“When your mother died.”
Damn the press. Christiaan tore his gaze and the broom away from Vicky and finished cleaning up. He emptied the dustpan into the garbage then returned everything to the closet.
Vicky sat in her chair, curled up like a cat, arms wrapped around her legs and rocking back and forth. Christiaan sat back down on the hearth.
“Christiaan… I’m so sorry. Your mother... I shouldn’t have brought her up.”
He sighed. Over the years, he’d repeated the story so many times he could rattle the facts off like he was reading a newspaper account. “My mother’s death was an accident, pure and simple. She was riding in the woods, was thrown or fell, and was dragged by her horse. She suffered severe head injuries. Unfortunately, she wasn’t wearing a helmet.”
“And you’re certain it was an accident?”
Always the same question. “Yes. My father was devastated. He married my stepmother two months later. Before he died, he confessed to me the rebound marriage had been a mistake from the start. She was a close friend of my mother’s. They didn’t become involved until after my mother died, a fact my stepmother refused to refute in public. I’m sure that’s where the murder idea surfaced.”
“And you’re certain she wasn’t involved in your mother’s death?”
Christiaan shook his head. “No. The Baroness doesn’t have the stomach for it. That’s where she and Astrid differ. Astrid would probably sell her soul to the devil if he promised her everything she ever wanted.”
“The one you were supposed to marry.”
“Marry, Astrid?” Christiaan laughed. “Never. All she’s ever wanted was a title and the prestige and money that goes with it. I was just her first and—because we grew up together—the easiest target. Baz once said that if a genie gave Astrid three wishes, two of them would be to make her my wife and the next Baroness.”
“And the third?”
“Erase all traces of Brianna from the face of the earth.” Christiaan stood to toss more wood onto the fire. “Then again, Baz always has had a flair for the dramatic.”
“He seems quite devoted to you.”
Christiaan grabbed a log from the pile nearby and pitched it into the middle of the flames.
“We grew up together, so we’re like brothers. But Baz has a chip on his shoulder because I’m a ‘blauw bloed’, a blue blood, and he’s not. For some reason, he has this tremendous need to prove to the world he’s more than the gardener’s son. Too bad Astrid wouldn’t marry him. He’s been in love with her since we were kids.”
“But she wanted you.”
Christiaan returned to his spot on the hearth. “Yes, and she never let Baz forget it. As she put it, she didn’t mind slumming with the help for a little fun, but she deserved more than a boy born with dirt under his fingernails.”
“What a bitch.”
“Yes, a real kutwijf. Her attitude fueled Baz’s need to prove himself. He did anything and everything he could to show he was more than that. One summer he spent with cousins living in Ireland he hung out with radicals. Baz came back with a stupid tattoo and an even bigger chip on his shoulder. He’d hoped all that would impress Astrid, but all she did was laugh at him.”
“That must have pissed him off.”
“Oh, yes.” Christiaan nodded his head. “He ranted for days about how women enjoy screwing up men just for fun and how they’re only good for one thing. He said a lot of nasty things, but Baz is all bark and no bite, isn’t that how the American saying goes?”
“That’s it.” This time Vicky nodded. “You really do love him like a brother, don’t you?”
“He’s always been there when I need him. He supported me when I married Bri and even became good friends with her. He was devastated by her death. He’s never really gotten over the fact that he was the last one to see her alive, to see her drive off before she…” Christiaan swallowed hard. “It should have been me.”
“To be the last one to see her alive or to die in an accidental explosion?”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christiaan slowly paced in front of the fireplace. At every second turn, he stole a glance at Vicky. She’d stopped rocking in the chair several minutes ago, but remained silent. Curled up like that, she reminded him of a tired, worn-out child.
Yeah, tired and worn-out from listening to the Dutch idiot stealing her mountain ramble on about his life, his wife, and anything else that seemed to pop into his stupid little brain. Probably, at this very moment, she was working on a way to get him the hell out of her cabin.
And her life.
Christiaan stopped moving to stare into the fire. Its heat kindled something within him. Something he hadn’t felt for an exceedingly long time.
His mind reeled with confusion. He should leave. Get back to doing what he came to America to do.
Save his company by any means possible.
Peering over his shoulder, he focused on the woman stopping him.
The crazy thing was, right now, he didn’t want to do any of that.
Heat overwhelmed him, but it wasn’t from the fireplace. He wanted to walk right over, gather her in his arms, and carry her up to the bedroom where he’d make long, slow love to her until he knew her from the inside out. Images of a naked Vicky riding him in utter abandon assaulted his psyche.
Potverdomme! Christiaan focused on his feet to ensure they remained firmly attached to the floor. He adjusted his stance so she couldn’t see the painful agony growing in his jeans.
What the hell was wrong with him? Only a few hours ago, the poor woman had been literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. Tired, medicated, and overwhelmed by a ridiculously eventful twenty-four hours, probably the only thing on her mind was how much she’d like this lunatic to get out of her house so she could get some rest.
And the only thing on his mind was how to get her into bed. Rest… optional.
He needed to get out of here before he did something he’d… they’d both regret.
