He couldn’t miss that meeting.
Dustin sighed. “You know, sometimes, I think you should worry about yourself. You need a private life, Son, and I don’t mean the career women you choose.”
“Maybe I like them.” Choosing women who had lives and careers of their own had worked for him for a long time. They didn’t want a “relationship” any more than he did. Normally. He stared at the closed door.
What was his father up to? Dustin never took an interest in his son’s private life. The old man was scheming again.
“I’m your father.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious.” He pursued his point, and a recent discovery. “Did you get my email, the one about my mother?”
The pause told him what he wanted to know. “That’s in the past.”
“That my mother, your first wife, only died last year?” Until recently everybody assumed that the model Evangeline Miller had died over twenty years ago. But recent developments had proved otherwise. Ethan was looking for details, but his father had taken no interest at all. His new wife, the fifth, took all his attention.
Another pause. “After she left to marry Bianchi we had little to do with each other.”
Ethan knew that only too well. He’d been the child hidden away, brought up by servants and sent to boarding school as soon as he was old enough.
“Did she ever try to contact you after?”
His mother had died in poverty, squalor some would call it. The once lovely supermodel had been badly scarred in a car accident, and disappeared from view. Until last year Ethan and his half-brother Ronan Bianchi had thought her dead.
“No, she never did,” his father said, not a trace of emotion in his voice.
“Did you know she had more children?”
“No.”
“She had one before she married you.” He’d told his father everything in the email and provided the documentary proof. His investigators were still wading through the masses of papers found in his mother’s flat.
“So you say.”
When he returned to New York, Ethan would definitely push for more information. The existence of one more sibling might indicate more. Or it might not, but it showed how little he’d really known about the legendary Evangeline Miller.
Ethan had to use all the resources he had to track down his older brother, who had been adopted out. As yet, Daniel wasn’t returning his calls. If he refused to talk to him, Ethan would have to go down to Houston, Texas, to see him. “You knew nothing about this boy?”
“Nothing. Do you think I’d have married her if I knew?” All the emotion missing poured back, Dustin’s voice growing in strength and pitch as his anger rose. “She never said a thing. Told me her parents were dead and her ex-husband abusive. She was eighteen when we married. An underage bride abused by her husband. I promised to keep her secret.” A telling pause followed. “She made a fool out of me, and she did the same to Bianchi. Forget her. She’s not worth the trouble.”
“I can’t, Dad. Don’t you worry about her son?”
“I worry about my kids. You most of all.”
Ethan recognized the change of subject as the end of discussion. His father had the stubborn obstinacy of the weak, and Ethan knew Dustin wouldn’t say any more today. “Which explains why I’m CEO and not you.”
Truth was, his father hadn’t objected to Ethan’s appointment. He’d wanted more leisure time, he’d said. Ethan hadn’t thought much about his father’s motivation, just seized the opportunity with both hands. His father had always put family first, and treated the company as his personal piggy bank. His father had picked a mouse for his fifth wife. At least she didn’t hit on Ethan, like his second stepmother had.
“There’s somebody I want you to meet in town. A sweet girl, Spencer’s daughter. Remember her?”
“No.” Ethan’s flat tone didn’t put his father off his stride, although Spencer was one of his father’s friends, and another of the pains-in-the-ass on the board.
“Cute kid, I remember you saying once. She’s all grown up now. Totally unlike your usual woman. I’ve given her your number. She’s over in London right now with her parents. Aren’t you going to a charity ball this weekend?”
“I was planning to go before I fly home.” Before about ten minutes ago. What was it with this ball? A thousand-dollar—or rather pound, since he was in London—rubber chicken plate of food, the charity used as an excuse for a society bash?
Ethan cast his thoughts down the guest list. Some minor royals, a few soap stars, one or two distinguished speakers. Nope, nobody special. He’d send the money and skip the affair. Most likely nobody would notice.
“Then you can take Violet Spencer.”
Ethan closed his eyes. For some reason his father wanted him to meet Violet, which was a good reason not to. “I don’t need my father to make my dates,” he said. “The answer’s no, Dad.”
That would put Ethan right in his father’s pocket.
“I’ll ask her to come to your apartment tomorrow. You can take her to dinner before the ball.”
He liked Violet. An art school kid, lively, fun. He wouldn’t force his father into making him stand her up. “Listen to me. I’m not going. Tell her I can’t make it.”
Casting his gaze around his desk, he caught sight of a file he’d put aside. The answer came to him in a flash. “Something’s come up and I won’t be going to the ball or at my apartment this weekend.”
A significant pause followed. “Another of your women?”
He let that question go and finished his father’s call. If he stayed in his apartment this weekend he’d get nothing done. He knew his father’s tactics. He’d harass, pester, call, get people to come around.
Like his father before him, Dustin Black relied heavily on nepotism. He believed in family, and creating a dynasty. Maybe he wanted grandkids to indoctrinate. Whether he had children or not, Ethan was going to disappoint him. But once his father got the bit between his teeth, he wouldn’t give up easily. Which meant Ethan was doomed to take harassment, online and off.
