Captive Hearts
A Hearts on Fire Romance
L.M. Connolly
Captive Hearts
Copyright© 2019 L.M. Connolly
Kindle Edition
The Tule Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Publication by Tule Publishing 2019
Cover design by The Killion Group
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-950510-22-1
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Dedication
To the wonderful staff at Tule who helped me birth this series.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Please Leave a Review
Hearts on Fire series
About the Author
Dear Reader,
You might know me better as a writer of historical romance, but in the past I wrote as many paranormal and contemporary romances as historical.
While I love writing about people of the past, I love people living today, too. My muse has been bothering me with them for a while now. These books, about men with a shared mother, came to me, but I had to work a bit harder to get their stories!
Now I bring them to you. I couldn’t have done it without the people here, especially my editor Sinclair Sawhney, who was very gentle but firm with me, exactly as I like it!
Now it’s your turn.
Chapter One
Scarlett Woodward pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t work much longer. She’d make a mistake if she went past the point when tiredness tipped into fatigue. Numbers swam before her eyes and stopped making sense.
Sitting in this tiny office at the back of the family hotel, she became aware of life going on outside. Her old, scratched desk, as familiar to her as her own bed, swam before her eyes. Definitely time for a break.
Perhaps she’d feel better after a cup of coffee. She closed her laptop as the door to her office opened and her father walked in. Much reduced but still here, thank all the powers that be. He described himself as “on the other side of cancer,” and indeed he was, still weak, but getting better every day.
He was all she had, the only person in the world who cared what she did and how she felt. “I’m off to the respite home,” he told her. “The car’s outside.”
Relief and anxiety warred inside Scarlett, because she knew what would come next.
“I wish you’d come with me.” He scratched his bald pate. Two years ago he’d sported a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, but time and his illness had taken it. He was still her father and she loved him, despite his faults.
“I can’t. I have a hotel to run,” she said in what felt like the hundredth time, shifting in her chair.
“But with no guests.” He made a vague gesture with his hand, taking in the empty hotel. He didn’t have to indicate its current state of repair, or rather, disrepair. Scarlett persuaded herself that showed old-world charm rather than the slow disintegration of a once fine hotel. “You need a break, Scarlett, even if it’s only a weekend in Margate.”
“I’ve got work to do.” Even with no guests, she had books to balance.
A hotel so close to Oxford Street shouldn’t be empty at the weekend, but here they were, too expensive for casual tourists, and too cheap for the indulgence-seeker. But Scarlett had a plan; a slow transition to the tourist trade, together with a total renovation. “That group of Spanish tourists has given us the seed money.”
Her father grimaced. “We’ll need more than that.”
The Spanish tourists had mistaken the Woodward for another hotel with a similar name, but once they discovered the error, they decided to stay anyway. “It’s a start. And they liked it here. They promised to tell their friends.” She glanced at her closed laptop. “They put great ratings up on the sites. We can turn this around, Dad.”
The old-fashioned shabbiness of the hotel had appealed to the guests, once she’d sold it as ‘authentic historical atmosphere.’ They could do this. They totally could.
Stephen Woodward pressed his palms on the desk, leaning forward. “You deserve a life, Scarlett. You can’t let what Peter did dictate how you live.”
A flash of anger shot through her. “I have a life, thank you very much. I enjoy my life.” And Peter Sacker, damn his black heart, had nothing to do with it. She hadn’t thought about her ex for ages.
Sighing, her father pushed himself back upright. “You work too much. Life needs balance.”
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m going to be a great hotelier and make you proud.” They had to repurpose, refurbish, that was all.
Her father was one of the less devoted Woodwards, falling in love and living life to the full, as he’d put it. That hadn’t got him very far when the market had moved and he hadn’t. Now she had to clear up that oversight.
She stood to take him to the door but he waved her back down. “I’m fine now. Just need to regain my strength. I couldn’t have done it without you, girl. That cirrhosis nearly killed me, but here I am, ready and willing to take on more challenges. No more drinking, I promise.” He gave her a saucy wink. “You never know, you might end up with a new stepmother!”
Scarlett swallowed. “Do you mean that?” The cirrhosis and the ensuing liver transplant had brought her down to earth with a bang.
She should never have left him alone after her mother’s death. They’d been devoted, but her mother had always been the driving force. Thinking he was safe, Scarlett had run away from her own grief to the exotic resorts she’d planned to make her career.
Only to come back to find the hotel on the verge of bankruptcy and her father drowning himself in drink.
