Tycoon Takes Revenge (8 page)

He was fiendishly persistent. But, because he'd promised not to, he didn't put any heavy moves on her—as much as it killed him not to. Now that he'd had a taste of her, he found himself wanting more.

Yeah, she was still a gossip columnist, and he was often gossip fodder. But she was also a leggy blond with a great shape, and he was weak.
Weak.

Not only that, he liked the way she challenged him, refusing to be cowed. Sometimes, he admitted to himself, he worried about losing brain cells when talking with Huffy, Fluffy, Buffy or any of the rest of them. He remembered Kayla's jibe at the book-launch party about his taste in women, and now he let himself admit that what she'd said may have contained an iota of truth.

Still, he was patient with her. He bided his time. After the night at the Charlesbank Association event, he knew that building trust with Kayla was key. Now that he understood the nature of her relationship to Bentley Mathison, he figured being left by her biological father—even if she was too young to remember when it had happened—had done a lot to influence her relationship with men. Particularly men like him.

So, he pursued her unfalteringly but quietly. On Saturday afternoon, he got her to go out with him to a racetrack near the New Hampshire border where he still
occasionally raced cars for fun. She'd tried to demur, but he'd argued it would give her a fuller picture of Noah Whittaker, computer guru.

So, she'd agreed to come along, ostensibly for research purposes, and he'd tamped down the well of satisfaction at having her along. If nothing else, it meant he could keep an eye on her. Because he'd be damned if he held back only to see some other guy take advantage of her availability.

When they arrived at the racetrack, he watched as she looked around. “Do you come here to keep your driving skills honed?” she asked.

“That, and doing a few laps around the track is a good way to blow off steam. It gets my mind focused on something different.” He didn't expect her to understand about his love affair with fast cars. Nevertheless, he cocked his head and said, “Want to tag along and find out what it's like?”

“How?” she said. “Don't Indy cars have room only for the driver?”

“There are two-seater stock cars here at the track that they keep for instructors and students.” Unlike low-to-the-ground, bullet-shaped Indy cars, stock cars superficially resembled regular cars on the road; they could be modified to include a front passenger seat.

“Didn't you race Indy cars professionally?” she asked quizzically.

He shrugged and gave her a wry smile. “Sometimes I race stock cars down here. I like the variety. Besides, stock-car racing's taken off in the past few years.” He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “So, are you game?”

She looked at him, then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Yes?” He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Why?”

“Because you expected me to say no,” she said wryly, her lips quirking.

Well, well, he mused. Apparently, his Ms. Rumor-Has-It—he didn't stop to analyze when she'd become
his
Ms. Rumor-Has-It—didn't shy away from a challenge. He found he liked that about her, and he filed the information away for future reference as they went to get the correct protective equipment and wait for their race car to be pulled out.

At the administrative office, they signed the required forms, and then he grinned as she tried on a helmet.

“How's this for a fashion statement?” she asked, amused.

“Would you believe
sexy?
” he replied.

The moment stretched out between them—fraught with need and suppressed desire—until she cleared her throat and said, “We should be getting back outside. The car's ready.”

He had it bad. Since when did a woman in a helmet send his temperature shooting up?

When they'd walked back outside and were strapped into the race car, he said, “Last chance to bail. You know, no one will fault you for reporting from the sidelines on this one.”

“Forget it.”

“If you beg for mercy, I'll stop,” he teased.

“Fat chance,” she retorted.

He grinned. “Anyway, I plan to go easy for the, uh, virgin riders in the car.”

She lowered her visor with a click and, chuckling, he angled the car onto the track.

The ride was like it usually was for him: the next best thing to sex. He accelerated to a cool one-hundred-fifty miles an hour, and they were jostled and bumped as the well-tuned machine roared beneath them and raced over the asphalt. His attention was focused on the racetrack ahead and on every pull and jerk of the car beneath him. Everything else faded into a peripheral blur as he took oncoming turns with smooth calibration, correcting for the car's tendency to head in a straight line.

It was fifteen minutes later when he finally pulled into the pit and stopped. When they got out of the car, he looked over at Kayla. Whatever he'd been expecting to see, it wasn't the grin that greeted him. She looked exhilarated.

“That was great!” she said, still holding her helmet.

His lips quirked up. Not a single one of the women he'd dated had shown any interest in racing, let alone riding in a car with him. The helmet alone would have ruined their hair—but Kayla was apparently a different breed.

“Are you sure you're not a speed addict?” he teased.

She arched a brow. “Oh, didn't I tell you? I
love
roller coasters. I guess
that
was one thing Samantha forgot to mention to you.”

