Heart Raider (Heartthrob Series, Book 1) (2 page)

“No,” he finally said. “But I have a feeling you won’t leave until I listen to you. I already told you I’m not giving you an interview. What harebrained scheme are you cooking up now?” he demanded.

She thrust her chin high and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m no longer a kid and prone to what you rudely refer to as ‘harebrained’ schemes. I’m all grown up now, if you hadn’t noticed,” she stated, throwing her shoulders back and puffing out her chest.

Nick’s gaze lowered to her breasts and then back to her face. “I noticed.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Once a hellion, always a hellion.”

“I don’t remember you being so gruff. You were always nice to me.” The Nick she remembered as camp counselor had been on the serious side, but kind and fair.

His upper lip curled.
Damn, how long was he going to make her stand there before him like a delinquent?
With his brawny hands braced on his lean hips and his wide-legged stance he looked like a tough detective interrogating a suspect.

Nick was being so patronizing, she felt like filling him in on the past years of her adult life, the ones filled with awards for investigative journalism and documentaries. But more than likely, he knew all about her recent public shame and how she’d been demoted from foreign correspondent to reporting fluff. She had once been renowned for her daredevil journalism, but given Nick’s aversion to the media, it wouldn’t be wise to bring it up now. Especially since he too had been publicly shamed in the media, but for vastly different reasons.

Given the way he was glowering at her, she wasn’t about to tell him the reason she’d landed on his doorstep was to present Ace News with a prized story. An exclusive interview with Nick Cameron, the notorious, sought-after recluse whose fall from grace had landed on every tabloid would do wonders to revive her flagging career after the fiasco of her last assignment. But that was only part of it; the real reason was to alert him to what she’d found while investigating his recent divorce from tobacco heiress, Elizabeth Remington.

“You still living in London?” he asked abruptly.

His question surprised her. “Nope, I live in New York now.”

“Reporting for Ace News?”

She paused. “Yes. I’ve been reassigned to human interest stories.” Her stomach contracted as she said it. The reminder of her recent demotion and near firing still smarted and she’d rather not get into details with him.

Nick cocked his head and quirked a dark brow, the gesture so arrogantly male, it reminded her of Sean Connery when he’d make a sardonic remark in old James Bond movies.

He was making her feel as welcome as a bloodthirsty mosquito. Veronique locked her determined gaze with his as they faced off standing rigidly apart, throwing sparks off each other. Neither spoke until she finally strolled over and plopped down on a duck white canvas sofa.

“Okay, I give. What will it take for you to stop frowning at me?”

“How about you march your little butt out of here?” he asked in a gravelly tone.

He was definitely out to rile her. “How about we make nice instead?” she said with a saucy grin.

Nick lowered his strapping frame into the big armchair across from her, elbows braced on widespread knees. He leaned in nose-to-nose, close enough for her to notice the thick jet lashes framing narrowed blue eyes. Wariness sharpened the hard edges of his jaw line as he watched her intently.

“Tell me. What is so important that you would disrupt my privacy?” he asked, not taking his eyes off her.

Nick was trying to intimidate her, but his closeness was making Veronique weak in the knees and she couldn’t help but take a satisfying whiff of him. He smelled wonderful up close—clean and manly and so
delicious
. She exhaled heavily and looked away, willing her body not to react to him, but it wasn’t working.

She couldn’t tell him his hideaway was the perfect refuge for her while she tried to figure out who had shot at her in the Miami hotel parking lot, because he’d go ballistic. If no one had located Nick’s whereabouts during the six months after he’d disappeared from public scrutiny, they wouldn’t find her there either.

The shooting in Miami had happened so fast she hadn’t been able to get the license tag number of the drive-by shooter’s car. Adding to her frustration, there was no security video of the parking lot. The only evidence of a random shot was her word. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out where the bullet had landed. The minute she heard the shot, she dove into her car, called 911 and drove to the nearest police station.

She was used to danger, but that random shot had rattled her. It could have been anyone out to get her after the type of investigative reporting she’d done in the past.

Or it could be the case she was currently investigating…

“Answer me,” Nick prompted in a gruff voice.

