The Millionaire Meets His Match (5 page)

Cameron turned. “You've got a new assistant?”

“Mind your own damn business,” Adam said gruffly to Brandon.

“Ouch,” Brandon said, grinning as he ladled more sangria from the punch bowl into the pitcher. “I seem to have touched a nerve.”

He left the kitchen to deliver the sangria but was back in less than a minute. “What did I miss?”

“I believe we were about to discuss Adam's new assistant,” Cameron said drily.

Dammit, this subject wasn't going to go away. Might as well discuss it with people he trusted. Adam walked to the sink and pulled the kitchen curtain back in order to scan the patio. “Where's Mom?”

“Marjorie and Bea just arrived,” Brandon said. “They're all out at the bar, drinking sangria and wolfing down chips and salsa.”

“Good,” Adam said, suddenly feeling almost as paranoid as Brandon had earlier in the week. “Let's make sure they stay out there.”

“What's going on?” Cameron asked. “You don't want Mom to know about this ADA issue?”

Brandon snickered as he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “I'm betting he's not really worried about the ADA issue right now.”

“Shut up,” Adam grumbled as he kneaded garlic powder into the meat.

“He hates when I'm right,” Brandon said, smirking.

“Luckily, that rarely happens,” Adam said drily.

“Good one,” Brandon said, too amused to counter the jibe. “So go ahead, just spill it.”

It wasn't that easy, Adam thought, staring at his
brothers. They'd always shared their problems with each other. Despite Brandon's easygoing nature, he had instincts as sharply drawn as Adam's and Cameron's. Besides being his brothers, these two men were his business partners and the two people he most trusted with his life. So he took a breath and spilled his guts.

“It's this thing Brandon's been harping on,” he said, glancing from Cameron to Brandon. “You know, about Mom's latest campaign.”

Cameron looked puzzled for a second, then said, “The matchmaking thing?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

Adam hesitated, then said, “I've got this new assistant.”

Brandon nodded. “She's very hot.”

“You've seen her?” Cameron turned to Adam. “When did he get to see her?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “He hasn't seen her.”

“No,” Brandon said, “but I've talked to her on the phone. Her voice is very hot.”

“So?” Cameron turned to Adam. “Is she hot or what?”

Adam shook his head as he added more seasonings to the meat. His brothers were nothing if not predictable when it came to women. “Yeah, she's hot. That's the problem.”

“I don't really see that as a problem,” Cameron said, grinning. “But that's just me.”

Brandon chuckled, then took a sip of beer.

“Okay, I'll bite.” Cameron shrugged. “So what does your hot assistant have to do with Mom and…” He stopped, stared at Adam, then Brandon, then back to Adam. “No way,” he whispered in amazement.

“Way, bro,” Brandon said, nodding sagely.

“She wouldn't,” Cameron said. “Would she?”

“Wouldn't she?” Adam asked. “We are talking about Sally Duke, right? The woman known far and wide as the Steel Camellia?”

“Right,” Brandon said, then added, “the woman everyone in town calls when they need to accomplish the impossible.”

“But…how?” Cameron thought for another few seconds, then asked, “Wait a minute. You already have an assistant. Where's Cheryl?”

“She quit,” Adam said flatly.

“Cheryl quit?” Cameron frowned at the chili, then glanced at Adam. “What's happening with the Fantasy Mountain opening?”

“Trish hit the ground running with that project,” he said, realizing again that no matter what her reason was for being in his office, she was damn good at her job. “She's got it covered.”

“Trish. Your new assistant.”

“Yeah.”

“So she's good.”

“She's excellent.”

“Where'd you find her?”

Adam paused, then admitted, “The floater pool.”

Cameron whipped around. “What?”

“You didn't tell me that,” Brandon said.

“I know what you're thinking.”

Cameron's eyes narrowed. “I'm not sure you do.”

“Does she know what she's doing?” Brandon asked.

“Completely,” Adam said as he pulled a cookie sheet from one drawer and wax paper from another. “Possibly better than Cheryl.”

