Touch of Heaven (2 page)

Shoving aside the unsettling thought, Raina raised her arm and glanced pointedly at her watch. “If it's all the same to you, Warrick, I have a ton of paperwork I'd like to get to as soon as possible. I trust you can find your way out?”

He looked at her, a solitary muscle twitching in his jaw. With a supreme effort she returned his gaze without flinching.

After another tense moment he unfolded his long, powerful body from the chair and made his way to the door. His walk resembled something between an unhurried strut and a prowl that Raina had always found mesmerizing.

Unfortunately, nothing had changed.

At the doorway Warrick paused and glanced back at her, a glint of steel in his dark eyes.

“I know you have your reasons for refusing to consider my offer,” he said in a deceptively mild voice. “But there's one thing you should know about me. I didn't get where I am by playing nice or learning to take no for an answer. I play to win, Raina. You'd do well to remember that.”

Raina raised a defiant chin and said with icy disdain, “I wish I could say it's been a pleasure seeing you again, Warrick, but I think we both know better.”

His mouth curved in a sharp, feral smile. Without another word he turned and strode out of the room.

Raina waited several beats before releasing a deep, shaky breath and pressing a hand to her roiling stomach.

She knew she had not seen the last of Warrick. But that was just fine with her. Because what Warrick failed to realize was that Raina was no longer the insecure, guilt-ridden teenage girl who had shown up on his doorstep and begged his forgiveness and understanding twelve years ago. She would not be bullied or bribed into selling her property to him just because he wanted to satisfy an old vendetta against her. She'd worked too hard and sacrificed too much to fulfill her lifelong dream of owning a business. No way in hell would she throw everything away by selling out to the highest bidder, especially if that bidder was Warrick Mayne.

It was bad enough she'd once lost her heart to him.

She'd be damned if she would let him take anything else from her.

W
arrick Mayne's cell phone rang as he climbed into his sleek black Bentley luxury sedan parked in front of the day spa. He reached inside his breast pocket, removed the Bluetooth BlackBerry handheld and stabbed the talk button.

“Mayne,” he growled.

The phone line was filled with a low, knowing chuckle. “I take it things didn't go too well with Miss St. James this morning.”

Warrick scowled. “What do
you
think?”

Stephon Fuller, who had served as vice president and chief operating officer of Mayne Industries for the past seven years, laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” With an impatient flick of his wrist, Warrick turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred to life, dumping a frigid blast of air into the car. Although it was barely ten-thirty in the morning, the temperature had already soared to a sweltering eighty-five degrees, which made him question his sanity for returning home at the height of summer. The heat, coupled with the oppressive humidity, was an entity most Houstonians learned to live with, like bumper-to-bumper traffic and underachieving sports teams.

“How did the conversation go?” Stephon asked dryly.

Warrick snorted. “I don't think you can call what Raina and I had a
conversation.
For one thing, it lasted all of five minutes. Once I told her what I wanted, she basically told me to go to hell.”

“Damn.” Stephon pushed out a deep breath. “Looks like you underestimated just how much that spa means to her.”

Warrick frowned. The only thing he had underestimated was how beautiful Raina St. James had become over the past twelve years. When she'd appeared in the lobby that morning, he hadn't recognized her at first, and for several stunned moments he'd found himself at a complete loss for words.

He had never seen Raina as anything other than his younger sister's sidekick—a skinny, aloof girl with a mouthful of braces who was a constant presence at his family's house. The woman who'd approached him that morning was a Nubian goddess poured into a stretchy tangerine dress that clung to her shapely hips and thighs and revealed a mouthwatering expanse of long, curvaceous legs. Her gleaming golden-brown skin looked kissed by the sun. Her shoulder-length dark hair was fashionably cut in long, breezy layers that accentuated the sensual contours of her face. She had a slim nose, high cheekbones, and dark, slanted eyes that had always struck Warrick as feline. But had her lips always been so full and lush, so damned tempting? And had her voice always been so low and throaty?

The moment he'd seen her, he'd been caught off guard by the sharp jab of lust that speared through his groin. His reaction to her had been visceral. Powerful. Not at all what he'd expected to feel for a woman he had spent the past twelve years hating.

“Do you think she wants more money?” Stephon asked, breaking into Warrick's thoughts.

“I doubt it. She doesn't even know what I'm offering. I wrote it on the back of a card, and without giving it a second glance, she tore up the card in my face.”

