Tycoon's One-Night Revenge Read online

  Suppressing a smile, Van eased his weight off the door. Earlier, when he’d held her captive against another door, he hadn’t indulged himself with anything more than breathing her scent. This time, he selected one tightly spiralled curl and tucked it behind her ear, deliberately brushing her cheek with the knuckle of his middle finger.

  Her skin was as silky soft as the sound of her indrawn breath, as warm as the response cutting through his veins.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked in a pitchy rush. Worry carved a frown into the space between her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

  “Don’t worry, Susannah.” He gave her a wolfish smile, and just for the hell of it touched his fingertips to that frown. “I’m here to eat dinner, not you.”

  He left her there, all wide-eyed shock and open-mouthed indignation, and strolled to the kitchen portion of the open-plan living space. He hefted the hamper onto the countertop and started unpacking the contents.

  “Why?”

  Van looked up. He hadn’t heard her bare-footed approach, but he noticed how she carefully skirted the island counter, keeping its solid width between them. He noticed that her cheekbones were still tinged with pink.

  “Why what?” he asked, inspecting the label on a local Gewürztraminer, before putting the bottle down. He looked into the wary distrust of her eyes. “Why am I eating dinner, or why aren’t I eating—”

  “Why are you here. And why did you bring my supplies instead of catering?”

  “Rogan was doing the delivery but I took pity on the poor man, running about in the rain.”

  “Didn’t he have a vehicle?” she asked.

  “Yes, but it isn’t easy keeping dry.” Van’s gaze shifted to the room beyond her, to where the articles of her clothing hung on every available piece of furniture. “It would appear you had a similar problem.”

  “You managed.”

  “Ah, but I’m quick.”

  “Not al—”

  She stopped, her lips compressing into a tight line. Van went still. “Not al-ways?” he ventured.

  Oh, yeah. That’s what she’d been about to let slip. The truth swirled in her eyes even as she shook her head. The notion of a long, lazy exploration of those long legs and freckles ambushed his brain for a sweet second…

  “I was going to say that not all the staff would care about getting a bit damp.”

  Van had to admire her quick improvisation.

  “I wouldn’t have thought Rogan would mind,” she continued. “I believe we’re the only two guests, so he hasn’t exactly got a lot of running around to do.”

  “Since we are the only guests, I suggested he go home.” He unearthed a corkscrew from the well-stocked utensils drawer and looked up enquiringly. “Which wine shall I open, the red or the white?”

  A frown creased her brow as she looked from one bottle to the other, then she drew an audible breath. “Look, Donovan, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not? Don’t you trust yourself to share dinner with me?”

  “It’s you I don’t trust,” she fired back. “You invited yourself here without any forewarning, and I know it has nothing to do with dinner or sparing Rogan from extra work. You always have an agenda.”

  “And what agenda do you think I’m pursuing here, apart from dinner, company and conversation?”

  “The one that brought you to Stranger’s Bay in the first place. An eight-figure deal you spent a lot of resources working on, and that you don’t appreciate losing.”

  “There are a lot of things I don’t appreciate losing, Susannah,” he said mildly, but there was nothing mild in his gaze. “Especially when the fight isn’t fair.”

  “I understand why you might feel that way, but—”

  “Do you? Do you understand what it’s like to lose days from your life? To not know what you’d said, what you’d done, what you’d shared?”

  Her gaze glittered under his for a moment, before falling away.

  “I figure we shared dinner, company and conversation that weekend in a villa just like this one.” He applied himself to opening the Gewürztraminer while he selected his words and their casual delivery for maximum effect. “Your fiancé can hardly complain about the circumstances that have been thrust upon you. You said he’s a fair man. Would he object to you joining me at the dinner table and helping me recover something of what I’ve lost?”

  “Helping you…how?” she asked after a moment, her voice edged with wariness.

  “You asked how I was dealing with this memory blank. I told you I’d worked on backtracking, gathering information, recreating events. I’ve put everything together…everything except those days here.”

  “I’m sorry, Donovan. I can’t do that. I can’t help you recreate that weekend.”

  “I’m only asking you to talk to me, to share some of where we went, what we did.” He poured a splash of the pale golden wine into a glass and slid it across the countertop. “You can tell me where we ate, what we drank.”

  He could see her vacillating, her gaze uneasy, the infinitesimal slump in her shoulders as her willpower weakened. Reaching forward he touched his index finger to the back of her hand. Just that one touch to bring her uneasy gaze winging back to his.

  “You might not be able to help me with anything else I lost, but you can help me with this.”

  Although she didn’t answer straight away, he saw the capitulation in her expressive green eyes. Satisfaction churned rich and strong through his blood, but he waited, his posture deceptively casual while she prepared her answer.

  “I can try.” She lifted her chin a notch. “But I want to make it clear that all I’m providing are the facts.”

  “That’s all I expect.”

  “I can’t promise to remember everything.”

  “I’m sure you remember the important things.”

