Sold To The Ruthless Wall Street Tycoon

Carolina Gonzalez stood shivering by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Beyond the thick glass, a violent thunderstorm battered the Manhattan skyline. The rain lashed against the pane, blurring the city lights into streaks of cold gray.

She tightly gripped the lapels of her damp trench coat. Her knuckles were white. The fabric was soaked through, clinging to her skin and doing nothing to stop the violent trembling in her hands.

Behind her, the heavy mahogany double doors of the penthouse office clicked open.

The sound was sharp, like a gunshot in the dead silence.

Carolina flinched. Her breath hitched in her throat as she slowly turned around.

Gerard Boyle stepped into the dim office. He didn't look like a man who had just finished a fourteen-hour day on Wall Street. His charcoal bespoke suit was immaculate. He radiated a cold, suffocating authority that instantly sucked the oxygen out of the room.

He didn't look at her. He ignored her presence entirely, his long strides carrying him straight to the crystal liquor cabinet against the far wall.

Carolina swallowed hard. The back of her throat tasted like copper and fear. She tried to find her voice, but the oppressive silence of his office pressed down on her chest like a physical weight.

Gerard poured a measure of amber whiskey into a heavy crystal glass. The liquid splashed softly. He finally turned, leaning his hip against the cabinet, and fixed his dark, predatory gaze on her.

Carolina forced her stiff legs to move. She took one step forward.

"Mr. Boyle," she said, her voice cracking. "I need a corporate bailout. The Gonzalez Group is going under. My father is in the ICU, and I need the funds to save his company and his life."

Gerard lifted the glass to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip. His expression was completely unreadable, a mask of carved stone.

He lowered the glass and set it down on his massive desk. The crystal hit the polished wood with a sharp clink.

"A bailout," Gerard repeated. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in Carolina's chest. "You walked into my office, dripping wet, to ask for charity. Wall Street is not a soup kitchen, Miss Gonzalez."

Carolina bit her lower lip, tasting blood. It was a nervous habit she couldn't break.

"I'm not asking for charity," she said, her chest heaving. "I am offering my shares in the Gonzalez Group as collateral."

Gerard pushed off the desk. He began to walk toward her. His steps were slow, measured, and entirely predatory.

Carolina's pulse hammered in her ears. Instinct took over. She stepped back, her low heels sinking into the plush carpet, until her shoulder blades hit the freezing glass of the window.

She had nowhere left to run.

Gerard closed the final distance. He raised his right arm and placed his large palm flat against the glass, just inches from the side of her head.

He trapped her.

He leaned in. The scent of sharp cedarwood and expensive scotch washed over her, intoxicating and dangerous.

"Your shares are bankrupt," Gerard whispered, his breath brushing her ear. "They are worthless to me."

Carolina looked up at him. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, blurring his sharp jawline.

"Then what?" she asked, her voice a desperate plea. "What else could I possibly offer you?"

Gerard dropped his gaze. His dark eyes locked onto her trembling lips.

"A kiss," he demanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. "That is the entry fee for this conversation."

Carolina gasped. The air rushed out of her lungs.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Her mind violently flashed back to a dark room, heavy hands, the suffocating panic of being pinned down. Her deep-seated fear of intimacy clawed at her throat, making it hard to breathe.

She hesitated. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She weighed the image of her father dying on a hospital bed against the screaming trauma in her own head.

Gerard watched her panic. He pulled back slightly, dropping his hand from the glass.

"The door is open," he said coldly. "Leave if you want."

He turned to walk away.

"Wait."

Carolina lunged forward. Her shaking hands grabbed the lapels of his tailored suit jacket. The wool was rough beneath her cold fingers.

She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the world. She pulled him down and pressed her trembling lips clumsily against his.

It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was a collision of desperation. Her lips were stiff, closed tight, pressing against his mouth with rigid fear.

Gerard froze. For a fraction of a second, his entire body went completely rigid. He was genuinely surprised by her stiff, inexperienced approach.

Then, the predator took over.

Gerard slid his large, warm hand to the back of her neck. His long fingers tangled in her damp hair, holding her firmly in place. He tilted her head, taking absolute control, and deepened the kiss with a demanding pressure.

Carolina whimpered softly. The sound vibrated against his mouth. Her fists clenched his jacket so hard her fingernails dug into her own palms. Pure panic flooded her veins.

Gerard abruptly broke the kiss.

He pulled back, his chest rising as his breathing turned slightly uneven.

He stared down at her swollen, red lips. His dark eyes narrowed in sudden, sharp realization. Jerrad Hutchinson had been her fiancé for three years, but Gerard knew instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man had never actually slept with her.