Dodging Temptation (The Retreat) (14 page)

“But your job?” He couldn’t believe she’d done this for him.

She shrugged.

“Why didn
’
t you tell me first?” he asked. After everything he
’
d done, the favors he
’
d called in to make sure she wouldn
’
t be hounded by the press, she
’
d flung open The Retreat
’
s doors and invited them in.

“I invited the editor and photographer you
’
d introduced me to back over for an exclusive interview. It went just like you said it would.” She took the tablet from his grasp and kissed him, slow and sweet. “Now without the money for a first-ever exclusive dangling in front of them like a million dollar carrot, the other reporters and photographers will go look for their next big money target. It
’
s only on the web now, but Steve said he
’
d put it out on the wires so any paper that wanted it could run the story.”

His phone went off again. Three times in five minutes meant disaster-movie-sized problems. He pictured the people gathered around the TV downstairs, the photographer on the premises without any prep work to hide their most publicity-adverse guest, and The Brasch Group representatives getting on the plane on their way here now. Dread, ice cold and heavy as a two-ton truck, sank to the bottom of his stomach.

The text message confirmed the worst.

Griff: Deadline Entertainment has pics of Garth Hampton at The Retreat holding what looks like a vodka bottle. It’s gone viral.

He scrolled down to the embedded photo. It was grainy, but there was no mistaking the rock star just out of rehab or the redhead on the right side of the frame. Frustration twisted him up inside. So close. He’d been so fucking close to ripping The Brasch Group’s investment right out of his grandfather’s hands. He’d failed. He’d had the opportunity to right an old wrong, and he’d fucking failed.

He gaze moved to the voicemail icon that showed two messages, both from The Brasch Group
’
s headquarters. Privacy. Discretion. Luxury. Right now The Retreat was batting one for three, and that wasn
’
t good enough to make this deal happen. He was fucked because he
’
d gotten distracted by a woman he
’
d known was trouble before he
’
d even set eyes on her. Forget getting her to stay. She needed to get the hell out of here before she tried to help again.

He pictured his grandfather sitting in his Boston office, scrolling the headlines and seeing the news. Dodge pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think of a way out of this mess.

“What
’
s wrong?” Harper pressed her palm to his chest right above his heart.

The touch was the perfect reminder of all that could become fucked up when he forgot his priorities. He showed her the text. “Everything.” All his hard work, the planning, the confidence that his grandfather would finally hurt for what he
’
d done, ruined.

Harper took his phone. She made it a few sentences before she raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh no, you have to believe me, I never meant for this to happen.”

He wanted to. He really did, but just the sight of her had him rearranging his priorities so that at the top of the list was hearing the sweet sound of her moaning his name. He fisted his hands so he wouldn
’
t give in to the urge to reach out to her. He couldn’t lose focus again. That
’
s what had got him in this mess. The woman made thinking rationally an impossibility. If she hadn
’
t ever shown up, The Brasch Group’s representatives would be sitting in front of him ready to sign the expansion agreement that would guarantee his grandfather
’
s hotels’ failure. Instead, Dodge would be cleaning up her mess.

Harper’s hands shook as she handed his phone to him.

He spoke before she could make a sound. “You need to leave.”

She flinched.

The move tore at him, but he couldn
’
t give in. She was leaving anyway, had never had any plans to stay. A hard, merciless break was for the best, especially after this fiasco.

A flash of pain reflected in her eyes. “I know you
’
re upset. I know there
’
ve been unintended consequences of my interview. Just hear me out, I—”

He had to be ruthless. It was the only way to win—and he always won. “You need to leave The Retreat.”

Her gaze fell to the floor, and she blinked several times before raising her face back up to look him in the eye. Her bottom lip trembled, shaking his resolve, but he held tight.

“I was trying to help.” She said it so quietly he barely heard.

They were on the edge. Teetering. If he reached out to her now, everything could be different. The temptation to do so finally spurred him into self-preservation mode. He let the emotion drain from his face until there was nothing left but ironclad neutrality.

“A great job you did with that. Now instead of a handful of snoops, I have a horde of reporters camped out in their news vans outside the gate.” Each word out of his mouth was like a jagged knife into his chest, but it couldn
’
t be helped. He couldn
’
t lose sight of his main objective. Not again. “I’ll have to
beg
Jean-Luc and the other Brasch Group representatives not to call off their visit after this. Beg. I never beg, but they
’
re ready to sign the agreement with my grandfather
’
s hotels so I don’t have another choice. Your help is the last thing I need.”