“Wow,” Brandon said. “Cheryl was great.”

“I know.”

Again Cameron stared at the chili, deep in thought, as though chili beans might hold the secrets of the universe. You just never knew, Adam thought.

Finally, Cameron looked up and said, “So let me get this straight. You think Mom got Trish a job as a floater, then arranged for Cheryl to quit, then made sure Marjorie put Trish in her place in hopes that you might fall…?”

“When you say it out loud, it sounds pretty farfetched,” Brandon admitted as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

Adam bit back an expletive as he formed the first hamburger patty. He watched Cameron stir the chili some more as his brother tried to work out this conundrum.

Cameron added a bit more salt while he muttered, “It doesn't make sense.”

“Well, it's Mom,” Brandon said, slouching in his chair as he took a long sip of beer.

“I know,” Cameron said. “I'm trying to work out all the angles, but I'm coming up with nothing. There's no way she could've pulled this off. It's impossible.”

“You sure?” Adam said, his eyes narrowing. Cameron always weighed the odds, studied all the angles. If he said it was impossible…

“I'm absolutely sure.” Cameron nodded with conviction. “I mean, Mom's good, but that's really out there.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Adam pounded another lump of hamburger meat into submission and put it on the cookie sheet. “I can't help feeling it's all a little too coincidental.”

“You're right,” Cameron said as he added more salt and chili powder to the pot. “But how could she have arranged everything? The scenario borders on labyrinthine.”

Brandon's eyebrows shot up. “Labyrinthine. Nice.”

“Thanks,” Cameron said with a nod. “Bottom line, it's impossible.”

When the kitchen door opened and Sally popped inside, Adam couldn't help but grin. With her platinum-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, their mother looked like a teenager in pink shorts, a white tank top and purple flip-flops. “I'm going to set the table, and the girls need more sangria.”

“I'll bring another pitcher out in a minute, Mom,” Brandon said.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Sally began pulling knives and forks out of the drawer, then glanced around at each of the men. “What are you boys cooking up in here?”

Brandon gave her a look of complete innocence. “Chili, Mom.”

Sally eyed him suspiciously, then looked at Adam. “Is that all?”

“I was just bringing them up to speed on Fantasy Mountain,” Adam said. “We'll be out in a minute.”

“I hope so.” She grabbed napkins from another drawer and crossed to the backdoor. “It's a beautiful day outside and I don't want you spending it inside talking shop.”

“Yes, Mom,” all three men said in unison.

As soon as the door shut, Cameron said, “Where were we?”

“Mom's diabolical plot to take over the world as we know it,” Brandon said, and pointed his beer bottle at Cameron. “You were saying it's impossible, but Adam still thinks it's a little too coincidental.”

“Maybe I'm just being paranoid,” Adam said.

“You can blame that on Brandon,” Cameron said, grinning.

“Hey,” Brandon said, straightening up. “I'm not paranoid, I'm just vigilant.”

Cameron's smile faded as he leaned against the stove and crossed his arms. “I want to be clear. When I said it was impossible, I meant that there's no way Mom or Marjorie could've convinced Cheryl to quit. But we all know how determined Mom can be, so it's entirely possible that she had Marjorie scoping out the scene at DDI for possible replacements that might come up at any time, in any of our offices. They could've planted Trish in the floater pool with the intention of using her on any of us.”

“And they got lucky with Cheryl,” Adam finished.

“Exactly,” Cameron said.

“I told you Mom was recruiting her friends to help her,” Brandon reminded them. “This is sounding more and more plausible by the minute.”

“Dammit.” Adam looked at his brothers, each in turn, then said, “Somehow, some way, Mom's behind this. And if she is, then Trish is a willing participant. Which means, my brothers, she's fair game.”

Brandon laughed. “You're gonna turn the tables on her.”

“That's my plan,” Adam said. “I figure if she's looking to seduce me, I'm going to head her off at the pass. I'll seduce
her.
Then, I'll let her know I'm in on her scheme with Mom just before I cut her loose.”

“It's good,” Cameron said with an approving nod. “I like it.”

