Sweeter Than Revenge (3 page)

To her horror, a dry sob erupted from her mouth before she could stop it. He stilled, studying her as though she was some vaguely interesting oddity, like a two-headed turtle at the zoo. Though the answer was painfully obvious, she had to ask the question.

“Did I ever mean anything to you?”

He growled. Actually bared his teeth in a nasty sneer and snarled at her like a rabid pit bull in the millisecond before the attack. One of his arms lashed out and his strong, hard fingers clamped down around her bicep and formed a hot manacle, hurting and binding her.

“I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I, Maria?”

Terror paralyzed her, but only for a second. Then her anger took over. She had no idea what was running through his mind, or what right he thought he had to be upset with her, but she certainly wasn’t going to stand there and let him manhandle her.

“Let go of me. Now.”

He did, jerking his hand away as if contact with her flesh tainted him. They glared at each other, their mutual hostility as dense and noxious as ash from an erupting volcano. After sucking in a deep breath or two through his flaring nostrils, he seemed to calm down a little.

“Is there anything you want to tell me? About your wedding?” he demanded.

His arrogance and gall were absolutely mind-boggling, and she had no intention of putting up with them. “No.”

There was a long pause, as though he wanted to give her time to rethink or amend her answer, and then, when she didn’t, he snorted. “Right.”

“This is a terrible idea. I don’t want to work for you, and I don’t want you living here.”

Genuine amusement lit up his eyes, but he didn’t smile. “Thanks for the update. But guess what? You don’t get a vote.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I decided to move back home to Cincinnati. I made a few calls, and lo and behold, Ellis wanted to cut back on his hours and asked me to take over as director. So here I am. End of story.”

“But whydid you decide to move back?”

“I have unfinished business here.”

Maybe it was his low, dangerous tone, or maybe it was the wild, almost savage glint in his eyes. Whatever it was scared Maria worse than anything else had so far that morning, and that was saying plenty. Punishment was the thing he had in mind, she realized suddenly, and that was why he’d come. Whether he admitted it or not didn’t matter at all. To the marrow of her bones she knew that he was here to take a pound or twenty of her flesh.

He raised his arm and looked at his watch. Actually checked the time. “Now that we’ve got that straight, can I go eat? I’m starving.”

When he turned to go, she took two hurried steps after him and touched his arm. His eyes widened with surprise and wary interest, and he waited while she gathered her thoughts.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered through dry lips and a tight throat.

“Do what?”

Hurt me again,she wanted to say. Break my heart, make me look at you, make me wonder what might have been, dredge up memories better left forgotten. “Go back to Seattle. Don’t stay here.”

The hard, absolute determination on his face told her she’d have better luck asking the moon not to come out tonight. He shifted with impatience and made an irritated sound, and she had the feeling she made him sick and he didn’t want to spend another second in her toxic presence.

“I’ll expect you at the office at eight tomorrow,” he said.

Without waiting for any response, he spun on his heel, strode past the pool and up the stairs to the veranda without looking back. Devastated, Maria waited until he was safely gone before she pressed a hand to her roiling gut and crumpled to her seat.

Chapter 3

Once he figured Maria could no longer see him, David picked up his pace to a near trot. Desperate to get away from her, he hurried across the hardwood floor of the veranda, nearly knocking over one of the high-backed rocking chairs.

The pain in his shin cleared his head a little, but not nearly enough. Of course, it was nowhere near as bad as the self-inflicted pain in his heart. He’d hurt Maria and he was glad—he just hadn’t planned on hurting himself quite so much in the process. Slipping into the magnificent formal living room, he sucked in several deep breaths, but the cool air did precious little to calm his inner turmoil or to chill his overheated blood.

God help him.

When he felt a little steadier, he looked around at Ellis’s house—the house where Maria had grown up. Immediately he felt worse. Not for the first time—and probably not for the last, either—he felt like an imposter, like an escaped felon who’d broken into Buckingham Palace and tried to blend in. Surely it was only a matter of time before someone realized he’d wandered in and threw him out.

On the outside, the square house—white with massive columns, wide stairs and a wraparound veranda on the second story—looked exactly like some of the plantation homes outside New Orleans he’d seen during a cruise up the Mississippi. Inside, every glorious detail made him feel like a tacky, bumbling idiot: the glittering chandeliers dangling from twenty-foot ceilings, the wall murals depicting plantation life, the priceless antiques artfully arranged atop priceless rugs, the knickknacks and bric-a-brac from untold Chinese dynasties, the crystal vases full of flowers from the garden—tulips in the spring, fragrant yellow roses right now.

Every time he came here he tried to touch as few things as possible lest he break something. Growing up with his single father in the West End downtown, after Mama ran off, he’d never dreamed that anyone anywhere lived like this, much less a black man. If this was a plantation house, then slave had become massa.

