Tycoon Takes Revenge (10 page)

“To pack,” he said curtly, not looking at her. Today was supposed to be their last day in the Caymans anyway. Might as well pack it in early. “It was fun while it lasted, honey, but now it's over.”

 

Noah shoved his hands in his pockets and paced to the windows of his office, where he stared out unseeingly.

Surly. That described him to a T lately.

After the debacle with Kayla in the Caymans, he'd been mad as hell. He should have stayed mad as hell. Instead, he'd started to invent reasons to see her point of view. Had started to think maybe he was partly to blame.

Which was crazy. Just as crazy as the fact that he'd trusted a reporter to begin with. He needed his head examined.

To top it off, Sybil LaBreck was hot on their trail again. Her most recent headline, just after his return from the Caymans, had shouted: Is Noah Whittaker Finally Getting Paired Off? Sybil went on to detail his and Kayla's getaway in the Caymans despite his recent denials that anything romantic was going on.

He thought back to his face-off with Kayla in the Caymans. If he hadn't been so pissed off, he might have tried explaining to her about his comment to Sybil. At the time he'd tossed off the remark, all he'd wanted was to throw Sybil off the scent—because he'd already started lusting after Kayla intensely.

And the sex, when it had happened,
had
been incred
ible. Hotter and steamier than he'd fantasized. It had been good.
They'd
been good.

His mind went to the question that had been chewing at him more and more: was it fair of him to have expected Kayla to check her reporter's instincts at the door of their hotel suite?

That was precisely what he'd expected, he realized. Because of the sex, because he'd started wanting and needing her and because she'd gotten under his skin.

But, even if he had a right to be angry because she hadn't trusted him more,
he'd
been the one to leave the Medford correspondence lying around. And—he could now concede, putting himself in her shoes—Sybil's call had led her to believe he was an untrustworthy jerk.

“Troubles?”

He turned from the window and saw Matt standing in the open doorway to his office. “No more than usual.”

Matt came in, shutting the door behind him. “Yeah, well you haven't been your usual self lately, and people have started to notice.”

He shrugged as Matt sat on a corner of his desk. “We all have a bad week occasionally.”

“Yeah, and yours happened to coincide with your return from the Caymans with Kayla Jones. Don't think people didn't notice.”

“So, let people notice.”

Matt shook his head resignedly. “Stashing a sexy reporter in your hotel room during a firm trip to the Caribbean?” Amusement darkened his brother's eyes.

“Probably a first even for you.”

“I'm usually not that stupid.” Or gullible.

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Matt drawled.

“You've got a well-known weakness for hourglass blondes.”

“Did you just come in here for a comedy break? Because, if that's the case, I don't have the time. I've got deadlines.” Deadlines he didn't give a damn about at the moment and couldn't seem to get focused on trying to meet anyway. He walked over to his desk and started shuffling paper.

Matt hopped off and turned to face him. “Want to tell me about it?”

“In a word? No.” Then he added, because he couldn't let it go at that, “She's all wrong for me.”

Matt shook his head. “Doesn't matter.”

Noah's head jerked up and he asked incredulously,
“Doesn't matter?”

“Yup, you've got it bad, little brother. Resistance is futile.”

“Yeah, right.”

Matt sauntered toward the door, turning back when his hand was on the knob. “Call me when you're ready to acknowledge the power of the force—the
female
force, that is. In the meantime, stop trying to wipe the floor with everyone who crosses your path around here.”

“Right, thanks,” Noah grumbled.

Matt nodded his head. “Great. I'll consider the advice delivered then.”

When his brother had gone, Noah dropped the papers he was holding. Matt knew nothing about it. Still, he'd
give it another week. With any luck, he'd be able to get a grip for that long. Then he'd consider his options.

 

The weekend after their return from the Caymans, Kayla was moping. Ultimately, she and Noah had wound up taking different flights back to Boston because she was able to get on standby on an earlier flight. And, frankly, the urge to flee had won out over the impulse to stay and appear unmoved.

Because when Noah had said it was over, she knew he didn't just mean their mini-vacation in the Caymans. Their ill-advised affair was over, too.

On Saturday, Samantha called and asked if she could crash on Kayla's sofa bed that night because she'd be in Boston to catch a concert. The next morning, Kayla found her already awake in the living room, Samantha having let herself in late the night before with a spare key.

