by Carol Rose
A place where she must have met and become involved with Jenna’s father and subsequently lost her mind for six weeks. Nothing more.
So why the heck was she sitting here embroiled in an argument over Donovan’s beloved Cedars?
“When William Riese purchased the land in the late 1800s,” Alec Parker said, “and built the resort and the villa situated on it’s grounds, he wanted it to be available to all the members of the Riese family. So he left the resort to his son and daughter with the stipulation that all Riese descendents were to share equally in it’s ownership for at least two generations.”
“Very interesting, but I’m still baffled,” Delanie murmured. “Where do I come in?”
The lawyer glanced at Mitchell where he stood in front the window, his back to the room.
“Let me continue. William’s daughter, Miriam, died in her thirties without issue. His son, Robert, however, had one son, Donovan.”
“Okay,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. Apparently, this circuitous story was the only way she would find out why she was here.
“Donovan also had one son,” Mr. Parker said, responding with a brief, furtive smile of his own. “Walter Riese then married and produced the only remaining descendent of William.”
The attorney nodded toward the dark-haired man in front of the window. “Mitchell is the last of the Rieses now that his father and grandfather are both dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Delanie murmured, still wondering why she was sitting here.
“The…entail…for want of a better word,” Alec Parker said, “ended with Donovan’s generation. After that, The Cedars became property, as any other property, to be bequeathed in any way the individual family members chose.”
“All right.” Delanie’s heart began to pound.
Mitchell wheeled around to face her. “And, as you well know, Donovan left his half-ownership of The Cedars to you, Ms. Carlyle. In payment of services rendered, we can only assume.”
“What?” she gasped. “He left The Cedars to me?”
“Only his half,” Mitchell said, a bitter smile curling his lips. “The other half is mine.”
Delanie stared at him, aghast.
“So we’re partners,” he said, enmity in his eyes.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered, “what was Donovan thinking?”
“As to that,” Alec Parker said apologetically, “I have no idea. Although I drew up this will for him just under six months ago, he simply gave me instructions on how to handle the bequests. He made no explanations, left no letters.”
“So…so I own half of The Cedars?” she said, bewildered.
“Yes.” Mr. Parker nodded. “The two of you own the resort jointly.”
“Jointly,” she echoed, the word faint. She and the devastatingly handsome, implacably hostile man by the window owned a business together?
No wonder Mitchell Riese was so angry.
Could she sell out, she wondered wildly, glancing at his dark-clad, powerful figure.
Take the money and run?
But her conscience kicked in at that point and she paused.
“Donovan actually left this to me, of all the people in his life,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Yes,” the attorney confirmed again, flashing a concerned glance at Mitchell. “Although he left the rest of his considerable estate to his grandson, this property—his portion of it—was left to you.”
“He didn’t say why, but he specifically wanted me to have his half of The Cedars?” Delanie asked, still confused. The old man had loved the place. Why leave half of it to her?
“That’s right.”
“Okay.” Still feeling dazed, Delanie stared unseeing at the attorney’s face. She and Donovan had shared an appreciation of the old building and it’s picture-perfect setting. The deep verandas and old-fashioned bathroom fixtures. The wood floors and big windows.
The jewel of a lake cradled between the hills.
Donovan had picked her for the job, he’d said, because her proposal for the renovation had echoed his own love of the place.
And Jenna might have been conceived there.
No, Delanie realized, she couldn’t sell her half of The Cedars. Not yet, anyway.
Almost against her will, her gaze strayed to the dark figure blotting out the light from the window.
Now she knew why Mitchell Riese hated her. She’d stolen half his birthright. Unwittingly stolen it, but still, she owned half of what he no doubt considered rightfully his.
She met the hard, glittering eyes and felt a shiver of apprehension run through her. No matter how she protested, he’d never believe she hadn’t known his grandfather’s intention.
And she knew from his behavior this morning that Mitchell would make nothing easy for her.
For a few minutes, Delanie wrestled with her trepidation. From just her own experience in running a small business, she’d had the opportunity to note how wrong a partnership could go. A business partner who hated you could make your life hell.
In reaction to the thought, she lifted her chin, her gaze still tangled with Mitchell’s. Well, to hell with him, too. She’d never lacked for ingenuity and she even had a certain flair for mischievous warfare when the situation called for it.
For whatever reason, Donovan wanted her to have half of The Cedars. She couldn’t dismiss the old man’s bequest.
If Mitchell Riese wanted to go to battle over The Cedars, she’d be glad to oblige him.
CHAPTER FOUR
“What do you mean there’s nothing we can do about it?” Mitchell demanded. “You’re a lawyer, dammit. File some sort of brief or motion and get the will set aside.”
“Mitchell,” Alec said calmly, “I wrote that will. Since I’m a fairly good lawyer, I made sure there were no problems with it. Hell, it’s not a complicated will. This is something a third year law student could do.”
“Maybe it’s not legally complex,” Mitchell said, slapping his hand against the desk top in disgust, “but it creates a damned complicated situation for me.”
