Tycoon's One-Night Revenge

by Bronwyn Jameson

  So here she was, sitting in the foyer of the Lindrum, waiting for Donovan to pick up his room phone. When it switched to voice mail, she closed her eyes in dismay. Was this to be the story of her life?

  Susannah Horton lived to a grand old age of ninety-eight. Lamentably, half those years were spent narrating messages and waiting for the calls to be returned.

  Where was he? During the taxi ride from her South Yarra duplex, she’d calmed her nerves by setting the scene in her imagination.

  She would call his room, he would answer, she would say, “I need to see you,” he would say, “Come on up,” and—

  “Susannah?”

  She came to her feet in a rush, her heart doing a joyous dance of welcome even though she cautioned it to behave. “I was just calling your room.”

  “I’m not there.”

  No, he was here.

  Looking altogether too gorgeous, damn him, in a dark suit and tie. His gaze drifted over her, taking in the shoes, the stockings, the dress. The hair she’d groomed to within an inch of its natural life.

  Nerves fluttered in her belly, but she felt immensely pleased that he was noticing. She might have been miffed with him, but that hadn’t prevented her spending significant time deciding on the little black dress and even longer primping.

  “When I saw you sitting here, I hoped to see luggage at your side. This—” his gaze skimmed the dress before returning to her face “—looks more like a dinner date than travelling.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “I’m not too disappointed, except if I’d known you were here waiting, I wouldn’t have let the meeting drag so long.”

  Exactly the reminder she’d needed of why she was here. She drew a quick breath and fixed him a cool glare. “I’m surprised the meeting dragged, given how you went in there with such a set idea of what you wanted.”

  The lazy drift of his eyes steadied on hers. “News travels fast at Horton’s.”

  “When you talk to Judd Armitage about anything that concerns a Horton, my mother will hear.”

  “Do I take it you have a problem with the deal I’m brokering?”

  “You don’t think you should have run your deal by me first?” she asked, unable to keep the indignation from her voice. “Perhaps you might even have waited until I was un-engaged.”

  “I don’t have time to sit around cooling my heels. I needed to get started,” he said evenly. “Today was to open negotiations.”

  “By requesting the same deal, the same terms, as Alex?”

  He regarded her narrowly for a moment. “As I said, a starting point.”

  Susannah choked out a laugh and shook her head. “Why would I agree to another contract marriage?” she asked, holding out her hands in mock appeal. “Why would you even contemplate something like that?”

  “Why,” he countered after a heartbeat of silence, “are you so opposed to the concept?”

  Although his expression was fixed, his voice even, there was something in his stillness that caused her heart to kick in, hard.

  “You intended marrying Carlisle,” he continued. “If I hadn’t reappeared, you would have married him last Saturday. I can only surmise that your objection is to marrying me.”

  Marry Donovan? Her heart beat hard and fast with the possibility, until she needed to draw a deep breath to settle the giddiness. “With Alex, I knew exactly what was going on.”

  “And you wanted to marry him.”

  “Yes, I did. I wanted everything the marriage offered.”

  “Which begs the question, what part of everything can’t I offer? It’s not the money or the business rescue package. I know it’s not the sex.” He paused long enough for their gazes to catch and cling in a shimmer of remembered heat, before continuing in the same deceptively level tone. “Is it the Carlisle name? Or the big, happy family?” When she didn’t answer right away, he leaned closer, and anger flashed brief and hot in his eyes. “Why him, Susannah, and not me?”

  “Because he asked,” she replied, her voice thick with the same heat. “It was that easy, Donovan. He didn’t take a deal to Horton’s because he was impatient. Yes, he was in a hurry, too, but he didn’t pick the easiest course to expedite matters. He asked me and he gave me time to consider the offer.”

  “And yet you didn’t go ahead with it….”

  “Right now,” she fired back, “I’m wondering why I didn’t!”

  For a long moment, they faced off. The intensity of her angry words still buzzed through Susannah’s veins and clouded her vision. So much so that she didn’t notice the approach of the front-desk manager until he cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Keane.”

  Intent on their exchange, she’d forgotten all about their surroundings, but now she glanced around. Thankfully the public lobby was deserted apart from the manager, now engaged in conversation with Donovan.

  “A phone call,” he was saying, sotto voce. “A Ms. O’Hara. She said to find you if at all possible. An emergency. You can use my office—it’s over here.”

  Donovan turned back to Susannah. A distracted frown drew his brows together as he checked his watch. “I need to take this.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  She sensed he might suggest otherwise, but then he simply nodded. As she watched him stride away, Susannah did the time translation. It was very early in the morning in California, surely too early for his assistant—she recognized the name, after all those stonewalled calls she’d made back in July—to be calling on business.

  By the time Donovan came out of the manager’s office, she’d circled the foyer on anxious feet a dozen times. One look at his tightly drawn features confirmed her worse fears. “Is it Mac?” she asked, intercepting his long-striding path.

  “She’s been taken to hospital,” he told her, not easing his pace until he reached the lifts. He punched the up button with controlled aggression. “I’m leaving as soon as possible.”