  Her gaze fell away, and she lifted a hand to rub at her upper arm. Cold…or nervous? “We can talk over dinner, but afterward I have things to do.”

  “Hair to wash, laundry to do,” Van murmured. She’d already swung away to gather up the clothes scattered around the table. A pink skirt and white sweater. Lacy white bra. A wisp of nothing that had to be underwear.

  She held them all tight to her chest as she faced him across the table, clearly unamused by his aside. “I have phone calls to make.”

  To Carlisle, Van guessed. The man who’d won what he had lost.

  That thought killed the buzz of warm satisfaction he’d had going. The touch of mean left in its place wouldn’t let him watch her scurry off with her armful of clothes without one last bite. “You don’t have to change on my account. I imagine I’ve seen you in a robe before…and without.”

  At the door to her bedroom, she paused to cut him a disparaging look. “That is precisely the reason I suggested this dinner was a bad idea.”

  “Because I’ve seen you naked?”

  Colour flared in her cheekbones, but her eyes remained cool and steady on his. “Because I can’t trust you not to mention that fact.”

  “And that makes you uncomfortable?”

  “I’m engaged to marry another man. Of course it does.”

  As if Van needed that reminder. Or that extra jab to his prickly mood. “Do you think I would try to seduce another man’s bride?” he asked.

  “I think you would do whatever it takes to get your hands on the contract to The Palisades.”

  With the hair dryer on high, Susannah blasted the remaining dampness from her clothes before turning the appliance on her hair. That was a necessity, not a vanity. Plus it ate up some time while she worked on her composure. Perhaps if she remained locked in the bathroom long enough, her “guest” would go away and leave her to regret past mistakes in peace.

  Or perhaps not.

  She allowed her memory to slide briefly to that weekend, to recall an exchange where she’d described him as a can-do man. With an amused grin he’d shaken his head and said, “No. I’m more will
-do.”

  She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the memory of how he’d demonstrated that will-do quality. Instead she used the knowledge to bolster her defences. She had agreed to help him out because she did sympathise over his lost memory and the circumstances that had led him to lose the deal.

  But it was only a deal. He would get over that loss and move on to another deal, another property, another asset. Alex did not have the luxury of that time. He needed a wife now, and The Palisades was part of that marriage contract.

  Tonight’s dinner was only about helping Donovan fill in some blanks in his memory. She could do that. And she could do it while remaining cool and calm and not letting him get to her with his incendiary taunts.

  She was not going to let him forget that she was another man’s bride.

  Leaning back from the mirror she studied herself in the unforgiving light and crinkled her nose. Not exactly the picture of cool, calm and collected that she was aiming for. Despite her best efforts, her hair had taken on a life of its own. A pulse beat noticeably at the base of her throat. Her skin remained rosy-pink from the blow-drying.

  Well, at least the colour matched her skirt.

  With a last wry grimace at her reflection, she padded through to the bedroom. Wet boots or bare feet? Stitched-up composure or comfort? Dithering over that choice she heard the low rumble of his voice from beyond her closed door.

  Perhaps the storm was easing. Perhaps salvation had arrived.

  Discarding the boots, she hurried back to the living area only to find Donovan as alone as she’d left him. The microwave whirred busily at his back. The table was set. He looked up from slicing what looked and smelled like a homemade sourdough loaf. “Hungry?”

  Susannah ignored her stomach’s growling response and the unsettling notion of how comfortable he looked in her kitchen. “Did I hear you speaking to someone just then?”

  “Phone.” He pointed out the instrument across the living room with the wickedly serrated knife. “It was Gabrielle. A courtesy call to check the food had arrived and that everything was to your satisfaction.”

  She glanced at the dishes he’d set out on the table, and nodded. Of course the food would be better than satisfactory—it was one of The Palisades’ premium selling points. “Did she mention the transport situation?”

  “Yes, but the news is not what you wanted to hear. The helicopter won’t be back until Monday at the earliest.”

  A sick feeling of dread tightened Susannah’s throat. “The weather forecast is that dire?”

  “The forecast isn’t bad, but the rain was even heavier and more prolonged farther south. There’s flooding over a widespread area and the chopper used for this service has been seconded for rescue operations.” He looked up from his bread cutting and met her eyes. “Since we’re safe and dry here, I suggested that we could wait until after the emergencies.”

  “Do you mean we’re stuck here indefinitely?”

  “Gabrielle mentioned a charter service they use for day trips. If the sea settles, it can ferry us across the bay,” he said with irritating calm. While he spoke, he carried the bread and whatever he’d nuked in the microwave to the table, depositing both alongside a bowl of salad. He held out a chair, inviting her to sit. “You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Stiff-backed and a long way from comfortable, Susannah slid into the chair. She took extra care to avoid contact with the hands resting casually against its back. “For how long?” she asked, her voice husky with nerves.

