Fyre & Revenge (12 page)

The guy who
owned the place. Ray Borne. It gave the impression of an older guy,
middle aged at the least. In which case he’d netted himself a much
younger and gorgeous wife, the lucky bastard, or Daddy had bought
the property for his daughter. Hopefully, it was the second. Yeah,
that would be so much easier to work with.

Her lips
compressed a little, the brief flash of irritation concealed before
Logan was sure he’d seen it. Okay, kitty didn’t like charm then.
Pity, he’d like to find out what it took to get her to purr. Logan
ignored the thought and smiled.

“No worries.
Please come in.” A small smile played at the corners of her lips as
she stepped back. Very polite, a professional mask. “Have you had a
massage before?”

Logan’s face
set. Massage? What sort of dodgy place was this? Wasn’t
aromatherapy sniffing weird oils with a towel over your head or
something? Not get your kit off and a bit of ‘how’s your father’?
His mood took a nose dive, the promise she’d initially presented
souring under the possibility she could be a high-class hooker. Ray
Borne was no doubt her pimp, Logan decided in disgust.

However, if
this was just a front for a brothel, then getting them shut down
and acquiring the property was going to be so much simpler, which
was what he should be concentrating on rather than his
disappointment over Kitty here. But then, when were women ever what
a guy thought they’d be?

However, to
prove what was going on he needed some sort of proof. So he had to
go in and see exactly what sort of ‘services’ were on offer. He
smiled again.

“Not recently.
And most definitely not that sort of massage, how much do you
charge for ‘extras’?”

* * *

No matter how
many times she heard that line Rae’s temper rose each and every
time. Most of the time it was a joke from old school friends she
treated for sporting injuries. But no one ever had the sheer
audacity to say it to her as cold and calculated as this man. He
wasn’t local so he didn’t know her, or the struggles she’d had to
get the business—her dream—set up. No one who did would ever dare
say that to her.

When she’d
opened the door, she’d been surprised to say the least. She’d known
straight away he wasn’t local. Rae had lived in Ashton on Sea all
her life and she knew everyone. More than that, she also knew the
names of people’s extended families, even the odd cousin who had
moved over to Brittany. It was a close community to say the
least.

It was more
than that, though. It was the way he was dressed—stark black coat
over an expensive suit. Rae might not have been well travelled but
she watched enough TV and film to recognise designer tailoring when
she saw it. He was dressed the way she expected a secret agent or a
high class businessman to be dressed. Since secret agents tended to
be few and far between in Ashton on Sea, Rae’s bet was on the
latter.

“Mr. St.
James.” Her voice was professional but with a firm hint of censure
and disapproval in it. “I am a professional massage therapist, not
a prostitute. Comments like that are inappropriate and insulting.
Please respect that or I shall have to ask you to leave.”

He didn’t bat
an eyelid, just looked her up and down with that cool, blue gaze.
Rae stood her ground. If she hadn’t been so mad, she’d have thought
he was quite attractive. No, scratch that,
very
attractive. Possibly the hottest thing on two legs she’d ever
seen.

Pity he was a
rat with a mind in the gutter. Extras indeed!

“Actually
that’s where you’re wrong,” he drawled, still looking at her. A
direct look that said he could look into her eyes and know all her
secrets. Examine them like a butterfly under a magnifying glass
being pinned out for display.

“Is that
right?” Rae’s temper not only fluttered like a flag in the breeze,
it went into full sail in the blink of an eye. How dare he? Booked
client or no, he wasn’t getting a bloody massage now. In fact, the
sooner she got him out the door the better! “Wrong about what, may
I ask? The fact that I’m a professional, or the fact that you’ve
already insulted me?”

He smiled. Not
a nice smile, a ruthless one. Rae shivered; it was the sort of
smile that said its owner was used to getting exactly what he
wanted when he wanted.

“No, I’ll
believe you if you say you’re a professional. I’m sure you’re
extremely good at what you do. What you were wrong about was my
name.”

Rae was too
annoyed to catch the small start of warning her instincts gave her.
If she’d been thinking clearly she’d have realised snapping at a
complete stranger wasn’t such a good idea.