He got up and went to the window. “There is no way I’m letting that woman steal half of The Cedars.”
Alec was quiet for a moment. “You know, I understand how you feel about the resort but, she seemed fairly…presentable. And she’s a professional woman. You don’t want a partner in The Cedars, but if you have to have one, she’s not that bad. After all, you couldn’t find any complaints against her business-wise. Maybe this is just one of those situations you have to make the best of.”
Snapping his teeth together to hold back his hasty response to the lawyer’s measured advice, Mitchell remembered just how “presentable” Lanie Carlyle had looked earlier.
She’d lost some weight in the last year and a half, but her auburn hair, still parted on the side, now swung smoothly to her jaw line. Her brown suit had been neat and professional even if the skirt had skated on the short side. She’d appeared sexy and young and completely desirable.
Damn her.
But her green eyes had looked at him with no hint of acknowledgement. She’d greeted him as if he were a stranger.
For one fierce moment, he wished he’d called her bluff on that, reminding her of how she’d lain in his arms, moaning. Kissed him with a passion that left him shaking.
The bitch.
Calling him Mister Riese! As if they hadn’t spent one of the hottest nights in his life wrinkling the sheets. As if he hadn’t thrown her off The Cedars’ grounds and demanded she stay away from his grandfather or he’d prosecute her for fraud.
He’d thought he’d been successful in keeping her away from his grandfather, too. Foolishly, he’d believed Donovan had stopped talking about the woman after that weekend. Mitchell’s occasional carefully-casual questions to the older man’s employees seemed to indicate that the interaction between he and his much-younger mistress had ended.
Then Donovan died and left this firebomb of a will.
Mitchell came away
from the window, returning to sit down in the chair he’d vacated earlier.
“Mitch, as much as you hate this,” Alec said, “I think you need to make the best of her. That or buy her out.”
He met the lawyer’s sympathetic glance without expression.
“No way.”
Alec Parker’s eyebrows raised. “It would get her out of your hair and you’d have full ownership of The Cedars.”
“I’m not giving that witch one more dollar of Riese money. She’s already bled Donovan while she was working on the resort. I’m not enriching her further.”
“Then how are you going to settle this?”
Mitchell sat forward in the chair, thinking of Delanie Carlyle’s smile, the way her firm breasts filled his hands, the breathy sound of her passionate moans. The way her red-gold hair glimmered against her cheek, tears shimmering in her green eyes.
The complete lack of recognition in her eyes today.
“I’m going to fight her,” he told the other man crisply. “I’ll put my other business on hold, go up to The Cedars and find a way to get rid of her without paying her a dime.”
“Okay,” Alec said slowly. “But how do you know she’ll go up there. She has a business here in town.”
“She’ll come,” Mitchell responded with contempt. “She thinks this is the biggest coup of her gold-digging career. No matter what she’s got going on in Boston, she’ll go up to The Cedars to lay claim, if nothing more.”
“And you’ll be there, too,” Alec concluded.
“Yes,” he said implacably.
The lawyer shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Heaven help the management staff. They’re about to witness bloodshed.”
******
Mitchell sat down at the head of the conference table, scanning The Cedars’ executive staff with satisfaction. He’d been right to schedule this meeting at eight o’clock in the morning.
Lanie Carlyle wouldn’t get up this early. He knew from checking with the desk clerk, that she’d arrived late the night before.
Not a week after the reading of the will, just as he’d expected.
“Good morning to you all,” he said to the people seated at the conference table, before glancing down at the notes he’d made.
“Good morning,” the six chorused as if they were nervous first graders who faced a new teacher.
“As you know, we’re here to discuss the status of the resort in the transition after my grandfather’s death.
He paused, the scattered rain at the window underscoring the wave of sadness that rose in him. “I thank you for your notes and cards. Donovan would have enjoyed knowing how much you all appreciated him.”
Several staff members loosened up enough to smile sympathetically and Martha, Donovan’s secretary, an older woman at the end of the table, wiped at her cheek and reached for a tissue.
Mitchell paused, scanning over the agenda.
“As you know, we’re nearing the end of the summer season and we need to talk about—“
He broke off as the conference room door opened. Every head in the room swiveled to see the newcomer.
Delanie Carlyle came in a flurry of gleaming red hair and white teeth, her slender body graceful as she eased the door shut behind her.
“Good morning!” she said with a smiling hint of breathlessness. “I apologize for being late.”
Dressed this morning in another suit, this one of some sort of cream-colored material, she seemed to light up the room. Watching as she affectionately greeted Donovan’s secretary, Mitchell dismissed his unusually fanciful observation as a trick of the light on her red-gold hair.
Yes, she was beautiful. Women who traded on their sex appeal usually were.
“Since Ms. Carlyle has joined us,” he said with a carefully neutral voice, “perhaps I should introduce her—“
“Don’t bother,” she said breezily, leaving Martha’s hug to take the hand Ben Norton, The Cedars’ manager, held out to her. “I know everyone, I think. It’s so good to see you all again. I’ve missed you!”
