Crazy Love

by Nicola Marsh

  She’d had fun showing Marc the sights at Love Fest. He’d joined in with gusto, his ability to let loose surprising her. He’d changed so much since he’d first come to town, the uptight, arrogant persona replaced by a guy she laughed with, a guy she sparred with, a guy she was falling in love with.

  It wasn’t purely physical, though they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They’d been sprung yet again, this time by Belle, and the memory of her two closest friends’ expressions each time they’d witnessed more than they’d bargained for made her half-smile, half-grimace.

  From his eagerness to talk about the future at the festival, she assumed they’d continue their relationship. While they hadn’t talked logistics yet, he’d given her the boxed nightgown when he’d dropped her off with a “We’ll talk about this later,” accompanied by a sizzling kiss that made her float into the house.

  Her smile broadened, the smug, self-satisfied smile of a woman secure in the knowledge she had a special guy in her life.

  She flipped the page and her smile slipped as she spied Marc’s picture in the top right hand corner next to the headline “CEO LOVES AN ACQUISITION.”

  She read the article, written by a Jeff Rodgers, and froze.

  “Wheel ‘em and deal ‘em tycoon Marc Fairley, CEO of acquisitions company A-Corp, has been missing in action the last week. Rumors have been circulating in financial circles to explain the reasons behind his absenteeism, all ill founded. The CEO is hard at work, intent on securing another deal, with his sights set on Love Byte, California’s popular Internet dating site.

  Love Byte, an online dating agency, has its headquarters in a town aptly named Love, situated an hour south of LA. Marc Fairley has been in Love for a week, getting a foothold in the company that will take A-Corp to the top.

  Looks like Marc ‘Midas’ Fairley, the man with the golden touch, is set to make his next squillion, which proves that good things do happen to those in Love.”

  The article couldn’t have been bigger than a few square inches yet for Sierra it seemed like the print took up an entire page, leaping out to slap her in the face every time she glanced at the paper in horror.

  It couldn’t be true.

  Marc cared about her.

  He couldn’t fake the connection they shared.

  Yet there it was, laid out in black and white.

  It made perfect sense. Come to town on the pretense of seeing his mom; stick around to get the lowdown on her company before buying it out from right under her nose. The prick.

  Jeez, he must be laughing. While getting a stranglehold on her business he’d got a stranglehold on her heart too. And sex to boot.

  Oh yeah, City Boy must be splitting his sides. Which was good, considering she was about to split his head open to match.

  “Bastard.” She screwed the newspaper in a tight ball and flung it across the room, wishing she’d never laid eyes on him.

  She should’ve listened to her conscience. All men were scum, apart from Hank who’d never lie like the rest of his male cohorts.

  She should know better. She did know better. Which made it all the more difficult to accept.

  “You’re toast, Slick,” she muttered, swiping angrily at the wasted tears streaming from her eyes as she picked up the wadded newspaper and headed out the door.

  “You bastard.”

  Sierra threw the balled newspaper in Marc’s face as he opened the door, pushing her way in without waiting for an invitation.

  He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, which she had the minute he’d set foot in her office.

  She had to be crazy to think a guy like him would stick around for anything other than his own selfish reasons.

  She’d been an idiot and would pay the ultimate price, losing her heart to a jerk that wouldn’t look back.

  “If you didn’t like the nightgown you could’ve just told me,” he said, trying a tentative smile as he closed the door.

  “Shut the hell up.”

  Her voice rose and she calmed it with effort. No use letting the whole town know what a louse he was. They’d find out soon enough. If she let him live.

  “Here.”

  She picked up the newspaper and smoothed it out on the table, stabbing her finger at the article and barely restraining from stabbing him in the eye.

  “It’s riveting reading.”

  He took one look at the caption, paled, and muttered, “Fuck.”

  “There’s more. Read on, be truly entertained.”

  She folded her arms and started pacing, anything to keep her hands away from where they wanted to be; wrapped around his neck, squeezing until all the breath left his lying, treacherous body.

  He sped read the article, shock tightening his mouth as he glanced at her, eyes bleak.

  “It’s not true.”

  She stopped in front of him. “How stupid do you think I am?”

  She snapped her fingers in front of his face, wishing she could slap him, claw at him, do something physical to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her and release the rage boiling her blood.

  “All those times you dropped by for coffee asking about my day, my business, pretending to be interested. Fake, right?”

  “Listen—”

  “And all those times I asked about your business you fobbed me off. There I was, poring out my soul because I thought you were interested in me and all the time you were storing up info, ready to steal Love Byte right out from under my nose.”

  “Business has nothing to do with you and me—”

  “And what about the last few days when you spent every spare minute in my house, in and out of my bed? Easy access for more info I suppose, poking into my files, reading my notes.”

  She clenched her hands and considered taking a swing at him just for the hell of it. He needed to hurt as much as she did, to feel half the pain ripping through her body, crumpling her meager trust, battering whatever emotion she may have once felt for him.

  “The sex was an added bonus, I guess. Another perk of the job, right?”

