She couldn’t let him down. She just couldn’t. Not with her own financial security and reputation riding on it as well.
Honor opened her eyes as the doors to the elevator opened, clenched her hand tighter on the handle of her briefcase, and strode out through the foyer.
Eva King was her last hope and by God, she’d get the woman, her technology, and most importantly, her money on board if it was the last thing she did.
Going out through the building’s entrance, Honor shivered as the hard winter cold slid icy hands up her legs, the pavement slippery and wet beneath the heels of her black Louboutins.
She drew her coat tighter around her, but even the expensive wool didn’t seem to have any effect against the biting cold.
The street was crowded with traffic and people hurrying home after a long day at the office and at first, Honor didn’t notice the long black limo parked just along the entrance to her building. At least not until a man in a chauffer’s uniform stepped in front of her. “Ms. St. James? Ms. King has sent a car for you.”
Honor stopped, glancing at the limo in surprise. The windows were tinted, hiding whoever was inside completely from view. “Oh,” she said slightly nonplussed. The pub wasn’t very far away and she hadn’t expected a lift. “That’s very kind of her.”
The chauffer pulled open the door for her and stood there, waiting.
An odd foreboding went through her as she stared into the dark interior of the limo, one that had nothing to do with the cold. As if once she got inside, she’d be taken away somewhere against her will, never to return.
Are you crazy? It’s just a car.
Irritated with herself, Honor shrugged off the feeling. Yes, that’s exactly what it was. Just a car to take her to a meeting. A thoughtful gesture by the Void Angel CEO. No big deal.
Smiling at the chauffeur, she got in, the warm interior of the limo a delicious contrast to the icy evening air.
But it wasn’t until she’d sat down on the plush leather seat that she realized she wasn’t alone.
And it wasn’t Eva King in the car with her.
A man sat on the opposite seat, long legs outstretched, arms folded. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, worn at the knees, a black T-shirt, and a battered black leather jacket.
A workingman’s outfit, completely at odds with the obvious luxury of the car.
But the male wearing it was not in any way an average workingman.
He was tall, his head almost brushing the car’s ceiling, his legs taking up most of the room in the space between them. Powerful, too. She could tell by the breadth of his shoulders and the way his leather jacket pulled tightly across them, and the cotton of his T-shirt stretched over the contours of his chest. There was something rough about him, something brutal. An aura of menace that, along with his appearance, should have been intimidating.
But Honor wasn’t intimidated. She knew him.
He was Gabriel Woolf, infamous owner of Woolf Construction, one of the biggest and most successful private construction companies in the country.
Yet that wasn’t the only reason she knew him, why every time he appeared in the media she’d stop whatever she was doing and watch. She knew him because he’d been the teenage boy standing next to her brother nineteen years ago. The day her mother had finally tracked Alex down and dragged Honor along to convince him to come home. The last time she’d ever seen the big brother she’d once adored with every breath in her body.
She’d never, ever forgotten.
Catapulted suddenly back into the past, Honor completely forgot about the meeting she was supposed to go to, about where Eva King was and why Gabriel Woolf was here instead.
“Where’s my brother?” she demanded before she could stop herself. “Where’s Alex?”
Gabriel’s eyes were very dark, in stark contrast to the deep, tawny gold of his hair. There was a brutal beauty to his features. God, she still remembered his face from all those years ago—even then he’d seemed hard. And when she’d looked into his eyes, all she’d seen was anger. It prowled around inside him like a caged animal. Back then it had frightened her.
Now she could sense it still, colder, hungrier, but this time it didn’t scare her because he wasn’t the only one who was angry.
He didn’t move. Just stared at her. “Nice to see you too, Miss St. James.” His voice was deep, lazy. A deceptive voice, the note of sensuality of it, the thread of heat, completely at odds with the cold look in his eyes. “It’s been a while.”
Honor folded her hands on top of the briefcase in her lap. “Nineteen years to be exact and you didn’t answer my question.”
“You want to talk about your brother now?”
“Knowing he’s okay would be something.”
He studied her with an oddly detached kind of focus, as if he were looking at the results of an experiment he’d just conducted. It made her uncomfortable. “Yes, he’s okay.”
If okay could be applied to a lifestyle as dissolute as Alex’s was reputed to be. “Where is he?” she demanded again.
“What makes you think I know?”
“You’re his friend, aren’t you?”
“And you’re assuming that why?”
Because once, nineteen years ago …
That doesn’t mean they’re still friends now. Also, do you really care that much about Alex?
He’d left her. Left her and her mother alone after Daniel St. James’s suicide, and hadn’t contacted them. Not once. So no, she didn’t care.
With an effort, Honor made herself relax. “I’m probably assuming a great many things, actually. Sorry, I don’t usually make demands of strangers in cars.”
“Not so much a stranger since you know who I am already.”
“Yes, well. You’re pretty recognizable.” Honor lifted one hand and leaned across the space between them, holding it out. “Nice to meet you once again, Mr. Woolf.”
