Tycoon's One-Night Revenge (4 page)

“I’m sorry, Donovan,” she said drawing herself up tall. “I really am, but there is nothing I or you or anyone can do to change what’s transpired. I really have to go now or this flight will leave without me, but when I get back to civilisation I will talk to Alex. He’s a fair man. Perhaps he will reconsider that part of the contract.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you said he wouldn’t back down.”

“I don’t believe he will, but I’m offering to try. That’s all I can do, other than suggest some other properties that would suit your purposes just as well as The Palisades.”

“I’m not interested in another property. I came here to buy this one.”

“Then I guess it’s up to Alex.”

Why would he give up The Palisades?

Sure, sweetheart, I’ll tear up the contract so your last lover can have another shot at a prime property.

No, that was not going to happen. Carlisle wanted the property; he wanted Susannah as his wife; why the hell would he give up either?

From his terrace, Van tracked the careful progress of the resort’s courtesy pickup as it schlooshed a wet path back to the central resort buildings. It had picked her up from his door, presumably to transport her to the helipad and her four-o’clock departure. Van couldn’t see her going anywhere in this weather. In the hour since he’d stepped from the tub, the squalls of wind had grown flukier, the rain heavier.

The fact that she wasn’t leaving—that she couldn’t scurry back to the fiancé she respected and admired—did nothing to ease Van’s darkening discontent. It was a tangle of frustration, of missed opportunity, of all she’d told him and all he didn’t yet know.

Hands braced on the balcony railing, he glared out into a landscape tailor-made for his mood. Past the dark jut of the clifftop, he could just make out the churn of whitecaps against the obsidian waters of the bay. Somewhere out there, shielded by the thickening curtain of rain, sat Charlotte Island. The private and exclusive island was the heart of the resort property and the reason no substitute would do.

He would have visited in July, he had no doubt about that despite his lack of memories or photographs. Both were lost to the chance of fate that put him the same place at the same time as that trio of brawny thieves. They’d taken more than his possessions, they’d also stolen a chunk of precious time.

He slapped his hand down against the steel rail as a bead of suppressed fury exploded inside him.

With every week he’d been laid up mending broken bones and bruised organs, Mac had slipped another week closer to the end. Now, more than ever, he wanted this land returned to her ownership. His last and only meaningful gift to the woman who’d shaped him from a cocky young upstart to a respected equity player.

Lifting his face to the icy kiss of the rain, he considered his options. He could tell Susannah why he was set on acquiring this land. Maybe that would stir sufficient sympathy for his cause, maybe she would even talk to Carlisle as she’d promised, but compassion was not recognised currency in the cut-throat world of business. And no matter how many ways she cried family-husband-happiness, this marriage was a business arrangement.

Bottom line, he had one chance—and one night—to buy himself back into this deal.

All he had to do was stop the wedding from going ahead.

Before she could respond to Gabrielle’s comment, the drumming of rain on the villa’s iron roof intensified to a deafening din. Susannah closed her mouth. She might not be exactly glad about staying, but the weather had robbed her of any choice.

Gabrielle joined her in the bedroom, her nose creasing into a wince as she gazed out the window. “We made the right decision in talking you out of driving.”

By
we
she meant the resort staff. Susannah had been all for leaving by whatever means available. With the helicopter shuttle grounded, she’d asked about hiring a car—heck, she’d even offered to buy a four-wheel drive belonging to Jock, the doorman-cum-resort-chauffeur! But everyone from Jock to the manager had declared her crazy to consider attempting the long drive in such hazardous conditions.

Watercraft had been suggested as an “if you absolutely must leave” option, and Susannah shuddered. There was a line between absolutely-need-to and really-want-to, and that line was the wide expanse of choppy waves between here and Appleton.

“You’ll be comfortable here for tonight.” Gabrielle finished plumping the massed arrangement of pillows on the bed and straightened. “And if the worst comes to the worst, we will look into the boat option tomorrow.”

“Is there a possibility the shuttle won’t be flying?” Susannah asked on a rising note of concern.