Christiaan turned to go, but his legs refused to respond. He wasn’t ready to leave. He couldn’t. Not yet.
The fact was it wasn’t just sex he wanted from Vicky. Yes, he was attracted to her. That hard truth was all too evident.
But, somehow, she’d gotten under his skin. From the moment he’d met her, she’d unknowingly penetrated his carefully constructed emotional walls. She’d touched parts of him he thought had died with Bri.
He wanted to know more about this woman. And not because he needed to find something to stop her or discredit her or harm her.
Because when you realize you’ve found someone that fills the long-empty space in your heart, you want to know everything there is to know about them.
Christiaan’s gaze returned to Vicky.
“Who are you?”
Her head shot up like a bullet, and he realized he’d voiced his thought aloud. She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it without making a sound. Biting her lip, she wound a hand in her short locks.
“Just who is Vicky Golden?” he asked, voice tight with emotion and curiosity.
“No one…” A sharp exhalation of breath escaped her lips. “No one in particular, really.”
“Come now. Iedere vogel prijst zijn nest.”
“Meaning?”
“Literally, every bird likes its own nest.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Figuratively, every bird loves to hear herself sing. Meaning, you’re being too modest. You were intriguing enough for Inc. magazine to send a reporter to cover you.”
“Not me.” Vicky unfolded back into the chair. “The business. The idea was to feature Climbing for Singles. And that madness was not my idea.”
Christiaan laughed. “Let me guess… the friendly, gregarious, never-met-a-story-I-didn’t-want-to-tell-everyone-I-meet-whether-they-want-to-hear-it-or-not Dean? Bringing that bitch on the mountain was his idea?”
A small, weary smile danced across her face. “Let’s jus
t say no one can accuse my partner of not thinking big. As long as I’ve known him, he’s always reached for the brass ring.”
“You seem to work well together.” A wave of jealously slammed through Christiaan. “Partners in every sense of the word?”
“No,” she laughed. “No… no… just business partners.”
Good. Christiaan sat down on the hearth, jealousy bridled, but not curiosity. “How long have you known Dean?”
“A few years.”
Frustration blew through his mind. Getting information from her was like licking jelly from a sharp knife.
“When we were on the summit, Dean mentioned you were—how’d he put it—’a real gumby’ when you first met. What were you doing before you decided to conquer mountains?”
Deep emotion clouded her face, but Christiaan couldn’t peg the particular sentiment. Before he could internally hazard a guess to her state of mind, Vicky burst out laughing.
“I tell you what.” She sat up straight in the chair and, for the first time since the conversation started, looked him in the eyes. “Let’s play a little tit-for-tat.”
“Tit for tat? I’m not familiar with that term.”
“Information for information,” she explained. “For every question I answer, you have to answer one of mine.”
What’s the harm? He’d already practically bared his soul to her. What more could she want to know about him?
“Deal.” Placing elbows on knees, he leaned forward. “Now, answer my question. What was Vicky Golden doing before she became a mountain maven?”
“Oh, a little bit of everything. Waitressing in Maine… housecleaning in Nebraska… cashiering in Mississippi…”
“How interesting. Where are you originally from?”
“Ah, ah, ah.” She wagged a finger at him. “That’s not how the game is played. I answered your question. Now I get one.”
He nodded.
“Why expand VL Holdings into the U.S. considering the majority of your holdings are in Europe, and why here at Shasta?”
Hmm… another woman that’s been doing her homework. First, the reporter. Now this one.
“Ah, ah, ah.” His turn to wag a finger. “That’s two questions. I’ll answer the first one. The greatest opportunity in renewable energy was here considering your government’s recent approval of tax incentives as well as foreign investment incentives.”
“Not to mention our easing of guidelines regarding granting power companies permits to develop alternative energy sources on Federal lands.” Vicky sat ramrod straight, then pointed in his direction. “And that’s why you chose Northern California, Shasta in particular.”
The statement caught Christiaan off-guard. Gone was the tired, worn-out child. Here was the vibrant, driven, passionate woman he’d become enamored with only five short days ago.
“Actually, it was Baz who insisted on Shasta,” he answered.
“Because the California Energy Commission pledged twenty million dollars over five years if your project was operational within eight.” Her voice now a trifle petulant.
Like a dog with a bone. Christiaan shook his head. Wasn’t that the expression Bri often used to describe what made a good reporter?
“Yes, that’s one of the reasons why I came here. This project is extremely behind and getting extremely expensive.”
“No doubt driven by the Department of Energy’s Geowest Initiative calling for geothermal mining to meet ten percent of the West’s electrical needs within twenty years.” Burning, reproachful eyes glared at him. “Of course, no one cares to mention that support for that initiative diverts conservation efforts and cleaner energy alternatives such as solar.”
Potverdomme. She knows her stuff.
“Neither does anyone mention the impact such a project would have on the beauty of the Shasta area as well as the destruction of numerous Native American cultural and sacred sites. My mountain deserves to be protected, and I’ll do anything to make sure no one—I mean no one—takes her away from me.”
And she’s taking it personal. Very personal.
