by Caro LaFever
Sliding into the gleaming silver elevator, she stood in the corner, her mouth shut, her mind in a state of disbelief.
He was here.
This man.
She hadn’t said a word as he ushered them down a long hallway decorated with striking modern paintings and dark-platinum panels. No words came from her when he’d slotted a silver card through a security box and opened the door to her and her father. Maybe he’d sensed her unease, because he only glanced at her once before he gave one last smile and left them alone.
The first thing she’d done as soon as her paralysis had lifted was look up Devil Skye’s owner on her cell phone.
Nicholas James Townsend.
Thirty-four. Single. Never married.
Owner of twenty-one casinos strewn across the world. Owner of a fortune valued at somewhere in the vicinity of twenty billion dollars. The man who’d teased her and followed her was richer than Clyde McDowell. Jessica didn’t think she’d ever met a man who was richer than her father and also about her own age.
This man who’d pursued her onto a balcony and into a bookstore. Who tempted her with freedom and flying. Who was devastatingly beautiful and clearly didn’t need her father’s money.
He had his own.
What was going on?
“Dad.”
Her father shifted his focus away from contemplating the suite’s amazing ceiling to look at her. “Yes?”
“Do you have a deal going with Nick Townsend?”
His gaze narrowed. “I never talk to you about potential deals. You know that.”
Yes, she did know that. Much to her regret and frustration. Yet this was different, wasn’t it? If she was involved somehow…
The thought stopped her. Of course, she must be involved somehow. Why else would such a gorgeous, rich man be pretending with her?
I’m here to win you over.
Slinging her light jacket off and throwing it on a side chair, she prepared to fight. “If this has something to do with me, I deserve to know.”
Her father placed his hands in his lap, as if he were preparing to take a nap. He always did this whenever she got feisty, as he labeled it.
“No, you don’t. Don’t pretend to fall asleep.” She sent him a tough, hard glare. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know.”
Instead of going on the attack like he often did, he put on his crocodile smile. “Ask me anything you’d like.”
That stopped her. She froze and stared at him blankly. Her dad wasn’t the type to answer any questions, much less hers. He wasn’t the type to blandly give her carte blanche on anything at all. And she knew from experience, when he put on that smile, she needed to tread carefully.
“What’s going on?” she blurted.
He eyed her before sighing. “I’m dying.”
Her hands fisted at her side because she hated hearing those words. This was only the second time he’d made this admission in her presence, but to her thinking, it was two times too much.
“I’m not one to ignore reality, and I don’t expect my daughter to be any different.” Gnarled hands tightened on his lap, and for the first time, she registered just how old they looked. How old her father looked.
Grief welled in her throat, making her nose tingle and her eyes blur.
“Say it, Jessica,” he demanded in his usual tough tone. “Admit what is happening.”
“I won’t.” Her wobbly refusal echoed in the silent room.
Clyde McDowell finally sighed again into the space yawning between them. “Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I won’t still be here for you.”
But he wouldn’t be. The brutal truth, a truth she’d refused to acknowledge since that moment in London where he’d made his confession, rang inside her like a clang of imminent doom.
Her father was dying.
Dying.
Her life was going to change forever. No longer would she have the sun of her father to rotate around. No more gruff affection and stout support. No more of him. Ever.
The grief spiraled inside her, pushing the tears out.
“Don’t cry,” he ordered.
Except this time, unlike all the other times when he’d commanded her to stop crying, she couldn’t. She hadn’t had a good cry since her last boyfriend had betrayed her and showed his true colors. Considering that had been three years ago, she was due.
She sucked in a clogged breath and brushed more tears off her cheeks. “I can cry if my dad is dying. I have a right to cry.”
Her father harrumphed from the couch, though he didn’t contradict her this time. He sat, a grimace on his face, and watched her sob.
The sobs finally quieted and she slumped into an opposing armchair. “You’re dying. I can accept that.”
“You must. There’s no other option.” He patted his barrel chest. “At some point in the next few months, this old heart is going to stop—”
“Don’t,” she broke in, her own heart breaking, “I don’t want to think about it.”
“But you must. We both must.”
Leaning her head on the back of her chair, she closed her eyes and tried to think about the impossible. “Are you planning on selling the McDowell hotels to Nick Townsend?”
A quiet descended between them, one she’d been dreading for months. Because the hush told her—the worst of her fears were true. Her father really was going to sell her home from under her it appeared.
“No.”
His rejection of her worst fear made her heart soar. Jerking her head up, she opened her eyes and beamed at him. “You’re going to leave them to me?”
“Yes.”
The affirmation should have made her ecstatic, yet something about his expression turned her wary. “Is that an unequivocal yes, or are there caveats?”
Her dad flashed her a grin. “That is how I know you are my daughter. That keen mind of yours, eh? Making sure every detail is nailed down.”
Her flying heart drifted back into her chest along with a leaden sense of unease. “What details?”
“Minor ones, but important to me.”
