Captive Hearts (Hearts on Fire Book 2)

by L. M. Connolly

  Stopping at his apartment on the way over here, he’d packed the kind of things a salesman might wear—a cheap suit that he’d used on previous scouting expeditions, off-the-rack shirts, jeans, and nondescript T-shirts. But he’d forgotten his tie, so he tossed a couple of the ones from his usual wardrobe in. He got busy unpacking and storing them in the wardrobe that adorned one wall.

  On his way up here he’d counted the number of bedrooms. No more than fifteen. He peered out of the window to the darkened garden below. It was bigger than he’d expected, plenty of space for an extension if he wanted it.

  But that wasn’t in his plans right now. He’d secure it first, offer market value then add a sweetener. Because oh, yes, this was the place he wanted to buy for his personal project. The Noir Group owned huge upmarket hotels and flagships, the grandest hotels in the greatest cities in the world. But Ethan had seen a gap in the market, a space he was determined to fill. It didn’t fit with the Noir’s portfolio, so this was his personal passion. The project was expensive, it would take most of his personal fortune, but he’d do it. What was life without a bit of risk and challenge?

  He pulled his toiletry bag out of his case and went in search of the bathroom. Which turned out to be okay, but could be better, again, feeding into the “historical” vibe the owners had set up. The shower was a major disappointment, but the large bathtub would be a treat to use. He might indulge later. After all, he needed to test the facilities. For now, he’d make do with moving around under the feeble spray in a weird kind of belly dance, trying to get all his body wet.

  This shower wasn’t designed for two people, he mused as he got an inevitable vision of the woman downstairs. Her figure, revealed by her crisp white shirt and black pencil skirt was a dream. While he’d been talking to her he’d blocked any feelings he might have, but for once, his famous self-control left him. All the time, he imagined settling his hands on her gorgeous curvy hips, drawing her close to discover what she tasted and smelled like. Holding her, feeling her nipples harden against his chest, touching her wetness.

  He let out a curse when his cock responded to his wayward thoughts, stirring under his hand. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d planned a quick scan of the hotel and a couple of days of peace and uninterrupted work before the meeting in New York on Monday. He couldn’t afford attraction. What was wrong with him?

  No way would he even think about Scarlett in that way. Except his little head was doing all the thinking for him right now.

  At least he didn’t have to turn the water to cold. It did that all on its own.

  *

  The gentle tap on his door pulled Ethan out of his attempt to find the hotel internet. He’d brought a nondescript laptop, not one with company secrets on it, so he felt reasonably safe using it. But he hadn’t yet found a connection. A card on his vanity had told him the password, but either the signal had failed, or they’d changed the name of the network.

  He’d already discovered there was no phone in the room, but that didn’t concern him. It only added the factors he would ask his financiers to put into the mix when he made his offer.

  Practicalities lay in the forefront of his mind when he opened the door. Then they all flew away, a flock of birds that scattered, never to come together again. She stood there, the slim black sheath of a skirt tempting him to catch hold and draw her close, her full lips inviting kisses.

  “I-I’m sorry, but I forgot to ask what you’d like for your dinner.” She shoved a menu at him, laminated card still warm from the machine. She must have typed it up just now.

  He admired her ingenuity as he glanced down. Plain food, nothing elaborate, but if it was well cooked he wouldn’t complain. “The Lancashire hotpot please, with broccoli. Vegetable soup to start.”

  She nodded. “Anything to follow?”

  He took another glance. The desserts were listed under the main course. “I’ll decide later.”

  Her lashes flickered over her eyes, the only sign that she was perturbed. “Very well. Thank you.”

  He kept her attention, watching her eyes dilate, the gray darkening. She wasn’t unaffected by him. He had enough experience to conceal his attraction to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to back away, or worse, ask him to leave. She hadn’t worked out that he knew they were alone here. That would make her skittish.