Her smile almost undid him. After that, it was a real effort to keep his hands off her. He wanted to make love with her again and again, mate with her, and stamp her as his.

It was crazy to get an acute stab of primal lust just because a woman liked speed, but there it was.

Fortunately, he knew his days of having to take cold showers were numbered. Soon, their remaining week and a half would be up and Kayla would announce she had enough to write her story.

 

“Really?” Noah said as casually as possible on Kayla's last day visiting Whittaker Enterprises on the following Tuesday.

“Yes,” she said. “The article will be appearing in Thursday's paper. I want to thank you for your cooperation.”

The way she said that last part had him focusing on her mouth. He wanted to kiss it. Now. He'd been patient, but his self-control had started to ebb.

“No problem,” he murmured.

She shifted, seeming suddenly nervous. “Yes, everyone's been very helpful.”

“Yeah.” He strove to stay focused. “I hope you got enough about nanotechnology and its application to quantum computing.”

She nodded. “I've got enough to know you're on the verge of some real breakthroughs here.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it'll be great when we finally succeed in making a portable supercomputer.”

He realized their conversation was becoming inane, but neither of them seemed able to stop talking. Suddenly struck with an idea, he said, “You know, the development team that just launched that new B-Smart PDA product on the market is going down to the Cay
man Islands this coming weekend for a few days to celebrate at the firm's expense.” At her raised eyebrows, he grinned. “Yeah, we treat our employees well. We have to. They're highly skilled, and our competition is stiff.”

“Right,” she said, looking like she was wondering where he was going with this.

“You should come down with us. It'll be a good postscript to the story you're writing and—who knows?—you may even get another story out of it.”

He didn't have to add what they were both thinking: now that her story was about to be written and filed, her time was up and the gloves were off. If she came down to the Caymans, there was a good chance they'd wind up sleeping together. Pushing his luck where she was concerned had served him well so far, so he figured the tactic had a decent chance of working now.

“I don't know—”

“If it makes your journalistic soul feel better,” he cajoled, “we've overbooked plane tickets. It'd be no different than journalists riding along on Air Force One when writing about the President.”

She looked like she doubted it, so he changed tactics. “I've booked a hotel suite. It's got two bedrooms and two baths.” He didn't have to state the obvious: he wouldn't pressure her to sleep with him, but if the opportunity arose…

“Traveling in style, huh?” she quipped.

He shrugged and said unapologetically, “One of the perks of the job.”

She paused, then said, “Okay.”

As he looked into her upturned face, her golden-brown eyes wide and limpid, he knew, as she did, that there was a wealth of meaning behind that “okay,” and he planned to explore every nuance of it.

T
he Cayman Islands. They'd arrived at the airport on Grand Cayman just after lunchtime, having taken an early morning flight. From the moment Kayla had stepped off the plane, it had been warmth, sunshine and fun wherever she looked. Fun in the sun with Noah Whittaker. She still couldn't believe she'd agreed to come.

Noah had booked the penthouse hotel suite in one of the best island resorts, located right along the well-known Seven Mile Beach. The view from their hotel balcony was of endless ocean, which was bright and inviting in the daylight sun, and, Kayla supposed, dark and mysterious under the moon at night.

Looking down now at the bikini that she was wearing, she wondered whether it had seemed so small when
she'd packed it—or whether it had just lost inches while airborne.

She spun in front of the mirror on the bathroom door. As she turned to the side, her gaze came to rest again on the king-size bed that dominated the hotel bedroom.

She'd known from the moment she'd accepted Noah's invitation that they'd wind up
there
together.

Yet, he hadn't pressured her. Instead, he'd taken over the other bedroom in the suite. But she knew, as surely as the sun rose in the morning, they would end up making love.

“Ready?” Noah called from the living room, causing her to jump a little.

She took a deep breath. “Just a minute.”

She put on a sarong-like wrap that matched the tropical colors of her bikini, then grabbed her beach bag off the bed.

As soon as she exited the bedroom, any insecurities she had were erased.

“Wow,” Noah said, taking her in with one glance.

Her laugh came out sounding nervous to her own ears. He was dressed only in swim trunks, and her pulse picked up.

His hands went to the sides of his head and moved it from side to side.

“What are you doing?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Wondering whether I'd come unglued.”

She giggled, relaxing a little, and, realizing that was probably what he intended, relaxed even more.

“Let's go,” he said, holding out his hand.

She took it—felt her hand encompassed by his bigger, sturdier one—and let herself be tugged out the door.

That afternoon they strolled the beach, taking in the disappearing rays of the sun before eating at one of the finer restaurants on the island.

