Magnate by Joanna Shupe Read Free Book Online Page B

said in the rough, husky tone that caused her stomach to flutter.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œTo conclude the wager. We’ll either toast your success or drown your sorrows.”
    â€œOh, I won’t fail.”
    â€œIs arrogance one of your faults, then?”
    â€œSays the man who believes only men to have the stomach for—what did you call it?—this ‘cutthroat, nasty business,’” she retorted.
    â€œI’m beginning to see why Rutlidge drinks,” Emmett said dryly.
    She elbowed him again, more seriously this time. “Take that back. Henry and I are merely friends.”
    â€œMiss Sloane, if you nudge me once more, I fear there will be consequences.”
    Lizzie didn’t believe a word of it. His dark eyes were twinkling, and he looked on the verge of actually smiling. Heaven help her if he actually laughed.
    â€œWhat sort of consequences?” she blurted before she thought better of it. She was goading him, pushing, without considering what might happen. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
    At that moment, their eyes locked, and all the available air left the carriage. Shadows played across the planes of his handsome face, highlighting the small delectable dent on the tip of his chin. A buzz of sensation broke out over her skin, and she could not look away. His lips were full when he wasn’t scowling or frowning, and she wondered how they would feel on hers. She’d kissed only two men in her life, Henry being one of them, but no kiss had caused her to lose her head, not like the novels promised would happen when a man embraced you.
    Something told her Emmett was different, that this man could cause a woman to lose her head. So did that scare her . . . or tempt her beyond reason?
    He leaned in, ever so slowly, and she held her breath, remaining perfectly still. They were so close she could see the hint of stubble on his jaw, while a faint trace of wool and cigar smoke teased her nose. Please, kiss me. Just once, so I’ll know.
    Suddenly, the wheels hit a bump in the road, jostling the carriage, and Henry snorted loudly. Emmett and Lizzie both jerked apart, the moment broken.
    While he turned to the window, Lizzie tried to calm her racing heart. Entertaining feelings for this man was a considerably bad idea. She barely knew him. And he was too . . . forceful. She wanted someone who was understanding and peaceful. Easygoing. Who would give her room to breathe. Heaven knew, a man with Emmett Cavanaugh’s reputation, he would be a locomotive that crushed anything in his path.
    The carriage slowed as they arrived in Gramercy Park. Lizzie reached across to gently pat Henry’s cheek. Her friend didn’t stir, not even when Emmett opened the door. “Henry, wake up. You’re home.”
    â€œAllow me.” Emmett stood outside the carriage. He leaned in, grabbed Henry’s ankle with one large hand, and pulled hard. Henry slid to the carriage floor with a bone-jarring thud, and Emmett continued to drag him toward the door. Bending, he threw Henry over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
    Mouth agape, Lizzie scurried after them. Emmett’s driver, a stocky, muscle-bound man, opened the wrought-iron gate to the stairs, and Emmett climbed them easily, as if he weren’t lugging a large man over his shoulder. He pounded on the front door, the wood rattling with the force of the blows.
    The Rutlidges’ butler, Price, came to the door. The servant did not seem all that surprised to have an unconscious Henry on the doorstep. “Come in, please,” Price told Emmett.
    Lizzie followed Emmett inside, and they continued to the small receiving room Henry’s mother used for close friends. “Put him there, if you please.” Price motioned to a sofa.
    Emmett dumped Henry on the furniture with no ceremony. He straightened and looked at Lizzie, a silent question in his eyes.
    â€œI will rouse the cook for some coffee,” Price