High Stakes

by Barbara Dunlop

  “When did Myrna West contact you?”

  “Last night.”

  His stomach clenched. Myrna offered up a heritage designation, and suddenly Candy was all over him in the back of the limo?

  Coincidence?

  Not likely.

  He felt a sudden shot of betrayal.

  But he ruthlessly squelched it.

  He’d had mind-blowing sex with a woman he’d been fantasizing about for months. Why should he care one way or the other how they’d got there?

  She wanted to bargain with her body? Okay by him. Just so long as he was the guy she was bargaining with.

  Candy’s lips compressed. “One has nothing to do with the other, Derek.”

  Right. Like he was going to buy that.

  “Noth-thing,” she repeated, drawing out each syllable, staring hard into his eyes.

  “Well, if it does,” he drawled, “you definitely miscalculated.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Wha…” Then she shook her head, obviously regrouping. “Never mind. I—that is, Jenna and I think a heritage designation would benefit the hotel.”

  “You don’t want to know why you miscalculated?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “The answer to that question can’t be complimentary.”

  What was she talking about? “You were there, Candy.”

  “Derek.”

  “Do you honestly think—”

  “Can we talk about the heritage designation?”

  Derek didn’t want to talk about the heritage designation. He wanted to talk about last night. More particularly, he wanted to talk about it in the context of tonight, and tomorrow night and the night after that.

  “Please?” she asked.

  Derek tossed the pen down onto the desk. “Fine.”

  She straightened. “Jenna and I think an increased customer base would result—”

  “Are you still fully satisfied?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Derek!”

  “Because, well, I gotta say that—”

  “Will you stop?”

  No he wouldn’t stop. Not until he figured this out. Not until he had his answers. Not until he’d exhausted every possible chance they’d make love again.

  He opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

  What the hell was he doing? Sure she was a babe. But there were lots of babes out there. He was in control—of the situation, of himself, of his emotions.

  He forced his shoulders to relax, and he unclenched his fists. He was in control. “Right. Sorry.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “A heritage designation could increase your customer base—”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Will you please give me time to finish?”

  Despite himself, Derek felt the corners of his mouth twitch. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that she’d finished last night and then some.

  Candice threw up her hands. “Will you stop…”

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  She closed her eyes for a second. “Okay. Fine. You’re right. You didn’t.”

  She leaned forward, pinning him with a school-marm gaze that all but dared him to mess up again. “A heritage designation will help establish Reeves-DuCarter’s reputation as a good corporate citizen. There are many arts and community groups who use heritage buildings for their functions. You could get their business. That would help the hotel become a society landmark, and you could piggyback a publicity campaign onto the certification.”

  It was an eloquent argument, an impassioned argument. “What’s in it for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not that I don’t think you’re a purely civic-minded philanthropist, but it must be good for Canna Interiors.” Derek relaxed. He was back on his game, looking at the angles, speculating on her motivation.

  Candice squared her shoulders and crossed her legs. “Our long-term goal is to specialize in heritage buildings. Naturally, having our first major renovation certified would be a coup and would raise the credibility of the firm.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I did.”

  Derek waved a hand. “Forget all the song and dance about it being good for me. Why not just tell me it’s good for you and ask me to cooperate?”

  Candice stared at him in puzzlement. “What? You’d do it for Jenna? Because she’s family?”

  “Why couldn’t I do it for you?”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe I’m a nice guy.”

  Her eyes narrowed tighter and she cocked her head. “What…”

  Derek gave up. “How much will it cost?”

  She reached out and slid the envelope across the desk. “Here’s a preliminary estimate.”

  He pulled out the sheaf of paper, glancing at the list of figures. “Getting a heritage designation isn’t a good economic move—”

  “But—”

  “A good corporate citizen move? Maybe. Could we dovetail some advertising and community goodwill? Possibly. But I’d have to be a nice guy to say yes to this, Candice.” His gaze swept down to the bottom line. “A really nice guy. You think I’m a nice guy?”

  After a long pause, she spoke slowly. “You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

  Derek looked up in time to catch the small smirk at the corners of her mouth.

  He held her gaze, telling himself he had to do it. “And you’re better than I ever dreamed.”

  She quickly looked away. “Derek.”

  He shook his head, his turn to smirk. “I warn you, and I warn you…” He waited, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t have any time to spend—”

  Her gaze snapped back. “I promise, it won’t take much of your time. I can do the historical research, put together the proposal, make all the logistical arrangements…. ” Her cheeks were flushed, her expression hopeful, her lips soft.

  Derek slid the envelope back across the desk.

  Making a decision based on emotion was never a good idea. Making a decision based on a pair of legs, jewel-bright eyes and a lingering afterglow was even worse.

  It wasn’t like he didn’t have a million crises to deal with, and he was sure this heritage thing was going to cost him plenty. But he was weak when it came to Candy. Embarrassingly weak.

  He was going to regret this. “Go for it,” he said.

  Her amazing eyes lit up the room, and her smile shot all the way to his toes.

  Regret was the last thing on his mind.

  THEY RE GOING TO WHAT? asked Striker.