She straightened and raised her chin another half inch into the air. Gone was the woman who
’
d sighed in awe at her first sight of Sandpiper Island…the woman who
’
d giggled as she scooped up another spoonful of ice cream…the woman who
’
d called his name when she
’
d come in his arms. The woman before him was an ice-cold princess, too far above him to be touched. Her realm may have been political instead of geographic, but that didn
’
t take away from the royal disdain in her brown eyes as she stared him down.

Her lips curled in a contemptuous excuse of a smile. “It wasn
’
t that long ago that my help was all you wanted.”

No, that hadn
’
t been all he
’
d wanted, still wanted, from her—and that was the problem.

“
I won
’
t be making that mistake ever again.” Dodge swiped his phone from Harper
’
s fingers and strode to the door. He couldn’t leave yet, not without knowing for sure. “Just tell me you didn’t plan this, that it wasn’t deliberate. I’d convinced myself you weren’t a spy. Tell me I’m not wrong.”

Harper gasped. “A spy?”

“My grandfather owns the company you work for.” Saying the words left a bone-deep ache in him, a throbbing reminder of his stupidity in letting himself get distracted and worse…letting himself care. “When you first got here I thought…”

“You thought I was here to sabotage the deal and that’s…” Her normally pale face turned ghostly before being replaced with an angry red. “Is that why you…why we…”

Staring at Harper as her chin quivered, he couldn’t say anything. What could he say to the truth?

“It doesn’t matter.” She raised her chin. “For your information, I’m not a spy, but it sounds to me like you are indeed your grandfather’s true heir.”

“That’s low.” Anger wiped away everything, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth.

She brushed the back of her hand across her cheek. “Just get out.”

He shut the door behind him hard enough that the crack of wood on wood bounced down the hallway. She was as wrong about him as his grandfather had been to turn his back on his family all those years ago. This is why he didn’t do attachments. Spy or not, Harper had been nothing more than a temptation he’d fallen prey to—no more, no less.

Eyes cast low, Dodge barely saw anything around him as he headed down to his office, where he should have been in the first place.

Chapter Twelve

S
ecluded in his office with the lights turned low to mitigate the tension headache trying to crack his skull, Dodge yanked open his top drawer and grabbed the nearly empty ibuprofen bottle. “Yes, Jean-Luc, I share your distaste of the coverage.”

He pinched the receiver between his shoulder and ear so he could use both hands to fight the battle of the childproof cap. At least he had a chance to win that one, not that he was giving up on the other.

“This may not be the time for our meeting,” Jean-Luc said. “Perhaps in a few years…”

He shot back the gel caps and swallowed, determination to win over Jean-Luc superseding his need for water. “This is the perfect time for our meeting. You
’
re already in Wyoming. It would be a horrible missed opportunity to go back to France without seeing The Retreat for yourself.”

All he had to do was get Jean-Luc on the premises. Once he was here, he
’
d see for himself all that The Retreat could bring to the endeavor.

The Frenchman sighed. “The reporters are still there for that rock star?”

“They are.” Even though Garth Hampton had all but disappeared. The rock star wasn
’
t answering his phone or his door—not that Dodge could blame him. “But this gives you the chance to see firsthand how we manage in a time of crisis.” Every obstacle was an opportunity, and if it wasn
’
t he
’
d make it one. Harper had been right about one thing—he always got his way.

“I
’
m not sure it is a good time.” The other man said one thing, but doubt lingered in his tone.

Now was the time to pounce. “Jean-Luc, you know almost as much about The Retreat as I do. You know this is not how we normally do business. Come see for yourself that the media is not having an effect on the guests or the daily hotel operations. It may not be as quiet as things are normally, but what fun is it if there is no challenge in life?”

The Frenchman chuckled. “You are persistent.”

In that half second Dodge knew he
’
d won. He relaxed in his chair and let his head rest against its high back. “And you are only a half hour away. Come for lunch.”

“
Oui.
Lunch it is, but no promises,” he said. “I’ll make the stop at The Retreat but only as a courtesy. Your grandfather made a very impressive showing in Boston, and we’re ready to ink a deal with him.”

The old familiar resentment bubbled up inside him, threatening to drown the elation he
’
d felt only moments before. It hardened his tone and his commitment to making this visit a success. “Thank you for even that.
Au revoir
, Jean-Luc.”

