Sweet Revenge (2 page)

Too many people had strong opinions about her, none of them good. Arguing she’d abandoned her old life did little to convince them, so she just lived each day the best she could. The difficult part of moving on was accepting she had to let go of useless arguments.

You should have known better than to sink what little finances you have left into a one-night stand
. Not a great investment, her ex would have said. But then, her ex hadn’t turned out to be one either. And someday, people who handed over their account numbers for him to play with their money would learn the same.

Not the time to think about him. Focus on the positive.

In case this night held no moonlight and roses, she gulped her wine. Glancing in her compact mirror, she smoothed her long brown hair. Fastened with a clip, it fell in a sleek ponytail to one side. Simple as her little black dress. Minimal makeup, too.

Zoe, remade into a plainer version. Most people knew the old Zoe, the reporter who cared only about bringing viewers the latest story and looking fantastic while doing it. And most people assumed she couldn’t possibly have changed.

Another check of the time showed 7:16.
He’s not coming
. Maybe Madame Eve would set up another date with someone more reliable. Had she forgotten to include that little personality trait on her wish list?

She scanned the room for the server to request the check and beat it out of there. A striking man caught her eye.

Oh my God. It’s Ty Hardin
. Standing near the hostess podium, dazzling the poor girl with his movie-star smile.

The hostess gestured in Zoe’s general direction and led him toward her.

She snapped her spine straight. All inkling of getting the check vanished. So did everything else except the vision of him striding easily, head tossed back in a self-assured way, smug smile aimed directly at her.

At Zoe’s table, the hostess spun and batted her eyes at him. “Here you go, Mr. Hardin.”

Here you go, Mr. Hardin?
Like Zoe was an offering to the gods? Today’s menu special? She opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but a weak croak came out instead.
Oh no, he’s my date?

All suave confidence, he touched the girl’s lower back and thanked her. Zoe poised to catch the hostess, who looked like she might melt, but then floated away down the aisle.

Hardin sat across from Zoe, an imposing presence. “Hello.” Clear blue eyes framed in thick cinnamon lashes assessed her. Up close, he was more striking than in the ads. Nose a bit flat at the end gave him a masculine appearance, but those lips…curled up at the corners, the perfect fullness…
answer the man, Zoe
.

Flustered, she said, “Hi.”

“Maybe you don’t recognize me. I’m Ty Hardin.”

“I know.” Someone would have to be in a coma not to know him. Ads in the newspaper and on television, his gyms in five cities and growing. Her freaking employer.

A slight flick of his eyebrows prompted her to give her name. “I’m Zoe Golden.” Did he not realize she worked for him? He must; it had been mere hours since he watched her from the other side of the glass door while she taught a class, and the intensity he emanated made her self-conscious. Now he directed it at her full force.

Would her employee status present an awkward barrier?
Jumping the gun, Zoe. It’s one night, remember?
She’d hoped it would lead to more. Not likely to happen with him as her date. But why the games?

Without moving, he continued to stare. “I know. Do you know why I arrived sixteen minutes late, Zoe?”

So cryptic, and yet she found it fascinating. Between that and his model looks, she found herself dumbfounded. God, he was gorgeous. If a Hollywood agent ever spied the billboard ads for his chain of fitness studios, Ty would find himself in L.A. filming some cheesy gladiator flick that would become a blockbuster hit for the simple reason his skimpy costume flaunted his ripped abs, biceps, and leg muscles like a freaking blond Adonis, wearing a designer jacket and jeans. The role would have to have minimal dialogue. The few times she’d run into him at the center, he’d barely managed to grunt a hello. So why pose a puzzle tonight?

Sixteen minutes, sixteen minutes
. Had she ever been sixteen minutes late to work? No, she’d never kept a class waiting and always left her condo early. “You stopped to help an old lady learn a new fitness routine?”

Ty flashed that switchblade smile, stunning enough to kill. “No. The number sixteen is significant.”

“You stopped to save sixteen ducklings from certain disaster on the freeway?” Mesmerizing as he was, she gave up on this silliness.

