The Tycoon's Seductive Revenge (9 page)

Heat burst through her like fireworks. Dazzling sparks that shot out and touched off every nerve ending, scattering pleasure through her entire body.

She moaned, the bliss of satisfaction rolling through her. His rhythm turned frantic.

Jaw clenched, he wrapped one thick arm around her waist, cupping her chin with his free hand. When her lashes fluttered open, she met his bold gaze in their reflection. His fingertips dug into her hip as he approached climax.

The cords of muscle in his neck strained as he broke eye contact and threw his head back. Carter’s body went rock-hard. His shout echoed through the lighthouse as he spilled himself inside her.

The invisible embrace of their life-long bond wrapped their bodies in soft afterglow. He held her for a few more moments as he regained his breath.

Then Carter gently pulled out, eliciting a shiver from her. As he released her and moved around the space retrieving their clothes, the fever of passion dissipated. She shivered as a cold wisp of air blew through the aged glass panes.

Ellie knew adding emotional significance into their act of passion would be a mistake. Carter confirmed it when he dangled her bra from one finger, his expression remote.

She took her bra from him. “Thanks.”

“No, honey, thank
you
.” He treated her to a flirtatious smile designed to charm, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And she’d never been the type to dazzle easily.

She faced away so he wouldn’t catch the disappointment on her face. Or recognize the emptiness she suddenly felt inside her, all around her. As though she’d entered a cabin in winter seeking the warmth of a fire, but all that remained were dying embers on the grate.

They dressed in silence.

As she pulled on her jeans, she reminded herself that her own prompts gave him the green light to expend the sexual synergy building between them since he arrived.

After all, if she planned to court his, who was the real winner—or victim—in this sordid circumstance?

“Time will tell,” she murmured to herself.

Carter checked his Moldovo watch, the quartz accents and titanium band glinting in the sunlight. “It’s eleven-thirty.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Trust me, I’d give anything to stay here with you for the next twenty-four hours. But your uncle said there’s a lot to do before the VIPs arrive for dinner.” His lips curved with a sly grin. “I’m sure our excuse would go over well, ‘we were sidetracked fucking all day in the lighthouse.’”

“True.” She contained her disappointment. “Though our male guests might appreciate the visual,” she tossed back, forcing herself to reclaim the role of seductive siren.

Carter frowned, grumbling a response. At the sign of his jealousy, a bubble of pleasure lifted her spirits.

Two can play this game, Carter. Only I have more at stake.

Feistiness spiked her blood, diluting her emotional vulnerability. “Think anyone saw us up here?”

“Don’t know, but it sounds hot.” His lips quirked as the two of them descended the stairs. “Since when are you an exhibitionist?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

His arm hooked around her waist, and he whispered in her ear, “When can I find out?”

“Depends.”

“On...” he encouraged.

She locked up the lighthouse and they mounted the horse. “That depends on what you can do for me.”

He swept her hair to the side and nibbled her neck. “I can do a lot of things to you.” His mouth drew on her strongly. “The lighthouse was just a taste.” His teeth grazed her skin. “Now, I want to savor the bite.”

Instantly, he went hard against her. He gave sexy descriptions of what lay in store tonight as the horse galloped toward the stables. Her thighs went damp as he worked her up. Their attraction was insane, like it always had been, never in reprieve when they were within touching distance.

“You’d better behave tonight,” she warned. The horse slowed and entered the stables. “We have to make a good impression on the bigwigs.”

“Can I make an impression on you in the shower?” He dismounted and helped her down. Then he pulled her against him. “Or in the stables. The scent of hay gets me riled up.”

“I think when the wind blows you get excited.”

He feigned a wounded expression. “You think I’m this way all the time?”

“It’s all I’ve ever seen.”

“I wish I could be like this with someone else—would’ve made the past twelve years easier.” An indefinable mix of emotions clouded his gray eyes.

Then he kissed her, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth possessively. She ran her hands through his hair. How could she want him again, so much, so soon?

His scent washed over her, spiking her pulse. He smelled like ocean wind, fall leaves, the musky scent of sex, and the heat of a winter fire...