  “Try for a heritage designation,” answered Derek, covering his embarrassment with a swig of his beer. He’d had a few hours of sober second, third and fourth thoughts on this.

  He and his two brothers were watching the sunset over Puget Sound from Derek’s deck. It wasn’t exactly boys’ night out, but it was the closest thing they could muster lately.

  “Since when did the Quayside go all artsy-fartsy?” asked Striker.

  “They’re not artists, they’re heritage curators,” explained Derek, knowing full well it didn’t matter what name he gave them or how he rationalized the decision, this was going to raise eyebrows on the board members.

  “Well, excuse me.” Striker glanced at Tyler for support.

  Tyler leaned back in his deck chair, rocking it up on two legs. “Don’t look at me. If Jenna’s happy, I’m happy.”

  Striker gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. So Jenna’s happy. My life’s great when Erin’s happy. But what the hell’s in this for Derek?”

  Tyler’s slow grin widened until he looked like a Cheshire cat. “Excellent question, bro.” He turned his attention to Derek. “Tell us, Derek. What’s in it for you?”

  Derek bought himself a few seconds by letting his gaze scan the freshly trimmed lawn that ran from his deck to the rocky beach. “The satisfaction of knowing I’m a good corporate citizen who’s helping to keep Seattle’s histor
y alive.”

  Striker coughed out an incredulous laugh.

  “Is that what you were doing last night?” asked Tyler, voice laced with a knowing snicker. “Helping to keep Seattle’s history alive?”

  Derek shot a glare at his brother.

  Striker sat up straighter in his deck chair. “Hello? What did I miss?”

  “Derek’s reason for becoming a good corporate citizen,” said Tyler.

  Striker glanced from one brother to the other. “Yeah?”

  Derek clamped his jaw shut, not about to fess up to a thing.

  Tyler showed no such compunction. “After the party last night, Derek and Candice—”

  “Whoa. Candice told Jenna?” Now that threw Derek.

  Tyler grinned.

  Derek swore.

  “Well, somebody better tell me,” said Striker.

  “It was nothing,” said Derek.

  Tyler’s eyebrow arched. “Nothing.”

  “We went for a limo ride.”

  “In a limo?” asked Striker, a note of admiration in his tone. “That’s one up on me.”

  “It was nothing,” said Derek.

  “That’s not what I’m hearing,” said Tyler.

  “Nothing I haven’t done with a dozen other women.” Now that was a bald-faced lie. Derek hadn’t come anywhere close to that with any other woman.

  “I’m hearing—”

  “I don’t care what Jenna told you.”

  Tyler grinned smugly as he took another swig of his beer. “Jenna didn’t tell me anything. I was fishing.”

  Striker burst out laughing.

  Derek’s stomach clenched. He hated it when his baby brother pulled one over on him. But he kept his face poker-straight. “Then I take it all back.”

  Striker whistled through his teeth. “The back of a limo.”

  Derek lifted his beer bottle, holding out his index finger and pointing at each of his brothers. “I don’t want either of your wives hearing about this.” Candy didn’t deserve to be gossiped about.

  “Let me get this straight. You boff her—”

  “Striker…” Derek growled.

  Striker cleared his throat. “Excuse me. You go for a limo ride with Candice. A really fun limo ride. And the next morning you agree to become Seattle’s citizen of the month?”

  Striker looked at Tyler, and Tyler looked at Striker.

  “He’s toast,” said Tyler.

  “Crispy,” said Striker.

  “It’s not like that,” said Derek.

  They both coughed out a laugh.

  Derek shook his head and finished the dregs of his beer. It wasn’t like that.

  Other companies did this kind of thing all the time. Candy had made some good points. They’d get significant PR out of the heritage designation. And she was doing all the work. He just had to sign a few papers, spend a little more money and then he was done.

  Striker stood up. “Much as I love discussing Derek’s sex life, I gotta take off. There’s a sweet young bride waiting at my house.”

  “Mine, too,” Tyler agreed. “Think I’ll pump her for information about Candice—”

  “Don’t—” Derek began, then he caught the look on his brother’s face. Tyler was yanking his chain again.

  As his brothers headed around the house to their cars, their low conversation was punctuated by breaks of laughter. Derek didn’t even want to know what they were discussing.

  He cleared the deck, straightened the kitchen, then sat down at his desk, determined to put in a couple of hours’ work before bed. By eleven o’clock he’d given up on trying to grasp the schematics for a new cell phone design, and he hit the lights and headed upstairs.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, his mind flashed back twenty-four hours. Once again, he saw Candy’s eyes, her smile, her honey-toned body. He vividly remembered her taste and her scent, and the feel of her curvy body pressed tight against his own.

  He wondered what she was doing right now.

  Asleep? Awake?

  Had she thought about him at all?

  His gaze shifted to his telephone. He’d always had a great memory for numbers, and hers flashed through his brain. He watched with a measure of amazement as his hand reached for the receiver and his index finger punched in the number.

  She picked up on the second ring, voice husky and sleepy. “Hello?”

  He resisted the urge to ask what she was wearing.

  “For the record,” he said.

  “Derek?”