Samantha took one look at Kayla's face and guessed something was wrong. Though she got peppered with questions, Kayla dodged most of them. The confrontation with Noah was still too fresh and ugly.

Instead, she faced her computer screen and forced herself to edit a story for work. However, by lunchtime she'd given up. She'd edit a sentence and find her mind wandering, replaying and analyzing the argument with Noah and questioning her judgment.

She wondered now if she'd been too suspicious and had jumped to conclusions. Maybe she should have questioned him before opening the letter, instead of deciding to confront him afterward. And, given Noah's
history with the press, she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd been annoyed when he'd caught her prying.

At that last thought, she stopped short. What was she doing? Maybe it had been wrong to look at his mail, but she was still a reporter—one who'd been doing a story on
him
and Whittaker Enterprises. Sure she'd been incensed by Sybil's phone call, but he hadn't denied treating her as no more than his latest blonde and letting everyone know it.

And, to add insult to injury, he'd had the nerve to make her fall in love with him.

She was an idiot.

She dropped her head against the computer monitor, then hit her forehead repeatedly.

“Kayla, what are you doing?” Samantha asked with a mixture of exasperation and amused alarm.

Before Kayla could answer, the apartment buzzer rang.

“I'll get it!” Samantha said. At the intercom, Kayla heard her say, “Who is it?”

“Allison Whittaker,” came the reply.

Kayla raised her head and Samantha said, “It's—”

“I heard,” Kayla responded, then sighed. “Tell her to come up.”

W
hen Allison entered the apartment, she said, “Sorry to drop in on you like this without warning.”

“It's okay. It's a Whittaker trait that I'm already familiar with,” Kayla said dryly.

Allison gave Kayla a knowing look as she shrugged out of her leather jacket. “My husband thinks I'm crazy for coming.” Samantha reached for her jacket and Allison stuck out her hand. “Hi. I'm Allison, Noah Whittaker's younger sister.”

“I'm Samantha, Kayla's little sister,” Samantha replied, taking the outstretched hand. “Glad you're here. She's been in a funk all morning.”

Allison broke into a toothy smile. “It's always the baby sister to the rescue. What would they do without us?”

“Dunno. I ask myself that all the time.”

“Samantha!” Good grief, Kayla thought, did her sister have to tell the Whittakers everything? “And I was
not
in a funk.”

“Yes, you were. I heard you. Under your breath, you were saying that word that's a one-letter difference from
funk.
”

Kayla rolled her eyes. Wasn't she entitled to feel a little blue every once in a while?

Noah's sister stifled a grin. “I wish I'd had a sister when I was growing up. Instead, I got the Marx Brothers—Chico, Harpo and Groucho.”

“Which one's Noah?” Samantha asked as they went into the living room.

Allison cast them a sidelong look. “At the moment, he's definitely Groucho.”

Kayla felt a strange thrill go through her. Covering the sudden feeling of discombobulation, she asked, “You stopped by because…?”

“I'm paying it forward.”

At Kayla's confused look, Allison waved a hand. “It's a long story. Let's just say, we Whittakers like to assist each other, whether the help is wanted or not.”

As Allison sank into the armchair, Samantha joined Kayla on the couch and said, “So, Groucho. Noah. Interesting.”

Kayla shot her sister a wide-eyed quelling stare.

“Yup, Noah's been hard to live with,” Allison said. “Or, I should say, hard to work with.”

“Does he know you're here?” Kayla asked, then immediately wished she hadn't done so.

Allison shook her head. “No, and he hasn't confided in me either. Except, when I stopped by his office the other day, he got stony and monosyllabic when I mentioned Sybil's headline about the two of you in the Caymans together. He claimed nothing was going on, at least not anymore.”

Kayla dropped her gaze.

“But,” Allison continued, “I know
something
must be going on. Apparently, the word around the office is that Noah's been miserable to work with recently. Even Quentin and Matt have noticed it.” She shrugged. “I put two and two together and came up with your address, but let me know if I'm wrong.”

“Is that why you're here?” Kayla found herself asking, unwilling to give a direct reply.

Allison tilted her head and looked at her for a second. “Isn't it obvious why I'm here? I love my brother and he's miserable.”

“And you think I'm the cause of it?”

“No, I think your leaving is the cause of it.”

She wished Allison was right, but Allison didn't know how badly things had ended between her and Noah. She'd felt raw and weepy all week. And Allison and Samantha's understanding looks only made things worse. Suddenly emotional, she blinked rapidly.

