He was a Dumas. Ruthlessness was encoded in his DNA.
Spencer’s irritation grew as his repeated buzzes and knocks went unanswered. A car was in the driveway, the lights were on—someone was definitely home. Was she deliberately ignoring him?
He glanced around the small entrance, half-expecting to find a security camera pointed at him, and finding nothing. Concern briefly overrode his annoyance. A woman living alone should have some kind of security system in place. Then again, every new piece of information he had uncovered about Kayla O’Connell had been unexpected.
She wasn’t a wealthy vixen as he had first thought, but a travel agent in a Podunk town. Her house wasn’t the high-end condo or palatial estate he had envisioned during those many times he had thought of her, but a small rancher in an older suburban neighborhood.
Of course, that suspicious part of him piped up, that gives her all the more reason to screw you, doesn’t it?
He raised his hand to knock again, but before he could make contact, the door suddenly opened and he was face-to-face with a pissed-off looking woman brandishing a ... spoon?
He blinked, and her eyes widened in recognition the same time her mouth gaped in surprise. The hand holding the spoon remained frozen in mid-air, so he took advantage of the moment to drink her in.
She was definitely his Vexy, but she looked quite different from the woman who had been hijacking his thoughts. Wearing simple pink cotton shorts and a matching tank, damp hair curling into loose ringlets, and a face completely devoid of makeup, she was ... even more attractive.
“You! What are you doing here?”
The cynical thoughts he had been having only minutes before vanished, replaced by the desire to touch her again.
As his lips started curling into a grin, she grabbed his arm and yanked him toward her.
“Get in here before somebody sees you!”
He stumbled over the threshold, enjoying the strong grip on his forearm and the scrape of nails against his skin too much to process her words immediately.
She released his arm and waved the spoon at him, flinging drops of what looked like chocolate ice cream into the air. With his much-larger hand, he grasped her wrist and brought the spoon to his lips. He licked it slowly, watching as her eyes latched on to his mouth. Beneath the thin material, her nipples pebbled.
“Mm. Delicious. Not as good as you, of course.”
Though she huffed a sound of feminine exasperation, her pupils dilated and her nipples couldn’t lie. Neither could the delicate flush blossoming along her neck. Her skin had turned that pretty pink blush when he had been pleasuring her, too.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
She was annoyed with herself for responding, but she was responding. She liked his little show of dominance. He could definitely work with that.
Images of dribbling ice cream over those luscious breasts and licking them clean assaulted his mind.
He grinned. “Got any more?”
She blinked and snatched her hand back. He allowed it. Reluctantly. It was all about give-and-take.
“Maybe.” She sniffed.
His grin grew.
“Get another spoon, and I’ll tell you. Or better yet ...” His eyes dropped to her chest suggestively.
She sucked in a breath, then turned and wiggled that incredible ass toward the kitchen. He wouldn’t mind licking ice cream off that, either.
“Here.” She thrust the spoon at him then sauntered over to her couch. Scooping up the tub, she held it out to him. “Start talking. And don’t hog it all.”
Spencer didn’t know what he found more attractive: Kayla in her natural surroundings, or the bossy way she spoke to him. Both were incredible turn-ons.
But wait ... wasn’t he the one looking for answers?
He dipped the spoon into the tub of ice cream. “Let’s start with why you snuck away in the middle of the night.”
“I had a plane to catch.” She sniffed once again. “I’m surprised you even noticed, what with your fiancée showing up and all.”
She had spoken the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. He understood that. The thought of marrying Chelsea had the same effect on him.
“She’s not my fiancée.”
Kayla snatched the container back and glared at him. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I saw the big announcement trending in my sidebar a few times. What is that all about? Another blatant example of ‘fake news’?”
She was upset over news of his alleged engagement. The realization skittered happily through his chest, despite her scowl.
“I didn’t ask Chelsea to marry me. My father arranged all that.”
Her brows furrowed. “Your father? Why would he do that?”
“Because,” Spencer admitted, “he wants a merger between Dumas Industries and Chamberlain Corporation.”
She thought about that for a moment, then said, “Funny, I didn’t realize arranged marriages were included in boardroom negotiations these days.” She exhaled and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not buying it. Go yank someone else’s chain.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because some women might find the fact that you’re engaged a huge turn-off,” she said sarcastically.
Maybe some women would feel that way, but not enough of them for him to care. There were always plenty of willing women eager to share his bed, regardless of his current relationship status.
“Would you?” he asked.
She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. Besides, I thought you were the CEO of Dumas Industries, not your father. Kinda shitty to lay the blame on him when you’re the one in charge.”
The words felt like a physical blow, a shot delivered with unerring precision to his weakest spot. It was proof she was far more than a pretty face and a smoking hot body.
And a timely reminder that she might have a hidden agenda.