“If I didn’t
need a name to report to the police I wouldn’t give a damn.” Her
voice cut through the silence in the cold corridor, made colder by
the still open door. “Now please, leave… It would be a pity if poor
Mr. St. James got lumped with a charge of harassment when he’s done
nothing wrong, now wouldn’t it?”

She’d gone too
far. Anger flared in his eyes as he moved. The door slammed shut in
the next instant. Rae ignored it, her attention on the man stalking
towards her, backing her against the wall.

“Well, if I’m
going to end up with a charge like that, I might as well do
something to deserve it.” His voice was soft, but the tone in it,
the look in his eyes made her shiver.

Run,
scream.
Kick
him
in
the
shins
. Her instincts all screamed at her to
move, do something, but Rae was frozen to the spot, her view of the
world blotted out by his broad shoulders. She’d taken him to be
lean at first, but up close he was a lot bigger than she’d thought.
A shiver went through her, one that had nothing to do with the
possible danger she might be in. Instead it was a thrill of
awareness.

“Look here, you
can’t do this. Or would you like me to add assault to the charges
as well?” Rae’s heart rate tripled as he reached out to tuck a
strand of hair behind her ear, the leather of his gloves brushing
her skin in a sensual caress. A small gasp escaped as her eyes
darted to his.

“I hardly think
a little kiss would stand as assault, do you?” His words were a
whisper against her lips before he claimed them with his. His first
touch was exploratory, the second a long slow tasting of her lips
and the third blew her mind.

Warm and firm,
his lips coaxed hers apart, his tongue sweeping in to taste her.
She shivered at the touch as he moved closer, so close she could
feel the brush of his coat against the front of her tunic.

She lost all
sense of time, heat and need hitting her in the same moment. That
she was trying to throw him out a moment ago slid away as he kissed
her. Shock held her immobile for a moment but then her lips moved
beneath his. Within seconds she was kissing him back, her hands
reaching up and her fingers spearing into his short blond hair to
hold him to her. She was breathless when he lifted his head. Her
lips formed a small pout of disappointment as the kiss ended.

“
Very
good at what you do,” he breathed, his pupils dilated and his
breathing ragged. Obviously the kiss had affected him as much as it
had her. “So who’s this Ray Borne? Your boyfriend, lover or
pimp?”

Rae gasped as
the implication of his words hit her like a sledgehammer. He was
serious, he thought she was a prostitute!

“None of those
things.” She gritted her teeth and pushed at the broad expanse of
his chest. “Get away from me, you bloody oaf!”

“So who is he?
I’d like to have a word with him.” He backed off, amusement in his
eyes as he looked her up and down. “Perhaps hire your
‘services.’”

“The only thing
you’ll be getting from me is a knee where it hurts.” She marched
past him and yanked the door open so hard the bell on the back rang
madly, almost dancing out of its curled bracket. “Now, leave. Or
I’ll be calling the police.”

He grinned, a
smile of amusement crossing his face. Rae just wanted to slap it
off. Repeatedly. She took a deep breath, reining in temptation. She
didn’t need a charge of assault against her. And much as she’d like
to, she knew there was no way she could charge him for assault on
that kiss. Not when she’d enjoyed it so much herself. She was one
sick puppy, probably needed therapy. Lots of it.

“I thought you
needed a name to call them? Tell me where Ray is and I’ll give you
my name.” He adjusted the fit of the leather gloves on his hands
and speared her with a direct look.

“You’re looking
at ‘him.’ Rae
lyn
Borne. I’d offer my hand, but you’re just
leaving Mr…?” She trailed off, her head tilted in curiosity as she
waited for him to supply his name.

“Fyre. Logan
Fyre.”

She felt the
blood drain out of her face.
This
was Fyre? Of Jensen and
Fyre? It had to be. There was no way it couldn’t be with her
luck.

“I’d like you
to leave, Mr. Fyre. Now.” She lifted her chin to look straight into
his eyes. “And please don’t come back. I have nothing to say to you
or anyone from your company. Any further contact will result in a
charge of harassment.”

His lips,
surprisingly sensual in the very masculine face, quirked as he
started for the door. He paused just next to her, looking down into
her face, his eyes flicking over her features.

