Tycoon's One-Night Revenge

by Bronwyn Jameson

  She blinked. A slow-motion movement of dark lashes against pale cheeks. “That must be a little…odd.”

  Van gave a hollow laugh. “There’s one description.”

  “How have you dealt with it?”

  He swirled the wine in his glass, wondering whether to answer. How much to share. But then he recalled the compassion in her eyes and, what the hell, he’d likely shared a whole lot more than this with Susannah Horton. “I talked to the people I was dealing with that week. I retraced my footsteps. I reconstructed. I cursed a lot.”

  “Cursing sometimes helps.”

  Van studied her sitting there all prim and proper in her buttoned-up coat, and he thought about her cursing in that crisp private-school voice. The image was intriguing. She was intriguing. “I have a business backer, a mentor, who believes curses are the spice of our bland language.”

  “Mac,” she said softly.

  Van’s hand stilled and tightened around the stem of his wineglass. “I told you about her?”

  “Yes, although there’s no need to look so worried. You didn’t let any family skeletons out of the closet, nor did I sneakily access the information from your possessions.”

  Although her words were flippant, there was a bite to her tone. He deserved it, and she deserved an apology. “I’m sorry that I insulted you with that insinuation. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Really? What was your intention?”

  “To find out what had happened with the acquisition deal. When I left Melbourne, I had a deal on the table. When I woke up a week later, it was gone.”

  He saw a flicker of guilt and what could have been regret cross her face. If possible she blanched even more. “Telling me about your amnesia from the start would have made that conversation go a lot more smoothly.”

  “For you, yes.”

  “And you?”

  Van met her eyes with unflinching directness. “I came here knowing these things about you, Susannah. You’re Miriam Horton’s daughter. I employed you to show me Stranger’s Bay. You were engaged to Alex Carlisle.”

  “I wasn’t en—”

  “This is what I knew from your mother, and everyone I asked vouched for her integrity. But my point is,” he stressed when she looked like interrupting, “I came here thinking the worst of you. If you’d known I remembered nothing, how could I have trusted anything you told me?”

  “And now, do you believe anything I told you?”

  “Yes.”

  Surprise widened her eyes and some colour returned to her face. She looked almost pleased, and Van felt a kick of satisfaction low in his gut, the kind that came from a surprise win on the markets or an unexpected victory at the negotiating table.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Who could make up a story like that?”

  Their eyes met and shared the dry humour of that answer in a rare moment of connection. Then wariness returned to chase away the smile. She stood suddenly, a quick, jerky movement at odds with her normal grace, and in the awkwardness he caught a distracting glimpse of knee, thigh, skirt. It was nothing overt, nothing sexual, but the sight threw him right off balance.

  He’d seen that exact shift of motion before. It moved in and out of focus in the darkness that used to house his memory of that weekend.

  “It doesn’t make any difference, does it?”

  Van looked up, the sensation gone in a blink, leaving him unsure if he’d remembered or only imagined remembering. “What doesn’t?” he asked, frowning.

  She lifted her hands and let them drop in a gesture of defeat. “Your amnesia—me now knowing about your accident—it changes nothing.”

  “Not even your perception of why I lost this acquisition?”

  Her eyes clouded with an emotion Van hated. Pity. Sympathy. Compassion. Whatever label it wore, he’d seen enough these past ten weeks to last ten lifetimes. “I understand why you feel robbed and I’m very sorry, but that doesn’t change what has happened since.”

  “One thing hasn’t changed. I still want The Palisades. And after hearing why I lost out, I want it even more.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice rasping on the infernal word. “But it is too late. Can’t you see that? The agreement has been made with Alex, the contract is drawn.”

  “But won’t be signed until you marry Carlisle.” He paused, swirling the last inch of red wine and allowing the idea that circled his brain to take root. “What happens to The Palisades sale if the marriage doesn’t go ahead?”

  “That is not going to happen,” she said resolutely. “Alex is a man of this word. He will not pull out of this deal, no matter what you say or do. The threat you made about exposing our affair won’t change his mind.”