“It'll work,” Brandon agreed with a look at Adam. “As long as you don't slip up.”

Adam pierced him with a look. “Please.”

“Hey, it's not just you on the chopping block here, bro. If Mom succeeds with you, the two of us are next. You're fighting this battle not just for the Dukes, but for all mankind.”

“Amen,” Cameron told him.

Brandon stared out the window at their mother and her friends laughing and talking. “They're probably toasting their victory as we speak.”

Cameron snorted. “A bit premature to be celebrating, don't you think?”

“Trust me,” Adam said through gritted teeth. “They're doomed for disappointment.”

“W
e're cleared for takeoff, Mr. Duke.”

“Thanks, Pamela.”

As the older flight attendant disappeared behind the partition that separated the passenger compartment from the galley, Adam glanced at Trish sitting next to him. Her face was pale but still lovely. She wore a severe navy business suit with a plain white blouse, yet still managed to appear feminine and sexy. His fingers itched to peel that suit off her as soon as humanly possible. “All buckled up, Trish?”

“Um…” She rechecked the buckle she'd checked six or eight times already. “Yes.”

“Good.” He glanced at his watch. “We should be there in an hour or so. We can use the time now to discuss the opening-night situation. Did you bring your notes?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips as the jet engines began
to roar and the powerful Gulfstream G650 moved into position on the runway. “But if you don't mind, I need a minute or two.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, closing her eyes. “I just need a minute.”

She gripped the armrests tightly as the jet picked up speed.

“I thought you weren't afraid of flying,” he said.

Her jaw clenched. “Not afraid, just alert.”

“If you were any more alert, you'd be spinning.”

“My seat belt's on,” she pointed out. “I won't spin very far.”

He leaned in and whispered. “I hope not. I need you right here next to me.”

Her eyes sprang open and she glared at him. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

She closed her eyes and settled back. “No.”

“I could try harder,” he said softly.

“Please don't,” she murmured, biting her lower lip. “I'm trying to concentrate.”

“On what? Keeping the plane up?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he said as he leaned his head back against the headrest. “In fact, I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome,” Trish said. Her eyes remained closed but a ghost of a smile formed on her lips.

Without thinking, Adam touched her hand to gauge how tense she really was. She immediately grabbed hold of his hand and held on for dear life.

He watched her face as the luxurious private jet soared to cruising altitude. Her demeanor remained serene but
her grip on his hand grew more taut until he thought she might cut off the circulation to his fingers.

Then she licked her lips again and he felt his throat grow dry as his stomach tightened in a knot of arousal. He wondered if she would bring this same level of focus to their lovemaking. When he slipped inside her, would she grip him so tightly, he wouldn't know where he left off and she began? Would she call out his name as she reached her peak? Would her eyes flutter closed or would she watch him watching her as they both flew over the edge? He would have his answer soon, of that he had no doubt.

A few minutes later, Adam saw Pamela, the flight attendant, leave her seat. He took it as an indication that the plane had leveled off enough that they were free to move around.

“You can open your eyes now,” he said. “Mission accomplished.”

She blinked her eyes open and glanced around, then abruptly released his hand. When she realized he was staring at her, she sighed. “I suppose you think I'm nuts.”

He smiled indulgently as he unlatched his seat belt. “Not at all.”

“Right,” she said acerbically, then muttered, “I'm not sure why you needed me to come along anyway.”

She might not have seen the point of her presence here today, but Adam did. The point was seduction. He intended to keep her very close to him from now on. He was on a mission of his own and there was no doubt whether he would accomplish it or not. She would be his. His for as long as he desired her. Eventually he would let her know he'd guessed her true intentions and he'd send his sexy gold digger packing.

For now, he sat back in the streamlined chair and assumed a relaxed pose.

“I'll need you to take notes as we survey the problem areas of the parking structure. We'll have to turn those notes into a joint agreement with the lawyers. But I also want your point of view on things in general. You haven't been to the resort so I'd like to hear your first impressions of everything you see.”

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “I'll do my best.”

“I expect nothing less.”