  “Your miscalculation? It was in not asking me for the heritage designation while we were in the limo.”

  There was a silent pause. “Why?”

  “Because, at that point, I would have agreed to anything.”

  “You agreed to it anyway.”

  She had him there.

  There was another long silence. He could think of a million things he wanted to say, from the lightly sarcastic to the downright erotic.

  Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Good night, Candy.”

  “Good night, Derek.”

  CANDICE HAD PUZZLED over Derek’s words all night long. He would have agreed to anything before they made love or after they made love? Did he mean she was good, or just that he’d wanted it really bad?

  She was no closer to an answer as she followed Jenna into the manager’s office in the Quayside Hotel. It had seemed like a good place to start their search for historic information.

  “You know, this is the first place Tyler ever kissed me,” said Jenna as she rattled her way into Henry Wenchel’s file drawer, searching for the original architectural drawings.

  “You mean the time you got all paranoid and thought he wasn’t attracted to you?” she asked Jenna.

  “That’s the time,” said Jenna, smiling as she retrieved a thick file of papers. “It was while we were looking at these.”

  She closed the file drawer, straightened and headed for Henry’s desk, spreading out the crackling, yellowed drawings.

  Candice flipped on the desk lamp and helped Jenna smooth the corners of the sheets. “These are great,” she breathed, peering down at the faint printing of the circa 1940 architectural drawings.

  They flipped through the pages, finding the original floor plan, the elevation views and handwritten notes from the architect.

  “So where were you the first time Derek kissed you?” asked Jenna.

  “We need to frame these,” said Candice, not wanting to remember Derek’s kisses, his scent, his deep voice or anything else about him at the moment.

  Jenna elbowed her playfully in the ribs. “Give.”

  “In the Tunnel of Love,” said Candice. “I told you that months ago. Maybe we could hang some of them in the restaurant after we make the presentation.”

  “That one didn’t count,” said Jenna.

  “Look. Here’s where they added the conference wing.”

  “Interesting,” said Jenna. “Where did he first really kiss you.”

  “On the mouth. Did you know the hotel had a basement?”

  “They renovated most of it for parking about twenty-five years ago. And I meant the geographical location, not the anatomical position.”

  “Anything left down there?”

  Jenna grinned, stepping back to cross her arms over her chest. “Yeah. And I know how to get there. But, now that we’re alone, you have to dish. Start with where Derek first kissed you.”

  Candice began sorting out the best drawings to take to the framing shop. “You are way too nosy.”

  “I heard it was in the limousine.”

  “Who told you about the limousine?”

  “Is it true?”

  “No.”

  “Tyler told me about the limousine. Guess he got it from Derek. What happened to the Roosevelt suite?”

  Derek had bragged to Tyler? Why would he do that? He was thirty-four not sixteen.

  Not that she minded Jenna knowing a few details. In fact she was surprised Jenna had waited
a full day to corner her. What Candice didn’t like was becoming a topic of general discussion. “You know, that Reeves-DuCarter family is way too interested in each other’s sex lives.”

  Jenna blinked. “You had sex in the limo?”

  “See that, their voyeurism is rubbing off on you.”

  “No. You’re rubbing off on me. Face it, you couldn’t wait to get the details on me and Tyler.”

  “Different set of circumstances,” said Candice. “Tyler was a relationship. Derek is merely chocolate.” Chocolate, she reminded herself—delicious, but fleeting, and too much of it was bad for your health.

  “If you’ll recall, Tyler started off as my fling to obliterate Brandon.”

  “Worked, too, didn’t it?” Candice held up one of the drawings, firmly focusing on the history of the hotel. The lines on the drawing were a bit faint, but they were legible. “I think we should preserve them just the way they are.”

  “We’re not talking about me,” said Jenna.

  Candice let out a mock sigh. “We’re talking about the heritage designation.”

  “No, we’re talking about what happened after you and Derek left the party.”

  “You’re not going to back off unless I give, are you?”

  “Would you?”

  Candice rolled up the chosen plans and slipped them into a cardboard tube. Best thing to do was get this over with quick. That way she could banish Derek from her brain for the rest of the day.

  “Okay, here’s the dirt. He kissed me in the Lighthouse the weekend Tyler locked us up there. And yes, we had wild sex in the back of the limo.”

  Jenna looked impressed. “With the driver there and everything?”

  “The privacy wall was up.”

  “Oh.” Now Jenna looked disappointed.

  “What? You’re an exhibitionist?”

  “No. But I am damned impressed.”

  Candice allowed herself a quick, furtive memory. “Twice.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Going to do it again?”

  Candice stuffed the cardboard tube under her arm. “Nope. Like chocolate, remember? I’ve had my fill.”

  “So that’s it?”

  Candice switched off the desk lamp. “Absolutely.”

  “How long you go between chocolate cravings anyway?”

  “Few months.”

  “I give you a few days.”

  Quite frankly, it had only taken a few hours. But Candice wasn’t about to crack. It was one thing to sleep with Derek when she thought it would solve her problem of obsessing about him. But she couldn’t go around having sex with him every few days just to keep her psyche on an even keel.