Is that smoke?
  Ellie untangled herself from his grasp. “Do you smell that?”

“I smell you.” He buried his face against her neck, kissing downward to the tops of her breasts.

She shoved at him. “Carter, I’m serious. It smells like smoke. Like something’s burning.”

Looking past her shoulder, his eyes went wide. “Yep, that’s smoke.”

Ellie whipped around, following his gaze to the billows of smoke pluming from the kitchen windows. “Oh, no.”

Without thinking, she took off across the meadow, racing toward the inferno.

“Ellie, wait!”

Blood pounding in her ears, she barely heard him.

The hotel was on fire.

*

Carter ran after her, advancing on her stride.

Only a fool would run
toward
a burning building. But there was no stopping her. Billows of black smoke engulfed her until she disappeared from sight.

He heard screams, doors slamming, glass breaking.

Ellie’s voice cried out.

Carter hissed an expletive and darted into the hotel after her. “Ellie!”

Kitchen staff holding aprons over their mouths raced past him, knocking him back out the emergency exit. Carter plunged forward again.

The smoke roiled like an erupting volcano. He found a damp dishrag and held it over his nose and mouth.

Silverware was strewn over the floor. Pots and pans and colanders were scattered everywhere. Water overflowed from a sink.
Disaster central
.

“Ellie,” he called.

Determined to find her and haul her out of there, Carter waved smoke from his path, ducked down to avoid the worst of the fumes, and pursued the source of the calamity.

“What do we do?” a panicked voice shrieked a few feet away.

“Ellie.”

“Carter?” She pushed him toward the exit, but the effort incited a coughing fit. “Get out of here before you’re hurt,” she wheezed.

“My thought exactly.” He scooped her up with one arm and retraced his steps.

“Let go,” she seethed. Despite his hard grip, she wriggled free when he lost his footing, skidding across the wet floor. “I need to put out the fire!”

“And I need you safe.” He grabbed her shirt, prepared to haul her out by the scruff of her neck if he had to.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Not tonight’s dinner!”

She switched on the overhead ventilation shaft. The heavy smoke lifted, and the air became breathable.

That’s when he saw the extent of the damage.

The fire had started on the gas stove—judging by the black soot smeared up the wall behind it—and had spread to the surrounding surfaces. Every spot touched by oil ignited like flame-red dominos, scattering across the galley sinks, chopping blocks, countertops, finally reaching the banquet platters.

The starched tablecloths were slower to catch flame. That gave Carter an opening. “Ellie, we need baking soda. Tons of it.”

“In here.” She rushed to towering shelves of supplies, returning with three-pound boxes balanced in her arms. “How many do you need?”

“Keep ‘em coming.”

They were running out of time. With gas fires, explosions were inevitable. At any moment the entire place could blow up and everything would be toast—including them.

Edging toward the flame-engulfed stove, he tore open the packages. He emptied box after box of baking soda, tossing the contents on the flames. White particles flew through the air, landing in ashen heaps, suppressing the fire. The after-effects reminded him of a nuclear winter.

“Ellie,” he commanded, “use the dishwasher’s sprayer. Aim it at the tables.”

Hurrying to the industrial-grade dishwashing cubical, she grabbed the dangling hose. She pushed the lever, releasing a powerful jet stream that drenched everything in sight. It blasted off the tops serving dishes, spattered delicacies against the back wall, overflowed soup kettles, and made one giant mess.

But it worked.

In under a minute, they’d sidestepped catastrophe. In less than two minutes, their efforts wiped out the fire completely.

Ellie released the sprayer and stumbled back.

Carter was there to catch her.

She exhaled. “We did it.”

“Barely.”

She turned in his arms. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded hoarse from smoke inhalation. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Fried yourself to a crisp. Don’t do that. Ever. Again.” He pushed wet hair back from her face, tipping her chin up and touching his lips to hers.

Steps thundered through the back hall. Carter abruptly ended the kiss when Russert Montgomery appeared in the doorway.

The man’s black suit and glossy oxford shoes made an amusing contrast to the backdrop of mayhem, Carter thought.

