The Tycoon's Seductive Revenge (10 page)

I miss you, Daddy
.

James sent her a look of heartwarming compassion that made her want to lay her head on his shoulder and cry. “I heard you had a rough day.”

Steeped in exhaustion, she nodded. She’d scrubbed the entire kitchen. Twice. The repairman arrived to inform her that the stove had two of eight burners still working. He fixed the gas leak. Re-lit the pilot. And left a bill for two-hundred dollars she didn’t have to pay him. Afterward, she locked herself in her room and stood under a hot shower for forty-five minutes until her numbness subsided. But the fire had ravaged her pride. Her hopeful spirit lay in a charred heap in her chest, and a depressing listlessness filled her. Yet she still had to solve the enormous problem of dinner.

“The usual?” James winked. 

“Make it a double. No, a triple.”

“I don’t think they make wine glasses that large, and we’re fresh out of fishbowls, love.”

“Then hand me the bottle.”

Chuckling, James reached into the wine racks and brought out a bottle she’d never seen before. He slid a wine glass off the shelf, set it down and uncorked the wine. A hearty splash hit the glass’s basin, sloshed up the sides and settled in a luxurious ruby-red pool. “I have something special for you.”

She read the label. “Sterling Hills Vintner’s Reserve, Pinot Noir. Sounds impressive.”

“The best.” He swirled it in the glass and handed it to her. “Give it a try.”

Ellie sipped the beverage. The wine slid down her throat like nectar of the gods, leaving a richly-hued aftertaste. “Dionysus called, James. He wants his wine back.”

His blue eyes twinkled. “I thought you’d like it.”

“It’s heavenly.” He poured her a full glass, and she savored every sip. “Where did you get this?”

“A little place I know on the mainland. I asked for something truly special.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Your success.”

Ellie nearly choked. “Let’s not cheers to that yet.”

“We will.” He sent her a perceptive smile. “I have another bottle. You’ll know when it’s time to use it.”

“But the expense—”

James responded by whistling a cheerful tune. He had a great whistle, the kind that echoes down hallways, spreading contagious joy in every direction.

“All right, James. What do you know that I don’t?” She took another sip of the wine and appreciated its complex taste.

His whistle grew louder.

“Fine, keep your secrets. No wonder you’re a bartender by trade.” Ellie tamped down her annoyance.

A female voice interrupted their quiet conversation. “Mr. Stratton!”

Ellie turned to see Carter strutting into the dining room. The woman who called his name beckoned him to her table. Ellie recognized the woman and her husband as the couple staying in the Dwight Eisenhower room on the fourth floor.

“Mr. Stratton,” the woman implored, beaming up at Carter as he approached their table where a candle glowed softly in the center. “This meal is superb. I’ve never tasted fish this well-prepared. The sauce is divine!”

Her husband agreed, stretching out his hand to shake Carter’s. “My wife knows her Chilean sea bass. Where does your chef get his recipes?”

Ellie blinked.
Chef?

Casually sliding his hands into his suit pants pockets, Carter smiled. “Andre writes his recipes by hand in Swedish and keeps them in a lock-box. I’m afraid his genius will remain a mystery.”

The woman batted her lashes, her smile a little too wide. “We’ll plan to vacation at the Montgomery Hotel more often. Now we have something to really look forward to.”

Ellie frowned. It seemed the woman was more interested in visiting for Carter than for the food.

“Enjoy,” Carter said.

The aging beauty watched Carter’s every move as he walked away from their table toward the bar. Ellie felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

Carter’s head tilted as he peered at her. “You don’t look dressed for a formal dinner party.”

She swirled her wine in her glass. “The problem with dinner parties is that you have to feed people. That’s not an option at the moment.”

“Then you haven’t met Andre?”

Carter waved toward the kitchen. A moment later, the tallest, blondest man she’d ever seen came through the swinging doors.

“Let me introduce you to my Teutonic master chef, Andre Svensson.”

“How do you do?” the man asked. Then he said to Carter, “She is more beautiful than you described.”

Ellie straightened. “Very nice to meet you.” She glanced at Carter as Andre lifted her hand to his lips.