For a second Gabriel stared at her hand held out like an olive branch as if he didn’t quite trust it. Then slowly he unfolded his arms and enclosed her hand in one of his. “Likewise, Miss St. James.”
Her breath caught as a wave of heat washed over her skin at his touch, her heart suddenly racing. She had to fight to keep the reaction from showing in her face.
Damn, was that what she thought it was? It had been a while since she’d felt anything like sexual attraction to a man, so she couldn’t be sure.
Honor pulled her hand away, trying not to make her shock too obvious. “And that’s as good a question as any to start with. I thought I was supposed to be meeting with Eva King.”
Gabriel leaned back against the seat, folding his arms again. “You were. I’m a friend of Eva’s. She passed on a few details regarding your quest for investors and I decided I was interested.”
Not expecting it, Honor blinked. “You’re interested in Tremain Hotels?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“But … why?”
His dark eyes were watchful as if he was gauging her reaction. “I’m in the construction business, Miss St. James. And green construction is the way of the future. It’s where the money’s at. Of course I’m interested.”
For a minute Honor didn’t quite know what to say. She’d been expecting to meet Eva, not the man she’d forever associate with Alex’s disappearance from her life. But this was a good thing, wasn’t it? If he was as interested as he claimed, then having a company like Woolf Construction as a backer could only be an asset.
And perhaps she might be able to get a bit more information about Alex from him, too. Not because she wanted to make contact—no, he’d burned that particular bridge a long time ago—but something she could take back to her mother, who’d found his abandonment particularly hard to take.
“You look surprised,” Gabriel said.
“Of course I’m surprised. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“You’ll get over it.”
Honor shifted in her seat. “What about Eva then?”
&nbs
p; “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be involved with the tech side of things. But I’m going to be handling everything else.”
There was something about the way he said it, so arrogant—so confident—that instantly got her back up. Annoyed and trying not to show it since he was a potential client after all, Honor folded her hands back on her briefcase again. “I see. So, I take it we’re not going to be meeting in the pub then?”
His eyes had taken on a strange glitter. “That wasn’t Eva’s plan. That was mine, but right now I’ve changed my mind.”
Honor found herself gripping her briefcase tightly, a strange little twist of fear curling in her stomach. “Oh?”
“Yes. I think we need a little bit more in the way of privacy.”
“Mr. Woolf—”
Abruptly he sat forward, a sharp movement that made her heart beat fast. “Are you afraid of me, Miss St. James?” The words were soft, but there was an underlying roughness to them that Honor found almost menacing.
Her fingers felt cold against the warm leather of her briefcase, the edges sharp, digging into her knuckles.
Gabriel Woolf. What did she know about him? The rough-edged CEO of Woolf Construction. The man she’d watched over the years—not with any conscious intent, but she’d been aware of him nonetheless. Was he a man to be afraid of?
Oh, there’d been rumors about him, about how he’d gotten the money to start his company so young, especially when he’d grown up on the streets. Rumors that he’d been a drug dealer at some point, with gang links. It was a well-known fact that he’d been the president of an outlaw motorcycle club, a fact the media loved to play up. But he’d never had any charges brought against him, nor did he ever answer questions on the subject.
Yet even without those rumors, he was rather frightening. Tall, clearly muscular, and exuding such a sense of cold, powerful, tightly leashed anger, he was like a coiled spring. Or a loaded gun ready to go off at the slightest touch. So yes, maybe she was afraid of him. And, for some reason, also fascinated by him.
“No,” Honor said. “I’m not afraid of you.” She’d learned a thing or two when it came to dealing with powerful men, the kind of men rife in the world of high finance. One was to never admit to fear.
Gabriel’s dark eyes didn’t leave her face. “You’re in a strange car with a strange man going fuck knows where and you’re not afraid?”
Was he trying to intimidate her? Put her off? He was out of luck in that case. Because the second lesson she’d learned was to never back down.
“No,” she repeated. “Should I be?”
* * *
She was lying. He could see it in her stillness. In the flicker of her blue eyes as they regarded him from underneath straight, glossy, black bangs.
Her face was pointed with a sweet little bow of a mouth, long thick eyelashes, and a straight nose. Her fine-grained skin pale and soft.
She looked high-class. Sophisticated in a fancy coat and shoes with distinctive red soles. He knew shoes like that—he’d bought numerous pairs for lovers before.
Expensive. Just like her. She had that perfectly presented, smooth look to her that only the priciest kind of woman had.
The kind of woman that a man with a past like his wasn’t ever supposed to touch.
“Yeah, you should be afraid,” Gabriel said. And he meant it. He was hard. Ruthless. Had done some bad stuff to get where he was today and regretted none of it. The only rule he had—and one he never broke—was to never harm a woman. In fact, when he’d been president of the Angels, he’d become the go-to guy for women having trouble with their boyfriend, or husband, or who’d been menaced by some stranger. Go to Church, they said. He’ll sort it out.
And he had. He’d taken pleasure from it. And if some guys had gotten hurt it was their own fault. Of course, a psychiatrist would have had a field day with that. Would have said he saw his father in each abuser.
The psychiatrist would have been right.