“Let me ask you something. Did you know who I was when I sent you the note in the restaurant that night?”
Her eyes dropped to the container of forgotten ice cream. “Yes.”
“Yet you came anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t raise her gaze, staring at the ice cream while she swirled her spoon back and forth.
Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was it guilt that kept her from looking into his eyes and saying something?
Saying anything?
Hurt and anger began to swell and churn inside him. He was used to people using him, but he had hoped she was different.
“Was it because you saw it as an opportunity? Bragging rights? Or just a thrill to fuck someone so far out of your league?” The cutting words sliced liked honed blades from his chest to his throat.
Her eyes did snap up then, flashing with fire. She stood. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
He stood, too. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
She pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“Fine. But you’ll get nothing from me, do you understand?”
He didn’t think she could look any angrier, but she did.
“Have I asked you for anything?” she spat, opening the door. “Did I approach you at Sate? Did I show up on your doorstep? You’re the one who tracked me down, not the other way around. Goodbye, Mr. Dumas.”
She gave him a shove then closed the door behind him. He heard the locks engage, then the exterior light switched off and he was left standing in the dark.
Spencer walked to his car and got in. A few seconds later, the rest of the lights inside the house went off, as well.
Spencer drove away feeling as if he had just run some kind of bizarre gauntlet. In less than thirty minutes, he had experienced anticipation, cynicism, rampant lust, hurt, and anger. Rather than getting the answers he had sought, he felt weary and more confused than ever.
It was possible that he had let his cynical nature get the best of him. The woman did seem to have a way of getting under his skin quickly and with minimal effort. Therefore, instead of approaching with caution and an open mind, he had jumped to conclusions. And maybe, just maybe, he had overreacted.
That same intense passion that made them so sexually compatible had also brought other strong emotions to the surface.
That was where the true danger lay.
Spencer exhaled heavily. What was it about Kayla O’Connell that pushed all his buttons and made him lose control so easily?
Could he have misjudged her? Was it possible she had no ulterior motives and was, like him, just looking for a good time?
No. It was more than that. It had to be.
She hadn’t made any attempt to contact him in the last few weeks, nor had she made any demands or requests or threats. Maybe that was what was really bothering him—a bruised ego. After all, she had been the one to walk—sneak—away from him without so much as a goodbye. She had known who he was and where to find him, yet she hadn’t once attempted to contact him.
Had she dismissed him from her thoughts so easily, when he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her?
The electricity between them was still there, strong enough that the air between them practically sizzled with it, so he knew she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. But ... she had thrown him out on his ass, too.
Maybe, maybe, he had deserved it.
The question was: what was he going to do about it?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Spencer’s visit did absolutely nothing to improve her mood. She had been so angry she hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning throughout the night. By the next day, her foul temper had taken a decided downturn and kept right on going.
It seemed as if everything that could go wrong that week, did. Annette decided to upgrade the office computers, which might have been all right if she hadn’t put her technologically-inept husband in charge of the task to save a few bucks ... and get him off his ass. As a result, the system was down more than it was up, and Kayla was forced to stay up half the night at home, trying to get work done that she couldn’t do at the office.
Because she had been up at all hours, she caught the kid she had hired to cut her grass hooking-up with the girl next door in her shed. Apparently, they told her with complete seriousness, they couldn’t help themselves. They had taken one look at each other and it had been love at first sight.
Well, that explained the noises she had been hearing out there at night.
While Kayla did sympathize—she remembered what it was like to be that age and in the throes of rampant teenage hormones—she couldn’t allow it to continue. They would find a way, as horny kids always did, but her garden shed wasn’t going to be their little love shack.
She fired the lawn kid and told the girl that, if she ever caught them sneaking onto her property again, she was going to take pictures and tell the girl’s mother. She wouldn’t, not really, but they didn’t know that.
As if all that wasn’t bad enough, her mother showed up on her doorstep with three pieces of designer luggage and a declaration that she had left Charles and would be staying in Kayla’s guest room indefinitely.
“Charles actually took her side over mine, can you imagine?” Patricia said that night, stabbing her fork into her fresh kale and quinoa salad. “He said the stress wasn’t good for the baby. Ha! That girl’s as healthy as an ox, and about the size of one, too.”
Kayla took another drink of her wine. “I’m sure he’ll come around. When is the baby due?”
“Two months.”
Two months. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days. One thousand, three hundred, and forty-four hours. Eighty thousand, six hundred, and forty minutes. Four million, eight hundred and thirty-eight thousand, four hundred seconds.
It wasn’t as if Kayla was counting or anything, but given that her mother had arrived only six hours earlier, Kayla knew she wasn’t going to survive two months of listening to her bitching, whining, and moaning.
“I can call the realtor and have them delist the old house,” Kayla suggested.
