Tycoon's One-Night Revenge (13 page)

He would have been happy with a hotel suite close to to Keane MacCreadie’s offices, but Mac had found and organised the rental. She’d spouted the benefits of relaxing water views, the bayside walks and a nearby health club. Van relented because Mac lived close by and those visits made the inconvenience worthwhile.

Except there’d not been nearly enough visits. A handful of weeks where he’d pushed himself harder than his physio advised in order to recover his physical strength. The rest researching the deal gone wrong in preparation for his second trip down under.

A trip rendered meaningless by Mac’s death. She’d passed peacefully—for that, he thanked God—and without regaining consciousness. Van had been too late to say goodbye, his grief at the loss weighed down with the knowledge that he’d failed her.

He’d spent too many precious days in Australia. Day one he could have tied up the deal if he’d not bent his initial plan of swift vengeance. All because he’d wanted Susannah Horton warm and willing in his bed.

He should have been home; he should have been here for Mac; he was the only family she’d had.

The opera playing while he cooked ended in a blistering crescendo of angst, the perfect accompaniment to an untouched dinner and his dark mood. As he crossed to select a more soothing sound track the doorbell rang. He stopped, frowning at the prolonged strident sound. It crossed his mind that someone was leaning on the thing, and could have been doing so for some time. Lord knows, he wouldn’t have heard.

It also crossed his mind to ignore it. He wasn’t expecting visitors—since he didn’t share this address, he never did. But curiosity got the better of him, and he started for the door.

The sheen of an ivory raincoat, a yellow umbrella halted and then spun in the light.

Van’s heart jerked, his pulse rate rocketing even while his brain rejected the notion. She couldn’t be here. Not after their acrimonious parting in Melbourne a week ago.

But she was very much here, scurrying down his path in those familiar skinny-heeled boots.

The bottom of the coat blew open, flashing stockinged knee and thigh and the heat of memory raced through Van’s blood. Unwanted but not unwelcome. Suddenly the prospect of her company wasn’t so bad. He was in the perfect mood for a confrontation.

She came to a stop under the shelter of the porch, and when she lowered the umbrella the light turned her hair into a fiery nimbus. A tentative smile curved her lips and Van’s need of that warmth, that quiet fire, slammed into him like a freight train.

“We seem to have some sort of cosmic connection with the rain,” she said, shaking a spray of raindrops from her sleeve. Then she saw his face and the smile in her eyes clouded over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so…blithe.”

She huffed out a breath and shook her head, and Van let the uncomfortable moment stretch. He hated that a part of him yearned to ease the moment, to bring the smile back to her face. Another part of him wanted to walk back inside, to slam the door in her face, to shut out this fierce raft of emotions she elicited simply by being here. Simply by being
her.

A larger part ached to pull her inside with him, to turn her against the door, to unbutton her coat and appease the cold torment of this day in the heat of her body.

“I knew this would be awkward, just arriving on your doorstep—”

“Then why didn’t you call?” he asked.

“I tried, several times. You’re either not answering your private phone or screening my calls. Erin was kind enough to give me your address.”

Erin, kind?
Van’s brows rose at that oxymoron. “Are you sure you had the right Erin?”

Their eyes met for a second, hers ridiculously pleased by this small sign of relenting. “Yay tall—” she demonstrated with her free hand “—dark hair, pretty eyes. Unfriendly, until I let her know why I wanted your address.”

“Did it cross your mind that I might not be home?”

“I saw your lights and heard the music before I let the cab leave.”

“And if I hadn’t opened the door?”

“That did cross my mind,” she admitted. “I went out to see if the cab was still lurking and then your outside light came on.” And despite his unwelcoming stance—or perhaps because of it—she drew herself up tall and added, “But I would have called back tomorrow.”

“Why would you do that?”

She looked away, her lips pressed together as if she was gathering her composure. And, damn, when she looked back up the green gleam of moisture turned her eyes luminous in the porch light. “You know why.”

Yeah, he knew why, but the pull of those tears and the husky edge to her voice twisted him inside out.