“Want to tell us about it?” Allison asked sympathetically.

Kayla took a deep, uneven breath and waited for her
emotions to subside. Then an explanation of everything—well, almost everything—came tumbling out of her.

She detailed how she'd gone down to the Caymans, had answered Sybil's phone call and had wound up looking at Noah's private correspondence, following which she and Noah had argued.

She didn't go into the fact that she'd woken up all starry-eyed after a torrid night twisting the sheets with Noah. She'd replayed
those
scenes enough times in her mind.

When Kayla was done talking, Allison looked like she wanted to ask more questions about what Kayla had read in Noah's mail, but resisted the urge. Instead, she sighed. “My brothers. What they don't know about women I could write an encyclopedia about.”

“What?” Kayla said, even though she'd heard perfectly well.

“I knew one of Noah's flippant comments would get him in trouble one day.” Allison shook her head. “I mean, anyone can see he's hooked on you. Anything he's said to the contrary is just evidence that he's a fish realizing he's been caught on a hook.”

Kayla tried to picture Noah as a fish caught on a line and failed.

“Well, I've always thought Kayla had an issue with trusting men,” Samantha said, “and that it all went back to Bentley Mathison.”

Now it was Allison's turn to say “What?”

Kayla shook her head. “Samantha's a psychology major. She's been reading one too many self-help books.”

“Have not. Nobody in our family wants to listen to logic, that's all.”

“What's any of this got to do with Bentley Mathison?” Allison put in.

Kayla shrugged in resignation. “He's my biological father.”

“Wow,” Allison said.

“I don't broadcast the fact,” she said dryly, “and he doesn't know about our connection.” She gave Allison a brief rundown on her mother's encounter with Bentley Mathison twenty-eight years ago.

Allison raised her eyebrows. “No wonder you looked shook up at the Charlesbank Association event.”

“Was it that obvious?” Kayla said, startled.

“Well, you did look a little frazzled. That's the moment when I thought there was something going on between you and Noah. He acted all protective and concerned.”

Kayla shook her head. “Maybe, but I wouldn't attach too much weight to it.”

Allison gave her a shrewd look. “You know, Noah has plenty of faults. He can be too damn self-assured for his own good—”

“Yes, I know.”

“But he's true to his word. He'd never have organized Whittaker Enterprises into a major force in the computer field if he hadn't been driven and good with the follow-through.”

Kayla nodded. She knew that, of course.

She paused. Or did she?

Despite the fact that Noah had made sure to drive home to her that he wasn't like her biological father, when put to the test during their stay in the Caymans, had she fallen into the trap of thinking Noah was like Bentley Mathison?

Sure, there was a superficial resemblance to her biological father: both men were wealthy, possessed charm in spades, were successful with women, and had drive and ambition.

But Noah hadn't failed her.
He'd kept to every single promise he'd made to her, including giving her unfettered access to Whittaker Enterprises.

In the past several weeks, she'd also come to realize he wasn't the pampered playboy she'd liked to portray him as in her column. He was way more complex than that.

And the truth was, if she'd been in his shoes and had had his history with the press, catching someone
she'd
just slept with snooping into
her
private correspondence would have made her crazy mad, too.

She looked at Samantha. “On second thought, maybe I ought to concede that you have a point.”

“Of course I do!” her sister exclaimed.

She bit her lip. “What should I do?” she asked of no one in particular, the words just slipping out.

“That's up to you,” Allison said.

“You know,” Kayla said, uncertainty still gnawing at her, “he didn't even try to explain about his comment to Sybil.”

“Typical,” Allison responded. “He was probably so pissed off you'd jumped to the worst conclusion that he
figured he shouldn't have to explain.” She looked from Kayla's face to Samantha. “It's just the two of you? No other siblings?”

Kayla nodded.

“Right,” Allison said briskly, leaning forward. “Listen, I grew up with three brothers, and I learned a few things. The male mind has two guiding principles—don't explain and don't ask for directions.”

“You're kidding me,” Samantha said laughingly.

Allison winked. “There's a self-help book waiting to be written there. Keep it in mind.”

“Well, what do you think I should do?” Kayla asked. She wanted to believe Allison was right.

Allison stood up. “I'll leave that up to you. You'll think of something. Noah deserves a second chance, even though he's done nothing to explain himself. Trust me—I've seen the way he looks at you.” She added, “It would be nice if life were smooth. The truth is, though, sometimes we come to a gap in the road and we just have to jump and hope for the best.”