“I thought you said there were several potential buyers interested.”
“There are, but there will be buyers a couple months from now, too. It’s a good house in a good neighborhood.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The guest room is small, and the bathroom is woefully out of date, but I’ll make the best of it. If Charles doesn’t come to his senses, we can find something more suitable.”
We? There would be no “we” about it. This was her house.
Kayla loved her mother, but there was not a chance in hell she could live with her again; at least one of them wouldn’t survive it. As it was, Kayla was already considering the pros and cons of setting up a cot in the supply closet at the office. It would be a tight fit, but she could make it work.
Before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang.
“Are you expecting someone, Kayla?” Patricia asked. “I hope it’s not that Neanderthal again.”
“What Neanderthal?”
“The one who came by when you went to the grocery store for proper fresh produce. Dirk, Dan—something like that.”
The doorbell rang again. Shit, it was Thursday again, wasn’t it?
“Dax?”
“Yes, that’s it. Dax. He looked like a gym rat.”
“He’s a personal fitness trainer.”
Patricia’s nose scrunched up in disgust. “Pretty, but all brawn and no brains. Probably doesn’t even have a portfolio. He’s entirely unsuitable, Kayla.”
“Good thing you’re not the one seeing him, then.”
“Kayla Rose, I don’t think I like your tone.”
A loud knock replaced the chime of the doorbell. “Kayla, I know you’re in there.”
Kayla’s heart dropped down into her stomach. That wasn’t Dax’s voice.
He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
“Kayla, who is that?”
“Uh, no one. A neighbor. Probably just wants his hedge trimmers back. One sec.”
Kayla hurried to the door. Instead of letting Spencer in, she closed the door behind her and dragged him to the side of the house where they couldn’t be seen by Patricia’s curious eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“That’s the second time you’ve greeted me that way. What happened to Hello, Spencer? Or Please, come in, Spencer?”
This was no time for him to be charming. He had no idea the danger he was in.
“It’s not a good time.”
His eyes narrowed. “When is a good time, Kayla? You haven’t been returning my calls.”
“I didn’t see the point.”
“The point is, we need to talk.”
“About what? Were you looking for someone to make your honeymoon travel arrangements? Or did you just want to accuse me of sleeping with you for personal gain again?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
“Your engagement or your accusations?”
He ran his hand through his hair as if frustrated. A dark shadow dusted his strong jaw, and he was looking more than a little delicious in his custom-tailored suit. Savile Row, by the look of it.
“Both,” he said, blowing out a breath. “And more.”
“Kayla?” her mother’s voice called. “Are you out here?”
Could this day possibly get any worse?
“Like I said,” Kayla whispered harshly, “this is not a good time. You need to go before—”
“Ah, there you are.” Patricia rounded the corner, her eyes widening when she spotted him. “Oh.
Hello there.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Kayla, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
The older woman shifted her weight slightly in a classic feminine move, subtly thrusting out one hip and self-consciously checking the state of her hair with her fingertips, even as she looked him up and down. She needn’t have bothered. Not a single strand was out of place, and her makeup was impeccable, as were her designer clothes.
In contrast, Kayla looked adorably mussed in faded denim, her dark hair loose and somewhat untidy. It was the expression on her face, though, that really garnered his attention. Kayla looked as if she was hoping the earth would open up and swallow her whole.
Once again, she surprised him. Most women were thrilled to show him off, yet she seemed almost embarrassed by his presence.
Kayla’s shoulders dropped slightly as she exhaled in resignation. “Mom, Spencer Dumas. Spencer, my mother, Patricia Coxton-Jennings-O’Connell-Davidson.”
As the mother’s eyes lit up from within, warning bells tolled in the back of his brain. Spencer recognized that look. It was the look of a predator who had just spotted prey.
The corners of her mouth lifted as she took in his suit, pausing briefly on his Rolex.
Kayla’s odd behavior was starting to make sense. His defenses went up even as he offered his winning smile.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Davidson.”
“Won’t you come in, Mr. Dumas?” It was the mother who spoke, not Kayla.
Kayla looked even more miserable, if that were possible.
When she flicked him an apologetic look, he finally understood. He wasn’t the source of her embarrassment, her mother was. He had been around enough sharks to know when one sensed blood in the water, especially when the blood they sensed was his.
He had hoped to talk to Kayla alone, but that wasn’t possible if they stayed here. Making a snap decision, he offered another charming smile to the mother and said, “Actually, Kayla and I have plans.”
“You do?” The older woman shot Kayla a calculating look. “You didn’t tell me you had plans, dear.”
Kayla opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he added smoothly, “Nothing too grand. We were just going to discuss possible promotional material for my new resort. Kayla is an excellent agent.”
Two of a Kind: A Callaghan Family & Friends Romance Page 9