Hunched over like a cagey jungle cat, he didn’t look amenable to providing temporary refuge and definitely not an exclusive interview. He grabbed her chin and turned her face to meet his sharp gaze.

An electrifying spark passed from his callused fingertips to her chin. He must have felt it too because he dropped his hand to his knee. Her heart raced and she could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck.

“I, um well…” She was interrupted by a bolt of lightning followed by a loud crack of thunder. The air between them crackled with more electricity than the storm outside. She ran to the large window to get away from him and get ahold of her bearings. “Must be the outer rain bands. Storm’s almost here!” she announced breathlessly as the gusting wind swirled outside and the heavy rain pelted the house. “We’re in for a downpour.”

Nick lumbered forward and joined her at the window. His fingers closed around her elbow. “Time to leave,” he said firmly.

“Haven’t you been tracking Tropical Storm Abby?” she asked, disengaging from his grip. “It’s sure to be the first hurricane of the season. When was the last time you ventured into town?”

“That’s none of your business. Why did you show up here knowing it was heading this way?” His deep voice started off low and increased with each word. While he wasn’t exactly yelling, he wasn’t whispering either.

Veronique took a step back from Nick’s imposing form. “Do you even watch TV?” she blurted out.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Why own one if you don’t watch it?”

She sucked in a nervous breath. Maybe he didn’t know the reason she’d been hauled out of her high-status job as foreign correspondent in Ace TV’s London bureau and sent back to the States to report filler stories. She could only hope. It hadn’t been her fault that Eric, the fact-checker, had fed her erroneous information on a major political scandal involving a prominent, conservative Senator and a call girl reported to be a spy. When the truth was revealed that she wasn’t a spy, but his longtime mistress, Veronique had been demoted and Eric fired.

She missed the excitement of investigative reporting. Not that she minded doing human interest stories, but they weren’t as challenging or adrenaline-inducing as breaking a controversial case wide open. She’d had success in cases she’d worked on in the past including exposing a pyramid scheme among top senators, a child porn sting in a Bible belt community, and a heroin operation cover-up in a prestigious private university. The one case she’d tripped up on because of inaccurate fact checking from her trusted co-worker had sidelined her rising career and put her credentials in doubt.

Damn the media and the public for their fickle ways
. One day she was at the top of her game and the next, kicked to the curb. Whether Nick realized it or not, she could relate to how he felt.

“I watch it once in a while, but not every day,” he said, bringing her to the present. He frowned. “Quit stalling and get going. I want you outta here before the hurricane hits.”

“Pfft. Hurricanes don’t scare me,” she scoffed.
And you don’t either.
“They’re pretty exciting. I covered a few and even went surfing just before Hurricane Olga hit. What a rush!”

Nick grabbed the remote control and switched on the news. Five seconds later, when the anchorman said the storm was strengthening into a hurricane, he flicked it off.

“Before you go—and you will soon,” he promised curtly. “Tell me how the hell you found me. Nobody knows where I live.”

“Well…I wouldn’t say
nobody
…” Veronique hesitated.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I know for damn sure Fred wouldn’t give you my address. You must’ve done major snooping in your step daddy’s office to find my whereabouts.”

Veronique grimaced. “Who said anything about Fred? He’s your lawyer, for God’s sake! He would never divulge that information.”

“Damn straight he wouldn’t.” Nick’s deep voice rumbled out of his chest like thunder.

Veronique eyed the front door when he stepped closer. It was time to retreat and formulate another plan ASAP.

Chapter Two

“C’mon, time to fess up.” Nick’s hands closed over her shoulders and anchored her before him.

Veronique shrugged out of his hold. “I stumbled upon it by accident when Maman insisted that I put a birthday card in Fred’s briefcase before he traveled to Europe. That’s where I found a letter with your address on it.”

If Nick had any inkling of the times she’d tried to wangle information from her stepdad, who happened to be his trusted lawyer, he’d blow a fuse. But ever since she’d read of Nick’s public fall from grace, she’d wanted to use her journalistic skills to make things right.