“I trust it won’t come to that.” The other woman’s cheerful smile was spoiled by a flicker of concern in her eyes. “I am sorry I couldn’t put you in your usual accommodation. Unfortunately our other guest had already reserved The Pinnacle.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Gabrielle. I didn’t have a reservation and you’ve known me long enough to realise that I never expect deferential treatment just because of my name.”

“I know, but thank you for the reassurance. It’s been quite a day.”

“It has,” Susannah agreed.
And it wasn’t over yet.
Her heart kicked up a beat, recalling the wording Gabrielle had used. “Did I hear you correctly when you referred to ‘the other guest’? Are there just the two of us here tonight?”

“We had a late cancellation due to the weather, from a group who’d booked most of the resort for a corporate team-building exercise.”

“Is the forecast that bad?”

“For beach games and bushwalking?” Gabrielle’s smile was wry when she tilted her head as if listening to the remorseless rain. “I’d say, yes.”

For
anything
outdoors, Susannah conceded as she studied the view—or lack thereof—from the bedroom window. Her thoughts zeroed to the only other guest and his intentions. Why had he come back to Stranger’s Bay? Was he really reconstructing that weekend?

Her pulse thudded. Her gaze skimmed over the bed and a vivid memory of how they’d spent much of their weekend flared low in her belly.

She chased it away with a reminder of where she was supposed to be tonight and the heat turned chill.

“Is there anything wrong with your bed?” Gabrielle sounded puzzled. “If you require more pillows, or a specific—”

“No, no,” Susannah said quickly. “I was miles away, thinking about something else entirely. I had a…date…for tonight.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Susannah wasn’t so sure, but she followed Gabrielle out to the state-of-the-art kitchen where the other woman continued her check of the pantry and refrigerator. “The basics are all here but I’ll order a hamper from catering and send it along once the rain eases. As for dinner—”

“Please, don’t go to any more trouble on my behalf,” Susannah implored. “I’m sure the hamper will be more than enough without ordering in dinner.”

Gabrielle made her way to the door. “You know nothing is ever too much trouble. If you change your mind or if there’s anything else you need, I’m a phone call away. And if there’s any update on the weather or transport, I will let you know.”

“I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

Knowing he was ensconced in the luxurious villa where they’d shared that other weekend left her feeling restless and uneasy. It was a sensation she understood far too well. From the moment she first met Donovan Keane, he’d unsettled her senses and her equilibrium.

Even now, with the curtain of rain adding an extra layer of isolation to each of the scattered villas, she felt his presence in every overly responsive female cell.

Paused at the window facing out toward the bay, she lifted her hands to rub the goose bumps that had sprung up on her arms. She needed warm. She needed dry. But first she needed a long, hot shower.

When she exited the steam-shrouded bathroom a half hour later, her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel, she felt toasty warm and as relaxed as possible given the robe was identical to the one Donovan had worn. She hung her clothes on the dining chairs and thought about lighting the fire. The more quickly they dried, the more quickly she could shed this reminder of Donovan.

Unconsciously her hand came up to clutch the lapel, and her stomach tightened again with the shock of that moment of discovery. The scar, his story, her imagining of his injuries.

A knock at the door startled her out of her introspection.

Her first thought—
it’s him!—
gave way to a deprecating huff of breath. It would be catering with the promised hamper. Her nerves breathed a sigh of relief and her stomach rumbled in anticipation. She’d missed lunch and the airline breakfast had been insubstantial and too long ago.

“Just a second,” she called, unpeeling the towel from her hair. Skirting the makeshift laundry, she hurried to the door. And where she should have seen a uniformed member of the resort’s catering staff smiling a greeting, she saw Donovan Keane leaning against the door frame.

Dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt, he looked hauntingly familiar. Just like their first night here at Stranger’s Bay when he’d appeared uninvited on her doorstep.

As he straightened, the silver drift of his gaze took her all in, from the tips of her bare toes to the top of her tangled curls. All the blood drained from Susannah’s brain into her skin. Annoyance and agitation and dismay warred with those unruly female responses.

Stop it,
she warned her hormones.
You do not want to see him. Especially straight from the shower with no underwear, no makeup, no defences.

“What are you doing here?” she asked curtly.