“Some things are beyond description.” Carter winked at her.

“I agree.” Andre made a slight bow and returned to the kitchen.

Carter shrugged. “Not the most conversational guy, but he makes a killer smoked brisket.”

Bewildered, she asked, “Where did he come from?”

“Originally?” Carter rubbed his jaw. “Some small town north of Stockholm in the archipelago islands. He opened a restaurant in Aspen, Colorado a few years back, and the first time I ate dinner there I knew I wanted this man as my personal chef.”

Ellie coughed. “You have a personal chef?”

“Makes life convenient.”

“Where did he get all the food?”

“Brought it with him.”

“How did he get here?”

“My private jet.”

Her jaw dropped. “You have a
jet
?”

“Sure.”

She saw pride fill his eyes as he rattled off his list of mega-million-dollar amenities. “Must be nice,” she said in clipped tones.

“If it helps keep innocent women out of jail, then it’s all worth it.” He grinned.

An uncomfortable suspicion prickled up her spine. The notion had occurred to her in the shower and had gained momentum. She eyed him warily. “You don’t get it, do you?”

His look of puzzlement grated on her. “What’s your issue? I thought you’d be thankful.”

That was the crux of the problem. She set her glass down on the bar. “Carter, you’ve spent more money in the past four hours on food, travel and staff, for one dinner, than the repairs cost on this entire hotel.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Not likely.”

“My point is, all the things you’ve done since you got here—they only delay the inevitable.”

His gaze cooled. “My generosity insults you.”

“Your generosity has been amazing. But for what?” Finally she voiced the question digging at her. “You’ve been here three days, yet you haven’t met with my uncle once to discuss a purchase agreement or draw up a contract.” She wondered, “Do you have any intention of buying the Montgomery Hotel?”

His expression was inscrutable. “One piece has to fall into place before I decide.”

“I disagree,” she countered, as the weight of her suspicion grew. “I think you know exactly what you were after when you came back to the island.” She scraped her stool away from the bar, away from him. “Until you tell me what your intentions are, I’d appreciate if you didn’t act like you own the place and take matters into your own hands.”

Cockiness rang in his voice. “Too late now, sweetheart.”

He turned away and went back to talk to the couple who complimented his chef. The woman was more than happy to see him return.

Appalled by his attitude, she left the dining room.

Doubts and uncertainties about Carter’s true intentions swirled through her mind as she entered her room. She took her time slipping on a silky black gown, burgundy Giani Bini heels, and preparing herself for the night ahead. She felt edgy, distracted, wondering what scheme Carter was pulling—and how she fit into that diabolical equation.

If he thought he could waltz back into her life for one week and sweep her off her feet and into his bed...well, he pretty much had.

Damn him
.

On top of which he’d saved her from possibly being burned alive, and had gone to enormous lengths to ensure tonight’s success. So that she wouldn’t be taken into custody for her father’s poor investment choices.

So far, he’d been her savior. Which made her wonder. What exactly did he expect from her in return?

Carter wasn’t a man who made decisions lightly. He was calculating, cunning, intuitive, and incredibly smart. All the things that made him a real estate genius and brought him such enormous wealth and success.

He said he was waiting for one piece to fall into place. Did he mean her?

Forcing herself to be honest, she admitted she did want Carter to buy the Montgomery Hotel. She wanted him back in her life.

Her heart ached with that desire, and so did her body as she recalled how Carter had taken her, fast and furious, in the lighthouse. She tingled with yearning to be back in his arms.

Using brisk strokes, she brushed out her hair while the curling iron heated.
The problem is I have nothing to lose, and he has nothing to gain.

That imbalance made his reentrance into her life at this crucial time intriguing.

So what is he after?

Tonight, she intended to find out.

She curled her hair, pinning it half-up so the gold-tinted brown locks fell in swirling cascades down her back. She inserted simple diamond-post earrings into each ear.

You’re not as impenetrable as you think, Carter Stratton
.

She swept blush along her cheekbones, then applied variegated eye shadows, black liquid liner and mascara, the smoky effect striking against her sun-bright irises.

