“Yeah, here. Pretty good for a working stiff like me, don’t you think?”
Her blue eyes flicked back to him. “You? A working stiff? I think you haven’t been a working stiff for a long time, Mr. Woolf.”
“Gabriel.”
“When I’m ready, Mr. Woolf. When I’m ready.”
A small thrill of unwelcome anticipation went through him at her resistance. Smooth, sophisticated women had never been his thing. He preferred earthier women. Women with no hang-ups, who could look after themselves and didn’t mind if things got a bit rough. Who had no expectations of anything more than a couple of nights of good, dirty fun.
Not women like Honor St. James, in other words.
Yet there were sparks in those blue eyes of hers. Sparks that promised a man a challenge. A good fight. And if there was one thing he enjoyed, it was a good fight.
Still, he needed to play it cool here because there were too many variables he didn’t know about. Before he made any move he had to do some more research. Into Tremain. Into Honor. Into the relationship between them and whether he could exploit that as well as this investment opportunity.
Guy Tremain had to pay for what he did. For what he had taken.
And the only one who could make him pay was Gabriel.
* * *
Honor didn’t know much about the Second Circle other than it was one of New York’s most exclusive private members’ clubs and getting your name on the list was supposed to be next to impossible. Well, that and the fact that her brother owned it. Not that that meant a damn thing to her.
She was surprised Gabriel Woolf was a member though. He didn’t look like the type who’d value such exclusivity. In fact, he was renowned as much for his down-to-earth business approach as he was for the fact that he never wore suits. She’d often heard the media make a big deal about how he was still a regular Joe—apart from the rumors about his past, of course—but looking at him now, Honor couldn’t understand how on earth they could have assumed that because he didn’t look like any workingman she knew.
She watched him as they entered the club, nodding a wordless greeting to the doorman, striding past the concierge in the foyer who murmured something about a table being ready for them in the restaurant.
A rough, brutal kind of power clung to him. An uncivilized, bad-boy charisma only enhanced by the jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket he wore. Honor found it mesmerizing. The way he moved, with such innate confidence, as if the world was his to bend to his command and if it didn’t, then he’d make it. Perhaps with a baseball bat.
There were a lot of confident men in the financial sector. Men in expertly tailored suits with clean-cut college good looks and the arrogance to match. But in comparison to Gabriel they suddenly all seemed like little boys playing at being men. Playing at being dangerous.
Because this guy was the real deal. And why she should like that, she had no idea.
What she did know was that letting her fledgling fascination with him show would be a mistake.
“I’m not a nice man, sweetheart…”
No, she suspected he wasn’t. But part of her dearly wanted to find out just how bad he really was.
Gabriel showed her into the restaurant and she had to fight not to stare. The place was beautiful. High ornate ceilings with chandeliers that glittered like ice crystals, low booth seats upholstered in red velvet, and circular tables of dark wood surrounded by red velvet armchairs. Some of the tables had curtains and here and there were groups of people she recognized. Politicians for the most part, but she also spotted a couple of well-known actors and their entourages, a singer with a group of admirers.
It was just the kind of place she would have loved to have been a member of simply because of the luxury factor. Nice things were Honor’s guilty pleasure. The one weakness she allowed herself, harmless and easily controllable. Designer labels and quality fabric, velvet pillows on her bed and expensive French Champagne in her fridge.
It was kind of shallow, she knew that, but still, she liked knowing that everything she had was hers, that it had been paid for with her own money and could never be taken away from her. Unlike all the things the debt collectors had repossessed when she’d been a kid, when her father’s gambling debts had come to light.
Gabriel gestured to a table set in a secluded part of the restaurant, the lighting low and intimate, giving the illusion of privacy. A waiter hovered, indicating that he’d take her coat. Honor took it off and handed it to him but kept hold of her briefcase, sliding into the booth, the red velvet smooth against the backs of her legs.
She tensed when Gabriel, instead of sitting in the armchair opposite her, slid in beside her. He wasn’t sitting particularly close and yet, Honor found herself aware of the distance between her body and his all the same.
An awareness she didn’t particularly want.
Annoyed with herself, she put her briefcase down on the seat between them, demarcating a clear line. “So, Mr. Woolf,” she began. And no, she wouldn’t give him his first name just yet. Withholding it had clearly irritated him and she had the feeling she’d need the advantage when it came to cutting a deal. “I take it you’re genuinely interested in investing in Tremain Hotels?”
He leaned back against the red velvet of the booth, the battered leather of his jacket creaking as he folded his arms. “What’s your connection?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve read some of the info you gave Eva. Tremain Hotels isn’t a client of your firm and you don’t have a stake in it. Their debts are also massive. Letting it go under would probably be the best thing and yet you’re not. Why?”
There was no point in hiding her connection. It was easy enough to find out anyway. “Guy Tremain is my stepfather. He’s poured a lot of his heart and soul into the eco-resort idea, and I think the returns on it could be good. Especially given the interest in eco-tourism these days.”
Gabriel’s dark eyes on her were sharp, focused. “But it’s not just about the returns, is it?”