Delanie’s affectionate smile seemed to encompass everyone at the table.
Mitchell wanted to throttle her for that happy, sweeping glance. For the life of him he couldn’t think what she expected to gain by pretending she didn’t know him.
“How have you all been? Has business been good since we reopened?” she asked gaily.
To Mitchell’s surprise, several voices rose in response. He glanced at the others at the table, startled to see smiles replacing the guarded anxiety that had met him when he came in the room this morning.
Irritated to see his staff beaming at the interloper, Mitchell cut off their eager comments.
“We were just getting to the progress reports, Ms. Carlyle. If you’ll take a seat, we’ll continue.”
“Of course,” she said, sliding into an empty spot next to Ben Norton without seeming to notice Mitchell’s tone of reproof.
Delanie’s casual inclusion of herself in The Cedars management team hadn’t escaped him and it grated.
He considered her for a moment, deeply annoyed by her friendly nonchalance, but determined not to show it. What the hell was she up to? He had no doubt she had an angle.
No matter how many lovers a woman took, it wasn’t likely she’d forget the kind of night they’d shared. From the instant they’d laid eyes on each other a year and a half ago, heat shimmered between them. An explosive, instantaneous passion that turned suddenly to corrosive disgust on his part when he’d discovered her trashy plan to manipulate his grandfather.
There was nothing the least bit nonchalant about their interaction. Despite her current pretense, perfunctory pleasantness now didn’t fit between them.
Unless, of course, she’d been pretending her tearful reaction when he’d confronted her beside the lake. Mitchell felt anger rise in him at the thought. The deceitful bitch. Had she known even then that Donovan had left half The Cedars to her?
Dragging his thoughts back to the meeting, Mitchell said carefully. “Ms. Carlyle is now part owner of The Cedars. She may be sitting in on meetings when she’s in town.”
Delanie smiled at the others around the table who were nodding and smiling back. “I’m hoping to be here often. I love The Cedars almost as much as Donovan did and I want to be part of everything that happens here.”
Mitchell’s faint hope of maneuvering her into the role of silent partner whimpered and died. Watching her exchange an animated greeting with Chad Walker from the advertising department, he grimly wondered if she ever subsided into the background.
“Is that a new hairstyle?” Chad asked Delanie, leaning forward in his chair, a fatuous smile on his face.
“Let’s start with status reports,” Mitchell said abruptly, interrupting Walker’s flirtatious comment. To his own disgust, he knew the answer to the younger man’s question. After a year and a half, he remembered Delanie Carlyle in enough detail to know that her hair was shorter than it had been, now just swinging just below her ear.
Damn the woman for being so memorable.
“Ben?” Mitchell said, prompting the older man. “Why don’t you give us the overview of how The Cedars is doing before we consider the specific departments.”
“Of course.” Ben Norton shuffled through the papers in front of him on the table.
As the resort manager reported on occupancy and reservations, Mitchell forced himself to listen. Just beyond the manager, he could see Delanie, her smooth oval face attentive.
Why did she have to be so deceptively warm, so full of life? That’s what made her dangerous. The sense of intimacy with which she listened, no matter who was talking. She acted as if every individual were her closest friend, each one special to her.
She made a man want to believe she lit up like that just for him.
He’d been half seduced into that belief himself, Mitchell reflected with a faint bitterness. She’d looked at him with her green eyes and her luscious smiling lips and h
e’d almost thought himself to be the center of her world.
What a lie.
What an idiot he’d been.
“…we have some projects that need taking care of during the off-season, of course,” Ben finished, “but nothing very big. I’d like to get the pool repainted and replace the stained carpet in the blue dining room. Minor things, really.”
“Sounds good,” Mitchell said, turning to the next person. “What about things in the kitchen, James?”
The head chef shook his head, his perpetually worried mien not changing. “Well, I suppose we’re doing as well as can be expected. I’ve had another assistant quit on me, so I’m having to hire again. It’s difficult to get good help out here in the wilds.”
“James,” Delanie leaned forward stretching a hand out to his, “the banana nut pancakes on the buffet this morning were fabulous. Even more than usual. They made me late to this meeting! I’ve never tasted anything so good!”
The chef’s expression relaxed into a smile. “Thank you, Delanie. I’m glad you enjoyed them. I’ve been tweaking the recipe a little.”
“Well, it shows,” she said with every appearance of delight. “I had to make myself stop eating when I was full.”
“You should eat more,” James said with gruff affection. “You’re too thin.”
“I won’t be after a week here!” she said gaily.
Watching with displeasure, Mitchell put an end to their love fest. “If everything is under control in the kitchen, let’s hear from Housekeeping. Celia?”
The dark-haired woman at the end of the table nodded briskly. “We’re fine, other than the maroon bedspreads not wearing well.”
“The ones in the east wing?” Delanie asked with a frown.
“Yes, all the rooms from 200 to 220. They have threads unraveling in places.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Delanie declared with indignation. “We got those from Stemples. They were supposed to be very durable.”
“Well, they need to be replaced,” Celia said in her no-nonsense voice.