He inclined his head, indicating a hefty picnic-style hamper at his feet. “Dinner, I hope.”

Taking advantage of Susannah’s slackjawed surprise, Van picked up the weighty basket and brushed past her.

She recovered enough to catch at his shirtsleeve. “Stop. Wait.”

If he’d wanted, Van could have shrugged off that attempt to stop his entry. Instead he paused a step inside the door and half a step from her flushed countenance. For the first time, he noticed the scatter of freckles on her nose, visible because her face was scrubbed clean from the shower.

His gaze dipped to her throat and then to her chest. Barely visible beneath the rosy tint of her skin, more of those freckles spanned the deep V created by the wraparound garment. He would wager his entire portfolio of blue chips that she wore nothing underneath…nothing but a blush and that faint sprinkle of gold-dust freckles.

He noted the rapid beat of pulse at the base of her throat, and her hand released his sleeve to clutch the robe tight across her breasts. Slowly his gaze lifted to her face. He’d placed her at a distinct disadvantage turning up unannounced, and that’s exactly what he’d hoped to do.

Catering had delivered his hamper of provisions first and, in an idle conversation about the weather, the waiter named Rogan revealed that his second and only other port of call was, “A day visitor caught out by the storm. Chopper’s grounded so she had to stay the night.”

Van’s plan had formulated in a fortuitous heartbeat.

To avoid a drenching he’d hitched a ride with Rogan in the catering van, and along the way he’d planned his approach. Patience, finesse, play that compassion he’d glimpsed in her eyes earlier. He hadn’t considered that he might enjoy himself in the process.

Looking down at her now, at the tremble in her slender fingers as they held the sides of her robe together, at the nervous swipe of her tongue as she moistened her lips, Van knew he was going to enjoy this far more than he had any right to. He reached past her wet tumble of curls and leaned his weight against the still-open door. Apparently her grip on the doorknob matched her one on the robe. He applied more pressure until her death grip gave and the door closed with a muffled click. Although the wicker hamper provided a safe barrier between their bodies, she flattened herself against the cedar door as if she wanted nothing more than to slink inside it.

Suppressing a smile, Van eased his weight off the door. Earlier, when he’d held her captive against another door, he hadn’t indulged himself with anything more than breathing her scent. This time, he selected one tightly spiralled curl and tucked it behind her ear, deliberately brushing her cheek with the knuckle of his middle finger.

Her skin was as silky soft as the sound of her indrawn breath, as warm as the response cutting through his veins.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked in a pitchy rush. Worry carved a frown into the space between her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“Don’t worry, Susannah.” He gave her a wolfish smile, and just for the hell of it touched his fingertips to that frown. “I’m here to eat dinner, not you.”

He left her there, all wide-eyed shock and open-mouthed indignation, and strolled to the kitchen portion of the open-plan living space. He hefted the hamper onto the countertop and started unpacking the contents.

“Why?”

Van looked up. He hadn’t heard her bare-footed approach, but he noticed how she carefully skirted the island counter, keeping its solid width between them. He noticed that her cheekbones were still tinged with pink.

“Why what?” he asked, inspecting the label on a local Gewürztraminer, before putting the bottle down. He looked into the wary distrust of her eyes. “Why am I eating dinner, or why aren’t I eating—”

“Why are you
here.
And why did you bring my supplies instead of catering?”

“Rogan was doing the delivery but I took pity on the poor man, running about in the rain.”

“Didn’t he have a vehicle?” she asked.

“Yes, but it isn’t easy keeping dry.” Van’s gaze shifted to the room beyond her, to where the articles of her clothing hung on every available piece of furniture. “It would appear you had a similar problem.”

“
You
managed.”

“Ah, but I’m quick.”

“Not al—”

She stopped, her lips compressing into a tight line. Van went still. “Not al-
ways
?” he ventured.

Oh, yeah. That’s what she’d been about to let slip. The truth swirled in her eyes even as she shook her head. The notion of a long, lazy exploration of those long legs and freckles ambushed his brain for a sweet second…

“I was going to say that not all the staff would care about getting a bit damp.”

Van had to admire her quick improvisation.

