Forgotten Father (9 page)

“Yes, all the rooms from 200 to 220. They have
threads unraveling in places.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Delanie declared with
indignation. “We got those from Stemples. They were supposed to be
very durable.”

“Well, they need to be replaced,” Celia said in her
no-nonsense voice.

“Let me take care of that,” Delanie said, borrowing
a notepad and pencil from Ben.

“Thank you,” the other woman replied warmly. “I’d
appreciate that.”

“Let’s move along,” Mitchell said, wondering if
there was any one on The Cedars’ staff that wasn’t under Delanie
Carlyle’s spell.

“Tell me, Mr. Spinner, any problems with the
grounds?”

“No,” the head gardener responded, as terse as
usual.

“Do you have special projects planned for the
off-season when we’re closed before the holiday bookings?” Mitchell
asked.

“Nothing unusual,” the gardener replied, a shade
testy.

“Mr. Spinner,” Delanie said, a lovely smile
spreading across her face. “Ben told me you ordered more of those
wonderful old roses, the kind that are full and smell so
beautifully?”

“Why yes,” Spinner said, unbending a little. “I
found a supplier for Gallicas.”

“Really? How exciting!” Her face lit up. “Those are
the really old kind, right? The ones you told me about before?”

“The Gallicas are the most ancient of cultivated
roses,” Mr. Spinner informed her, his pleasure at her interest
obvious. “Mr. Donovan wanted me to resurrect his grandmother’s rose
garden and I’ve searched for some of the specific roses she
collected. I’ll be expanding the rose garden back to its old size
soon and putting in some walkways this off-season.”

“How marvelous,” Delanie enthused. “Will there be
more of those lovely gold-ish yellow ones?”

“Those and some pinks,” he said in an almost
fatherly tone. “But you’ll have to wait till spring for blossoms,
you know. The conservatory is over-grown already and we don’t have
any greenhouses.”

Mitchell ignored the reproachful glance the gardener
sent his way.

“Thank you, Spinner. I wonder what you’d call
‘unusual’ plans,” Mitchell said dryly.

The gardener looked at him blankly before turning
back to assure Delanie that he and his helpers would also be
planting more of the yellow tulips she loved.

“You make this place beautiful, Mr. Spinner,” she
told him, beaming.

“Moving along,” Mitchell said, trying to maintain
control of the meeting, “how are the new brochures coming,
Chad?”

The young man Donovan had brought in to handle
in-house advertising straightened in his chair.

“Very well, sir,” Chad Walker said, a faint,
intimidated stammer to his words. “I’ve found a printer who can do
the full color for a reasonable price and I’ll have a mock-up ready
for your approval by the end of the day.”

“Good.” To his annoyance, Mitchell couldn’t help
compare his staff’s warm response to Delanie to their obvious
discomfort with him. Not that it mattered. He’d long ago learned
how to manage large groups of people. None of the techniques used
in corporate business management required a tremendous amount of
employer warmth.

All that touchy-feely management theory was
bull.

People needed to know what was expected of them and
needed to be adequately recompensed for their work. Period.

An awkward silence settled around the table.

“Chad,” Delanie said after a moment, “a hotel I’m
working with in Boston is using a terrific advertising idea we
might want to incorporate.”

“Really?” The younger man turned eagerly toward
her.

“It’s some sort of video brochure,” she said, her
face animated. “They have a tour of their grounds and talk about
all their amenities and activities.”

“Yes,” Chad said immediately, “I know about those.
They’re terrific and very cost effective, but—“

He broke off, casting Mitchell a scared look.

“But I decided it was unproven and unnecessary,”
Mitchell finished for him, wanting to kick Chad like the scared
puppy he was emulating.

“Oh,” Delanie said, her expression thoughtful.
“Well, it’s an idea we can consider later, if we want.”

For an instant, Mitchell struggled to keep from
informing her that the idea
had been
considered and dismissed. But he’d had enough experience to know
that business required a cool head, no matter how much you wanted
to strangle your damned partner.