She loved the local Caribbean cuisine with its emphasis on vibrant seasonings and regional staples such as coconut, plantain and yam. She had mahi-mahi encrusted with herbs and spices and also sampled some of Noah's beef tenderloin stuffed with lobster.

That night, exhausted from a long travel day, she fell onto her bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow, saving her from making any awkward decision about sleeping with Noah.

The next morning, they woke early and Noah teased her about being out like a light the night before.

“What are we doing today?” she asked, dodging a direct reply to his comment as they ate breakfast at one of the resort's outdoor restaurants.

“Whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

And
that
was what she was afraid of, she thought.

Still, she found herself having fun. In the morning, they went snorkeling in nearby reefs. Afterward, they took out a Wave Runner: she clung to his waist as the wind whipped her hair and they raced over the bluest water she'd ever seen.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised Noah enjoyed being active: he had the toned and well-muscled body of an athlete. The only surprise was that
he combined physical pursuits with the career of a computer geek and the social life of a playboy.

As the day progressed, she found herself dwelling again and again on the contradiction at the heart of Noah Whittaker. Certainly, she'd done him a disservice by focusing on one aspect of his life in her column. She was coming to realize he was a complex, multifaceted man with layers beneath his easygoing facade.

Still, his go-go-go attitude soon had her calling him “Action Man,” and teasingly asking whether he ever slept.

His response was to quirk a brow and joke, “According to your column, I spend most of my time in bed.”

In response, she'd flushed and resolved not to give him another opening that led into dangerous territory.

Yet, despite having fun, she did find herself thinking back at a point or two during the day to what Ed had said about an illicit offshore company in the Cayman Islands possibly connected to Noah.

Of course, she'd come across no evidence of a connection, and the more she knew Noah, the more she believed a connection to be unlikely. Still, her mind skittered to the fact that she
was
in the Caymans, and if such a connection were to be found, now was the time to try to find it.

At the same time, she knew that finding out anything wouldn't be easy. Given how much secrecy was permitted to companies incorporated in the Caymans, she doubted she could get much information—at least without going down to the government records office herself and attempting to bribe, cajole or lie her way
toward gaining access to information. And
that
would also entail lying to Noah so she could sneak away for a while.

No, she didn't have much of a shot. And, then again, there didn't seem much reason to try: Noah had given her a fantastic news story about Whittaker Enterprises. He'd lived up to his end of the bargain. With any luck, that story alone would shoot her career to a whole new level.

She should be relaxing and letting herself bask in the attention of a good-looking guy—just as Samantha had suggested. And, if she were honest with herself, she'd admit Noah was the most fascinating man she'd ever met. She was, in fact, having trouble keeping her hands off him, particularly since, for most of the day, he was dressed in nothing more than his swim trunks.

In the afternoon, they went scuba diving, jumping into the water from the back of a diving boat. They swam together and Noah waved to her, pointing out dazzlingly colored local fish, some swimming in schools. He'd brought along an underwater camera and snapped her picture.

Posing for a photo, she realized with some surprise that, over the past weeks, she'd become immersed in Noah's world and she kind of liked it. It really wasn't as bad as she'd built it up to be.

 

As their scuba boat approached shore, Noah glanced down at Kayla again. Even in a wet suit, with her hair plastered to her head, she looked great.

He'd done his best to keep his hands off her during
their time in the Caymans so far, not wanting to pressure her. Still, he was experiencing an odd, stir-crazy sensation that was increasing as evening approached.

Yet, while he was going mad with lust, she'd given him no sign that she was feeling similarly…pent up.

When they got back to shore, he asked, “What would you like to do with the rest of the day?”

He prayed she would say something energetic like parasailing, anything to take the edge off his mounting sexual frustration.

“What?” she asked in mock surprise. “No plans for windsurfing or waterskiing? There've got to be plenty of sports that we haven't tried yet.”

Yeah, and he could name one that involved a bed, no clothing and plenty of sweaty exertion. Aloud, he said, “Nope. What do you want to do?”

He figured there was practically no chance she'd read his mind and exclaim,
Excellent! Just what I was thinking. Off to bed we go.

She seemed to consider him, and he wondered for a second whether he'd spoken out loud or she'd picked up something in his expression.

She glanced away. “Hmm.”

Was it his fevered imagination or did she seem uncomfortable?

She looked up at him. “Let's go into George Town and take in the shops.”

“Great.” He figured he did a passable job of looking enthusiastic about window shopping.

When they got into the convertible that he'd rented
at the airport on their arrival, he took the wheel for the short drive to George Town.

Stopped at an intersection, he glanced over at Kayla. She'd been quiet—subdued even—yet tense during the drive so far and, actually, since they'd gotten back from their scuba dive.