A vague sense of threat gripped her. She didn’t want to reveal her stake in it just yet. It would give him a potential weakness to exploit and, of course, he would take advantage of it. He was that type of man. Careful not to let her unease show, Honor gave him a cool smile. “Please, Mr. Woolf, I’m in finance. Returns are everything.”
He stared at her for a long minute until the waiter came with the drinks list and diverted his attention.
Honor allowed herself a small, quiet breath. She didn’t know why he unnerved her quite so much. But something about the look in his eyes made her feel as if he’d stripped away her armor. Turning her back into that eight-year-old girl, holding her mother’s hand and staring at her brother as they’d confronted him all those years ago. The brother who’d once been the golden boy of the family, the brother she’d once adored and who’d left her without even a good-bye.
She still remembered the fact that Alex hadn’t looked at her. Not once. But Gabriel had. Stared at her with that same detached ferocity as he was right now. Back then she’d hated him, deciding with the logic of a child that he was the one to blame for taking her brother away.
Hated him and yet feared his cold, dark stare at the same time.
All these years later, she still felt the echoes of those same emotions, still felt the anger, the hate, and the fear.
You can’t let it affect the deal. You know you can’t.
No, she couldn’t. She had to approach this the way she approached every problem. Keep cool and calm and logical. This had nothing to do with the past. This was all about the future. Her future and Guy’s. Anything else was unimportant.
The waiter handed Honor the wine list and she ordered something, she didn’t remember what, her attention consumed by the man sitting next to her. The way the muted light of the restaurant turned his hair a deep, rich gold and gave his eyes the dark, depthless quality of a quiet lake at midnight. Softened the raw beauty of his face, making him seem approacha
ble. Less dangerous. Almost normal.
After the waiter had gone, he said, “You’re pretty clever, little girl. But you don’t fool me.”
No, he wasn’t approachable. Or less dangerous. And she must be sure never to make the mistake of thinking he was.
There was a cut crystal water tumbler on the table in front of her so she picked it up, using the movement to cover her deepening unease. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s not the returns. You’re doing it for him, aren’t you?”
Something in his posture, in the way he was looking at her, made her feel exposed. Leaning on one elbow, she turned fully to face him. “He’s my stepfather. I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.”
“Trying to rescue him from his own bad debts?”
“I’m trying to help him, yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Leaning his head back against the red velvet of the booth, Gabriel shot her a look from beneath surprisingly long, dark lashes. “Why don’t you tell me about it, baby? In the interest of full disclosure.”
Honor’s jaw tightened at the underlying note of command in his voice. And the patronizing pseudo-endearments. Little girl. Baby. What the hell was that all about? Putting her in her place or something? She wanted to tell him where he could stick it but of course, if she wanted to make sure Tremain Hotels remained viable, she had to keep Gabriel as a potential investor happy. She had to keep her personal emotions out of it.
“He’s new to the eco-tourism market,” she said crisply, annoyed that she had to explain. It made her aware of the fact that she’d invested quite a bit of her own money in something she wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole in the normal scheme of things. “There were a few errors in his research.”
“Must have been some pretty major errors given the debt.”
“Forgive me for asking, Mr. Woolf, but how does this concern you?”
“I’m looking at investing a fair amount of money into his business. His failing business. I’d say that concerns me quite a bit.”
Of course it did. And she was being overly defensive. Mostly because the whole thing worried her, too.
At that point the waiter arrived, bringing Gabriel’s beer and the glass of red wine she’d apparently ordered. Another chance to take a much needed breath.
“Dinner?” Gabriel asked her as the waiter brandished a menu.
But she wasn’t feeling very hungry or keen on spending more hours than were strictly necessary in Gabriel Woolf’s disturbing presence.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I have a few things to do tonight.”
Since when did you let a man get to you like this?
Honor sipped at her wine as Gabriel waved the waiter away, uncomfortable with the thought. Never, that was the answer. Oh, there had been plenty of men over the course of her professional life who’d thought she was an easy target. They saw someone young, feminine, and thought they could take advantage. She’d proved them wrong, of course. She’d had to.
Without respect she was nothing.
But Gabriel Woolf wasn’t like any of them and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with him.
“You want to save him? Your stepfather, I mean.”
Honor met Gabriel’s dark gaze. “Yes,” she said flatly. The confession revealed another weakness but she knew dissembling wouldn’t work with this man.
“Why?”
“That definitely isn’t your business.”
“If you want me to give you money, little girl, then it most certainly is my fucking business.”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not a little girl.”
“Aren’t you?” The look in his eyes was steady. As if he could see right down to her soul. “A little girl trying to save her daddy. Yeah, that’s what you are. And what do you think he’ll give you in return? A car? A house? A sparkly new dress?”
The aura of danger coming off him had become even more intense though he hadn’t moved. Not even to pick up his beer.
“I’m not sure what you find so offensive about it.” She put her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see them shake. “But my motives should have nothing whatsoever to do with your decision regarding investing in Tremain Hotels.”