He had to make himself scarce, and he knew just the thing. He could get some work done with no interference and do something he’d been meaning to for a while.
He was using his own money to start a new venture, a new kind of hotel. Boutique, but with a twist. He had two up and running, but he’d given them soft openings, keeping his brand quiet until he had tested his idea. Realtors had been sending him properties since he arrived, and finally he’d found one in London that ticked the boxes.
Perfect location, a family concern that had seen better days. It wasn’t for sale right now, but for the right price he could get it. In order to complete the alterations he needed for his plan, he’d have to strip the interior, so a wreck would be best. But a quirky wreck, something with character in the right place. The trouble was, most buildings in Central London were worth a fortune, so very few were in truly bad condition. They’d all been purchased and done up to the nines. It went against the grain for him to buy something like that, only to gut it.
His existing small investments weren’t enough to alarm his family, who referred to his private interest as his “hobby,” claiming it would never work, but already he was proving them wrong. Not that he wanted to rub their noses in it. Not until he was ready.
He needed to see the place first, and not as Ethan Black. That would raise suspicions immediately and put the price right up. As CEO of the Noir Group he could command billions, but his own private fortune was a bit more modest.
As he left his office, folder in hand, his mind went back to family matters, as it had so often this last year. The shock of discovering his mother’s recent death was still with him, together with the new information.
Abruptly he turned his thoughts away. He’d give Daniel time to assimilate the information he’d sent, but then he needed to get in touch again. Doing nothing frustrated him, so he would concentrate on the things he could do something about.
That was a much better use of his time.
Chapter Two
The day was fading when Scarlett glanced up from her spreadsheets. Only then did she notice the room was getting cold. She hated the tail end of winter. At the end of March, a bare two weeks away, they’d put the clocks forward and the nights would get lighter. She was bound to feel better then.
Silence settled in around her. She was the only person in this building. She’d given the cook and chambermaid the weekend off, since they didn’t have any guests staying. In previous years, they’d had staff staying in on shifts, at least half a dozen.
This was probably the least number of people ever to occupy the hotel. Wow, that was some revelation.
The knowledge didn’t cheer her up one bit. Her mood hadn’t improved in the last few hours since her father had left. Studying the accounts had only persuaded Scarlett that her plan was on a knife-edge. If anything at all didn’t work, then she’d have to reassess. But the group of tourists arriving next week would push her further into security. The hotel needed rewiring and replumbing, and they had to be done before the redecoration. But if she could close for a couple of weeks…
Her mind was starting on the familiar circle again.
She refused to give in. But for tonight she might as well set the alarms and go to bed.
The light above the door glowed as the front door was opened. Scarlett jerked up her head. Her heart pounded against her ribs, as the awareness that she was alone in the house rocketed through her.
She was sure she’d locked the door. But hell, that letter had distracted her. She couldn’t remember. She was alone here. Anybody could have walked through the door. One of the thugs or the homeless people who wandered up and down Oxford Street. She had no way of protecting herself.
Glancing around, her panicked gaze snagged the letter opener she’d disdained earlier. Although blunt, the steel blade could do some damage, if she had to use it. She shoved it through her belt, tucking the sharp end under her skirt so her weapon wasn’t so obvious, before picking up her phone and turning it on, keying in the PIN and flicking through to the dial pad. She tapped in two of the three numbers she’d need to call help fast.
“Hello?” A male voice boomed through the hall.
Lifting her chin, Scarlett got to her feet and crossed the room, opening the office door with a flourish. She might as well face whoever was out there with some pride. Her office opened directly on to the hall. She stepped out. After all, only she knew the house was empty. She could bluff her way through this.
Stopping short, she stared at her visitor. Her jaw dropped. Surely this had to be the most good-looking man she’d ever seen. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the arrogant attitude she usually disliked, this time all she could do was wonder at his entrance. His dark, nearly black hair was neatly brushed back from his forehead, a thin white line hinting that he didn’t usually wear it that way. His eyes. So blue, as if he’d brought a piece of the sky in with him. His attention locked on her, and she couldn’t move.
He stood there, briefcase in one hand and a leather duffel in the other. He wore a nondescript cheap suit, the fabric shiny under the bright but discreet lights, but he wore it well, as if it were a thousand-pound Savile Row creation.
His smile drove every rational thought out of her mind. “Hi,” he said simply.
Swallowing, her throat suddenly dry, Scarlett forced her stiff lips into a professional smile. “C-can I help you?”
“Do you have any rooms available?” he asked.
Oh yes, every single room in the hotel. “You need a room?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not asking who he was, or why he’d turned up without warning.
Her mind clicked back, as if the pause had given her thoughts time to catch up. “We offer bed and breakfast at reasonable rates.”
When she named the price, he smiled. “That’s well inside my budget. I’ll need two nights. I’m leaving late Sunday night.”
Being alone in the house with this sexy man unnerved her. She needed a buffer, but she didn’t have one.