  He wanted her, with a strength that shocked him. That wasn’t in his plan. Charm his way in, talk to the owner, but most of all, assess the place for himself. He hadn’t expected an absence of staff, or that he’d want his hostess so damn much. She made his thoughts concentrate on one, vital desire.

  And he didn’t know why. He’d bedded some of the world’s greatest beauties, but he wouldn’t count Scarlett Woodward as one. Except for her curvy figure, her expressive gray eyes and her soft, silky skin.

  Many men of his acquaintance wouldn’t give her a second glance, but he’d have seen her across a crowded ballroom. Something in her called to him.

  That complicated matters. If he followed his instincts, she’d have grounds for God knew how many lawsuits, and he’d have to withdraw his offer. Which would be a pity, because this place was perfect for his needs.

  Intimacy ended when the lights flickered behind her. They returned, steadier. Ethan glanced up, but the light had a domed cover and he couldn’t see the wiring. If the electric was in poor condition, that was even better for his needs, since he’d have to strip the place down to bare walls and he could take the cost of rewiring out of his offer. His thoughts returned to Scarlett. She shouldn’t have to cope with all this on her own.

  She should never have let him in. Anger simmered. Someone should be here to look after her. She shouldn’t be here, alone.

  *

  Back in her room in the attic, not much transformed from the maid’s room it had once been, Scarlett stripped off her clothes and stepped under the shower. When she soaped up her hand and smoothed it over her body she shuddered. That wasn’t the hand she’d wanted on her. Why her libido should return at the most inconvenient time she didn’t know. She had never, ever, wanted someone with a hunger like this. Not even Peter, the man she’d planned to marry, affected her like this.

  She reached for the bath pouf. She’d use that instead. Her mind had been elsewhere, still with the image of the man downstairs, and it was as if he was touching her, sending shivers through her body. When he’d opened the door to his room, he’d taken off his jacket and tie, revealing a disconcerting inch of tanned male skin. His throat appeared strangely vulnerable, as if she could lean forward and lick it.

  When he’d moved, the ripple of muscles under his shirtsleeves stopped her thinking rationally. She’d gone totally blank. Fortunately after a stutter she managed to collect her thoughts and carry on. He hadn’t noticed. Probably. She couldn’t be sure. And now even touching herself felt like a sin.

  Scarlett finished her shower in record time, sweeping the suds down her body methodically, as if it belonged to somebody else. Stepping out, she found a black dress, and put it on over her plainest bra and oldest serviceable knickers. That way she wouldn’t be tempted, not in the least. Even if he looked at her that way again. No way would she show her underwear to anybody.

  Thus armored, she went back down to the kitchen and opened the freezer. Scarlett got out two meals, the soup he wanted, and one of every dessert. Tonight she’d ask her guest what he wanted for dinner tomorrow, then she could go out and get some fresh vegetables. He’d only checked in for a couple of nights.

  After a bruising conversation with her cook earlier, when he’d refused to come back into work unless she did him a few, specific favors, she’d fired his sleazy arse, and decided to manage on her own. She’d wanted to have a buffer, someone between her and this disturbingly attractive man, but Dawson had made some disgusting suggestions she didn’t want to revisit. So now, on top of everything else, she had to find a new cook.

  But at least the microwave was working. It had been on the
fritz for a few days, but tonight it decided to work without a hitch. She got busy defrosting her offerings, put the desserts in the fridge and turned on the oven to crisp the potato topping to the hotpot. At least he hadn’t chosen anything that depended on split-second timing. She wasn’t good at that, especially in the heightened sense of self-awareness he gave her.

  Heat suffused the room, not all of it from the oven. A crackle came from the hob, but it was always doing that. It barely disturbed her thoughts. Maybe she should allow herself a little fantasy. After all, she hadn’t been with a man for a long time. She could afford a little imaginative play, but only as long as it didn’t stretch into real life. When he’d gone, she might indulge herself. Her dad wasn’t due back until Monday, so she had a night to herself, but her staff would be back early Monday, so she’d have to make it early.