  “Stop being ridiculous,” he snapped, stalking away to stare out the window.

  “I’m being ridiculous?”

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding before she burst. “That honor belongs to you. Using your mom as an excuse to come to town, using me to get what you want. Marc Midas Fairley always gets what he wants?”

  She swallowed the sob tightening her throat. “Screw you. Keep your filthy hands off my business and stay the hell away from me.”

  He swiveled back to her, his jaw tense as the first spark of anger flared in those dark chocolate eyes whose depths she’d stared into for endless hours as they’d made love, as they’d talked, as they’d cuddled. Those dark, traitorous eyes that hid secrets locked away in his soul. If he had one.

  “So that’s it? You’ve got me all figured out?”

  “I had you figured out the moment I met you. Shame it took me so long to face facts.” She jabbed a finger in his direction before letting her hand fall to her side when it trembled. “You’re a lying, arrogant son-of-a-bitch who’d do anything to get ahead. And I hope you rot in hell for it.”

  She headed for the door, desperate to escape before the tears erupted.

  He’d hardly said a word in his defense, which only confirmed what had been printed. If she’d harbored some faint hope he’d protest his innocence, sweep her into his arms and declare his undying love for her, it had died along with her dreams for a future.

  “I guess congratulations are in order.” He slow-clapped as she headed for the door. “You win.”

  “What?”

  “The bet we made. You said I wouldn’t last a week in this place, you’re right. I’m out of here.”

  He turned his back on her and started sweeping files into a briefcase.

  “Fuck you,” she said, battling tears and losing as they trickled down her cheeks.

  “Done that too, babe.”

  He didn’t turn around as s
he stumbled out and slammed the door, her heart in tatters.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cupid’s Dating Tips for the Enlightened Male

  Overcome your dependency on the remote control: she’ll love you for it.

  Marc waited until he heard the door slam before sinking into the nearest chair and dropping his head in his hands, battling the urge to run after Sierra.

  He’d hated the devastation in her eyes, though he could strangle her for not giving him a chance to explain. Not that she would’ve listened, thanks to the drivel Jeff had printed.

  That lowlife reporter had gone too far this time. He’d dug and dug like a pig searching for truffles and had come up with a veritable feast of information. Though someone had to have leaked Marc’s whereabouts and he knew who that person had to be.

  Marc grabbed his cell, punched redial and waited for Rob to pick up.

  “A-Corp, Rob Alden speaking.”

  “Did you tell Jeff Rodgers where I was?”

  “Hey Boss, good to hear from you. Everyone’s looking forward to having you back.”

  Rob had poise, he’d give him that much. He’d hesitated for all of two seconds before pouring it on thick as usual.

  “Everything’s running smoothly here. Not long to go ‘til you’re back at the helm. By the way, I’ve wrapped up the—”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Uh, Jeff called last night and I was kinda out of it, so not sure what I said.”

  Marc took a deep breath and mentally counted to five. “Listen up, you little dweeb. Did you or did you not tell him where I was?”

  “Now wait just a minute.”

  Rob didn’t do bluster well. It came out sounding like a little girl’s whine. “I’ve held the fort while you’re gallivanting around the countryside doing your thing. The least you could do is thank me. So I may have mentioned where you were to Jeff? Big frigging deal. You’re back here at the start of next week anyway.”

  Marc’s free hand clenched into a fist and he wished he could punch his deputy’s big mouth. He wasn’t a fan of violence but in this instance it would feel damn good to shut him up. Rob had landed him in this mess. Never again.

  “Did you mention the Tech file?”

  Not taking Rob to task over his last admission lulled him into a false sense of security, as he’d anticipated.

  “Yeah. Told Jeff you were working in that dead-end town too, chasing up some info on a company we’re hoping to acquire. Didn’t tell him the name though.”

  His deputy sounded proud of the fact, as if he deserved a medal for not giving everything away and once again Marc was struck by his thirst for violence.

  It would’ve taken any reporter less than a minute to look up information about the companies in Love and once Jeff had found Sierra’s he’d made the right assumptions. Jeff may be an inquisitive jerk but he was damn good at his job.

  Unlike his sorry-ass deputy.

  “That’s all I needed to know.”

  “No harm done, right?”

  He could picture Rob at his desk, leaning back in his leather chair, smug, overconfident. Time to change all that.

  “You’re fired. You’ve got ten minutes to pack your things and get out. Security will be up there in thirty seconds to supervise your departure.”

  “What the f—?” Rob’s whine turned to a shriek.

  “You heard me. Get out.”

  Marc hung up, quickly dialed his head of security and explained the situation. Dale would take care of Rob until he got back to the office, which would be sooner rather than later now. After a quick visit to his mom, who deserved to know he was leaving town, he’d be on his way back to LA and sanity.

  As he’d suspected, Love was the pits.

  He’d get over Sierra. He didn’t need a complication like her in his life anyway. If she doubted him over this, what would she say when he canceled on their first weekend together in a month if business came up? Or if he got called away unexpectedly for any number of reasons during their first holiday together?