  “A day or two, at most.” He took his place across the table, the glint in his eyes as silvery sharp as the knife he’d wielded before. A shiver tracked her spine like the trickle of raindrops on glass as he slowly smiled. “But who knows? It’s in the hands of the Gods. Why don’t you relax and enjoy?”

  Five

  R elax and enjoy? I don’t think so.

  But when Susannah watched him ladle a generous serving of chowder-style soup into her bowl, her stomach decided that, yes, it could very-much enjoy. The dish was as good as it looked and smelled, and with the edge taken from her hunger she was able to relax enough to see the positive side of her situation.

  As long as they couldn’t leave, no one could arrive. And the only thing worse than being trapped here alone with Donovan Keane, was being discovered trapped here alone with Donovan Keane by, for example, Alex. He hadn’t called and her mother hadn’t called back, either. She’d expected to hear from someone…unless the phones were out.

  “Did Gabrielle mention the phone lines being down?”

  He looked up from buttering a slice of bread. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered, with all the rain, and mine has been so silent.” She cast a glance in that direction, then sat up straight as it struck her that—“I didn’t hear it ring earlier.”

  “Above that wailing hair dryer?”

  Point taken, but still…“It’s strange that Gabrielle didn’t mention the flooding when I spoke to her. She seemed quite optimistic about tomorrow.”

  “Are you suggesting I fabricated her phone call?” he asked after a long beat of consideration. He set down his knife and leaned back in his chair, his hooded gaze inscrutable. “To what end?”

  “To keep me here,” Susannah replied, mimicking his deliberate intonation.

  “Kidnapping? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

  Despite the lazy amusement in his voice, the weight of his steady gaze made her heart beat a little faster, a little harder. And her earlier words resonated in the thickening silence between them.

  You would do whatever it takes to get your hands on the contract to The Palisades.

  “What lengths do you think I would go to,” he said conversationally, “to keep you here? Would I use restraint, for example?”

  “Hypothetically speaking, I would pick blackmail or some other form of verbal coercion as more your speed. You’re far too clever with your tongue to need to use physical force or restraint.”

  For a long moment he studied her in silence, and the warmth of a flush rose unbidden in her face. And she silently berated herself for allowing him to lead her down this path. It was too suggestive, too sensually alluring.

  “Now you’ve gone and aroused my curiosity.” Leaning forward, he captured her gaze and held it in place with the silky restraint of his tone. “We never got kinky then? I didn’t have to tie you up to have my wicked way with you?”

  “I was willing.”

  “Past tense.”

  “Absolutely.”

  His lips tilted at one corner in the sexy half smile that had rendered her willing on so many occasions. He picked up his wine and there was the hint of a salute in the gesture, as if he appreciated her candid responses. But there was a different appreciation in his eyes, one she should not be enjoying, but it was also a challenge from which she couldn’t back down.

  “Now—present tense—if I wanted to keep you here I might need to tie you up. Toss you on that boat Gabrielle mentioned. Take you out to the island.”

  Susannah pretended to give that some thought. “How proficient are you with a captive who’s prone to brutal seasickness?”

  One eyebrow quirked. “I take it that’s not a hypothetical?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Then I’ll take that into account, should I ever wish to abduct you.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” With a serene smile, she tilted her face toward his plate. “Are you finished with your first course?”

  She removed their plates, and on her way to the kitchen, she could feel him tracking her every step of the way. Her heart continued to beat too fast and the tight heat in her skin was so not good, but she liked the intensity of sensation. She’d forgotten how much she liked the word play, the eye play, the play of his smile. She’d forgotten how one simple exchange with this man could turn her self-perception from cool, cautious and composed to smart, sharp and sexy.

  And it was wrong. Already she had indulged herself
far more than she had any right to.

  She shut the dishwasher on their first-course plates with an audible snap and returned to the table, to the safe and sensible second-course salad.

  “I’m intrigued by the boat thing,” he said.

  Susannah’s stomach dipped as if she’d stepped from land onto a moving deck, but she didn’t look up from her plate. “Why is that?”

  “With your job in the travel industry, I thought you’d be an expert on all means of transportation.”

  “I book them,” she told him. “I don’t have to do them. Besides, travel is only one part of At Your Service.”

  “The other parts being?”

  “Whatever a client wants, we’ll find it. Travel, transport, accommodation, entertainment, shopping, staff.”

  “Is that how you met Carlisle?” he asked. “Through your business?”

  Susannah so did not want to go there, but what could she do? Return to banter about abduction and bondage? She’d promised conversation and it stood to reason that the conversation would circle on back to the common conflict. Alex Carlisle, her marriage contract, his business contract.

  She took a sip of her wine and placed the glass carefully on the table. “Yes and no. We’d crossed paths many times at business and social events over the years, and when I started my own business, those connections were vital. My early growth was all word-of-mouth and making myself known to the people who could provide the level of service my clients require. Last year, I entered into an alliance with Carlisle Hotels.”

  “They scratch your back, you scratch theirs?”