  She could look at the dating sites. Stop obsessing about random guests she didn’t know and find someone to have an actual friendship with, as well as some fun in bed. Close as she was to her father, this was one thing she couldn’t talk over with him. His illness had made them even closer, and he wasn’t out of the woods yet. It had put a serious cramp on her private life, having him so close, having to nurse him and take care of him, but she didn’t regret any of it for a minute. Either she’d be saying goodbye to him, or helping him recover. The road to recovery had proved harder than either of them had imagined.

  But he’d hinted she should start to think of herself again, get her life back. Maybe he was right.

  Her spirits rose.

  A sound outside alerted her to the fact that her guest had entered the dining room. Smoothing her skirt with her hands, she went out to greet him. “Good evening.”

  “Are you alone here?” he asked abruptly.

  It would be the height of idiocy to admit she was. “Yes,” she said. Damn.

  “Where is the rest of your staff?” He’d put his jacket back on, but left off his tie. Leaning back on the creaking chair he’d chosen, he met her gaze, his blue eyes questioning.

  “We mainly cater to the businessman, and they don’t often stay over the weekend. So we wind down at the weekends when we have no bookings.”

  His lips tightened. “You should have somebody here anyhow.”

  “Apart from you, you mean?”

  “I could be an ax murderer for all you know.”

  “You don’t look like one to me.” He was dangerous to her in other ways.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Thanks for that. As it happens, I’m not. But you haven’t checked my credentials, you’ve seen no proof of my identity and we’re alone in the house. Aren’t we?”

  Why wasn’t she running for her life, screaming for help?

  Because she trusted him, that was why. He was right, she had no material proof, but she felt warmth, friendship, all the things she had missed for so long. Or never had, to be honest, not since her schooldays.

  So she smiled and said, “Yes, we’re alone. So I’m at your mercy.” She cleared her throat. “Would you like something to drink with your meal?”

  The hotel had a small bar, closed tonight, but she could offer him alcohol if he wanted it.

  “No, thank you.” He paused. “Water will be fine and coffee after I’ve eaten.”

  She, Scarlett Woodward, who never took chances was taking one now. If her instincts were wrong, then her whole life was wrong and she had to rethink everything.

  Love at first sight?

  Not possible. That was taking a step too far. But attraction at first sight, sure. Lust at first sight, and liking, too.

  A ping sounded from the kitchen. “That’s your food. I should get it.” But she still hesitated, stared at him a moment longer before she turned and went back to the kitchen.

  The large room seemed emptier than usual. But that was her imagination.

  The food was done, the sliced potato golden and crisp at the edges. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten for hours. She should zap her own food in the microwave and eat it while he was enjoying his meal. She took a moment to do just that, popping it into the machine and setting it off for five minutes.

  After plating the food as artistically as she could, she set it on a tray and took it out to him. He glanced up at her, smiled, and let her do her job. Getting this close to him, her hand skimming his arm as she set the plate down before him putting her senses on alert. But she managed it, took a decisive step back, and placed his bottle of water on the table, together with a cool glass. She’d brought ice, too, in a separate glass.

  Raising a brow, he rattled the ice in the glass. “Ah yes, we Americans expect ice with our drinks, don’t we?”

  They exchanged a smile. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Have you ever been to America?”

  She nodded. “I went to New York once, and I’ve been to Florida as well.”

  “Did you like it?”

  She recalled the rush, the activity, and the shiny modernity of the places she’d seen, and the rush of excitement that had given her. “Very much.”

  “I have a place in New York. You should come over again.”

  Was he really asking her? No, this was just small talk. Like she could just drop everything and fly over. He must have seen the twist of her mouth, because he added, “If you do, I’d be glad to show you around.”