  Easier to cut his losses now. She’d done him a favor by not believing in him. She would’ve wanted more than he could give and he wasn’t prepared to compromise his life, no matter how much he loved her.

  Loved?

  The realization slugged him hard, a knockout punch straight to the solar plexus and he doubled over, momentarily winded.

  He couldn’t love her.

  He didn’t know how.

  Shaking his head, he leaped off the chair and started shoveling clothes into a bag, doing his best to shutdown his thoughts.

  He didn’t love her. It was a figure of speech, like he’d say, love that car or love those solid platinum cufflinks. Yeah, that was it. It didn’t mean a thing.

  Love was a crock.

  Love was for fools.

  If he didn’t know better, by the queasiness roiling in the pit of his stomach at the thought he’d never get to wrap his arms around Sierra again, love had jumped up and bit him on the ass when he wasn’t looking.

  Hank punched in Eric’s number as soon as he pulled onto the highway about a mile from his place. He needed to get to Eric before he spoke to Marc.

  Lord only knew what would happen if Liv heard his news from anyone other than him. She seemed in a strange mood lately, more possessive, and it scared him. After living on his own for so long it stung to have someone questioning his every move, though once she knew the reason behind his frequent visits away from home she’d understand.

  Liv didn’t have a mean bone in her body; that same body he’d grown used to cuddling up to at night, the body that set his world alight. For an old man, he sure felt eighteen again. If only he had the staying power he had back then. Thankfully, Liv wasn’t complaining.

  They sure burned up the sheets. Add to that their mutual taste in everything from classical music to movies, their long talks into the night, the corny in-jokes, and they were perfect for each other in every way.

  Losing Hannah had gutted him. It had hurt to breathe most days after she died, the ache in his chest so bad he’d seen a doc about it.

  But there’d been nothing physiologically wrong with his heart. Emotionally, watching his sweet, courageous wife struggle for life, fighting with every determined cell in her body until the very end, had shattered it.

  He’d held her, had sobbed as she’d grown cold in his arms, thankful she wasn’t in pain any more, furious they’d been robbed of the life they’d planned.

  Hannah had been his world and not a day went by he hadn’t missed her. He missed the intimacy the most, someone to laugh with, someone who cared, someone to lay a hand on his arm in total understanding of what he was thinking in that moment. He’d cherished the feeling of being in sync with someone.

  Not many old timers his age were handed a second chance at love but by some miraculous stroke of luck he’d found it again after all this time.

  And he intended on making every precious moment count with Liv. She’d never doubted him; he hadn’t given her reason to and never would. But this business needed to be taken care of and the time had come.

  “Come on, answer the damn phone,” he muttered, giving his cell a shake for good measure. His relationship with Liv was priceless and he’d be damned if he let anything mess it up, especially some crazy misunderstanding if she didn’t hear the truth from him.

  Eric’s phone continued to ring out.

  “Dammit.”

  Hank pressed ‘end call’ and threw his cell on the seat beside him. He glanced at his watch, torn between heading home and giving Liv a quick version of the truth or going forward to sort out the mess that could cost millions and some of the best workers he had.

  However, Liv deserved more than a quick version. She needed to understand why he hadn’t told her everything from the start and to do that he needed time and her undivided attention.

  Shaking his head, he pulled back on the highway. He’d keep trying Eric at regular intervals and pray to God he m
ade it home in time to tell his future wife the truth.

  Olivia stared out the window for the hundredth time in an hour, feeling every one of her sixty years.

  What other reason could there be but senility to explain the fact she was contemplating marrying again? To a man who appeared perfect at first glance but obviously harbored secrets like her ex?

  When she’d signed the divorce papers and absolved her marriage to George she’d toasted her freedom with a virgin Pina Colada, vowing never to be any man’s stooge again.

  She’d signed up for ballroom dance lessons, yoga, Indian cooking and computer classes, had ditched her stuffy designer wardrobe for comfy casual wear and had a radical new haircut.

  Life had been good.

  Then she’d met Hank and it got better.

  There was no fool like an old fool and she certainly understood the saying, for she’d been smitten the first time she’d seen him.

  A gentle giant of a man, a man who never criticized her, played around on her, or drove her to drink.

  She’d been sober for twenty-six months, ten days, five hours, and he knew the battle she’d waged. She’d told him everything; from the regular G&Ts at the charity events she organized to the urge to dull the pain with the finest chardonnays at dinner every night, ending with the mindless, driving craving to obliterate her life by sculling a liter of vodka a day.

  He’d held her as she’d cried her way through the pitiful story, had smoothed her hair and stroked her back as she revealed the pain of a loveless marriage where she’d lost her identity, her self-respect and her pride.

  He hadn’t judged her, hadn’t placated her with meaningless words, hadn’t been uncomfortable with her outpouring of grief for the dignity she’d lost.

  He’d held her, listened to her, before vowing to love and cherish her until their dying day.

  She believed him. Yet lately, he’d been distracted by business, something she couldn’t understand considering the farm ran itself. He continually made day trips north on the pretext of business. Monkey business, if her inkling was correct.