“Minor.” She kept her gaze pinned to him. “Tell me.”
“Not now.” Meeting her look with a steely one of his own, he told her without words: the subject was closed. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do here.”
“With Nick Townsend.”
“Yes. With him.” An intent, determined look crossed his face. “You need to learn everything about him. What he knows and thinks.”
“Huh? Me?” Between Dad and her, there really wasn’t anything an expert in hospitality could tell them. Not that she didn’t know she could learn more, but Clyde had inherited the first McDowell hotel from his parents forty years ago, and she’d grown up in the business. “He owns casinos. Granted, there are some nice suites attached to many of them, however—”
Her father chuckled. “Nice suites?”
“That’s your word for this.” She waved her hands at the splendor surrounding them. “Anyway, my point is he’s in a different area of hospitality. You can’t tell me you want the McDowell hotels turned into casinos.”
“I think there are things you could learn from him.” He ignored her, plowing on. “And vice versa.”
“Why would he want to share with me?” she asked, her formidable logic kicking in. “Why would he care about me?”
“There’s a question.”
Jessica glowered at her father. “What does that mean?”
“I’ll leave that to you.” He smiled, his jowls creasing. “I have every confidence you’ll figure it out.”
Chapter 6
Although he owned a casino that went wild after twilight hours and he worked in an industry known for coming alive in the darkness, Nick had always been an early riser. Something left over from his days on the ranch, probably.
Entering the hushed space of his office, he sauntered to the glass wall at the far end of the room and looked down.
At seven a.m. in
the morning, he didn’t expect to see much traffic in the main hall of the casino, and he was right. There were two old ladies playing with one-armed bandits, and a group of young men who appeared like they’d stayed awake the entire night, but that was about it. Nick glanced across the wide expanse, noting that the glass chandelier, draped with white crystals, sparkled. The white-and-blue carpeted floor shone. The façade of tube lights waved softly along the walls. The entirety of it created a sense of being in the clouds, floating above it all.
He grunted with satisfaction.
Devil Skye had been the tenth casino he’d purchased. It had been as rundown as the Reno one he’d started with. Two years had gone by, before the vision he had in his head for this particular casino was constructed to his specifications.
Crossing to his polished-steel desk, he eased into his office chair and scrolled through his emails. He wanted to get through the essential work so he could focus on one thing.
Winning Jessica McDowell.
She’d surprised him last night. Was it characteristic of her to be that quiet? He hadn’t thought so when he’d met her in Denver. There, she’d been direct, practically demanding. Here, she hadn’t spoken one word to him, as he’d welcomed her and her father to his casino.
Odd. Her attitude troubled him for some reason. He didn’t want to think of her as a quiet, cowed girl.
He wanted that burn.
The blaze.
And he’d find her again. He had her on his turf now, and he’d find a way to ignite the fire inside her. He’d find a way to get her attention and keep it.
Later today, he’d start.
Finishing his emails, he turned his scrutiny to last night’s numbers. His fingers tapped on the keys and his mind slipped into the figures, settling into the pure perfection of mathematics. When he’d been a boy and still eager to learn, he’d met Mr. Tuco. His fifth-grade teacher had been a math wizard, and happy to share his knowledge with a smart kid. That had been the last year Nick had really focused in school. The following summer, he’d been sucked into his cousins’ life of petty theft and messy fights. Then school had become a drag, a time-waste.
Yet, he’d remembered how numbers could sing and come together like dancers in a choreographed ballet. He’d remembered when he’d landed on his dad’s doorstep at fourteen, and was desperately looking for a way to impress Edward Townsend. Taking over the bookwork for the ranch had been about the only thing his father had trusted him with.
Pushing away the thought, Nick let last night’s numbers sing to him, chanting a sweet song of success. He sank into them like a dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The short, sharp raps on his door made him swing his head away from the computer. He frowned at the closed door. It couldn’t be Maggie. She wouldn’t knock. His secretary never arrived before nine and the rest of his staff knew he liked his mornings undisturbed.
Irritation lanced through him. “Come in.”
The door flew open, like the person on the other side was irritated, too.
There she was.
The Jessica he’d met in Denver.
Those blue-green-brown eyes of hers blazed with determination. The flame of her hair couldn’t be dampened, even though it was tied up in that knot on the top of her head. She wore a classic white, cotton, button-down shirt, paired with dark slacks that did nothing for her. A blue suit jacket hung on her frame, hiding any hint of femininity.
She stomped into his office like she owned it, though. Like it didn’t matter what she wore, it only mattered who she was.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, ready and willing to confront whatever had fired her temper. “You’re an early riser too, I see.”
Ignoring his friendly face and easy banter, she planted herself in front of his desk and kept glaring. “I need to know what’s going on between you and my father.”
“What did he say was going on?” he parried.
Her wispy brows furrowed. “He wouldn’t say.”
“Interesting.” And it was interesting. The few moments he’d spent with the father and daughter last night had told him two things.
The first was—they loved each other.