Maria and Ellis belonged in this world. He never had, and never would.

Firm footsteps on the polished floors announced Ellis’s arrival. The man who’d been a mentor to him walked through the elaborately framed door from the kitchen carrying a tinkling crystal goblet of iced tea in each hand.

Ellis handed David a glass and smiled. “That went well, didn’t it?”

David stared at him for an arrested moment, then laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “About like telling a polar bear she’ll have to eat celery from now on.”

Ellis waved him to a blue silk sofa and they sat. “I didn’t expect her to be thrilled,” Ellis said. “But it’s for her own good. A little tough love won’t kill her.”

“It might kill us, though.”

They both laughed. Hoping he wouldn’t spill it and make a mess on the sofa, David took a sip of his syrupy, rich, dark tea and made an appreciative sound. Another thing he’d missed. Sweet tea, Miss Beverly called it. Southern style, which meant one part tea to about forty parts sugar. He’d always suspected she put a dab of honey in it, too, but he’d never been able to prove it.

For four years, ever since he left Cincinnati, he hadn’t allowed himself a sip of tea—sweet, hot or otherwise—because the taste of tea was a painful, stabbing reminder of the first time he ever saw Maria Johnson.

“David, this is Miss Beverly.” Ellis stood and gestured to the trim, walnut-skinned woman as she came through the doorway from the kitchen carrying two glasses of iced tea.

David, equally awed by his new boss and his boss’s fabulous house, had been sitting on the blue silk sofa, waiting for dinner and trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Now he jumped to his feet and took his glass from Miss Beverly, the servant. He couldn’t get over this behind-the-scenes view of how the other half lived. She smiled as if she completely understood how he felt, reminding him vaguely of one of his great-aunts. He liked her immediately.

“Miss Beverly,” he said, shaking her hand. “How are you?”

Her smile widened and she winked at Ellis. “This one’s got manners,” she said in drawling Georgia tones.

“Don’t I know it?” Ellis said.

“This here’s sweet tea,” she told David as he raised his glass to his lips. “I’ll be back a little later to check your blood-sugar level.”

They were all still laughing when the phone on the end table rang and she snatched it up. “Johnson residence.” She listened, then, “It’s for you, Ellis.”

Ellis handed his glass back to Miss Beverly. “That’ll be Jenkins calling about the meeting,” he told David. “I’ll take it in my office. You make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

He left. So did Miss Beverly, but not before first fussing over David and making sure he didn’t need a snack to hold him over until she could get the roast on the table. Alone, he took a moment to gape openly at his surroundings. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see one of those wraparound porches and, below that, the glittering pool and dark gardens, gorgeously lit by spotlights.

Within the living room, he didn’t know where to look first. Lamps warmed every corner, making a room that should have felt like a cavern instead feel warm and inviting. Murals of slaves working green fields covered the walls, and he moved to one side of the room to inspect the work more closely.

And that was when he heard her.

High heels drummed on the hardwood floors, announcing the arrival of a purposeful woman. The voice followed—young and husky, the siren’s voice of a seductress calling a lover to her bed or leading a sailor to his doom against the rocks.

“Daddy? Miss Beverly? Where is everybody?”

David had every intention of moving forward out of the shadows to let her know he was there, but then he saw her and couldn’t move a muscle.

Tall. Shapely. Beautiful. For a few seconds his stunned brain could register only the rough outline, but then the details came into focus. She’d been poured into one of those stretchy black dresses that drove men wild. Wide hips, rounded butt, miles and miles of bare legs. Gleaming honey-brown skin, long, dark, rumpled hair that begged for a man’s hands to sift through it, four-inch heels. Young; in her early twenties or so.

She breezed in, didn’t see him, gave a tiny what-the-hell shrug and turned to the enormous gold-framed mirror. Humming absently, she checked her lipstick and fluffed her hair with no real interest, as if she was only confirming that she was still as beautiful as she’d remembered. He must have moved or made some sound because she froze and their eyes met in the mirror.

Maybe she liked what she saw—he couldn’t say. But her gaze raked over him and then the beginnings of a smile curled her delicious, glossy lips. “Who are you?” she demanded of the mirror.

“David Hunt,” he said, surprised his dry mouth and throat could produce any sound.

She frowned a little, but it was a teasing, flirtatious frown. “You’re not a homicidal maniac, are you?”

“Not so far.”

In one fluid movement she threw back her head to laugh and whirled to face him. Her hair swung over her shoulder, brushing the tops of her breasts until she tossed it back. Her laugh was the unabashed belly laugh of a passionate woman who sucked every experience she could out of life and then looked for more.

“What are you doing here?”

He stepped closer, pulled into her orbit by forces much stronger than himself. “Eating dinner. Your father’s my new boss. I’m on summer break from Wharton.”