  “And yet you came down here, presumably to stop me doing that.”

  “I came to find out what was going on, and why you were back. Alex knows we weren’t engaged that weekend, he knows I didn’t cheat or lie to him, so he won’t change his mind about marrying me.”

  “And what if you change your mind?”

  “You’re suggesting that I break my engagement?”

  “We’re not talking about a love match, Susannah. This is a business contract. You’ve been bartered like a high-price commodity.”

  A shadow crossed her face, but a spark of vehemence lit her eyes and lifted her chin. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear earlier, but you’re reading this wrong. Yes, this is an unusual alliance and it is bound and tied up like a business deal, but there was no coercion involved. I want to marry Alex. From this union I am getting everything I want. A husband I respect and admire, children, an extended family, as well as all the advantages being a Carlisle will bring to my business.

  “I’m sorry, Donovan,” she said drawing herself up tall. “I really am, but there is nothing I or you or anyone can do to change what’s transpired. I really have to go now or this flight will leave without me, but when I get back to civilisation I will talk to Alex. He’s a fair man. Perhaps he will reconsider that part of the contract.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought you said he wouldn’t back down.”

  “I don’t believe he will, but I’m offering to try. That’s all I can do, other than suggest some other properties that would suit your purposes just as well as The Palisades.”

  “I’m not interested in another property. I came here to buy this one.”

  “Then I guess it’s up to Alex.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Van told himself after she’d left. He always steered his own ship. No way was he leaving his destiny in the hands of a competitor. Alex Carlisle might be a fair man, but he was also a businessman with a reputation for smart dealing.

  Why would he give up The Palisades?

  Sure, sweetheart, I’ll tear up the contract so your last lover can have another shot at a prime property.

  No, that was not going to happen. Carlisle wanted the property; he wanted Susannah as his wife; why the hell would he give up either?

  From his terrace, Van tracked the careful progress of the resort’s courtesy pickup as it schlooshed a wet path back to the central resort buildings. It had picked her up from his door, presumably to transport her to the helipad and her four-o’clock departure. Van couldn’t see her going anywhere in this weather. In the hour since he’d stepped from the tub, the squalls of wind had grown flukier, the rain heavier.

  The fact that she wasn’t leaving—that she couldn’t scurry back to the fiancé she respected and admired—did nothing to ease Van’s darkening discontent. It was a tangle of frustration, of missed opportunity, of all she’d told him and all he didn’t yet know.

  Hands braced on the balcony railing, he glared out into a landscape tailor-made for his mood. Past the dark jut of the clifftop, he could just make out the churn of whitecaps against the obsidian waters of the bay. Somewhere out there, shielded by the thickening curtain of rain, sat Charlotte Island. The private and exclusive island was the heart of the resort property and the reason no substitute wou
ld do.

  He would have visited in July, he had no doubt about that despite his lack of memories or photographs. Both were lost to the chance of fate that put him the same place at the same time as that trio of brawny thieves. They’d taken more than his possessions, they’d also stolen a chunk of precious time.

  He slapped his hand down against the steel rail as a bead of suppressed fury exploded inside him.

  With every week he’d been laid up mending broken bones and bruised organs, Mac had slipped another week closer to the end. Now, more than ever, he wanted this land returned to her ownership. His last and only meaningful gift to the woman who’d shaped him from a cocky young upstart to a respected equity player.

  Lifting his face to the icy kiss of the rain, he considered his options. He could tell Susannah why he was set on acquiring this land. Maybe that would stir sufficient sympathy for his cause, maybe she would even talk to Carlisle as she’d promised, but compassion was not recognised currency in the cut-throat world of business. And no matter how many ways she cried family-husband-happiness, this marriage was a business arrangement.

  Bottom line, he had one chance—and one night—to buy himself back into this deal.

  All he had to do was stop the wedding from going ahead.

  Four

  “L isten to that rain! I bet you’re glad you decided to stay.”

