Tycoon Takedown

by Ruth Cardello

  Maybe because she wanted to ensure their time together would have a clean ending or maybe because she was still angry with herself, Melanie threw the truth at him. “To find Jace’s father.”

  His head snapped toward her. “And did you?” he demanded.

  “Not yet.”

  Face tight, Charles asked, “Do you still love him?”

  “And if I said I do?” she challenged.

  He let out a slow breath. “It wouldn’t matter.”

  Melanie looked out the limo window. Because this is just about the sex. Don’t forget that.

  Charles possessively caressed one of her thighs. “I don’t like the idea of you and another man.”

  It wasn’t at all what she’d expected Charles to say. She glanced over her shoulder at him in surprise. His eyes were dark with emotion and a history of pain he tried to deny. “Really?” she prompted softly. She couldn’t help but push him further. “You don’t have the right to feel one way or another about anything I do.”

  His hand tightened on her thigh. “I don’t?”

  The air in the limo was charged with emotion, which had to be momentarily put aside when the vehicle pulled into a private courtyard in front of a mansion and came to a halt. As expected, the driver opened the rear door a moment later.

  Charles helped Melanie out of the limo and held on to her hand. He pulled her closer to him as they walked toward the entrance of the home. “This conversation is not over.”

  He’s jealous.

  The idea was both inconceivable and exciting for Melanie.

  A butler in a dark suit opened the door of the private residence and welcomed them.

  “Good evening, Mr. Dery.”

  “Good evening.”

  “Mr. Reed is in the main salon and asking about you.”

  “Thank you.”

  As soon as Melanie and Charles stepped into the foyer, moving farther inside proved difficult. Everywhere she looked there were elegantly dressed couples sipping glasses of champagne from crystal flutes. The main entry of the home was the size of Melanie’s house back in Texas, and the chandelier that hung above them wouldn’t have fit in the bed of her truck.

  Melanie’s head spun with the number of people who approached them. She was pretty sure she could have sold tickets to meet with Charles, the way people lined up, waiting for their turn to speak to him. He introduced her to each of them and guided her slowly through the crowd.

  Charles bent his head to her ear and said, “Neil Reed hosts this fund-raiser party every year. There’s always a theme to the silent auction.”

  Melanie nodded. “Our local church has those. Everyone donates a basket, and the person who writes the largest amount on the sheet next to it before the end of the auction wins it. One year it raised over a thousand dollars for our food bank. Is this the same?”

  With a small smile, Charles said, “Essentially.”

  “Which charity does tonight’s auction support?”

  Charles frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  “Isn’t that the point of this?” Melanie looked around at the outrageously expensive jewelry on the women around her. Diamonds everywhere. She didn’t know clothing designers, but if she had to guess, there wasn’t a gown in the room that had been bought off the rack.

  Charles looked uncomfortable with the question, but Melanie didn’t back down from it. Finally, he said, “Yes, for everyone here—well, except for the McMillans, who are notoriously cheap.”

  “And you’ll all be lauded for your donations even though you don’t care about the actual charity.”

  “It’ll be a worthwhile cause or Reed wouldn’t have chosen it. Rather than get upset, when I introduce you to Reed just ask him where the money goes.”

  “You’re missing the point,” Melanie said and pursed her lips angrily. I want you to care—care about tonight, care about me—about Jace. His indifference to the charity of the evening fit what Sarah had said about her brother. He didn’t let himself get involved.

  The crowd parted as they approached the host.

  A man who appeared to be in his late fifties broke away from the circle of men he was talking to when he saw Charles. “I didn’t think you were going to make it, Charles. You’re not one to be late.”

  Charles shook the man’s hand. “Neil, good to see you. I’d like you to meet Melanie Hanna.”

  There was a light of recognition in the older man’s eyes, and for a moment he looked like he was tempted to say something. But then he offered his hand to Melanie with a polite smile. “A pleasure, Miss Hanna.”

  He turned and gestured toward the white linen–covered table in an adjacent room that displayed photos of the auction items. “This year it’s all vehicles. We need someone like you to start the bidding on the Viper. It’d be a shame to return a prize like that.”

  Charles nodded. “I’ll check it out. Where is the money going this year, Neil?” Charles asked as if inquiring about the weather.

  The older man looked behind him and squinted as he read a small poster across the room. “I need my glasses to read that far away. My wife picked it. Literacy for . . . Damn, it’s over on the wall. She told me. If she asks, say I knew. I can’t keep up.”

  As if the conversation had made his point, Charles swept Melanie to the table with the auction items. Melanie wasn’t a car connoisseur, but even she knew how expensive the donated vehicles were. Bentleys, Porches, even a Rolls Royce. They stopped in front of a photo of a red SRT Viper and Melanie bent to read the details. She stood straight up with a gasp and her eyes flew to Charles. “Does that say that the starting bid is a hundred and fifty?”

  Charles bent beside her and answered blandly. “It does.”

  “Thousand?”

  Charles nodded.