She smiled hesitantly. “Thank you.”

Pamela arrived with a basket of muffins and croissants with butter and jam, then poured coffee and juice.

He watched Trish choose a flaky croissant, then slather it in butter and jam.

“I told you to order whatever you wanted,” he said. “They must have some low-fat frittata thing with gloppy yogurt, or maybe some flavor-free granola? We could ask.”

She had the good grace to laugh. “No, I told them I'd have whatever you were having.”

“I'm in shock,” he admitted, then stared at the rich chocolate croissant on his plate. “This stuff probably isn't the healthiest choice, but it's the easiest, and they taste great.”

“We all have to indulge once in a while,” she said, then took a bite of the croissant and almost moaned in delight. “Oh, it's so good.”

He couldn't look away. She happily ate the entire pastry, savoring each little morsel on her plate. When he caught her licking a drop of jam off her finger, it took every last ounce of willpower he had to maintain self-control and not start licking her fingers himself.

Trish, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware of his precarious state. How was that possible? How could someone who'd agreed to play a part in his mother's matchmaking game be so oblivious to the effect she was having on him?

The only explanation was that she knew exactly what she was doing. It was all an act. Licking jam off her fingers, gripping his hand earlier—it was all part of the game. And if she wanted to play games, he was all for it. But he was the one who would decide precisely what game they'd play.

And the name of this game was hardball.

 

After twenty minutes of breakfast and business talk, the dishes were cleared and Trish excused herself. She made her way to the airplane's compact bathroom, where she washed her hands, then stared at herself in the mirror.

“What is wrong with you?” she whispered viciously. “Have you gone insane?” She splashed some water in her face to clear her brain before freshening her lipstick. She still couldn't believe she'd grabbed hold of Adam's hand earlier. Yes, she was a nervous flyer, but that was no excuse. He was her boss, for goodness' sake, as well as her sworn enemy.

But it had felt so comfortable and seemed so right to hold on to him. And he didn't appear to have minded at all. In fact, he'd been the one to touch her first, hadn't he? So it wasn't really her fault, was it?

“I don't care who started it,” she berated herself, “There will be no more holding hands with the boss.”

She needed to maintain some sense of dignity, after all. She still had to get through the day with him, not
to mention the trip back home. What would she do for an encore on that flight? Kiss him?

“Oh, don't even go there.”

But it was too late. She'd been thinking about it for days, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. How it would feel to be held and touched and made love to by him. Her thighs tingled at the image she'd conjured up and the desire threatened to overwhelm her.

She was in big trouble.

She exhaled heavily, knowing she had to shake those thoughts away. If she fell for Adam Duke, she wouldn't be able to live with the consequences. She wouldn't be able to face Mrs. Collins or Sam Sutter, the bike store owner, or the Mauberts or any of the others, having broken her vow to avenge their pain. She needed to remember their faces, remember her goal, her mission.

Shoring up her nerves, she fluffed her hair and straightened her suit jacket, then made her way back to her seat.

Adam had opened his briefcase while she was gone and was looking over some sort of legal document.

As she sat down, he looked up and shook his head. “I'm reading the specs and they're all correct. The ADA parameters are all spelled out. So why didn't the construction company get it right?”

“Will you consider a lawsuit?” she asked.

He laughed without humor. “We can't exactly sue a company that we own.”

She blinked. “You own Parameter Construction?”

“Yeah.” He didn't look happy. “Bought 'em last year, along with a few other small companies. We're still working out the kinks.”

“Oh. Well, that's a problem, but maybe it won't be as bad as you think.”

He shrugged. “We'll know soon enough. No matter what needs to be done, I refuse to delay the opening. The resort is booked to capacity for the entire season. I won't put that in jeopardy.”

“Absolutely not,” she said indignantly. “They'll just have to make it happen.”

“Exactly,” he said, then leaned a little closer to add, “I admire your passion.”