“Ouch.” Stephon chuckled ruefully. “Maybe it wasn't such a good idea for you to make the sales pitch—in person or otherwise. You should have sent me or another company rep.”

“It wouldn't have mattered who presented the offer,” Warrick said darkly. “As soon as Raina found out
I
was the buyer, her response would have been the same.”

There was no doubt in his mind that Raina's staunch refusal to even consider his offer was out of pure spite. After all, he was offering her more than the property's appraisal value. More than enough for her to open a bigger, better day spa in a new location.

Not that she'd given him a chance to explain any of that.

“So what's our next move?” Stephon asked, a note of impatience in his voice. “We need Raina St. James to sell in order to build on that site. And it has to happen soon if we want to adhere to our projected construction schedule. Not to mention the preliminary groundwork that still has to be done, between meeting with the planning commission and—”

“I know all that,” Warrick said brusquely. “Believe me, I already got an earful from the project manager during our meeting yesterday. I know the kind of timeline we're up against. I don't need another lecture.”

A lesser man would have heeded the growled warning and backed down. But Stephon—who had known Warrick since college—forged ahead, undaunted. “You have to find a way to convince Raina to sell her property to you. Maybe you need to try a different approach.”

“Really?” Warrick drawled sarcastically. “And what makes you think there's anything wrong with the approach I used?”

Stephon barked out a short, grim laugh. “Because I know you, Mayne, and I've seen you in action. I've watched you lay on the charm and work a room better than a seasoned politician, but I've also watched you reduce grown men to stammering idiots if they so much as cleared their throat the wrong way. Considering the bad blood between you and Raina, I'd be amazed if you managed to be civil to her, let alone charming.”

Warrick didn't bother refuting his friend's assessment. Stephon was right.

Warrick had always prided himself on being a shrewd businessman. Whether he was dealing with demanding clients, obstinate board members or cutthroat competitors, he knew how to put aside personal differences in order to achieve a mutually beneficial goal. He'd always understood that he could catch more bees with honey than vinegar, a principle he should have been able to apply to the current situation with Raina St. James.

But he couldn't.

Once he had recovered from the shock of seeing her again—all grown up and sexy as hell—the old anger and bitterness had taken over. He'd wanted nothing more than to lash out at her, to punish her for the abominable way she had betrayed his sister. He'd wanted to make her suffer, to make her feel the pain he and his family had endured every day that his sister had remained incarcerated for the past twelve years.

As Raina sat behind her desk looking down her prim nose at him, as beautiful and untouchable as Queen Nefertiti, Warrick was struck by the total lack of remorse she demonstrated. It didn't matter to her that her best friend had been convicted of a crime she had not committed. It didn't matter to Raina that Yolanda Mayne had been deprived of the same opportunities
she
had enjoyed—attending an expensive college, earning a master's degree, traveling overseas, landing a good job on Wall Street, successfully launching her own business before the age of thirty. It was painfully obvious to Warrick that Raina St. James had not lost any sleep over what she had done to his sister. She was as unrepentant as ever.

Any inclination he may have had to make nice with her had flown out the window when she had calmly and arrogantly torn apart his business card. He'd decided right then and there that he would show her no mercy. One way or another, she
would
sell her property to him.

Interrupting his thoughts a second time, Stephon said quietly, “Raina St. James has something you want, Mayne. And I know this may be hard for you to hear, but the reality is that you need
her
more than she needs you.” He paused. “Maybe it's time to bury the hatchet once and for all. Maybe you should tell her you forgive her—”

“No.” Warrick's tone was low and forbidding.

Stephon faltered a moment. “You don't have to mean it.”

“Then why the hell would I say it?”

“To soften her up! To play on her emotions. To make her feel good about handing over her property to you. Take your pick. Hell, if I were you, I'd be doing whatever it takes to get that woman to sign on the dotted line. Wine and dine her if you have to.”

Warrick scowled at the suggestion. “Tell you what, Fuller. Let
me
worry about Raina St. James.
You
concentrate on holding down the fort in my absence. Think you can do that for me?”

Stephon said dryly, “I think I can manage.” Just then his assis
tant's voice could be heard in the background. Stephon's response was muffled as he covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

A moment later he came back on the line. “Darlene wants to make sure you're all set for the videoconference this afternoon.”

“I should be. You know Mabel is always on top of those things.”