Puzzled, and because he was short on patience, he asked bluntly, “What?”

“I want to make love with you,” she blurted, then clamped her mouth shut. She looked horrified at the words that had just come tumbling out of her mouth.

Noah felt as if he'd been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Still, he struggled to appear casual…as if he hadn't been thirsting for this moment…as if, with parched throat, he hadn't just arrived at an oasis in the desert.

Then another thought intruded, and he groaned as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

“What?” she asked, sounding startled by his reaction.

“You just realized?” he said, his voice coming muffled to his own ears. “What about five minutes ago? When we were at the hotel and three steps away from a private room?”

She said nothing, and he sat up and hit the gas, turning right.

“What are you doing?”

“Making an illegal U-turn,” he said. “Keep an eye out for the police.”

A laugh escaped her.

Well, he thought, at least the tension between them had been broken. Now, if only he could get to the hotel room before the last of his self-control dissolved: her admission that she wanted him had already sent it plunging like a runaway elevator.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she was tugging at the neckline of her top and the bikini beneath.

“What's wrong?” he asked, then he tossed her a wicked smile. “You know, I'd love for you to start stripping, but the island has a public-decency ordinance.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Be serious! I'm just adjusting my bikini. The cups on this one sometimes shift out of place.”

“That's right, talk dirty to me.”

She laughed. “Hurry.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” he asked with mock impatience.

 

Kayla was amazed at how aware she was of him. If she weren't feeling so desperate, she would have laughed.

Noah had looked thunderstruck at her blurted words. His unguarded reaction had erased any doubts about the response that her declaration would get.

Since their arrival in the Caymans, she'd been waiting for him to make a move, at moments so needy for him that she wanted to scream. Could she be blamed for coming out and saying what she wanted?

She chanced another glance at Noah behind the wheel of the car. He seemed to be driving with a single-minded urgency.

She couldn't believe she'd brought the mighty Noah Whittaker to the edge this way. Then again, not too long ago, she wouldn't have been able to imagine wanting to.

She stifled a nervous giggle.

He took his eyes off the road for a second. “What's so funny?” he demanded.

“You,” she said. “Driving as if your life depended on it.”

“Laugh while you can.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Soon, very soon, baby, you'll be having a different reaction.”

“Promises, promises,” she retorted, even as she felt her face heat.

He looked at her again as they pulled up in front of the resort. “I can't remember the last time I was this desperate for someone.”

Her heart lifted at his words. “Me, too.”

They were like two teenagers as they strode across the lobby of the resort and into an elevator.

Once inside their hotel suite, Noah locked the door behind them, gave her a slow smile, backed her up against the wall and proceeded to claim possession of her mouth.

She sighed. He smelled of sand and surf and
male.

Cupping her face with his hand, he pressed down on her chin with his thumb, opening her mouth wider and sinking more fully into their kiss.

She couldn't get enough of him. Their mouths met, angled, then feasted some more. He sipped at her bot
tom lip, sucking on its plump softness before his tongue slipped inside her mouth, lazily probing.

The kiss went on and on, gaining urgency as she molded herself to him. She moaned low in her throat, holding him close as the headiness of sensation swirled around them.

When he lifted his head, it was to place light, feathery kisses on her lips, her eyelids and along the curve of her jaw. “Do you know how hard it's been to keep my hands off you until now?” he muttered, his voice husky.

“Mmm,” she said, her eyes closed, feeling him everywhere. “Then why did you?”

His laugh held a note of self-mockery. “Trying to prove to you that I wasn't untrustworthy.”

She found it hard to think when his hand was kneading her breast through the material of her bikini and sleeveless blouse. “Hmm,” she said, opening her eyes. “Seduce me, and I'll let you know whether you've lived up to my evil thoughts.”

He laughed softly. “Are you inviting me to do my diabolic best?” he asked, his breath fanning her ear.

“Or worst,” she heard herself say even as a voice in her head screamed,
Stop talking and take me!
“It depends on your perspective.”

He stifled a laugh. “I don't think I've ever laughed so much while trying to get a woman into bed.”

“Neither have I.” She tried to clear her head. “I mean, while trying to get a man into bed.”

Actually, she couldn't recall ever requesting before that a man make love to her—let alone seducing him
into bed—but why quibble with details? Especially when she was concentrating on his hands at the buttons of her blouse, which hit the floor seconds before he disposed of his T-shirt.

She drank in the sight of him shirtless, a familiar sight from the past forty-eight hours, but one she could now openly admire instead of stealing surreptitious looks at. His chest was all hard planes and lean, sculpted muscle, his navel dusted with hair just a couple of shades darker than that on his head.