Russert didn’t look so amused. “For the love of—what happened?”

Ellie stepped out of Carter’s arms, wobbled, then grabbed the charred countertop for support. “Fire. Terrible. Everything was...Carter and I, we...”

Recognizing symptoms of shock setting in, Carter placed his hand at her waist. “Kitchen fire,” he explained. “The entire hotel almost went up in flames.”

Russert speared them with a glare. “And this seemed like a good time to suck face?” He shook his head at Ellie. “The way you deal with your problems is appalling.”

Carter’s hackles went up. “Where were you, while we were risking our lives?”

The man’s shoulders rolled forward like a bulldog ready to strike. “Preparing my talking points to deliver at tonight’s dinner.” His gaze darted around the scene, settling on the sopping buffet table, where weeks of preparation lay in ruins. “Seems I wasted my time.”

Right then, the hotel’s chef waddled in. His white hat drooped cockeyed on his bald head. A burn mark on his forearm glowed an angry red. Soot streaked his pudgy face.

With a stunning display of histrionics, the man spouted off in French-accented English. “My masterpiece—destroyed! Hours, I slaved—for nothing. Nothing! The devil is in this hotel. I swear it.”

“I’m sorry, Pierre.” Ellie’s expression underscored her sincerity. “But there’s still time, we can pull something together.”

“Time?” The man waved his arms at the heavens, jowls jiggling. “
All the time
I work for this place. For pittance,” he spat. He tore his hat off, dragged his apron over his head, and threw the garments on the ground. “I tell you for months—months!—that I need a new stove. The gas line is weak, or leaking, something is wrong. Did you listen to Pierre? No, no. Nobody listens to me. I’m finished with this cursed place.”

Ellie’s eyes widened with panic. “Pierre, wait—”

“Through. Through! I am on the first boat to shore.” He stormed out.

“This is not happening.” Ellie cupped her forehead, looking on the verge of a breakdown.

“I suggest you find a way to deal with this mess,” Russert informed her. “I don’t care if you have to paddle a canoe to the mainland and pick up food from a restaurant. Just make something happen. Our guests tonight have the power to determine your future. You could face serious fines—and jail time—for tax evasion, Ellie.”

“How am I supposed to pay for a five course meal?”

Russert shrugged. And walked away.

Leaving Ellie to deal with the fallout.

Carter felt the overwhelming urge to hit something. Hard. Russert’s face came to mind. “Bastard.”

Expression vacant, Ellie sank to the wet floor. She reached blindly for a sponge and started to clean.

“Baby, forget about dinner. I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded, but he doubted she’d actually heard him—or if she had, she didn’t believe him.

“I’ll find Matilda to clean this up.”

Ellie shook her head. “She takes afternoons off. Unpaid.”

“So there’s no one else in the godforsaken hotel to do anything?”

“Just me.” She said it as if she’d resigned herself to that fact long ago.

Indignant anger infused him. “You shouldn’t have to pay for your father’s mistakes.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” she murmured. “In three days, it’ll be over.”

“Ellie, I’m not letting you go to prison for something that’s not your fault.”

“You haven’t bought the hotel.” An icy thread laced her words. “You have no say in what goes on here. Or what happens to me personally.”

Like hell I don’t
.

Carter left to make arrangements on his own. Before he reached the middle of the hallway, he had his cell phone out and hit number five on his speed dial.

“Hey, it’s Carter,” he said to the man on the other end. “I need you to do something for me.”

Chapter 7

Six hours after the kitchen caught fire, Ellie sank onto a stool at the hotel bar. Behind the counter, James wiped down a pair of glasses until they squeaked.

“Evening,” he greeted naturally.

Like a wise grandfather-figure, James never wasted words. Although Ellie felt sheepish and defeated, he acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. She adored him for his silent understanding. No words needed.

So much like her relationship with her father.

Somehow Frank Montgomery would’ve saved the day, with a joke and a smile to put everyone at ease. She wished she had more of his personality. More of that brilliant magnetism that made people believe everything would turn out all right.

She needed that now more than ever.