  The reservations manager came out of the bathroom where she’d been checking to ensure Susannah had all the necessary toiletries. Since she’d left home with nothing but a hastily packed tote bag, she was grateful for whatever the resort could supply for her unexpected overnight stay.

  Before she could respond to Gabrielle’s comment, the drumming of rain on the villa’s iron roof intensified to a deafening din. Susannah closed her mouth. She might not be exactly glad about staying, but the weather had robbed her of any choice.

  Gabrielle joined her in the bedroom, her nose creasing into a wince as she gazed out the window. “We made the right decision in talking you out of driving.”

  By we she meant the resort staff. Susannah had been all for leaving by whatever means available. With the helicopter shuttle grounded, she’d asked about hiring a car—heck, she’d even offered to buy a four-wheel drive belonging to Jock, the doorman-cum-resort-chauffeur! But everyone from Jock to the manager had declared her crazy to consider attempting the long drive in such hazardous conditions.

  Watercraft had been suggested as an “if you absolutely must leave” option, and Susannah shuddered. There was a line between absolutely-need-to and really-want-to, and that line was the wide expanse of choppy waves between here and Appleton.

  “You’ll be comfortable here for tonight.” Gabrielle finished plumping the massed arrangement of pillows on the bed and straightened. “And if the worst comes to the worst, we will look into the boat option tomorrow.”

  “Is there a possibility the shuttle won’t be flying?” Susannah asked on a rising note of concern.

  “I trust it won’t come to that.” The other woman’s cheerful smile was spoiled by a flicker of concern in her eyes. “I am sorry I couldn’t put you in your usual accommodation. Unfortunately our other guest had already reserved The Pinnacle.”

  “There’s no need to apologise, Gabrielle. I didn’t have a reservation and you’ve known me long enough to realise that I never expect deferential treatment just because of my name.”

  “I know, but thank you for the reassurance. It’s been quite a day.”

  “It has,” Susannah agreed. And it wasn’t over yet. Her heart kicked up a beat, recalling the wording Gabrielle had used. “Did I hear you correctly when you referred to ‘the other guest’? Are there just the two of us here tonight?”

  “We had a late cancellation due to the weather, from a group who’d booked most of the resort for a corporate team-building exercise.”

  “Is the forecast that bad?”

  “For beach games and bushwalking?” Gabrielle’s smile was wry when she tilted her head as if listening to the remorseless rain. “I’d say, yes.”

  For anything outdoors, Susannah conceded as she studied the view—or lack thereof—from the bedroom window. Her thoughts zeroed to the only other guest and his intentions. Why had he come back to Stranger’s Bay? Was he really reconstructing that weekend?

  Her pulse thudded. Her gaze skimmed over the bed and a vivid memory of how they’d spent much of their weekend flared low in her belly.

  She chased it away with a reminder of where she was supposed to be tonight and the heat turned chill.

  “Is there anything wrong with your bed?” Gabrielle sounded puzzled. “If you require more pillows, or a specific—”

  “No, no,” Susannah said quickly. “I was miles away, thinking about something else entirely. I had a…date…for tonight.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Susannah wasn’t so sure, but she followed Gabrielle out to the state-of-the-art kitchen where the other woman continued her check of the pantry and refrigerator. “The basics are all here but I’ll order a hamper from catering and send it along once the rain eases. As for dinner—”

  “Please, don’t go to any more trouble on my behalf,” Susannah implored. “I’m sure the hamper will be more than enough without ordering in dinner.”

  Gabrielle made her way to the door. “You know nothing is ever too much trouble. If you change your mind or if there’s anything else you need, I’m a phone call away. And if there’s any update on the weather or transport, I will let you know.”

  “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

  After Susannah closed the door, she roamed from room to room, contemplating the ramifications of being stranded here longer than overnight. In an effort at optimism, she told herself this would delay facing the wrath of Alex for another day. Unfortunately that couldn’t dispel the ominous downside—she and Donovan Keane were here alone.

  Knowing he was ensconced in the luxurious villa where they’d shared that other weekend left her feeling restless and uneasy. It was a sensation she understood far too well. From the moment she first met Donovan Keane, he’d unsettled her senses and her equilibrium.