“We’ll get settled into our new management roles,”
Delanie said, her tone and smile clearly meant to reassure the
staff. “Maybe later, we’ll find we have the money in the budget to
do a trial video brochure. It’s a wonderfully visual enticement to
prospective guests. We may be able to work it out later.”

Mitchell made no comment, determined to keep from
reacting to the woman’s provocation. He was in charge of The Cedars
and he planned on keeping it that way.

“Oh yes, one more thing,” Ben Norton said,
consulting his notes. “Everything is underway in our preparations
for the—that big wedding we’re hosting here. I’m not going to
mention the celebrity names, but all of you need to caution your
staff that we won’t tolerate them selling stories or photos to
tabloids.”

“Certainly not,” Mitchell agreed. “If there’s
nothing else to discuss now, I’m sure you all have other things to
accomplish today. We’ll meet at this same time next week. Please,
have your annual budgets ready to discuss next week.”

Gathering his notes together, he nodded his
dismissal and the others at the table began to disburse. Several
paused to murmur quiet comments to Delanie before eventually
clearing out of the room.

Within a matter of minutes, Mitchell sat alone at
the table with Delanie Carlyle.

As he rose, she halted him.

“Mitchell, can we talk a moment?”

Here it comes,
he thought. The moment when
she dropped her pretense of not knowing him and tried to charm him
into stupidity again.

“Of course,” he responded briefly, sitting down
again, his resolve unshakable. “What would you like to
discuss?”

How we grappled in each others arms that night? The
fact that I threw you off the property you now own half of?

She tilted her head to the side, an engaging smile
playing at the corners of her mouth. “It might be a good idea if we
decided how we’re going to handle our joint ownership of The
Cedars.”

“Handle it?” he echoed. Two could play this
game.

“Yes,” she said with a charmingly rueful grimace.
“It would only be natural for you to resent my inheriting half of
this place. It’s been in your family for years.”

“Generations,” he said, getting up from his chair to
signal the end of the conversation, “but I can’t see what use it
would be for me to get worked up over Donovan’s choice. It’s
done.”

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing his
rage again.

“Can’t we come to terms?” she asked, the faintest
hint of dismay on her beautiful face.

Mitchell came close to hating her then for the
relaxed way she sat in the chair, the seemingly unconscious lifting
of her hand in entreaty.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” he asked, hating
himself for the expectation that made his heart beat faster. He
shouldn’t want her, under any terms. Yet, the thought of sinking
again into her welcoming body made his breath catch in his
throat.

Why shouldn’t he take what she offered? She’d
screwed him out of millions.

Delanie shrugged. “We own this huge place jointly
and, while we have an excellent staff, some decisions will have to
be made by the two of us. I just think we need to decide who
handles what—“

His surge of disappointment surprised him. He’d
expected an offer. Her favors in return for his acceptance of her
position here. Following quickly on the disappointment was
disgust.

Snapping his briefcase shut, Mitchell said in a
clipped tone, “I’ve run multimillion dollar enterprises for years.
You own a small design business. Which of us do you think is better
suited to
handling
The Cedars’ management?”

The slender red-haired woman on the other side of
the table looked at him with speculation in her eyes.

He maintained his silence, very aware of letting his
face reflect none of the savage rage in his breast. This woman with
her come-hither eyes and her soft skin had to learn it was
dangerous to play with Mitchell Riese.

He wanted none of her manipulative charm, none of
her sly maneuvering. The fact that he wanted her body under his
again meant nothing. Pure physical lust.

“So,” she said after a moment, “you think I should
quietly go back to Boston and leave The Cedars to your sole
supervision?”

“You have nothing to lose by doing so,” he pointed
out, keeping his eagerness off his face. Getting her away from the
place, away from him, could only make his job easier. “Your share
in the venture remains an asset.”

Her gaze rested on him, the green eyes considering.
“I could do that—“

“Good,” he said, picking up his case. “Leave your
address at the front desk.”

“—
but I don’t think that’s what
Donovan had in mind,” she finished, her chin lifted
fractionally.