Her father met her stare head-on. “I have more chance of finding another partner than you do, which is a shame. After all, despite my aged appearance, I’m not much more than sixty. Plenty of time yet. We can’t live in the past, and while I’ll always love your mother, I can’t spend the rest of my life mourning her.” He shook his head sadly. “And you’re throwing that away. Think about it, that’s all I ask. I’ll see you on Monday.”
After kissing her cheek he turned and left. The hotel was so quiet Scarlett heard his taxi set off outside.
Now for that coffee. Leaving her office, she switched on the lights as she went to the front door to lock it behind him. The ‘Welcome’ doormat had been dislodged, no doubt by her father as he’d left. As
she pushed it back into place, a flash of white attracted her attention. Pulling at a corner, Scarlett uncovered a letter. Unopened, in a pristine envelope, no sign of a logo. It was probably nothing, but just in case, she returned to her office.
Not bothering to find the paper knife, she tucked her finger under the flap and tore the envelope open. After glancing at the contents once, she had to sit down.
The chair creaked, but she was so used to the sound she barely noticed it. It was from a solicitor.
*
“We have received an indication of interest in your property from a private buyer. To that end we would like to arrange a meeting to discuss the possibilities. Note that my client is interested in buying the property outright, not in sharing ownership or leasing the hotel. Please let us know if this would be useful to you. As you probably know, your hotel has a certain value as it stands. To that end, we have provisionally assessed it in the region of…”
*
There followed a figure she had to read twice.
Swallowing, she read through the letter again, and then returned for a third scan.
Opening her laptop, she checked the name of the solicitor and his partnership. The company was select, dealing only with a few clients, all of them blue ribbon. They didn’t send out mass mailings.
She received a few of these mails most days. Property in London was expensive, but this much?
Knowing the hotel was worth so much was one thing, but seeing it in black and white was something else. Millions. Six zeroes met her dazed eyes, with two figures before them.
With proper investment she wouldn’t have to work again.
But she’d lose everything else; her heritage, her life.
Scarlett wondered who would want it, and if they’d seen the state of the place inside. A private buyer? Somebody very wealthy for sure. A sheikh perhaps, or a titled person wanting a pied-a-terre. But this wasn’t fashionable Mayfair, where the wealthy congregated.
Was she actually considering the offer? A smile curved her lips. A girl could dream, after all, but no. The thought of parting with her heritage wasn’t possible. Her family had run this place since the mid-nineteenth century, when her great-something-grandfather had bought it from the family moving out and turned it into a hotel. Generations of Woodwards had lived here. How could she throw all that away?
And she owed it to her father, and her late mother.
She pinched the cream-lined paper, ready to rip it in two and toss it in the bin. But then she paused. Her father had given the hotel to her, but he still deserved to know. He still had a stake in it. Scarlett knew what he would say. Go for it, sell it and let’s start again. He’d said that enough times recently, together with his get-a-life speech.
Opening a drawer, she shoved the paper inside. She had the weekend to work out how she could break the news that she didn’t intend to sell, even for that amount. Approached the right way, her father would see her point of view. Wouldn’t he?
*
Ethan Black gazed out the window of his office at the top of the London Noir on Park Lane. The lush grass of Hyde Park was spread beyond the constant mass of cars and buses that passed by. Although fond of London, he was due to go back to New York on Monday. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
He sighed as yet another knock sounded on his office door. Being always available had its drawbacks. Normally, he surrounded himself with PAs and managers, bulwarks against the constant interruptions, but on Fridays he sent them away and made himself available to anyone who wanted to speak with him. And they responded eagerly. Ambitious young executives, so keen they could cut someone if they turned around too fast, and older people, troubled by change. But his policy kept him in touch with what was going on. His PA checked their names, and that was it.
Before he could open his mouth to bid his caller to come in, the door to his office burst open to reveal—Willow.
These days she only deigned to use one name. Supermodel turned TV personality Willow Sarton glared at him as if he should stand up and bow.
Politeness dictated the first move, but not the second. After all, she wasn’t royalty, even though she behaved like a princess. Ethan had met royalty, could count them among his friends, so he knew the difference.
Willow batted her impossibly long lashes, a move he’d once found incredibly seductive. She was wearing the diamond bracelet he’d sent her as a farewell gift. She wore a yellow, skintight skirt flaring out below her waist, a style that would make most women cringe, but on Willow it looked perfect. Her face appeared bare, except for the outrageous lashes, but Ethan knew better. She had more makeup on than Ethan knew existed. He’d watched her apply it all once, as he leaned back against banked-up pillows, his hands tucked behind his head. At his request, she’d told him what she was doing. It didn’t make sense to him for her to cover her spectacular beauty with creams and powders, but it did to somebody. As the face of a huge cosmetics company, people watched what she did, and then bought the products by the bucketful.