  Susannah didn’t need to ask for details. The answer hummed in the tightly leashed tendons of his neck, in the jump of a muscle in his jaw. “What can I do to help?” she asked. “I can call the airlines, book you flights.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “It’s what I do,” she pointed out. “I can ensure you’re on the earliest flight to San Francisco, whether that’s from Melbourne or Sydney or Auckland or—”

  “Thank you, but Erin is on that.” His tone clipped and final, was punctuated by the electronic ping that signaled the lift’s arrival. The doors slid open. “This is why I needed to get things moving,” he said tightly. “Before it’s too late.”

  “I’ll talk to Alex and to Judd. I’ll make sure you get the same deal as your initial bid.”

  Inside the car, he turned and their eyes met—one second where the shutters slid aside to reveal a storm of emotion. One second for Susannah to realise, with a blinding flash of belated clarity, that she’d said the worst possible thing. She’d confirmed his belief that she didn’t want to marry him.

  Eleven

  T he rain came with the night, a downpour that blocked Van’s view of the bay and trapped him inside with only the bleakness of his thoughts for company.

  This afternoon he’d said his last goodbye to Mac in a short, private funeral service. Afterward he’d returned to the Sausalito apartment he’d rented after his hospital stay.

  He would have been happy with a hotel suite close to to Keane MacCreadie’s offices, but Mac had found and organised the rental. She’d spouted the benefits of relaxing water views, the bayside walks and a nearby health club. Van relented because Mac lived close by and those visits made the inconvenience worthwhile.

  Except there’d not been nearly enough visits. A handful of weeks where he’d pushed himself harder than his physio advised in order to recover his physical strength. The rest researching the deal gone wrong in preparation for his second trip down under.

  A trip rendered meaningless by Mac’s death. She’d passed peacefu
lly—for that, he thanked God—and without regaining consciousness. Van had been too late to say goodbye, his grief at the loss weighed down with the knowledge that he’d failed her.

  He’d spent too many precious days in Australia. Day one he could have tied up the deal if he’d not bent his initial plan of swift vengeance. All because he’d wanted Susannah Horton warm and willing in his bed.

  He should have been home; he should have been here for Mac; he was the only family she’d had.

  The opera playing while he cooked ended in a blistering crescendo of angst, the perfect accompaniment to an untouched dinner and his dark mood. As he crossed to select a more soothing sound track the doorbell rang. He stopped, frowning at the prolonged strident sound. It crossed his mind that someone was leaning on the thing, and could have been doing so for some time. Lord knows, he wouldn’t have heard.

  It also crossed his mind to ignore it. He wasn’t expecting visitors—since he didn’t share this address, he never did. But curiosity got the better of him, and he started for the door.

  At first he thought there was no one there. Kids pranking, although it was a helluva night for it. Searching for any sign of mischief he glared out through the rain, and on the very edge of the glow cast by his porch light he caught a sign of movement.

  The sheen of an ivory raincoat, a yellow umbrella halted and then spun in the light.

  Van’s heart jerked, his pulse rate rocketing even while his brain rejected the notion. She couldn’t be here. Not after their acrimonious parting in Melbourne a week ago.

  But she was very much here, scurrying down his path in those familiar skinny-heeled boots.

  The bottom of the coat blew open, flashing stockinged knee and thigh and the heat of memory raced through Van’s blood. Unwanted but not unwelcome. Suddenly the prospect of her company wasn’t so bad. He was in the perfect mood for a confrontation.

  She came to a stop under the shelter of the porch, and when she lowered the umbrella the light turned her hair into a fiery nimbus. A tentative smile curved her lips and Van’s need of that warmth, that quiet fire, slammed into him like a freight train.

  “We seem to have some sort of cosmic connection with the rain,” she said, shaking a spray of raindrops from her sleeve. Then she saw his face and the smile in her eyes clouded over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so…blithe.”

  She huffed out a breath and shook her head, and Van let the uncomfortable moment stretch. He hated that a part of him yearned to ease the moment, to bring the smile back to her face. Another part of him wanted to walk back inside, to slam the door in her face, to shut out this fierce raft of emotions she elicited simply by being here. Simply by being her.

  A larger part ached to pull her inside with him, to turn her against the door, to unbutton her coat and appease the cold torment of this day in the heat of her body.

  “I knew this would be awkward, just arriving on your doorstep—”

  “Then why didn’t you call?” he asked.

  “I tried, several times. You’re either not answering your private phone or screening my calls. Erin was kind enough to give me your address.”

  Erin, kind? Van’s brows rose at that oxymoron. “Are you sure you had the right Erin?”

  Their eyes met for a second, hers ridiculously pleased by this small sign of relenting. “Yay tall—” she demonstrated with her free hand “—dark hair, pretty eyes. Unfriendly, until I let her know why I wanted your address.”

  “Did it cross your mind that I might not be home?”

  “I saw your lights and heard the music before I let the cab leave.”

  “And if I hadn’t opened the door?”