Slicking on berry-red lipstick that matched her shoes, she took one last look in the mirror, satisfied that she could capture his attention and hold it there long enough to get some answers.

Then, she returned to the dining room.

She forced a confident smile, ready to schmooze and entertain, and charm the secrets out of her enigmatic lover.

#

And now, for the moment we’ve all been waiting for
, Carter thought sarcastically. Carter had tried to brace himself for a grueling encounter with the man who just walked through the door.

The island chief of police, who Carter shared an unfortunate history with, strolled into the dining hall, a cigar clamped between his teeth. The noise of his cowboy boots echoed in the vast room. His eyes held the deadened look of a sniper.

And those steely eyes were trained on Carter the instant William Marquell set foot on the parquet floor.

The others had already arrived and were mingling amicably. Mayor Flemming in his standard “public figure” gray suit. Councilman Ward, the island’s District Attorney, with his sharp blue eyes and endless conspiracy theories. And Judge Avery, the infamous philanderer who didn’t know he had long-passed his prime. Carter and these important men had been exchanging small talk at the bar for the past half-hour. A group of heavy hitters, all here for their piece of the Montgomery Hotel pie.

At the police chief’s entrance, all discussion ceased. The man approached the bar with a bigger chip on his shoulder than Dirty Harry.

The prominent guests greeted him warily, despite sitting several rungs above Marquell on the political ladder. Not even the most powerful crossed him.

Except Carter, when he’d been about fifteen, a typical teenager with a big attitude, in the top one-percent in height and weight for his age bracket at the time. The night he’d crossed the line with Marquell, the man had treated him as an adult. Carter never forgot that encounter. He relived it every time he looked in the mirror and saw the scars.

Determined to be a civil for Ellie’s sake, Carter tamped down his seething hatred for the man.  Forcing a smile, he stuck out his hand to shake with the police chief. “It’s been a long time.”

Marquell walked right past him and took a seat at the other end of the bar. The braided rope that looped through his Texas tie was held together by an obsidian stone, cold and black as his eyes.

With unconcealed sarcasm, Carter intoned, “A pleasure as always.”

“What did you say?” Marquell’s gravel-harsh voice made most men cower.

Carter shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t said to you before.”

“I could haul you in for that, boy.”

Carter took a sip of his scotch. “You could try.”

Chewing harder on his cigar, Marquell asked, “Is that a challenge?”

“If you make it one.”

Even the classical music playing in the background seemed to stop suddenly. Tension sizzled in the room. Judge Avery wrung his hands, looking like he wanted to step in but didn’t have the guts. None of them did. Carter was on his own.

Marquell flattened his palms on the counter. “Want to test me?”

“All I need is one more reason to sue your ass for what you did to me.” A muscle worked in Carter’s jaw. “Because now I have the cash to haul you into court.”

“Heh, heh, heh.” Marquell chuckled like a serial killer who’d just buried a body and destroyed all evidence. “Statute of limitation. Isn’t that right, Avery?”

Prevaricating, Judge Avery replied, “Well, of course, you know it all depends...”

Carter talked over the judge. “I’ve got enough time, funds and resentment to tie you up in legal battles for the next decade, Marquell. I’ll make sure your badge is suspended the entire time. So you won’t have the authority to intimidate everyone you think is beneath you.”

In unison, the other three guests stepped back, anticipating the fallout.

“You can try,” Marquell parroted Carter’s phrase. “But your pretty little girlfriend still has to pay up.”

“Leave Ellie out of this.”

Marquell laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m not here to waste my time with you, son. I’m here to carry out the order.”

Carter tensed. “What order?”

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” Mayor Flemming inserted calmly. “There’s plenty of time to discuss things over dinner.”

Marquell grunted. He busied himself with tapping the ash from his cigar into an ashtray. Read: conversation over.

The sexy sound of high heels on a bare floor met his ears. Carter turned.

He nearly fell off his stool.

Two words described Ellie.
Smoking. Hot.

The slit up the side of her black dress flashed a peek at her long legs. Legs he envisioned tangled in sheets and entwined with his as plunged inside her. His pulse spiked.