  Melanie looked at the photo of the car again and then back at Charles. She waved a hand above one shoulder in the direction of the host she’d just met. “That man . . .”

  “Neil Reed,” Charles supplied the man’s name as Melanie struggled for it.

  “He thinks you’re the one who will bid on this? You’d drop that on a charity you don’t even know?”

  Face tight, Charles once again looked uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “Some women would be impressed by the mere fact that I could do it.”

  Melanie looked around the room again. Women were eyeing Charles as a hungry crowd would an hors d’oeuvre tray. Would he be with one of them next week?

  Charles guided her to the far corner of the room. “That was tactless of me. You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  Melanie looked up at him through her lashes. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel badly, Charles. Donating to charities is a good thing.”

  “But?”

  She couldn’t hold her questions in any longer. “But don’t you want to know who you help? Don’t you care?”

  There it was again, that sad look in his eyes. The one that made her want to hug him and never let him go. “No. No, I don’t.”

  In that moment she saw past his denial, past his surface indifference, and glimpsed a pain she understood. He’d been hurt and didn’t want to be hurt again, so he kept his distance. She’d done the same. She took one of his hands in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. They stood staring into each other’s eyes, their connection going beyond the sexual attraction that had brought them together. She understood and accepted him. “I get that.”

  He nodded and let out a long, slow breath as if her words had relieved a long-held tension. “I asked my lawyer to find out what happened to the kid who tried to steal your purse.”

  “You did?” Mixed emotions filled Melanie. She didn’t want to find another reason to like Charles. He was already going to be impossible to forget.

  “When I saw myself in the video, I wasn’t proud of my reaction to the kid. You said I wasn’t the man you thought I was—I wasn’t the man I thought I was, either.”

  A lump of emotion clogged Melanie’s throat. “I shou
ldn’t have said that. You’re a good man, Charles. Don’t listen to me. I’m all talk. I told you to care about him, but what have I done for him? Nothing. I’m not exactly living up to who I thought I was, either.”

  “We’re a sorry pair,” Charles said drolly, lightening the mood with a dash of humor.

  “The worst.” Melanie smiled and then Charles did.

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. Suddenly serious, he asked, “What do I do when I find him?”

  Melanie wiped away a stray tear his question elicited. “You see if he has a place to sleep, food to eat. You take some of that money you would have donated tonight and you make sure he has shoes that fit him.”

  “I don’t in—” He cut off what he was about to say and started again. “He might expect much more than I’m willing to give.”

  “Maybe,” Melanie said. “Or maybe you will change the course of his life.”

  Charles pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. “We should go back to mingling unless we want to end up in another online video.”

  With a chuckle, Melanie agreed. After meeting another wave of people, she excused herself to find a bathroom, seeking a moment to clear her head. She was alone in one of the long hallways when a man, maybe in his late thirties, who looked like he’d had a few too many drinks, stepped into her path. Melanie veered to the side, but he stepped with her.

  “You’re too beautiful to be with a man like Dery.”

  The lust in the slick man’s eyes made Melanie’s skin crawl. She’d spent the past five years living on a ranch with all men. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but there was something dark about the man. Something vile. She was about to turn and head back to the party when he grabbed her arm.

  “Are you as rough in bed as you are on the street?”

  Melanie tried unsuccessfully to pull her arm free of the man’s grasp, but he was stronger than she’d anticipated. “Get your hands off of me. Charles . . .”

  He tugged her a step closer, the side of his hand brushing over the curve of her breast while the stench of his alcohol-laced breath assaulted her senses. “You think he’d do anything if he saw me with you? My father would crush him if I told him to.”

  Anger filled Melanie as the man’s hold bit down into her arm. She snarled, “I don’t need Charles to defend me. You think you scare me? I’ve castrated bulls without blinking an eye. I’m trying to be on my best behavior, but I will seriously kick your ass if you don’t remove your hand right now.”

  The man released her and raised a hand, whether to strike her or emphasize his next words, Melanie didn’t know—and she wasn’t going to wait around to find out. She turned and walked into a wall of muscle.

  Charles.

  He touched her arm where there was still a mark from the other man. He put Melanie behind him and said, “Ethan, you know better than to mistreat a woman.” He advanced on the other man, his actions in direct opposition to his words. He looked about to wring the smaller man’s neck. “Especially one who belongs to someone else.”

  Ethan took a step back. “Careful, Charles. My father would ruin you if you ever touched me.”

  “Your father won’t do me in. The law will, because if I get my hands on you, I will kill you.” Charles took another step forward and the other man made a hasty and cowardly retreat.

  When Charles didn’t immediately turn back to face Melanie, she walked over to him and lightly touched his tense back. His muscles flexed with aggression beneath her hand. “Forget it, Charles. I’m fine.”

  Charles swung around, his eyes burning with fury. “He needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. I don’t mind teaching him that lesson . . .”

  “His father . . .”

  “Will transfer him to his branch office in Asia,” Charles said, taking a deep breath.

  “Why would he do that?” Melanie asked, her eyes rounding.