“You could try,
but be careful who and what you threaten… Because if you try to
play games with me, Rae
lyn
, you’re going to need a
shit-hot lawyer or you’ll get burnt.”

“Haha. Fyre,
burnt. Cute.” She picked up the pun and made fun of it. That was
her problem—when backed into a corner she got sassy. “Don’t let the
door hit you in the ass on the way out. I don’t do first aid.”

Then he was
gone, Rae closed the door on his broad shouldered form as quickly
as she could, throwing the lock as well for good measure. She
leaned back against it with a shudder, her knees weak.

Thankfully, the
absent Mr. St. James was her last appointment of the day, so she
could fall apart in peace now. Turning, she watched through the
frosted glass as the form of a car left the tiny car park in front
of the gatehouse. Even the indistinct form looked expensive and
threatening.

Letters asking
her to sell and meetings with her bank manager over the state of
her finances were one thing. She could handle those. She had
business plans and forecasts. Charles Bennett, her bank manager,
wasn’t daft; he could see she had solid projections and a sound
plan. She just had to get over this sticky patch and she’d be fine,
whatever the Jensen and Fyre people alluded to.

But seeing
these people, one of these people, in person made it all the more
personal. More real almost, as if her money worries weren’t real
and immediate to begin with. Rae sighed and pushed away from the
door. As if she needed more pressure on top of her financial
troubles, it now seemed Jensen and Fyre were into harassment.

Her thought was
cut off by the screech of brakes outside and a horrendous bang.
Without thinking, she turned on her heel and wrenched the door
open. Living near a main road she recognised the sounds of a car
accident when she heard one.

Concern lent
wings to Rae’s heels as she sprinted over the two space ‘car park’
and round the corner onto the path. Skidding to a halt, she drew in
a quick breath. It was worse than she’d feared. The black
car—Logan’s car—protruded from the hedge, the side mangled and
scraped. A huge dent in the driver’s door made her wince. Nearby a
smaller car rolled to a halt, its front end bent and twisted.

“Oh hell.” Her
dark eyes flicked over the carnage. She’d never been squeamish, but
she hoped no one had been hurt. Oh God, there were kids in the
other car—the tops of the car seats were just visible in the back
window. She reached its side in seconds and peered through the
window, eyes flicking over the occupants to check for injuries. To
her relief they all seemed to be fine. Even the kids, if the
furious squeal from the baby seat in the back was any indication.
Rae had been around enough of her cousin’s kids to recognise a
squeal of fury.

She motioned to
the driver to roll the window down, repeating her motion when he
gave her a dazed look.

“Turn the
engine off and put the handbrake on,” she ordered, standing up
straighter to assess where the car sat on the road. It was near
enough to the curb. It could be parked up here until the emergency
services arrived.

“Is everything
alright? Can I do anything to help?” A voice behind Rae got her
attention. Another driver had stopped, pulling up a safe distance
away and putting his vehicle’s hazard lights on to alert other
drivers of the accident. He looked at Rae, waiting for orders. It
was the white therapy tunic, her uniform. Had to be. It gave her a
medical appearance, and in a situation like this people obeyed
medical staff by default. She seized the opportunity.

“You can.” She
adopted a brisk, no nonsense attitude. “Call the emergency
services. Tell them there’s been an accident outside the Gatehouse
on Ashton Road heading towards Newbolton near…” She rattled off her
address and left him by the first car, phone in hand, as she headed
over to the second car.

Logan Fyre’s
car.

She reached it
in seconds, barely aware of sprinting over the short distance. The
engine had cut out, sort of. A weird mechanical clicking sound
emanated from under the hood—a wrong, tortured sound that worried
her. She peeked inside. The airbags had either deployed and
deflated or not gone off at all because she couldn’t see them.

“Mr. Fyre, are
you alright?” She kept her voice level as she called out, picking
her way over the grass. The side windows of the car were out, the
shattered glass spread on the ground catching the light like
diamonds. Not bulletproof glass then. With his charming personality
she’d have thought people would be gunning for him on a regular
basis. Her calls gained no answer from the car and when Rae reached
the door she saw why.