Nick knew body language. He’d learned it the hard way on the streets of this city. So he could see the way the father stood, as if he were ready to step in front of his daughter at a moment’s notice. The way the daughter stood also told a story of love. The way she had her father’s back, the way she touched his shoulder as they entered their suite, the way she eyed him with a blend of affection and humor.
There was a second thing he’d noted last night about the two.
While the father loved the daughter, he didn’t see her. Maybe it was because she wouldn’t let him. Clyde McDowell didn’t see the blaze. The burn. The bravery.
So perhaps it was understandable the man hadn’t confided anything to her about his deal with Nick. He could have easily told her about the addendums to the initial contract they’d signed in Tasmania. Items like the plans to buy a new property in St. Martin and convert it into the first Townsend/McDowell hotel and casino. Or about the planned renovations to the London and Paris hotels. Or the numerous other addendums to the contract.
But the father didn’t see the daughter, or her potential.
Interesting.
I want my Jess to believe you’re in love with her.
He slid back in his chair, his brain whirring. Interesting, also, that Clyde had made no provision about how Nick was supposed to lay out their future, other than that one condition. Did the old man want him to explain parts of what was going on to her? Or did he expect him to keep silent about everything, until he’d successfully slid a ring on her finger?
“Don’t just say interesting.” She huffed an impatient breath. “Tell me what’s going on.”
This woman was too smart to be put off by vague details. He’d also realized in their short acquaintance that he had no intention of keeping her intelligent brain shut up in a mansion somewhere, while he made all the decisions. What an absolutely appalling waste. “Your father and I are thinking of doing some projects together.”
“Thinking?” Those mixed eyes of hers narrowed. “Or has this gone farther than just thinking?”
“It’s gone farther,” he admitted, as he gave her his signature smile. One that melted hearts from Las Vegas to Madrid to Tokyo.
Her expression didn’t relax in the face of his onslaught of charm. Neither did her body. “Show me the contracts.”
“That’s something your father should do. Not me.” He eased himself out of his chair and rounded the desk to stand beside her. He wanted to make sure she didn’t fly away from him. She hadn’t responded to his careless charm, and for some reason, that excited him. This whole confrontation—her attitude, her demands—made him pulse with a thrill he only felt when he conquered in a business deal or at the poker table.
A grimace twisted her mouth and she snorted. “He won’t show me. He won’t share much of anything with me.”
The disgust in her voice made him grin. Good. He wanted this to be between him and her. For some unknown reason, Clyde McDowell had given him the reins, and he wasn’t going to refuse the call.
“Stop smiling. It doesn’t work with me.”
The snap in her demand made his grin widen.
“I’m supposed to find out all about you, my father told me.” Her arms wrapped around her in a tight grip. “I’m supposed to learn from you.”
Her exaggerated emphasis on the one word made him chuckle. Something floated in his mind, something he rarely thought about with women. Usually, the woman he was with offered and he decided. He picked the prettiest, and the ones who knew the score. The ones who didn’t need to be taught anything.
This thing floating in his mind, however, this realization, was new.
He wouldn’t mind teaching Jessica just about anything she wanted.
“If the only thing you’re going to do is smile and laugh, I might as we
ll leave.” She threw him another searing glare before swinging around and aiming for the door.
“No, you don’t.” Grabbing her hand before she bolted, he brought her to an abrupt halt.
Her glare switched back to him as she tugged. “I need to go. I have better things to do than stand here and be laughed at.”
Curiosity surged in an instant spike. He’d missed it because this woman grabbed his attention from the moment she entered his office. But how the hell had the woman penetrated the security barring the way into the private offices? And how had she zeroed in on this particular room to find him here?
“Let’s continue this conversation with you telling me something.” He pulled her closer, liking the way she fit in his arms, yet concerned she’d infiltrated his office without a snag.
“You didn’t tell me anything,” she said, indignation ringing in her voice. “Why should I tell you something?”
“Maybe if you tell, I’ll tell.”
Another female snort was his answer.
Sidling closer, he whispered into the shell of her ear, “Can you tell me how you found your way in here, to this secured office?”
She appeared startled for a moment before turning smug. “I live in these kinds of places. I know the protocols.”
Did she? Perhaps she knew more than he’d first surmised. Except when he looked in her eyes, the only thing he saw was purity and innocence. Hard-nosed determination and keen intelligence, true. But at the heart of this woman, he’d bet lay an infinite integrity.
The realization went through him like a gunshot, leaving a residue of bitterness behind.
Still, he’d signed the contract and given his word to her father. He’d have to figure out a way around her integrity, that was all.
“I know everything there is to know about hospitality.” Her claim yanked him back from an abyss of his own making. “I don’t think you have anything to teach me.”
“Maybe not. I guess we’ll see.” He slid another smile onto his face. “Did you find the plans for this casino online? How did you know which office to come to?”
Her delicate red lashes swept down, then up, and her expression turned wary as if she didn’t want to tell him her secrets. “No, I didn’t search for this casino online.”