  “Th-thanks.” That wasn’t what she wanted him to show her right now, but she could hardly say that. “But I doubt I’ll get much time for travel.”

  With the admission that she was alone here, something had softened between them. Friendship seemed possible, even though they had only just met. She’d let her imagination run away with her. A friendly chat, a few smiles and she’d be over this stupid yearning to get to know this man further. After all, he was leaving after the weekend, he’d already told her that.

  “Won’t you join me?” he said. “If you have a meal of your own, bring it in.” He flashed that grin again. “I hate to eat alone.”

  Her food should be ready by now. After giving a brief, awkward nod, she went back to the kitchen.

  Taking out her meal, she opened the foil, plated it and found the dessert, an apple crumble, and stuck it in to warm-up while she was eating.

  Sitting down with Evan in the dining room felt weirdly perfect. She had the chance to ogle this gorgeous man, eat some hot food, and relax. Just for a few minutes.

  “Are you busy in the week?” Evan asked her.

  He was off to America on Monday. The freedom that gave her pleased her. She could share with this man. “Our traditional business, salesmen and so on is winding down. So much is done online these days. We’re transitioning to the tourist trade.”

  He glanced around. “Refurbishing?”

  “Yes. We’ll carry on as we are for a while, and then close for a week or two in the off season.”

  “Is there an off season in London?”

  She smiled. “Not really. But some months are quieter. August, for example, and November, before the Christmas rush starts. We’ll use one of those to do the necessary structural stuff, then another week or two to refurbish the rooms.”

  She took a mouthful of shepherd’s pie and chewed thoughtfully. And they’d save on Dawson’s salary. She could manage with the supplies they got from the freezer cash and carry.

  “It will take longer than that, but we can get the essential stuff done, and then do the rest incrementally. I’ve made a plan with costings, something my father should have done, but he’s not good at that side of things. That was my mother, but we lost her five years ago.”

  She accepted his condolences with a nod. “It was hard, but we’re okay.” Or she thought they were until she’d come back and seen it for herself. “My father’s recovering from a liver transplant, but he’s been ill for a while.” Drinking away his sorrows after her mother’s death. That hadn’t helped, either. “He’s gone to a respite center in Margate. He goes most weekends. Wh
en he got ill I came home.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Living my life,” she said, suppressing her sigh. Not very successfully. “After university I went to work for a resort company. I planned to specialize in resort hospitality.” She loved it, but that was gone now. At least she had skills she could use.

  She put on her brightest face. “In another six months we’ll have the money, then we’ll reopen once we’ve refurbished.” She paused, but what the hell. She must be boring him rigid. He probably wasn’t listening anymore but it was doing her good to talk, letting her plans float in the air. “We might have to get a bigger mortgage.”

  He proved her wrong by asking, “You have a mortgage?”

  “Not a big one.”

  “I see. So if you sell the place now you’ll be rich.”

  She couldn’t miss the implied question. “This hotel has been in the hands of the Woodwards since the day it was built in the early nineteenth century. It’s our own stately home, our inheritance, and our legacy.” One that would probably die with her, but that was another problem for another time.

  He nodded, and she got the feeling that he understood. Really understood. That was so rare for her that she sat back, meeting his perceptive gaze with astonishment. She’d poured her troubles out to him, and it felt so good. She could save the Woodward. She could totally do it.

  Feeling better, she got to her feet. “The crumble should be ready.”

  With a smile she opened the door to the kitchen.

  A sheet of flame roared at her. Gasping in horror, she caught hot air in her throat, but before she could recover she was shoved back, and Evan flew past her into the kitchen.

  Chapter Three

  Ethan shot out of his seat, and raced to her as a tongue of fire soared out of the room over her head. He pushed her so hard she fell to the floor behind him. “Stay down!” he yelled, spying a red cylinder in the corner of the kitchen. In the moment he took to discover what kind of extinguisher it was and how to operate it, the fire had expanded, eating up a whole corner of the room.