A man of high ideals, Nick had pulled himself up from an impoverished childhood in the backwoods of North Carolina and had never forgotten his roots. Before the dissolution of his partnership with his best friend Zack, and his divorce from his wife, Nick’s charity for underprivileged youths, the Cameron Hope Foundation, had flourished with donations, mostly his. He was generous and honest, but he was also tough and strong-minded, which made her wonder why he hadn’t stayed after the trial to wreak revenge on his ex-partner and his ex-wife after they’d sullied his good name.

This was Veronique’s chance to reveal Nick’s side of the story and restore his public image. A blast of optimism energized her at the mere thought of it. Once he was vindicated because of her interview, he would want to rejoin humanity—she could only hope. A smile of anticipation curved on her lips.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Fred doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

From the moment he’d met Nick at Veronique’s dad’s funeral, Fred Golden had taken a strong interest in the responsible young man. Fred, her stepfather and family’s lawyer, had recognized Nick’s maturity when he rescued Veronique the night she ran away from camp. He was the only camp counselor who’d gone to her father’s funeral.

Veronique had been a tormented little kid grieving the death of her alcoholic, drug addicted celebrity dad and dealing with a mentally unstable mom. Nick had stayed late and made sure she would be okay and Veronique had adored him for it.

Veronique stiffened. “Fred doesn’t know my whereabouts and I’d appreciate if you’d keep it that way. I don’t want him to know I’m here.”

“Why?”

“He and I don’t get along much.”

Nick slanted a hard look at her. “You better not leak my whereabouts to the public,” he cautioned.

“I would never do that!” she said, wounded to the core.

“Good,” he grunted.

Nick grasped Veronique’s arm and led her to the front door. His grim face showed he meant business, but she didn’t want to leave. She wished she could wind her arms around his hard midsection and press her head against his chest as she’d done years ago when he’d comforted her in camp. But she was no longer that teenager and he had become a formidable man. Her stomach gave a little jolt at the strength of her attraction to him.
Chill.
Don’t let him unhinge you
.

“Please let me spend the night,” she pleaded with puppy dog eyes. “I’ll leave after the storm.”

“No. Go back to Fort Myers while you can. You’ll be safer there.” He opened the door and nudged her outside.

Veronique felt a whoosh of air lift the back of her dress as the door shut behind her.
Damn him!

From the doorstep, she glanced at the lush tropical foliage surrounding his plantation style mansion. Wet red bromeliads, soaked birds of paradise plants and damp yellow alamanda flowers glistened with the aftereffects of the heavy rain that had subsided—temporarily. It was typical of those outer rain bands preceding a storm. They came on hard and fast, and then slowed to a fine drizzle until the next one hit.

She pounded on the oak door. “Open up! I need my purse. It’s on the couch.”

A minute passed before Nick opened the door partially and thrust her shoulder bag at her before shutting it again.

Shaking off his boorish dismissal, Veronique took another look around and was glad she’d photographed the tropical foliage surrounding his house
before
she arrived. If she dared take more pictures, Nick would pitch a fit.

Delighted at being on the tropical island, she breathed in the intoxicating scent of rain and damp earth mingled with fragrant flowers and exotic palms and fruit trees. When she stepped off the veranda, her feet sank into the thick, oozy earth. So much for the flower decorated, dainty sandals she’d splurged on. No matter. She was dying to get out of them anyway—the thin straps were digging into her feet. She took them off and wiggled her toes in the wet, sandy soil as she made her way to the rental car parked beside a coconut palm.

Squish, squish. Her trudge brought back poignant childhood memories of playing barefoot in the beautiful gardens of her parents’ estate on the outskirts of Atlanta. She used to love it when it rained and she’d get wet and sloppy, rolling in the leaves and letting the mud seep between her toes and cover her legs so she could arrive at the front door looking like a little piggy just to outrage her meticulously groomed mother.

Oh, Maman, you never did understand my kinship with nature.
Growing up with an exquisitely elegant and beautiful mother hadn’t been easy. Veronique had had trouble relating to her on every level. As a scrappy kid who much preferred sports to dolls, her ultra-feminine, glamorous mother had always been an enigma to her.