Warrick had leased out space in a downtown office building for his secretary and the other three members of his transition team who had accompanied him from Philadelphia. More staff would join them once the first phase of the construction project was under way.

“How long are you going to crash at your mother's place?” Stephon asked. “For as long as you can take it?”

Warrick grimaced. “Something like that.”

Every time he mentioned renting an apartment while he waited for his own house to be built, his mother tearfully protested, reminding him that it had been
his
idea to buy her a sprawling eight-bedroom house in an exclusive Houston neighborhood, forcing her to leave behind all her friends in the Third Ward. Bertrice “Birdie” Mayne complained incessantly about everything from her uppity new neighbors to her frequent bouts with loneliness, although her divorced daughter and grandchild lived with her, and every time Warrick came home for a visit, his mother was merrily entertaining a houseful of guests, just as she'd done back in the day.

“At least you have the place to yourself for a few days,” Stephon said, a knowing grin in his voice. “Sending your mom, sister and niece on a Caribbean cruise was a stroke of genius.”

Warrick chuckled dryly. “You make it sound like I got rid of them on purpose. I booked the cruise last year, before I even knew when I would be coming home. I was actually looking forward to spending some time with Yasmin and my niece.”

“Uh-huh. Likely story,” Stephon teased.

“Whatever, man.” Warrick glanced at the clock on the gleaming mahogany dashboard. Ten-fifty. He still had a few more errands to run before he headed to his temporary office to catch up on some paperwork and attend the scheduled videoconference.

That evening he was having dinner with Deniece Labelle, his high-school sweetheart who had tracked him down after learning that he was back in town to accept an award (his PR team had suc
cessfully managed to keep the real reason for his return under wraps). Warrick had not seen Deniece in more than ten years, but now as he tried to imagine what she must look like, his mind could only conjure an image of gorgeous, leggy Raina in that take-me-now getup, her lush, sensual mouth slicked with gloss, her high, round breasts rising and falling above the scooped neckline of her dress.

Warrick swore under his breath at the tightening in his groin. Old grudge be damned. His body had a mind of its own.

“I gotta run,” he told Stephon. “Talk to you at the meeting.”

Warrick disconnected and shoved the BlackBerry handheld inside his breast pocket, wondering if Raina was watching him from her office window and deliberating whether to call security to have him removed from the premises.

Mouth twisting cynically at the thought, Warrick surveyed the small Spanish-style building, with its red-tiled roof and green canopy hanging over the entrance, the words
Touch of Heaven Day Spa
stenciled in fancy white letters.

The popular establishment was located on the outskirts of Uptown Park, a trendy retail area that boasted a collection of upscale shops, boutiques and restaurants. Touch of Heaven was adjacent to an older strip mall that included as tenants a nail salon, a beauty supply store, a dry cleaner, a gourmet deli and a junior department store. While Mayne Industries had already entered into contract negotiations with the developer that owned the shopping center, the bordering parcel of land was an entirely different matter. Raina not only owned the building that housed her day spa, but the surrounding acreage as well. Warrick's purchase of the three-hundred-thousand-square-foot strip mall was contingent upon his ability to acquire Raina's land as well. If she refused to sell to him, he would have to find another location—a comparable or better location—for his new office complex.

As far as Warrick was concerned, that was not an option.

If Raina St. James thought she'd seen the last of him, she was in for a very rude awakening.

With one last look at Touch of Heaven Day Spa, Warrick slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, backed out of the parking space and drove away.

 

Watching surreptitiously from her office window, Raina did not draw an easy breath until the shiny black Bentley disappeared down the busy street.

And then she strode back to her desk, her heart pounding furiously against her breastbone, her thoughts racing a mile a minute.

How long had Warrick Mayne been planning to relocate his company headquarters to Houston? And how had he kept such a big story out of the media? Had she missed something?

Raina drummed her manicured nails impatiently on the desk while she waited for her slow computer to boot up. Once she was online, she quickly pulled up her favorite search engine and typed “Mayne Industries.” Not surprisingly, her query produced several pages of hits. Over the past ten years, dozens of articles about the prominent engineering firm had been published in various newspapers and magazines, including
Forbes, Fortune
, and
Black Enterprise.
The company had received numerous industry awards for achievements in technology, innovation and energy conservation, and had also been recognized for outstanding service, growth and community outreach by some of the most prestigious organizations in the country. The firm generated millions in annual revenue and had sustained robust stock holdings even in the face of economic turmoil and escalating oil and gas prices.