“The mitigation plan you submitted barely scratched the surface of issues such as…” Vicky began counting on one hand, a finger at a time. “…Hazardous material spills, wildlife, construction dust, noise, site decommissioning and reclamation…” Switching to the other hand, she continued her count and rant. “…Vegetation, emergency procedures, protection of Native American cultural interests, and visual impacts, not to mention odor compliance procedures… I’ve run out of fingers… notification of residents in case of a plant emergency, chemical spill procedures, fire—”
“Whoa.” Christiaan held up his hands up to stop her. “Whoa! I’ll admit our mitigation plan needs a few tweaks, but you’re forgetting that we consulted with several local tribal elders on the historic preservation issues. They were willing to compromise, to accept some sacrifice in exchange for much needed employment for tribal members. What have you got against compromise?”
Vicky leaned back, her eyes unblinking. “Compromise is half defeat.”
She’s quoting me Sun Tzu? “You’re forgetting the entire quote. ‘If it becomes obvious that your current course of action will lead to defeat, then retreat and regroup. When your side is losing, there are only three choices remaining: surrender, compromise, or escape. Surrender is complete defeat, compromise is half defeat, but escape is not defeat’.”
Christiaan’s eyes clung to Vicky’s, analyzing her reaction as he finished. “’As long as you are not defeated, you still have a chance.’ Is that your plan? To escape? To retreat and regroup?”
“No.” Vicky stirred a bit uneasily in her chair. “I did that once.” She glanced toward a row of books on the right of the mantel. “Never again.”
Christiaan regarded her quizzically for a moment. Were they still talking about the mountain? Or something else?
Or someone else?
“I believe it’s my turn for a question,” he said. “Ever been married?”
The instant the words left his lips, her head jerked back to stare at him. Hundreds of emotions seemed to pass over her face. She rose from the chair without a word and moved toward him. Her nearness rekindled his earlier lust.
He reached for her, but she breezed past him to stop near the far side of the mantel. As she reached for a book, her erotically stern profile teased his barely restrained self-control. Imagining her passion in bed as equal to her passion for her cause nearly set him off.
Christiaan studied her obliviousness to his desire. The answer to his earlier question had to be yes. Someone had married her, hurt her, and then let her go. What idiot would ever let such a beautiful and passionate woman get away from him?
“He was a fool for letting you go.” Christiaan stood and stepped forward. Pulling her to him, he gently grasped her face. “I never would.”
“Christiaan…” Tears filled her eyes. She uttered something, but it was lost to the sudden crackling of the fire. He clasped her body tightly to his. As her soft curves molded to the contours of his, his moans mixed with hers.
Potverdomme! This felt good. Very good.
Pressing his lips to hers, he caressed her mouth more than kissed it. She tasted like heaven. Then he raised his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes. “You’re better off without him.”
Immediately, her body tensed. Christiaan hoped it was a sexual response, but the ardor he’d spied there only a moment ago drained from her face.
“We’re both better off.” Vicky pushed him away, moving to stand behind her chair. “My turn. Why so many truckloads of explosives?”
Great. Ice Princess was back. That cooled him off faster than if she’d tossed his butt into a cold shower.
She continued. “I thought your lease requirements called for passive seismic testing and magnetotellurics to map areas of increased temperatures. Pallets upon pallets upon pallets of explosive-making materials seems a bit excessive.”
“You’re mistaken.” Chris
tiaan sat back down on the hearth. “We’re still in the initial phase of testing and mapping. Contrary to what you and your ShastaWatch buddies believe, I don’t want any unnecessary harm to come to the mountain. That’s why I pushed for passive exploration instead of traditional invasive drilling techniques.”
“Passive? Really?” The Ice Princess remained standing, arms crossed defensively. “Then what are all the maps in the locked filing cabinet and hanging on the wall in the site trailer?”
“Locked filing cabinet? Site trailer?” He raised an eyebrow. “And you just happened to have a key to both?”
She colored fiercely and shook her head. “Sort of. It’s a long story. The point is I saw several maps with all kinds of different colored dots connected by odd-shaped ovals. Another map had red and green plus signs all over it. And one that clearly shows you’re actively drilling production wells. What’s that all about?”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. We’re merely testing where to drill,” Christiaan answered. “In fact, we’re still waiting for meaningful data from the engineering group.” Wait. Hadn’t the seismologist said that he mentioned something to Baz “in my report”? Why hadn’t Baz told Christiaan the data they’d been waiting for was available?
“I don’t know.” A suspicious line curved at the corners of Vicky’s mouth. “Seems like a lot of equipment for passive testing.”
“Honestly,” he offered, emphasizing his words with a small shrug. “I’m a bit out of my element when it comes to job sites and mapping and numerous other stuff. Baz handles all that.”
“Then why are you here?” She eyeballed him. “Why is the CEO of a Fortune International 600 company here?”
He may have opened his heart and spilled his soul to this woman, but his van Laere training wouldn’t allow him to expose anything to her about his family’s and company’s finances. Take a step back, and get a hold of yourself.
He met her stare, and his heart turned over in response.
And your feelings.
“Because a pain-in-the-ass environmental group is dead set on thwarting my first project in the States.”
'Til Death Us Do Part Page 13