Then again, a little fear never hurt. It was healthy. Guaranteed respect. And sent her fair warning not to screw with him.
Honor raised an eyebrow—a mannerism that was startlingly reminiscent of Alex. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m not a nice man, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? Oh, please.”
He almost smiled at the look on her face. “Honor, then.”
“That would be preferable.”
“Good to see you, Honor.” He didn’t offer his hand again. He could still feel the warmth of her palm against his from their previous touch. A subtle heat that rested on his skin like a ray of sun. Dangerous. But useful.
Sure, he’d never hurt a woman but he had no problem with using her if it was necessary.
“Nice to see you again, too,” Honor replied with stiff courtesy. She didn’t say his name and he suspected that was deliberate.
Again he had to resist the urge to smile. Had she felt this electricity between them, too? And was she discomforted by it?
He watched her shift around on the seat, her knuckles white where they clutched the handle of her black leather briefcase. Oh yeah, she was.
“So where are we going if we’re not going to the pub? Or do you have a lair you’re dragging me off to?” she asked, again with the raised eyebrow and a certain dry humor. Nervous and trying not to show it, he guessed. Easy enough to tell by the way she was clutching that briefcase.
“I have a private club I’m a member of,” he replied. “I thought we’d go there to discuss your proposal.”
He wasn’t much for fancy restaurants or exclusive bars. That was Alex’s territory, not his. But Honor St. James didn’t belong in a place like O’Rourke’s. With her brother’s coloring, black hair, and blue eyes, she had a delicate, catlike beauty that drew the eye. Drew attention.
And he didn’t want attention. He preferred to get on with the job, not create a fuss.
“Okay.” She patted the top of the briefcase. “I brought along some information you might—”
“I’ve got the information already,” he interrupted. After the meeting with the others two nights ago, he’d got his research team to look into Tremain Hotels, turning up everything they could find.
The chain was, indeed, seriously in debt, which was excellent news from his perspective. And also the basis for the plan he’d been turning over in his head for the past couple of days now. A fairly simple plan when all was said and done—sink money into Tremain. Buy as much stock as he could. Make sure he had the controlling shares. Then maybe he’d bankrupt it. Or maybe he’d keep the lot and make Tremain Hotels part of his own empire.
Whatever he’d do, one thing was certain. He’d take something of his father’s and make it his. And he’d make sure Tremain knew who it was who’d made him pay. And why.
“You have?” Honor blinked. “Oh, right. Of course you have. And I guess you’ve read over the various reports that I sent to Eva?”
“Yes. But I’m not discussing that now. We’ll have plenty of time after we reach the club.”
She opened her mouth. Shut it again. “Perhaps we can talk about my brother then.”
He hadn’t quite decided how he’d tackle her questions, because obviously she would have them. Alex had just shrugged his shoulders when Gabriel had asked him about it. “Tell her or don’t tell her,” he’d said. “I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m still his friend,” Gabriel said, deciding. “If that’s what you want to know.”
Her eyes were dark, like Indian sapphires, the expression in them unreadable. “So you see him then? Regularly?”
“Semi-regularly, yes.”
“Does he know…” She stopped, looked down at her hands. “Does he know you’re meeting me?”
“Yeah, he does.”
“I see. I don’t suppose…” She trailed off again. “No, don’t answer that question.”
“Did he want me to pass a message on to you?” Gabriel finished for her. “No, he didn’t.” Brutally honest p
erhaps, but it was better to know these things straight up.
Honor’s posture stiffened a little but her expression remained neutral. So she had armor. He supposed a woman like her must need it, working as she did in such a male-dominated industry. “Well,” she said, a thin film of ice coating her words, “I didn’t expect him to. Not after nineteen years of silence.” Her blue eyes were very direct. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that, did you?”
“No. That was all Alex’s decision.”
“Ah, okay, then.” She looked down at her hands again. “That answers pretty much all my questions in that case.” The cold had bled out of her tone, leaving behind it a hint of pain.
Gabriel studied her. He’d never judged his friend for leaving his mother and sister after his father’s death. Mainly because he’d known a man driven by demons when he saw one and Alex seemed driven by the entire population of hell. So when Alex had told him he’d left home and wouldn’t go back, Gabriel had accepted it. Who was he to judge anyway? After the things he’d done? If Alex needed to leave to survive whatever was eating him up inside, then Gabriel had no problem with that.
Yet looking at Honor now, hearing the echoes of an old pain in her voice, he couldn’t help wondering at his friend’s continued refusal to make contact.
It’s not your business. And you can’t afford to get involved.
No. He couldn’t. The only thing that mattered was taking down Tremain. Honor’s stepfather. That was the extent of it.
He had to stay on target and that meant finding out more about her relationship with the guy. About why she was trying to save his company. Look for any weaknesses that could be exploited.
The car began to slow, coming to a halt outside the Second Circle Club.
Honor stared out the window, her eyes widening a little. She glanced at him, then back at the elegant old building outside. “Here?”
He rather enjoyed her look of disbelief. Part of him would always get a kick out of shocking people who judged him on his past and the streets he’d come from.
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