  Even now, with the curtain of rain adding an extra layer of isolation to each of the scattered villas, she felt his presence in every overly responsive female cell.

  Paused at the window facing out toward the bay, she lifted her hands to rub the goose bumps that had sprung up on her arms. She needed warm. She needed dry. But first she needed a long, hot shower.

  When she exited the steam-shrouded bathroom a half hour later, her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel, she felt toasty warm and as relaxed as possible given the robe was identical to the one Donovan had worn. She hung her clothes on the dining chairs and thought about lighting the fire. The more quickly they dried, the more quickly she could shed this reminder of Donovan.

  Unconsciously her hand came up to clutch the lapel, and her stomach tightened again with the shock of that moment of discovery. The scar, his story, her imagining of his injuries.

  A knock at the door startled her out of her introspection.

  Her first thought—it’s him!—gave way to a deprecating huff of breath. It would be catering with the promised hamper. Her nerves breathed a sigh of relief and her stomach rumbled in anticipation. She’d missed lunch and the airline breakfast had been insubstantial and too long ago.

  “Just a second,” she called, unpeeling the towel from her hair. Skirting the makeshift laundry, she hurried to the door. And where she should have seen a uniformed member of the resort’s catering staff smiling a greeting, she saw Donovan Keane leaning against the door frame.

  Dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt, he looked hauntingly familiar. Just like their first night here at Stranger’s Bay when he’d appeared uninvited on her doorstep.

  As he straightened, the silver drift of his gaze took her all in, from the tips of her bare toes to the top of her tangled curls. All the blood drained from Susannah
’s brain into her skin. Annoyance and agitation and dismay warred with those unruly female responses.

  Stop it, she warned her hormones. You do not want to see him. Especially straight from the shower with no underwear, no makeup, no defences.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked curtly.

  He inclined his head, indicating a hefty picnic-style hamper at his feet. “Dinner, I hope.”

  Taking advantage of Susannah’s slackjawed surprise, Van picked up the weighty basket and brushed past her.

  She recovered enough to catch at his shirtsleeve. “Stop. Wait.”

  If he’d wanted, Van could have shrugged off that attempt to stop his entry. Instead he paused a step inside the door and half a step from her flushed countenance. For the first time, he noticed the scatter of freckles on her nose, visible because her face was scrubbed clean from the shower.

  His gaze dipped to her throat and then to her chest. Barely visible beneath the rosy tint of her skin, more of those freckles spanned the deep V created by the wraparound garment. He would wager his entire portfolio of blue chips that she wore nothing underneath…nothing but a blush and that faint sprinkle of gold-dust freckles.

  He noted the rapid beat of pulse at the base of her throat, and her hand released his sleeve to clutch the robe tight across her breasts. Slowly his gaze lifted to her face. He’d placed her at a distinct disadvantage turning up unannounced, and that’s exactly what he’d hoped to do.

  Catering had delivered his hamper of provisions first and, in an idle conversation about the weather, the waiter named Rogan revealed that his second and only other port of call was, “A day visitor caught out by the storm. Chopper’s grounded so she had to stay the night.”

  Van’s plan had formulated in a fortuitous heartbeat.

  To avoid a drenching he’d hitched a ride with Rogan in the catering van, and along the way he’d planned his approach. Patience, finesse, play that compassion he’d glimpsed in her eyes earlier. He hadn’t considered that he might enjoy himself in the process.

  Looking down at her now, at the tremble in her slender fingers as they held the sides of her robe together, at the nervous swipe of her tongue as she moistened her lips, Van knew he was going to enjoy this far more than he had any right to. He reached past her wet tumble of curls and leaned his weight against the still-open door. Apparently her grip on the doorknob matched her one on the robe. He applied more pressure until her death grip gave and the door closed with a muffled click. Although the wicker hamper provided a safe barrier between their bodies, she flattened herself against the cedar door as if she wanted nothing more than to slink inside it.