Dodge hung up the phone with deliberate care, his emotions running too close to the surface for comfort. He should be elated, but all he felt was empty. Jean-Luc was throwing him a bone. The deal had imploded when the first report about Garth hit the internet. It would take a miracle to change Jean-Luc’s mind. That wasn’t the worst, though. The worst was that he couldn’t shake the image of Harper trying not to cry as he’d left her room.

F
our
hours. That
’
s all the time Harper needed to finish up her final report on May Loving
’
s cowboy diaries, print out a copy for May, and email a digital version to her bosses back in Washington. Rescheduling her flight home to tomorrow took two phone calls and one ginormous—and very worthwhile—charge to her credit card. Now she had less than twenty hours to count down until her plane took off and she could put Wyoming forever in her rearview mirror, or at least the jet
’
s review mirror, if it even had one. She
’
d Google it to find out, but the idea of picking up her phone only reminded her of the voicemails and texts from her mother admonishing her for going public with family matters.

She sacrificed her job and her privacy for Dodge, and it had all been for nothing. Everything between them had been a facade. A game of is-she-or-is-she-not-a-corporate-spy that she hadn’t known she’d been playing. Old Harper may have been a timid mouse, but New Harper was an idiot.

Scathing reminders of her place in society from her mother and a broken heart—that
’
s what she got for trying to become the new Harper. Who in the hell had she been fooling? No one but herself. She
’
d come to Wyoming and fallen right into the familiar rut with a man who only cared about using her for his own means and tossing her aside when she was no longer useful. But she had done something new this time. She
’
d fallen in love with the bastard and hadn
’
t even realized it until he cut her out of his life with the clinical detachment of a surgeon.

“Love is for idiots with high pain tolerance,” she mumbled to herself as she sniffled.

Harper paced from one end of the large honeymoon suite to the other, studiously avoiding even a passing glance at the bed. The room phone rang, throwing off her stride. Dodge? Damn she hated the hope that rose to the surface. “
Hello?
” There, that sounded almost totally and completely normal.

“
Hey, Harper! It
’
s Skyler. Everything okay?”

All right, maybe not perfectly normal. “Fine, just packing up my things.” She glanced at the empty suitcases lined up in front of her closet.

“No way, I thought you were here for another week or so.”

So had she. “Changed my mind and rescheduled my flight.” Her chest tightened, and she bit the inside of her cheek to help herself keep it together.

“Dodge?” Skyler asked.

Enough of a knowing sympathetic ribbon ran through Skyler
’
s one-word question to make Harper figure it wasn
’
t the first time she
’
d asked it. If anything, the concern pricked her pride even more. “What makes you say that?”

“It
’
s a close-knit community. If everybody isn
’
t up in your business that just means you
’
re dead—and even then there
’
s no guarantee.” Skyler paused long enough to suck in a quick breath. “So there
’
s even more reason for our girls
’
night tonight since we won
’
t get another chance.”

Harper caught a glance of herself in the mirror. Scraggly hair. Smudged eyeliner. No lipstick. “
I don’
t know.”

“Come on. Who better to hang out with on your last night in town than the two women who know—and will tell you over a pitcher of cheap beer—every embarrassing thing that has ever happened to Dodge Loving? We have stories.”

Just the mention of his name made her heart skip a beat. A couple of hours of detox she could stand. An evening of talking about the man who
’
d just shredded her heart? Yeah. That was not in the cards. “I
’
ll go as long as we don
’
t talk about Dodge at all.”

“Damn, that bad, huh?”
Skyler asked.
“All three of those boys are idiots. Don
’
t even get me started on Stone. Meet us out front in half an hour, and we
’
ll still make it to The Bison’s Horn before happy hour ends.”

Harper sighed. Really, was going out for drinks any worse than pissed off pacing in her room? “What do I wear?”

“Yes!” Skyler let out triumphant squeal. “I knew you were our kinda woman. Drag on some jeans and a T-shirt and you
’
ll be fine. See ya in a few.”

Harper hung up the phone and looked through the open doors of her closet. Jeans she could do, but a T-shirt? She had an emerald silk sleeveless top that would have to do. It wasn’t like she was going to see anyone she wanted to impress.

W
ednesday nights at The Bison
’
s Horn were a Loving b
rother tradition set aside for nothing—not even the deal of Dodge
’
s career. So here he was standing at the bar, sucking down an IPA and crunching discarded peanut shells under the soles of his boots.

“You are a Class A moron, and I refuse to believe we
’
re actually related.” Griff glared at him as he downed the rest of his beer. “
Even Stone
’
s better with women than you are.”

“Shut it, Griff,” Dodge and Stone snarled at the same time.