“Really?” She raised her pointed chin and stared at him with wide, dark, almond-shaped eyes. “I hope he’s not working you too hard.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He took another step closer. “I like to work hard.”

Her gaze flickered over him. “I’ll just bet you do.”

They stared at each other well past the point of polite curiosity. One part of his brain screamed he should run away from this woman for reasons too numerous to count, but another more insistent part told the first part to shut the hell up. He shoved his hands in the pants’ pockets of his suit to keep from reaching for her, but found himself creeping closer instead. “What do you do with yourself?”

“Not much. I work in a boutique in New York.”

“Why not work for your father? I’ll bet you’d be good at public relations.”

Another head toss. “Maybe I want to go out on my own. Conquer the world.”

He didn’t doubt this woman could do anything she set her mind to. “Yeah? And what’ll you do the day after tomorrow?”

Another laugh. This one slid over and then under his skin, heating him from the inside out. Their gazes held and her smile died off. A faint flush crept up her neck and over her cheeks; she shivered. In the distance he heard the doorbell ring, but anything other than this moment with this woman was irrelevant, including his new boss.

“When do you go back to New York?” he asked, praying both that she’d sayright now andnever.

“I’m moving back here,” she said breathlessly. “I want to come home.”

“Good.”

. soft, bewitching smile curled her lips and he stared, feeling life as he’d known it slip away to be replaced by life in a world with this amazing woman in it. “Why are you working in Cincinnati?” she asked. “Why not New York or Philadelphia?”

“I’m from Cincinnati. My father still lives here.”

“And where’s your mother?”

David felt his facial muscles clench a little with that familiar tightness, but he went ahead and told her the ugly truth he’d only ever discussed with a handful of people in his entire life. “She walked out on me and my dad. And then she got killed in a car accident.” He swallowed, cleared his throat and wondered why on earth he was telling his life story to this perfect stranger. “Long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Maria said, and in her eyes he saw perfect understanding. “My mother died, too. Long time ago.”

Too stunned to speak, he could only stare as the silence lengthened. What was happening here? Was he dreaming? Was it magic? Maria was a sorceress, maybe, or a witch or, at the very least, a hypnotist. That had to be it. What other explanation could there be for this powerful, delicious spell she put on him? For the pull he felt toward her, and the excruciating lust? Surely a mere woman couldn’t affect him like this. He spoke without thinking, apparently no longer in charge of his own thoughts, words or body.

“You’re incredible.”

She flushed and something troubled appeared in those dark eyes, but he also saw warmth and excitement. Interest. Intense attraction.

“What’s your name?”

It took her forever to speak, as if she were answering a question far more important than the one he’d asked. Finally she took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“Maria.”

“Nice to meet you, Maria.”

He held out his hand, forcing contact. A pathetic manipulation well beneath his dignity, but how else would he get to touch her tonight? She hesitated, as if she wanted to refuse but couldn’t think of a reason to do so.

When she slipped her soft, cool palm into his, electricity arced between them, as vivid as a rainbow at the foot of a waterfall. And then he caught her intoxicating scent—flowers with a hint of lemon—and knew his life had changed forever.

Voices intruded, and then Miss Beverly came into the room, breaking the spell between them. Maria snatched her hand back, dropped her gaze and furtively looked away, as if she’d been caught downloading kiddie porn.

David couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“George is here, honey,” Miss Beverly said before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Reality jerked David back to his senses and his gut turned to lead. A man walked in behind Miss Beverly, bringing with him a haze of jealousy that grabbed David in a stranglehold and clouded his vision until he could barely see.

The man was probably in his mid-thirties, which, as far as thirty-year-old David was concerned, was way too old for Maria. Medium height, medium build, mustache. Silk shirt and pants that cost more than David paid for two months’ rent. The smarmy, satisfied smile of a man to the manor born with a beautiful woman on his arm.

David despised him—deeply and eternally—on sight.

“Hi, baby.” He went straight to Ellis’s daughter and leaned in to kiss her on the lips, but at the last second she turned her head and gave him her cheek.

“Hi.” She smiled—it was strained and tight, nothing like the glorious one she’d given David a few seconds ago—and kept her eyes lowered.

George noticed him for the first time and his gaze flickered over David’s dark suit, which was nice but certainly not of the caliber the young prince here wore. David glared but the man didn’t have the decency to drop dead.

George held out a hand. “How you doing? George Harper.”

David swallowed the bile in his throat and took the man’s hand. “David Hunt.”

“Nice to meet you.” George turned back to Ellis’s daughter and pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Let’s go. We’ll be late.”

Somehow David watched her go without snatching her back and away from Harper. Maria shot David a last, furtive glance over her shoulder, then let Harper steer her into the foyer. Stomach roiling, David followed them, hovering just out of sight inside the doorway and listening for whatever sounds of Maria his hungry ears could absorb.