Trust,
Kayla thought. Did she dare put it into play where Noah was concerned? But then, what choice did she have? She was in love with him. Who'd have thought?

 

When he got to work, Noah reached into the in-box on his desk and turned over a plain legal-sized envelope. There was no return address, yet suspicion curled within him. Later, he'd say it was an indefinable aura: the presence of
her.

He slid his finger under the flap and, once he'd gotten the envelope open, two sheets came tumbling out.

It was the final draft of an article with Kayla's byline. The headline caught his eye immediately: Noah Whittaker's Secret Life Revealed. At the bottom of the first sheet, scrawled in ink, was a note that the article would be appearing in that day's edition of the
Sentinel.

He froze.

She wouldn't. She hadn't.

Yet, his gut already told him otherwise.

Anger coursed through him. Hadn't she done enough to him? She'd wrung him out like a used washcloth and hung him out to dry.

Evidently, however, he was worth one more story, he fumed, and she was going to squeeze every bit of news that she could out of him.

He forced himself to read the article.

There was a description of his racing crash and its immediate repercussions. The article went on to discuss how Noah had gone back to the computer-technology field after leaving racing and had joined the family business, which he'd built into a major competitor in the computer field.

He read on, looking for and expecting an exposé of his secret involvement with Medford.

Instead, the article discussed how, contrary to his public image as a high-living playboy, Noah was a well-respected and hard-working entrepreneur who also had his eye on helping others—even if they didn't know that they were being helped.

That was it. No mention of Medford. No mention of the Cayman Islands. Nothing. The article concluded by saying that the author had discovered that Noah was much more complex and likable than his public image might have let on.

Noah put down the article and grasped his head in his hands. He knew without question who had sent the article to him. And now he knew why.

He'd believed Kayla to be treacherous. Now he found himself revisiting and revising that judgment.

He hadn't been able to forget her. In the past couple of weeks, he'd been in a foul mood, grousing to his brothers and cracking the whip with his subordinates. In general, he'd been a pain in the ass.

All because he'd been missing her. Wanting her.

Loving her.

He stopped.

Love. Was that what it was, this feeling of having his guts wrenched out of him, stomped on and shoved back into him upside down? This dull ache that he carried with him like an attaché case cuffed to his wrist?

Sure, he'd had the hots for a number of women in the past. He'd had crushes and, later on, serious cases of lust. He'd even had a couple of whirlwind affairs.

But none of those women had sucker-punched him, whipping the wind out of him the way that Kayla had. Certainly no one had gotten under his skin in the same way. No one had peeled away the layers and no one had kept on digging to get beneath the playboy facade.

He was glad it had been Kayla who'd finally done it and discovered the essence of him.

He raised his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. With a sudden thought, he pulled open his desk drawer and found the photograph he'd tossed in there two weeks ago.

Kayla. She was smiling and happy and carefree in the Caymans—the best romantic idyll of his life. Her bikini molded the body that he'd come to know so well and that still made him ache at night.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. It was time for a call to Sybil LaBreck.

 

Out of habit, Kayla turned on her computer at work and clicked on the link on the
Boston World
's Web site that brought her to Sybil LaBreck's column. Reading the headline, she nearly spewed her coffee. She set down her cup and dabbed at the hot liquid that had spilled when she'd jerked her arm away from her mouth.

Her eyes caught again on the headline: Ms. Rumor-Has-It Rumored to Have Gotten Noah Whittaker: Sweethearts to Walk Down the Aisle.

In all the times she'd read Sybil's column, she'd often been amused, sometimes annoyed, at being scooped, and occasionally disbelieving. This was the first time, however, that she'd been totally shocked.

It couldn't be! She'd never known Sybil to make things up out of whole cloth, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

She forced herself to scroll down and read on: “Noah bought a four-carat sparkler for his honey.”
She skimmed the article until her eyes came to rest on a quote purportedly from Noah himself: “‘It's not an ark, but there's a twenty-foot yacht that I want to sail into all of our tomorrows with Kayla by my side.'”

Damn, damn, damn. She'd demand a retraction!

Sybil was in for one heck of a tough time. She'd be publicly embarrassed once it came out that what she'd printed wasn't true. And, of course, Noah could and probably would threaten to sue Sybil's socks off.