  “That did cross my mind,” she admitted. “I went out to see if the cab was still lurking and then your outside light came on.” And despite his unwelcoming stance—or perhaps because of it—she drew herself up tall and added, “But I would have called back tomorrow.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  She looked away, her lips pressed together as if she was gathering her composure. And, damn, when she looked back up the green gleam of moisture turned her eyes luminous in the porch light. “You know why.”

  Yeah, he knew why, but the pull of those tears and the husky edge to her voice twisted him inside out.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Mac.”

  She took a step toward him, but Van kept her at bay with the cool bite of his words. “I gathered you heard. Unfortunate timing, wasn’t it?”

  Her head came up, her eyes widening with a combination of hurt and confusion. “I came as soon as I could.”

  “Really?” The raw remains of the past five days, the guilt, the recrimination, the futility—the wanting her quiet strength beside him—burned like acid. “You’ve wasted your time. Now Mac’s gone, I have no reason to go ahead with the purchase of The Palisades. I don’t need anything from you.”

  Susannah knew she’d taken a big risk. She’d made another of those snap decisions that had gotten her into trouble before, another decision driven by her heart. Despite the coldness of his greeting, she still believed it was the right choice.

  Today he’d buried his mentor, business partner, grandmother—the one person he would do anything for—and that grief was etched in every harsh line of his face. If he was trying to shut everyone out as Erin had intimated, if that was his way of dealing with the wretchedness of his loss, then he would have to work a darn sight harder.

  Chin high and eyes steady on his, she stood her ground. “I’m not leaving, Donovan. I’m not here about the contract; I’m here for you. Tonight I thought you could use a friend.”

  “Friends?” He exhaled on a humourless laugh. “Is that how you see us?”

  “I thought we were more.” Outside in the street a car horn blared, a distraction that lifted his narrow-eyed gaze from her face and a reminder that they hadn’t progressed past his doorstep. “I thought we’d passed the stage of conversing on the porch, at any rate. Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

  For a moment she thought he might deny her even that, but then he opened the door and held out his arm in a go-right-ahead gesture. The steely glint in his eyes was not so welcoming. A chill that had nothing to do with the rainy night shivered up Susannah’s spine as she took her first tentative steps across the threshold and into his home.

  “Can I take your coat?”

  The door closed with a thud and Susannah’s nerves jumped. Her fingers stuttered over the belt and buttons. Then she felt him close behind her, hands at her shoulders, helping off her coat.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, looking around.

  This was his home—temporary home, she reminded herself, but still she wanted to see. Outside she’d been consumed by nerves and by the angst of the music that soared from inside. Her only impression was of stucco and terra cotta and now she noticed that the Mediterranean theme continued inside. White textured walls, arched openings between the rooms, woven mats and potted palms and bold splashes of red, gold and black in the furnishings.

  She was drawn irresistibly toward the kitchen and the redolent scent of cooking. Nerves stirred to life by the dangerous look in his eyes when she came through the door calmed under the memory of their last night at Charlotte Island, the camaraderie they’d shared working shoulder to shoulder.

  “Whatever you are cooking smells delicious.”

  Hoping to identify the dish, she inhaled deeply and realised that the meaty richness was underlaid with sweetness. Then she caught sight of a sheath of flowers on the low table. White lilies. All the calm and comfort punched from her body.

  She turned on her heel, found Donovan still by the door, watching her with a darkly hooded gaze. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realise when you left Melbourne that she had so little time left.”

  “No one did.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Do you think I’d have taken the trip to Australia and wasted days at the island if I’d known.
”

  The low, harsh pronouncement echoed in Susannah’s heart. On top of everything else, he was lamenting those days they’d spent together. “Those days weren’t wasted,” she said.

  “Days spent chasing a meaningless deal?”

  “No, not meaningless. How can you think that? You took the trip because of Mac, to return the place she held so dearly to her ownership. Do you think she would have wanted you to abandon that? Wouldn’t she have wanted to see Charlotte Island back in MacCreadie hands?”

  “I’m not a MacCreadie,” he said harshly.

  “Is that what Mac thought? You told me the lengths she went to in finding you. She admitted the truth after years of maintaining her silence about your blood relationship. Of course she saw you as family. Tell me, if the acquisition had gone through after July, if you’d been successful in your bid that time, what would have happened now? Who would she have left the place to?”

  “I’m her sole heir.” Said as though that was unwanted, unwarranted, unwelcome.

  Susannah understood. She ached with his hurt and his anger at being robbed all over again. He didn’t want Mac’s estate, he wanted time to give back something of what she’d given him. “I understand how much Mac meant to you and how you must be feeling—”

  “Do you, do you have any notion what it’s like to have no one who believes in you but this one woman who was prepared to back me with everything she owned? Do you know what it’s like to spend thirty years not knowing where you came from, to find the answers and the family and then to lose it all weeks later?

  “Hell, Susannah, I wasn’t even here for her. The one time she needed me, I wasn’t here.”

  The low fervour of his words resonated between them in the quiet. Susannah had no words, no response. His wretchedness pierced her. She wanted nothing more than to cross the space that separated them, to wrap her arms around him, to comfort him with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. That he hadn’t lost the only person who loved him. But he kept her at bay with the barrier of his stance and the hostility in his eyes.