“I wouldn’t have thought Rogan would mind,” she continued. “I believe we’re the only two guests, so he hasn’t exactly got a lot of running around to do.”

“Since we are the only guests, I suggested he go home.” He unearthed a corkscrew from the well-stocked utensils drawer and looked up enquiringly. “Which wine shall I open, the red or the white?”

A frown creased her brow as she looked from one bottle to the other, then she drew an audible breath. “Look, Donovan, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not? Don’t you trust yourself to share dinner with me?”

“It’s
you
I don’t trust,” she fired back. “You invited yourself here without any forewarning, and I know it has nothing to do with dinner or sparing Rogan from extra work. You always have an agenda.”

“And what agenda do you think I’m pursuing here, apart from dinner, company and conversation?”

“The one that brought you to Stranger’s Bay in the first place. An eight-figure deal you spent a lot of resources working on, and that you don’t appreciate losing.”

“There are a lot of things I don’t appreciate losing, Susannah,” he said mildly, but there was nothing mild in his gaze. “Especially when the fight isn’t fair.”

“I understand why you might feel that way, but—”

“Do you? Do you understand what it’s like to lose days from your life? To not know what you’d said, what you’d done, what you’d shared?”

Her gaze glittered under his for a moment, before falling away.

“I figure we shared dinner, company and conversation that weekend in a villa just like this one.” He applied himself to opening the Gewürztraminer while he selected his words and their casual delivery for maximum effect. “Your fiancé can hardly complain about the circumstances that have been thrust upon you. You said he’s a fair man. Would he object to you joining me at the dinner table and helping me recover something of what I’ve lost?”

“Helping you…how?” she asked after a moment, her voice edged with wariness.

“You asked how I was dealing with this memory blank. I told you I’d worked on backtracking, gathering information, recreating events. I’ve put everything together…everything except those days here.”

“I’m sorry, Donovan. I can’t do that. I can’t help you recreate that weekend.”

“I’m only asking you to talk to me, to share some of where we went, what we did.” He poured a splash of the pale golden wine into a glass and slid it across the countertop. “You can tell me where we ate, what we drank.”

He could see her vacillating, her gaze uneasy, the infinitesimal slump in her shoulders as her willpower weakened. Reaching forward he touched his index finger to the back of her hand. Just that one touch to bring her uneasy gaze winging back to his.

“You might not be able to help me with anything else I lost, but you can help me with this.”

Although she didn’t answer straight away, he saw the capitulation in her expressive green eyes. Satisfaction churned rich and strong through his blood, but he waited, his posture deceptively casual while she prepared her answer.

“I can try.” She lifted her chin a notch. “But I want to make it clear that all I’m providing are the facts.”

“That’s all I expect.”

“I can’t promise to remember everything.”

“I’m sure you remember the important things.”

Her gaze fell away, and she lifted a hand to rub at her upper arm. Cold…or nervous? “We can talk over dinner, but afterward I have things to do.”

“Hair to wash, laundry to do,” Van murmured. She’d already swung away to gather up the clothes scattered around the table. A pink skirt and white sweater. Lacy white bra. A wisp of nothing that had to be underwear.

She held them all tight to her chest as she faced him across the table, clearly unamused by his aside. “I have phone calls to make.”

To Carlisle,
Van guessed.
The man who’d won what he had lost.

That thought killed the buzz of warm satisfaction he’d had going. The touch of mean left in its place wouldn’t let him watch her scurry off with her armful of clothes without one last bite. “You don’t have to change on my account. I imagine I’ve seen you in a robe before…and without.”

At the door to her bedroom, she paused to cut him a disparaging look. “That is precisely the reason I suggested this dinner was a bad idea.”

“Because I’ve seen you naked?”

Colour flared in her cheekbones, but her eyes remained cool and steady on his. “Because I can’t trust you not to mention that fact.”

“And that makes you uncomfortable?”

“I’m engaged to marry another man. Of course it does.”

As if Van needed that reminder. Or that extra jab to his prickly mood. “Do you think I would try to seduce another man’s bride?” he asked.

“I think you would do whatever it takes to get your hands on the contract to The Palisades.”