It was a simple compliment, so why was she suddenly tongue-tied? Did he mean it as a double entendre or was it just her wild imagination again? When he said
passion,
did he mean
passion?
Or did he simply appreciate her enthusiasm for the work? Did it matter? And could she be a bigger dolt? She realized that he was staring again and scrambled desperately to collect her wits back from wherever they'd scattered off to.

“Anyone can see it's the right thing to do,” she said weakly.

“Not necessarily,” he said, tapping the document. “Some people don't have a problem cutting corners.”

“Please fasten your seat belts, Mr. Duke, Ms. James,” Pamela said. “We're beginning our descent and should be landing shortly.”

Trish's nerves began to race in a whole new direction as she fumbled for the seat belt.

“All buckled up?” he asked, shoving the document back into his briefcase.

“I'm getting there,” she said, annoyed to hear the tension in her own voice. Finally, she managed to connect the belt securely around her waist.

Without another word, Adam took her hand in his. The movement pulled her up close to his warm, solid
shoulder and her fears gave way to heated cravings. She tried to concentrate on breathing, deeply, evenly, but his strong, masculine scent got in the way. It clouded her mind and turned her thoughts to mush. When he began to stroke her hand softly with his thumb in an apparent effort to calm her, Trish almost melted into a puddle right then and there.

 

The plane cleared the mountain, then leveled off as it descended toward the Fantasy Mountain airstrip. It could hardly be called an airport, although that was the Dukes' eventual plan for it.

Adam glanced over at Trish and noticed that she'd turned a delicate shade of green. It must've been that sharp bank over the last mountain range that did her in. Was she going to be ill? She had a death grip on his hand and was rubbing her stomach with her free hand. She seemed to be trying to swallow over and over, probably to keep her ears from popping.

A moment ago, a strange protective instinct had made him take hold of her hand in an attempt to reassure her that everything would be okay. Watching her now, he had an irresistible urge to pull her onto his lap, cradle her in his arms and soothe away her fears. But he resisted and the moment passed.

It wasn't his job to comfort her. Yes, it bothered him that she seemed to be suffering, but he had to keep in mind just why she was there in the first place.

Damn, she was the most unlikely gold digger he'd ever met. She should've been more sophisticated, more of a game player. She should've been the sort of woman who was used to flying off to exotic places and carrying on casual, flirtatious conversations with men. But she hardly seemed the type.

He wondered what Sally and Marjorie had promised her in exchange for her part in this charade. Besides Adam Duke, that is. Had they offered her money? A new car? A permanent job with the company?

But Adam knew his mother and the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that his mother would never try to buy off a woman with material goods. No, Mom would figure that marriage to her son would be a good enough lure for any woman.

And Trish had agreed. He supposed he should be flattered, but he wasn't.

Whatever devil's bargain she'd agreed to, she would ultimately fail. In the meantime, though, Adam was more than willing to play along. He would be lying if he said he only wanted to seduce her because of her part in Sally's matchmaking game. No, Adam just plain wanted her. Wanted his hands on her lush curves. Wanted his mouth on her lips, her skin. He wanted to feel her all over, inside and out. It had been this way ever since the first day she walked into his office. And he would have her, all of her. Soon.

And that's where the game would end.

 

Norman Thompson, the ADA lawyer, had a tendency to drone on and on.

“I've already told you that we'll make the changes, Norm,” Bob Paxton said calmly. “Just give us your notes and cut the editorials.”

“Did you get that last measurement, Trish?” Adam said, crossing the narrow walkway to stand beside her.

“Yes, I've got it,” she murmured, grateful she'd brought a new legal pad with her on the trip. She'd filled almost every page. She was also grateful she'd borrowed
Deb's warm down jacket and thin, thermal gloves or she would've turned into a block of ice by now. Despite the sunny day, it was cold up here in the mountains and they'd been outside for almost five hours.

“Do you have anything more for us?” Adam asked the lawyer.

Thompson snorted in disgust. “Isn't that enough?”

“Yes, it is,” Adam said easily. “Thank you for your input. We'll send you a complete list of the changes we make, along with photographs of the completed work. I assume you'll want to conduct a final survey of the grounds after the work is completed.”