She strengthened her resolve. What kind of hotelier was she if she couldn’t cope with one little guest for a night or two? Okay, maybe he wasn’t that little.
“Do you provide dinner?” he said.
“We usually only supply bed and breakfast, but dinner is available if you wish it.” Her plan rounded. Of course. She’d give the man a room, and call her employee as backup. She was never here alone, and she didn’t know how to handle that. “We do prefer the orders for dinner in advance, but I’m sure we can accommodate you.”
She should tell him to leave, but he was a customer, and customers meant money. Sure, she could handle this.
He nodded. “I’m Evan Cooper,” he said. “I work for Tusk, Inc.”
A big food company that owned some big brands. Hadn’t his company found him a room? His rich American accent rolled over her, warming her from the inside out.
“I’ve finished my business, but I have a flight late Sunday, so I decided to stay over. My usual hotel is full. Tourists.” He curled his lip. “With small kids.”
“I see. And you want some peace and quiet.” She couldn’t ask intrusive questions. He could turn and leave, and suddenly that was the last thing she wanted. “We’re pretty quiet at weekends.” And every other day of the week. She went behind the reception desk. “I can’t help but notice your accent. Have you been in the UK long?”
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I come and go.”
This man hadn’t come to attack her. He was the kind of customer she was used to, a businessman looking for a place to lay his head. Her fright receded. What kind of mouse was she turning into? “I take it you don’t have a reservation?”
Her heart hadn’t settled down; it still beat in double time, pounding against her chest. As she turned away, she sucked in a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. This man was no thief, and he certainly wasn’t homeless. But he wasn’t harmless, either.
It helped, but only a little. This man had a presence, so strong it filled the hall, changing the cold impersonal atmosphere into something else, something live and real. And incredibly sensuous.
Nope. Shouldn’t be noticing that.
Concentrating on her job, she went through the motions of checking him in, choosing the best room. It had a view over the gardens, so quieter than the ones at the front. The chambermaid had freshened it up this morning.
The keycard wasn’t new, but they were economizing on unnecessary expenses. She activated it, and handed it over with a professional smile. “Dinner is from seven thirty to nine. May I help you upstairs with your luggage?”
“I can manage.” With a slight lift of one eyebrow, so brief she might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching him closely, he took the card and bent to pick up his luggage. As he reached the foot of the stairs he turned and caught her watching. She couldn’t have looked away if she tried. They shared a long look, neither saying anything, but his clear blue eyes—she’d never forget them.
Enigmatic blue eyes, because she couldn’t read him, not one bit. The attraction that seared her like a flame could be all on her side. He didn’t seem affected at all. The knowledge made a shiver run through her. Yes, she was nervous. Evan Cooper was big, in his prime—she’d estimate mid-thirties, from the fine lines at the sides of his eyes and mouth. He was confident, and charismatic. But his suit didn’t say “company director,” it said “middle management” or even “salesman.”
Yes, she’d settle for enigmatic, until she could replace the word with something else.
Unless it was “sexy.”
Because, oh yes, he was sex on a stick. Unbidden, a vision flashed into her mind. Him naked and her in the same state, twined around each other, kissing while they made love.
Hastily, she shoved the mental picture away. Her father was right, in that at least; she needed to date more.
*
Ethan sli
d the scratched keycard through the dulled mechanism. He had to repeat the action three times before the door opened. The old magnetic card was failing. Like the rest of this hotel.
He’d taken his time climbing the stairs, noting the shabbiness and the deterioration. What should be lovely carved detail on the cornices and banisters was clogged with layers of paint. Beneath the coating of paint, the banisters were solid wood, most likely mahogany. The high ceilings might be dulled but they would be gracious once cleaned up. The whole place was scrubbed to within an inch of its life.
Excitement bubbled inside Ethan as he opened the door to his room. This house was an undiscovered gem. He could get his alterations done and still retain the character of the place. The high-end customers he wanted to attract would love the individuality.
The appraising look the woman downstairs had given him was anything but fawning. But he had seen desire in her gaze, an emotion he fully appreciated, and responded to with enthusiasm. She’d said the receptionist was on a break, and she wasn’t dressed like a chambermaid or a cook, so she was probably the owner of the hotel, Scarlett Woodward.
Being attracted to the person he wanted to buy the hotel from could be a problem. He refused to do the deal for the place under false pretenses, and God forbid he should seduce her for it. Because he wanted her, no doubt about that. When he’d seen her, a shock had gone through him, like nothing he’d felt before. Attraction for sure, but more than that. As if he’d met a part of himself he’d been looking for, a notion dragged up from his soul, but foreign to the way he usually thought.
Best to ignore it.
He swung his weekend bag on to the bed with more than usual force. The place held an old-world charm. Despite it being overdue for redecoration, that went well with the ambiance, the sense of stepping out of time. Someone had been very clever here, turning a fault into an asset. So the faded paintwork and the shabby rug looked as if it might have come from history. This building was undoubtedly old, and this look reflected what he’d do with it.
Captive Hearts (Hearts on Fire Book 2) Page 2