sign yourself over to me now?"

Though his tone implied business, his eyes suggested—Mind, body and soul?

The wool of his jacket was surprisingly soft against the pads of my fingers, damp now with perspiration. And I struggled to keep my touch light, unassuming rather than giving in to the urge to fist, to yank, rip and tear until I found the firm, naked promise of honed flesh encased beneath. And when he smiled, the war I waged was brutal to keep my gaze from falling to the curve of his daring bottom lip.

"I'm not blind signing anything. I'll review the document in private and if everything is as agreed upon, you'll have a signed copy expedited to your offices first thing." 

He covered the pen, tucked it away. His hand brushed against mine and electricity juttered up my arm, searing every nerve until it was raw and throbbing.

"Tomorrow morning. Nine sharp. I won't wait much longer." He reached out, tucked a lock of auburn hair behind my ear; caressed the naked lobe. "I look forward to us...merging."

I let the silence stretch between us, and slowly skimmed my hands from shoulder to hip, just a hint and had the pleasure of seeing his chest expand. And hold.

"We'll see," I said, echoing his earlier challenge.

I left the conference room with barely a second to spare, held myself together until I was tucked away safe within the empty confines of the elevator, punching the button for the top floor where my office sat with a corner view of Manhattan. Hugged to my chest was the monolithic document, the deal with the devil himself.

Tristan Shade meant to own me. Why, I couldn't begin to fathom. And while I wanted him with a hunger I had yet to understand, I wasn't about to just roll over and accept defeat.

I saw something this afternoon, something I hadn't seen before. A crack. A ripple. A break in his perfect, diamond hard veneer. I'd affected him every bit as much as he affected me. That levelled the playing field. Made us equals. Gave me hope.

And if I were smart--and very, very careful--we'd see who would come out owning whom in this battle of wills.