“I’m so sorry to hear about Mac.”

She took a step toward him, but Van kept her at bay with the cool bite of his words. “I gathered you heard. Unfortunate timing, wasn’t it?”

Her head came up, her eyes widening with a combination of hurt and confusion. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Really?” The raw remains of the past five days, the guilt, the recrimination, the futility—the wanting her quiet strength beside him—burned like acid. “You’ve wasted your time. Now Mac’s gone, I have no reason to go ahead with the purchase of The Palisades. I don’t need anything from you.”

Today he’d buried his mentor, business partner, grandmother—the one person he would do anything for—and that grief was etched in every harsh line of his face. If he was trying to shut everyone out as Erin had intimated, if that was his way of dealing with the wretchedness of his loss, then he would have to work a darn sight harder.

Chin high and eyes steady on his, she stood her ground. “I’m not leaving, Donovan. I’m not here about the contract; I’m here for you. Tonight I thought you could use a friend.”

“Friends?” He exhaled on a humourless laugh. “Is that how you see us?”

“I thought we were more.” Outside in the street a car horn blared, a distraction that lifted his narrow-eyed gaze from her face and a reminder that they hadn’t progressed past his doorstep. “I thought we’d passed the stage of conversing on the porch, at any rate. Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

For a moment she thought he might deny her even that, but then he opened the door and held out his arm in a go-right-ahead gesture. The steely glint in his eyes was not so welcoming. A chill that had nothing to do with the rainy night shivered up Susannah’s spine as she took her first tentative steps across the threshold and into his home.

“Can I take your coat?”

The door closed with a thud and Susannah’s nerves jumped. Her fingers stuttered over the belt and buttons. Then she felt him close behind her, hands at her shoulders, helping off her coat.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking around.

This was his home—temporary home, she reminded herself, but still she wanted to see. Outside she’d been consumed by nerves and by the angst of the music that soared from inside. Her only impression was of stucco and terra cotta and now she noticed that the Mediterranean theme continued inside. White textured walls, arched openings between the rooms, woven mats and potted palms and bold splashes of red, gold and black in the furnishings.

She was drawn irresistibly toward the kitchen and the redolent scent of cooking. Nerves stirred to life by the dangerous look in his eyes when she came through the door calmed under the memory of their last night at Charlotte Island, the camaraderie they’d shared working shoulder to shoulder.

“Whatever you are cooking smells delicious.”

Hoping to identify the dish, she inhaled deeply and realised that the meaty richness was underlaid with sweetness. Then she caught sight of a sheath of flowers on the low table. White lilies. All the calm and comfort punched from her body.

She turned on her heel, found Donovan still by the door, watching her with a darkly hooded gaze. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realise when you left Melbourne that she had so little time left.”

“No one did.”

“Not even you?”

“Do you think I’d have taken the trip to Australia and wasted days at the island if I’d known.”

The low, harsh pronouncement echoed in Susannah’s heart. On top of everything else, he was lamenting those days they’d spent together. “Those days weren’t wasted,” she said.

“Days spent chasing a meaningless deal?”

“No, not meaningless. How can you think that? You took the trip because of Mac, to return the place she held so dearly to her ownership. Do you think she would have wanted you to abandon that? Wouldn’t she have wanted to see Charlotte Island back in MacCreadie hands?”

“I’m not a MacCreadie,” he said harshly.

“Is that what Mac thought? You told me the lengths she went to in finding you. She admitted the truth after years of maintaining her silence about your blood relationship. Of course she saw you as family. Tell me, if the acquisition had gone through after July, if you’d been successful in your bid that time, what would have happened now? Who would she have left the place to?”

“I’m her sole heir.” Said as though that was unwanted, unwarranted, unwelcome.

Susannah understood. She ached with his hurt and his anger at being robbed all over again. He didn’t want Mac’s estate, he wanted time to give back something of what she’d given him. “I understand how much Mac meant to you and how you must be feeling—”

“Do you, do you have any notion what it’s like to have no one who believes in you but this one woman who was prepared to back me with everything she owned? Do you know what it’s like to spend thirty years not knowing where you came from, to find the answers and the family and then to lose it all weeks later?