  “Because when it comes to business, information is power, and I know enough about the trouble Neil’s company is having to send his stocks plummeting to zero. And he knows it.” Composing himself, Charles forced a smile. “Come on, let’s say our good-byes and go home.”

  The way he said “home” sent a shiver down Melanie’s spine. Guiding her back through the party, she smiled politely as he explained to a few key people why they had to leave early. Honestly, she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying.

  That one word stuck in her head.

  “Home.”

  He’d said it so easily—as if they had the same one.

  Chapter Ten

  “That was actually fun,” Melanie said as she snuggled up to Charles on the ride back to his apartment.

  Charles nuzzled her hair. “You sound surprised.”

  Melanie took a moment to enjoy the beat of his heart beneath her ear before answering. “I don’t consider myself a city girl, but when we spoke to that couple from upstate New York . . .”

  “The Brenners.”

  “Yes, I loved when the husband told the story about how his wife convinced him to create a company softball team and then was mortified when they lost every game. My side still hurts from laughing so hard. Didn’t he say they were in their third season of techie-ball—softball the way only computer nerds could play it? He was hilarious.”

  Charles nodded with a chuckle. “A man in love will do some crazy things.”

  They both froze as his words hung in the air. Eventually, Melanie was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence. “Well, both he and his wife were very nice.”

  Charles cleared his throat and absently rubbed a hand down Melanie’s arm as if he was deep in his own thoughts. “They were.”

  Resting her cheek on his shoulder, Melanie said, “I don’t love Todd. I never did. I was young and stupid at the end of my junior year in college. I knew his reputation, but I thought I was different. It only took one time to create Jace.”

  “I don’t have much respect for a man who doesn’t support his children—no matter how they were created.”

  Melanie closed her eyes and confessed. “He doesn’t know Jace exists. I never told him.”

  Charles tensed beneath her but remained silent.

  Shrugging in the face of her shame, Melanie said, “I told you I’m no saint.”

  Charles cupped her chin and raised her face to his. “So why tell him now?”

  Melanie searched his face for a hint of how he felt, but his expression was carefully neutral. “Jace wants to know about his father. My son is growing up fast. He needs a mother who isn’t ashamed of how he came to be. And who isn’t too much of a coward to at least tell his father the truth.”

  The limo pulled up to the apartment building and Charles helped Melanie out. Without speaking, they walked inside and rode the elevator up to his penthouse.

  “We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of, Melanie,” Charles said once they were inside his apartment.

  Melanie wanted to tell him that she knew what he was referring to, but she held her silence just as Sarah had asked her to. “I was surprised you wanted to leave before they announced the auction winners. Did you bid on anything?”

  “No,” Charles said gruffly. “I consider not strangling Ethan Reed my charitable act for the evening.”

  “I’ve seen your temper. I agree.”

  “You have?”

  “The first time I met you was right after you’d punched Tony. I thought the two of you were set to kill each other.”

  “So you threw lemonade in our faces.”

  Melanie hid a smile. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Charles made a noncommittal grunt deep in his chest. “It did. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since.”

  Melanie held his eyes and her breath. “No?”

  “No. I couldn’t get you out of my head. You were full of fire and spunk. The women here aren’t pushovers by any definition, but you were different. I can’t explain it.”

  “I thought you were unbearably arr
ogant.”

  “Really?” he growled as he kissed her neck. “And now?”

  She laughed and pulled his head down for a kiss. “I kind of like it.”

  “Is there anything else you like?” he asked as their bantering turned sexual.

  “Oh yes.”

  Charles woke up early and made phone calls that would allow him uninterrupted time with Melanie. Three fucking days left.

  He dragged her out of his apartment and to tourist sites because he had to get himself under control. By then his interest in her should have been waning. He should have been sick of her laugh, annoyed by something she said, or simply bored.

  I shouldn’t be angry, but I am. Angry with myself for wanting her to stay longer.

  They were standing at the foot of the Statue of Liberty when he looked down into her eyes and suddenly wanted to know more about her. “What did you study in college?”

  She shrugged, seeming embarrassed by the question. “Does it matter? It feels like another lifetime.” He waited and she finally answered, “Interior design. I had a sketchbook that I used to take everywhere with me. The strangest things could inspire me and I wanted to capture it all. I wouldn’t know how I’d use every item, but then I’d come across the perfect place for it . . . and it fit as if it had been meant for that space.” She looked down, then back up again shyly. “I considered myself an artist of sorts, but one who made a picture you could live in.”

  He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “You should finish your degree.”

  She turned away from him and closed her eyes, letting the wind carry her hair off her shoulders. “Maybe someday.”

  He pulled her back so she rested against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I could pay for your classes.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t want your money.”

  “It’d be nothing to me.”

  “Exactly,” she said and stepped out of his embrace, the distance between them stretching farther than just the step she took. “What about you? What do you want to do when you grow up?”

  “I’m doing it,” he said somewhat defensively.

  “So you have everything you want?” she asked without looking at him.