He doubted his PA had stood a chance against her. If he’d refused her admittance, she’d have made a scene loud enough to bring the paparazzi running. She’d probably brought one of them with her.
Suppressing his ennui, he turned his face as she approached, so her kiss of greeting became a friendly touch on his cheek. Before she could go in for the kill, he held her off, both hands on her waist, keeping her a foot away from him. Maybe if he’d let her close, his lack of an erection might have clued her in. They were done. Well and truly over, never to be revisited.
“Darling, you’ll come with me to the Ellison’s charity event, won’t you?” She tutted, and made a vague gesture, her crimson nails catching the light. “I was let down. I could hardly believe it. That pig, Tom Pennison, has gone back to his dumpy wife. Can you imagine? He promised me they were over, swore on a stack of Bibles and all that, but then he did that.” Tears stood in her eyes. She’d left him for Pennison, and he’d been glad of it, because he’d been done with her, but now she was back.
Ethan had once found her rattling on without expecting a reply restful, but now he found her ramblings irritating. Few people caught him in an indulgent mood, especially recently, but he had obliged Willow too many times. He dropped his hands. “No, Willow, I won’t come with you,” he said.
She didn’t hear. More probably she chose to ignore him. “I need you to wear that purple tux I bought you and show that bastard Pennison that I don’t need him any more than he says he needs me.” She waved again, her hands expressive of—something—while she paced around the room. Tall to begin with, her four inch heels nearly made her taller than Ethan, but not quite. However, the spikes left marks in his office carpet, annoying him. The London Noir used the customary black, but added ivory to point up its art deco style. The purple tux was one reason he’d decided they were over. It had barely grazed the back of his closet before he’d let it go.
“I’ll lose face, and you know what that means in this world. And I have that big contract coming up with your hotel group. If we ignore each other all evening, the rumors will start to fly, and my agency will have second thoughts. Please, darling, just this once.”
It wasn’t her fault, not entirely. He preferred casual, consensual relationships, but that did include friendship, normally. This time, not so much. He’d never met anyone as insistent, egotistical and, frankly, afraid as Willow. She needed someone to cherish her. Not someone like him. When she’d shown him her vulnerabilities, when she’d let her shields down, he’d liked her a lot more. But now she was rattled, and there was no stopping her.
He let her rant for ten minutes before he tired of her in his space.
Telling her yes would be the easiest way, but he refused to take the coward’s way out. Willow was his father’s third wife’s niece, and while that was a nebulous connection, that meant Willow had shares in the Noir Group.
He was tempted to take her, to get her on his side. He needed every vote he could get if
he was to save the company.
“No, Willow. Get somebody else. I’m not going to the benefit.” He made the decision on the spur of the moment, but as he said it, it made sense. “You could have told me that before.”
She had flung her coat off as she entered, covering one of the chairs in the relaxation area, so he made his way across to it and held it up.
Willow didn’t demur, but thrust her arms through the sleeves.
“It was worth a try,” she said.
He settled the coat on her shoulders. “You’re better off without Pennison.” And without him.
She was fixated on him, had a crush on him, but he couldn’t reciprocate any more than he had already. He refused to lead her on. With any luck, she’d get over her attachment to him, and find someone else. He wasn’t such a bastard that he’d take somebody who felt something for him that he could never return. Not a complete bastard, anyway.
He’d never been so glad to hear his phone ring.
Willow tsked. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”
Ethan left her in order to stride across his office and pick up the phone. The slice of crystal that was his latest smartphone chilled his ear. “Hi.”
“It’s me,” said his father unnecessarily. “Should I be your proxy at the next board meeting on Monday, since you’re still in London?”
“No,” he answered, hearing his office door close behind his unwanted visitor. “I’ll be there.”
His father would have loved to carry Ethan’s vote to get another cut in spending through. The board—consisting mostly of members of his family—nibbled and Ethan roared, scaring them off as much as he could. His majority was razor-thin, so he had to attend every meeting, or ensure there wasn’t a voting quorum. The constant fight was exhausting.
A luxury hotel brand should offer luxury, not a cut-down version of it. The kind of people who stayed at the Noirs throughout the world knew the difference. Their reputation was already slipping, rumors spreading about the cheapskate board of directors.
Captive Hearts (Hearts on Fire Book 2) Page 1