Through narrowed eyes, he studied her, his grin unwavering. “Never mind. We’ll come back to it later.”

Great, something to look forward to. Like a date with the guillotine, if his tone provided any clue. She recognized a setup when she came across one. And man, she was in one. Deep.

“Tonight’s going to be something to remember. Anything look good to you?” He winked and signaled the server.

Seriously? Did his ego know no bounds? She fought a laugh.
Oh yeah, you look good enough to eat, Ty. And waitress, could you ask the manager to widen the exit to accommodate Mr. Hardin’s extraordinarily large head?

He glanced over as if he’d rehearsed the move. “I meant on the menu.”

She froze.
Of course, you idiot
. She fingered her hair, and then folded her arms and rested her elbows on the table to force herself to stop fidgeting. “I, uh, haven’t seen one yet.”

“I thought maybe you’d eaten here before.”

“No.” At this rate, she might not eat here tonight, either. Her insides had twisted into a knot, killing her appetite.

As if on cue, the waitress carried two menus to their table. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

“White wine,” he said. “Bring your best bottle.”

Um, I’d looked forward to a margarita—or five, to get through this nig
ht.

When he turned his calculating smile on her, it sent ice down her spine. God, had she ever bashed him on the evening news? If so, her story hadn’t hurt his business. So what was the deal with the attitude? Why did she feel like a mouse in a hawk’s predatorial sights?

He closed the menu with a slap. “Might I recommend the crab special?”

Her stomach clenched tighter. Did it mean something? He made everything sound a tad sinister. Or was this just his normal sunny disposition? If so, she’d stick to being his employee. “It does sound good.”

The waitress returned as if he’d summoned her.

He said, “Two crab specials please.”

What the hell, she hadn’t even scanned the menu. “But—”

He held up a finger. “And some garlic sticks. They’re so tasty.”

Quickly gathering the menus, the waitress disappeared.

Zoe closed her gaping mouth.
So rude
. Was he testing her? Or just throwing his perfect weight around? Playing more games, perhaps?

Something told her the latter—like his smug smile. The way he poured wine into her glass like he wished it were poison.

Fine. If that’s the way tonight had to go, bring it on.

“Thank you.” Keeping him in her sights, she drained half the glass and set it down.
Let the games begin
.

From her cocked jaw, Zoe had begun to suspect. No sweetness and light for her. Not tonight. Oh, Ty would fuck her, all right. He’d waited years for this chance. To make her scream his name, beg for more, and then he’d walk away clean.

Damn, he couldn’t stop smiling tonight. This was going to be so good. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
Here’s to bringing down Miss Perfect
.

Except Zoe looked the part to a tee. Beautiful as ever, every hair in place, her body lithe and strong, not too muscular. Dark eyes that reached inside him like no one else ever had. The lightest sheen on her sensual lips, parted in a way that made him want to dive across the table, clasp behind her neck, and drag her to him. Shove that dress up to her waist and—

Needles of heat shot to his groin. Ty hardened so fast, he had to shift to rearrange himself inside his jeans.

Ever so slightly, she tilted her head and glanced down. “Everything all right?”

“Never better.”
Don’t lose your game face
. He forced a smile.

For the first time, she returned it. Ah, shit. The bitch smelled his momentary weakness. It must turn on the predator in her, from the way she tilted the wine glass to her mouth, watching him with the expression of a lioness about to devour her cornered prey.

We’ll see who devours whom
. He couldn’t wait to strip her and screw her. Small revenge for the way she’d screwed him, but it would still be sweet.

Finger tracing the rim of the glass, she said, “I was surprised to see you.”

“You were?” So she did recognize him?

She smoothed her hair. “Yes, I never expected Madame Eve to set me up with the man who….”

Whose heart she broke so many years ago? Who she used to tease mercilessly in high school?

“Signs my paychecks.”

He could barely move. “Signs your paychecks,” he repeated.

Hard to believe she didn’t know, but it would make it all the sweeter when he revealed it to her.

“Yes,” she went on. “I’ve really loved working at your facility these past two months. It’s wonderful how you created a safe haven for people to get into shape. No screaming fitness instructors, no judgment, no huge wall of windows for anyone to stand outside and gape. I mean, outside the center.”