Mitchell’s fist tightened on the briefcase handle.
He battled back the fury that roared through him at the sound of
his grandfather’s name on her lips.

“Donovan’s dead,” he said, the words faintly
clipped. “Let’s leave him out of it.”

“I can’t,” she said simply, the half-smile almost
apologetic. “I cared for your grandfather, so what he intended when
he left me a share in this place, well, it matters.”

“And what do you think he…intended?” Mitchell asked,
his tone cool, a burning anger in his chest. He refused to discuss
her
caring
for Donovan after she all but threw herself at
Donovan’s grandson all those months ago.

She looked down at the conference table, one slender
finger tracing a pattern before she raised her gaze to his. “I
think Donovan knew I loved this place almost as much as he did. I
think he wanted me involved in it’s running.”

Mitchell said nothing, unwilling to open the subject
of that night so long ago and the morning after when she’d shown
herself to be a deceitful, promiscuous woman.

She’d
have to bring it up first. He was
acknowledging nothing.

“So, I’m not going back to Boston and leaving it to
you,” she told him, still with the polite note of regret in her
words, the irritating hint of sympathy in her eyes.

If she’d have begged him to accept her or threatened
him with a lawsuit. If she’d have shown any sign of concern, of
panic or fear, he have been able to dismiss her as just another
business matter to be contained.

Just another golddigger.

But she looked at him as if he didn’t matter. Looked
at him as if they had never been intimate strangers.

So they were pretending that night never
happened.

He saw the awareness in her eyes. She had to know he
was not happy. But for the life of him, he couldn’t see any sign
that he effected her to anywhere near the degree she jolted
him.

He couldn’t forgive her that. In that moment,
Mitchell mentally took off the gloves. If she wanted a bare-fisted
battle, that’s what she’d get.

“Fine,” he said, turning to leave. “Then we both
stay.”

Delanie Carlyle wasn’t your average avaricious
woman. Dealing with her required a cool head and a marshalling of
all his cunning determination.

But one way or the other, he’d best her and get
control over The Cedars. And if, in the process, he chose to sample
the wares she’d so freely offered him before, who would blame
him?

******

Mitchell Riese jolted the hell out of her.

Delanie pulled her Toyota into the driveway of her
newly-rented house, still thinking about the meeting that
morning.

It was too bad that her sexy business partner hated
her guts. He was the first man in a long time to raise that
breathless, prickly feeling inside her, as if all her hormonal
sirens were going off.

But she sure as heck wasn’t going to roll over and
play dead because he resented her presence at The Cedars. He might
be big and muscular and completely mouth-watering, but nothing
could develop while they were at such odds over the resort.

Not that she had the time or energy now to devote to
responding to the energy crackling between them. With the baby, her
decorating business to maintain and, now, the situation at The
Cedars, she had no room in her life for a sexy-as-hell lover with
smoldering blue eyes.

Even if she managed to overcome his dislike of
her.

Getting out of the car, she crossed the small,
bright green lawn. Her gaze lingered on the white picket fence that
marched around the yard. The fence was why she’d rented the small
house. Only a few miles from The Cedars, the white frame house gave
little Jenna a place to howl and prowl, as she was sometimes
inclined to do.

Delanie had always loved white picket fences. They
symbolized everything she wanted for her baby daughter. Stability,
continuity, love. Even if her mother had blocked out her
conception, Jenna deserved all the best things in life.

On the practical side of it, living at the house
also kept baby Jenna from disturbing the paying customers at The
Cedars. Delanie could only imagine what Mr.
Lust-and-rage-in-his-eyes Riese would say about her setting up a
nursery at The Cedars.

Smiling as she unlocked the front door, Delanie went
into the house. Shedding her purse and jacket onto a nearby chair,
she dropped to the floor on her knees to greet the joyful baby
scooting across the floor toward her.

“Hello, beautiful Jenna,” she cooed. “Have you had a
morning glory day? Did you love your peaches and rice? Are you the
smartest, most wonderful baby in the world?”