“Then perhaps I won’t invest after all.” He reached out, picking up his beer. Taking a leisurely sip. “Perhaps I’ve found something better to do with my money.”
Oh, crap. If she wasn’t careful, this opportunity might slip away and then she’d be left with nothing. Then Guy would be left with his business folding and her mother once more neck-deep in debt along with her husband.
Along with herself. Wouldn’t that be a great reputation breaker? The hot-shot investor who bankrupted herself because of a bad business deal. An emotional investment.
“Fine,” she said. “Guy Tremain was more of a father to me than my real father ever was. And now that he’s counting on me to help him get this off the ground, I’m not going to fail him. Does that clear things up a little for you?”
Gabriel took another sip of his beer and put the glass down, leaning back against the red velvet of the seat. “In that case, count me in.”
CHAPTER THREE
Gabriel approached the door to Alex’s penthouse suite at the Second Circle and stopped. His friend’s Russian bodyguard was standing in front of it looking tall, impassive, and quite lethal in her black suit, her blond hair tied back in a severe ponytail.
“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t go in. He’s busy,” she said before he could speak.
“Busy? With what?”
The Russian woman’s startling green eyes didn’t even flicker. “With whom.”
Christ. So Alex had some bimbo he’d picked up from somewhere in there, did he? Well, too bad. Gabriel didn’t have the patience for it today. There were questions he needed answers to and he needed them now.
After his meeting with Honor the night before, it had become imperative to find out more about the relationship between her and her stepfather. If Honor was one of the man’s weaknesses—and given her defensiveness toward the guy, he suspected she was—then he had to know about it.
Alex had been very clear the night of the group’s meeting that he’d been keeping an eye on her, and if that was the case then he’d have information that Gabriel could use. Investing in Tremain Hotels was one thing, but that was just money. Honor wasn’t though. Honor was personal. And he wanted to make it personal.
“Is that right?” Gabriel said. “Well, I don’t care who he’s got in there. I need to talk to him.”
The bodyguard didn’t move, standing in front of the doorway, impassive as a plank of wood. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said again. “My orders are to let no one in.”
“I’m not no one, sweetheart.”
She opened her mouth, probably to reiterate her orders yet again, but at that point the door opened and a woman—a rather famous actress if he was correct—came out. She smiled at him as she put on her other stiletto, shaking back a tumble of blond hair. “Later, Alex, darling,” she called through the open doorway behind her and sauntered off down the hallway.
“You can go in now,” the bodyguard said expressionlessly.
“No fucking kidding,” Gabriel muttered and stepped through the doorway, shutting the door behind him.
The Second Circle’s hotel rooms were available for any of its members to stay in—all except the penthouse suite, which Alex had claimed for himself. The place was vast, all floor-to-ceiling windows and exposed brick walls, polished wooden floors and antique furniture upholstered in sumptuous fabrics. All very expensive. All very Alex.
“Oh, it’s you,” his friend commented, coming out from the bedroom, a sheet tied around his waist and trailing on the floor. He leaned against the door frame between the bedroom and lounge, running a hand through his black hair. “What’s up?”
Gabriel walked over to one of the rich, purple velvet-covered sofas, and sat down, elbows on his knees. “Tell me what you know about Honor.”
; Instantly the expression on Alex’s face became guarded. “What?”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap, man. You know I met with her last night about this hotel business. Aren’t you even curious to know how that went?”
Alex folded his arms. “No.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not.” His friend shifted against the door frame. “Look, what exactly do you want to know about her? I’m going to Vegas tomorrow and I’ve got a shitload of stuff to handle before I go.”
“So you do keep an eye on her then?”
Alex’s blue gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. I meant what I said when I told the group I did.”
“Then what’s her relationship to Guy Tremain?”
All at once the look on Alex’s face hardened fractionally. “You’ve got a thing about him, haven’t you? What’s the deal, Gabe?”
“Nothing I want to tell anyone about.” He wasn’t going to go into confessing his plans. He’d already done so with the priest, that should be enough. The whole situation was too personal. Too private. Touched on too many painful things.
“Not even me? Your oldest friend?” Alex raised an eyebrow, a mannerism so like his sister that Gabriel had an almost uncomfortable flashback to Honor sitting beside him the night before. All polished sophistication and dry, sarcastic humor.
“Fuck no,” Gabriel said bluntly.
“Then why should I tell you about Honor and Tremain?”
Slowly Gabriel sat back on the sofa, staring at the other man. “Sounds like you’re a bit concerned about her.”
Alex didn’t move but his posture became tense. “She’s my sister.”
“A sister you haven’t bothered to talk to for years.”
“Oh, Christ, not you as well. I get enough of that crap from Eva.”
Gabriel lifted a shoulder. “Hey, you have your reasons for not talking, I got mine, we’re all good. I’m just pointing out that it’s a little rich for you to get all protective of her now.”
The other man didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he let out a long breath. “Okay, well, I don’t know a lot. They’re close, that much I do know. Apparently Tremain sees her as a daughter.”
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