So ironic she should mention it. “Exactly. No bullying. It’s top priority.”

“It’s the perfect atmosphere. I really admire you for valuing people over profit.” Suddenly coy, she dipped her chin and turned her wide brown eyes up at him. “But I hope tonight doesn’t complicate our working relationship.”

He repressed the chuckle bubbling up. Complicate it? “No, not at all.” Especially after he fired her, right before he walked out.

Her shoulders relaxed. “Good. Because I finally feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be. Do you know what I mean?”

“I completely get that.” Ty couldn’t wait to see her expression when he told her why. Would she try to claw his eyes out? Or start to blubber, those kissable lips quivering behind strands of tousled hair mussed during lovemaking?

Sadness washed over him, and he had to look away before guilt killed his longstanding need to see her in pain. The intense kind of hurt that left invisible scars like the ones he’d tried for years to heal, but never could.

And she didn’t even know who the hell he really was. Yet. “Hey, do you want to get dinner to go? Get out of here and go to my place?” So he could finish what he came to do before he lost his nerve?

He tensed, waiting for her answer.

She studied him uncertainly, and then something about her softened. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

He could think of lots of adjectives to describe what it would be like, but nice wasn’t one of them. “Great. Let’s go.” To the waitress carrying the tray with their plates, he said, “Package those for us, will you please? We’re leaving.”

A nod, and the server bolted back to the kitchen, returning with a bag containing Styrofoam containers.

To placate her, he peeled off an extra twenty and winked. Sad, but too many people believed money could make up for bad behavior. He knew otherwise. “You’re a sweetheart.”

Unlike his date. Oh, the profile Zoe had provided Madame Eve sounded sincere, too freaking good to be true—a dead giveaway that she was still a cunning manipulator.
Holy shit, did Zoe specifically ask Madame Eve to set her up with me?
The thought broke his stride, and his confidence. Maybe he wasn’t the only one making up a game plan for the evening.

No matter. He’d still score the winning play.

A touch of the car remote and the lights flashed on his SLS. He guided her to the passenger side and held the door open.

Watching him, Zoe drew her long legs inside, and her gaze followed him around the front of the car. When he climbed in beside her, his shoulder bumped hers and a shock jolted through his veins. “Sorry about dinner.”

“Don’t be. I’m not crazy about fancy restaurants.”

“You’re not?” Since when?

“It’s much nicer to have a quiet meal. We won’t have to talk over other people, or be interrupted by servers.”

Exactly. No interruptions. “Glad we’re on the same page.” And soon, on the same floor. Or counter. Or bed. Any surface would do.

Lost in those images, Ty over-wound the key in the ignition, and the engine ground its protest.

“New car?” she asked with no trace of sarcasm.

“Yeah.” If three years still counted as new. “It’s a bit touchy.”

“I’ve heard that about sports cars.” She turned toward the window.

Wish she hadn’t worn her hair to the side
. It exposed her long, graceful neck. He wanted to taste her skin, drag his teeth across and nip it. Pull that long zipper in the back down, tug her sleeveless dress over her shoulders to bare them. Another heated rush thickened his cock, and he jammed his foot to the gas. “What do you drive?”
Don’t ask, you fool.

“Nothing as exciting as this. A compact car.”

What, no boasting about the brand? “Acura? Beemer?” He couldn’t picture Zoe in anything else.

“Ford.”

Surprise, surprise. Pretending to be human. And definite flash of embarrassment there. Why? Had she gotten fired from her high profile anchor job? Since she started teaching yoga three months ago, he’d wondered. Constantly. No, no more questions, and nothing personal. He didn’t want to know.

Change the subject
. “My place is only a few more miles.” If he didn’t get there fast, he might have to pull over and kiss her. Only to ease the suspense.

Yeah, sure. Like you wouldn’t take it any further
.

Before he finished arguing with himself, they reached Blackberry Hill Road and turned.

She leaned closer to the windshield. “Oh, do you live here? I’ve always loved this neighborhood.”