Before Tamara or the other guy she’d introduced as Inichi Matso could start cocktail chitchat, Ronin’s grandfather smacked his cane on the floor, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Both Ronin and Tamara’s postures stiffened.

“I tire of the translation game. Tell me, Amery, how an unknown graphic arts company in a small U.S. market landed such a prestigious contract with one of the largest Asian food conglomerates in the world?”

No softball “How are you enjoying Japan?” question from the billionaire business mogul. Whatever you do, don’t stammer. “I believe you already know that story. I met your grandson and created new logos for Black Arts. He was happy enough to throw my company’s name out to Okada’s Seattle office. I got the go-ahead to do the mock-up for the new campaign, and Hardwick Designs blew all the other competition out of the water.”

“You believe your company is the best?”

Baiting her. Not nice. “With all due respect, sir, my company was the best for that particular project for Okada Foods.”

Silence lingered a beat too long as he studied her.

She would not crack.

Finally he inclined his head again. “I happen to agree. It was fine design work.”

Holy. Shit. A compliment? “Thank you.”

“Do you share Ronin’s obsession with martial arts?”

“God, no. Seeing how much he has to train makes me tired. But it’s his calling and I’ll support him in whatever he does.”

“Do you like dogs?”

What the hell? “As pets? I like dogs better than snakes. But my favorite animal is an antelope.”

“Why?”

“Because they can outrun any predators. At the first sign of danger they’re gone.”

Ronin spoke sharply to him in Japanese.

He waved him off. “My grandson does not approve of my approach in getting to know you.”

Amery didn’t look away from his shrewd gaze. “My husband tends to be protective of me. Especially since you have a reputation of following your own agenda.”

After a brief pause, he smiled. “Better to enforce my own agenda than follow someone else’s.”

Yikes. “I don’t have an agenda, so you don’t have to worry about whether I’m a leader or a follower.”

“Let’s have a drink,” Tamara said. The instant she raised her hand two waiters hustled over. She rattled off drink orders. Then she looked at Amery. “What are you having?”

Ronin’s grandfather chided his daughter. He beckoned over a bruiser of a man who’d been stationed behind them and issued instructions. Whatever he’d said put a look of shock on both Tamara’s and Ronin’s faces.

Tamara quickly recovered and ushered her father to a table while Matso followed the security guy.

Had she just witnessed a family fight? “What’s going on?”

“Ojisan has one of the finest collections of whiskey in the world. And he just told his head of security to fetch the Macallan Cire Perdue and four glasses.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re about to get a taste of the most expensive whiskey ever made.”

His voice was tinged with awe.

Over some old booze? Weird. But she figured she needed to at least act properly awed too. “Why?”

“We’re about to find out.”

The precious whiskey arrived in a special bottle handcrafted by a secret sect of French monks or some crazy thing. The glasses the sixty-four-year-old scotch would be poured into were specially created for the sipping pleasure of the Macallan.

The Okada patriarch held his glass aloft for a toast. “Congratulations to Ronin and Amery. I wish you many years of joy together.”

She sipped, unprepared for the explosion of flavors on her tongue. She looked at Ronin and her eyes narrowed. Hey. The man wore that same expression of ecstasy during an orgasm.

He managed to choke out, “Ojisan, thank you for sharing this with us.”

“My pleasure. It’s not every day I get to welcome the wife of ichiban no mago into our family.”

Amery whispered, “What does ee-chee-bon no mah-go mean?”

“Number one grandson.” He touched his glass to hers. “But not even I rate a dram from a half-a-million-dollar bottle of whiskey. This is all about you. You passed the official Nureki Okada inspection and that is something worth celebrating.”

As soon as guests began to arrive Tamara switched into hostess mode. Although Ronin reminded his mother not to separate him and Amery during the party, she knew it was inevitable.

She half expected Ronin’s grandfather to corner her at some point during the party. So when he finally did, she was prepared for it.

Or so she thought.

Tamara rescued her. “That looked like an intense conversation. Was he harassing you?”

“Not at all,” she lied. She hoped Ronin would see the humor in the situation when she told him that his Ojisan had offered her a million dollars in cash if she got pregnant in the next three months. Rather than being offended that he tried to buy her off, she’d teased the manipulative man that her womb wasn’t for sale.

Since the party was still going strong, they were able to leave without any fanfare or guilt.

In their bedroom Ronin stripped and fell into bed.

By the time Amery finished removing her makeup, her husband seemed dead to the world. “Ronin?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Are you awake?”