Little had he realized until his brothers stole the last two barstools that this night was a May Loving matchmaking special. She
’
d pulled his brothers aside and spilled the whole story about him, Harper, and the universe. And to make matters worse, she
’
d somehow managed to finagle his brothers into acting as her matchmaking lackeys. They hadn
’
t stopped talking about Harper since he
’
d tossed back his first handful of peanuts.

“You know she
’
s leaving.” Impervious to Dodge
’
s glare, Stone just shrugged. “Skyler told me.”

“
Good. I
’
m glad she
’
s going.” He pushed against his sternum, hoping like hell that the fiery surge eating away at him was indigestion and not a heart attack. “It makes for one less distraction.”

Even with the smell of beer hanging in the air, his words reeked of bullshit, and his brothers weren
’
t the kind of men to miss that.

Griff shot him a questioning look punctuated with an all-knowing smirk. “Okay, bro. Look over your left shoulder, and tell me that again.”

Dodge glanced back and nearly choked on his beer. Harper stood just inside the doorway flanked by Stone
’
s best friend, Skyler, and the new hire in accounting, Amelia. Men’s heads turned so fast to check out the trio that an ambulance-chasing lawyer would have had a field day with the whiplash cases.

He
’
d seen Harper dressed to the nines, totally naked, and everywhere in between, but never in ass-hugging jeans and a slip of a tank top that showed a tempting sliver of skin every time she moved. He gripped his bottle tighter so he didn
’
t go all Neanderthal and rip every other man
’
s eyes out so they couldn
’
t look at Harper with the lust eating away at Dodge
’
s sanity.

“What
’
s wrong?” Griff drove home an elbow into Dodge
’
s side.
“Hottie got your tongue?”

Right now it felt like she had every part of him right under her spike heels, and it hurt like hell. “Like I said, I
’
m glad she
’
s going.”

“Fucking pathetic,”
Griff said.

“What makes you care so much whether Harper stays or goes?” he asked.

“I like her,” Stone said.

Griff nodded in agreement. “Anyway, having her around the past few weeks sure has made you less of an ass to live with—until now.”

“Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities, little brother.”

He wasn
’
t an ass. He was focused on The Retreat, on the Brasch Group deal, and on destroying his grandfather
’
s company. If his brothers didn
’
t realize that then fuck ’em.

“You should be sorry about your own behavior,” Griff said as he stood up from the stool. “I
’
m going to hang out with the girls. I never realized that chick in accounting would look quite so good with her hair down.”

Griff strutted across the bar, women practically fainting at his feet as he walked by.

“He is a harassment suit waiting to happen.”

“Pretty much.”
Stone got up.
“
But he
’
s right when it comes to your attitude. You need to cowboy up and stop hiding behind some bullshit vendetta.”

Frustration spiked in Dodge
’
s veins. “Is there anyone who doesn
’
t think they know what
’
s best for me?
”

“Just you.” Stone clinked his beer against Dodge
’
s, then strolled over to the other side of the bar.

Stewing in his beer, Dodge sat down in his brother
’
s vacant seat and nursed the last of his beer in bitter solitude. His brothers were as wrong as the sun setting in the east. He’d done the right thing cutting Harper out of his life. Totally. Completely. Just like—bile made his mouth bitter and his gut twisted into a complicated knot—just like his grandfather had when he’d disowned May and never looked back.

Fuck.
Was he really turning into the myopic old bastard?

He watched Harper as she laughed and flirted with the men who flocked to her table. She
’
d never given him any reason to doubt her. He’d created false scenarios all on his own. He’d done exactly what his grandfather had done with Dodge’s father. He’d acted as judge and jury without ever giving her a chance. Griff and Stone were right. He was a fucking bastard.

When Harper got up to go to the bathroom, he got up and followed without thought and without a plan. He had no clue what he was going to say, but there was no way he could let her leave like this. He had to fix everything before it was too late.

The Bison
’
s Horn had three bathrooms—all of them unisex singles—and there was always a line, even on Wednesday night, so he wasn
’
t surprised when he caught up with her in the hall.

Harper didn
’
t even look his way as she stood with her arms crossed. “What do you want?”

“You.” He didn
’
t mean to say it, but the single word popped out as true a statement as he
’
d ever made.

At that moment, one of the bathroom doors opened. Something flashed in her chocolate-colored eyes and his cock responded with a twitch behind his zipper. Before he could take back what he
’
d said, Harper grabbed the untucked corner of his shirt, pulled him inside the bathroom, and slammed the door shut behind them.