“Hell, Susannah, I wasn’t even here for her. The one time she needed me, I wasn’t here.”

The low fervour of his words resonated between them in the quiet. Susannah had no words, no response. His wretchedness pierced her. She wanted nothing more than to cross the space that separated them, to wrap her arms around him, to comfort him with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. That he hadn’t lost the only person who loved him. But he kept her at bay with the barrier of his stance and the hostility in his eyes.

“Have you looked at this from Mac’s perspective?” she asked, “Or only from your own?”

His features tightened. “Mac died alone,” he said bluntly. “That’s the perspective I’m seeing.”

Oh, Donovan.
She hadn’t realised. When he didn’t answer his phone, she’d imagined him at Mac’s bedside. She’d hoped he’d had some time, that he’d at least arrived in time to say goodbye. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond, but she could see the muscle working in his jaw. He abandoned the position he’d maintained just inside the room—close to the door, as if he’d not yet decided whether to let her stay or to open that door and order her out—and stalked across to arched windows overlooking the bay.

“From another perspective,” she continued carefully, “I imagine Mac was inordinately proud of your success. She wouldn’t have invested everything in you, back in those early years, if she hadn’t believed in you. And she wouldn’t have trusted you with her secrets or with her inheritance if she hadn’t trusted and loved you.”

“She still died alone.”

“No, Donovan. She was alone before she found you. She died knowing she had a grandson who loved her, who I imagine was here for her in all manner of ways these past years.”

For a long moment, he stared blindly out into the darkness before he could answer. “Never enough,” he said gruffly. “Business, travel, I was never here enough.”

In the glass Van saw her approach, the reflected movement of her hair and the blue-green dress that skimmed the lines of her body. He wanted to focus on those curves, the legs, the physical memory of her skin bare and sleek and giving beneath his. But that gave way to a hammering need for her arms, her comfort, the steady strength of her gaze on his as she told him she was here for him.

It was too much, too intense, and Van took a mental step back. Again he’d revealed too much, exposed himself too readily. With this woman it was too easy, and she’d done nothing to earn such trust.

She paused at his side. He could sense her composing herself, preparing her next pretty—and futile—attempt to console him. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he felt the hot jolt of response and the more powerful underlying need for more.

“If you really want to make me feel better,” he said, “the bedroom’s right through that archway over there.”

“Will that make you feel better?”

“I sure as hell won’t feel any worse.”

“Okay,” she said after a beat of pause, surprising the hell out of him. “If that’s what it takes.”

Van turned his narrowed gaze on her. “Takes to what?”

“To accept that I’m here for you.”

He knew what he should have done. He should have stopped this conversation with his mouth on hers. He should have taken the soft hand that dropped away and put it back on his body. Somewhere infinitely more volatile than his shoulder.

He should have been unzipping the prim and proper dress and pulling aside her lacy underthings to get to the improper. Right here, against that glass.

But, damn her, with that one simple statement, she’d refired his earlier distrust about her reason for coming here and he couldn’t let that go. “You say you’re here for me—” he turned to meet her eyes more fully “—but what about your own interests?”

Confusion clouded her expression and the tone of her reply. “My…interests?”

“You and your mother and the Horton company stand to lose significantly if you can’t talk me into reevaluating The Palisades deal. You’ve lost Alex Carlisle as a buyer and as a husband. It can’t be easy to find buyers who are willing to be screwed around over contract clauses.”

“That isn’t fair,” she countered, eyes sparking green in the low light. “You asked for the extra clauses. That wasn’t our doing.”

“I only asked for the same as Carlisle. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You didn’t ask
me.
”

When she started to turn away, he stopped her. With a hand on each arm, he swung her back to the window and blocked her exit path with his body. There were too many questions still unanswered to let her escape. “Why Carlisle? What was the real attraction, Susannah?” When she didn’t answer right away, he leaned in closer, his gaze on the curve of her lips. “You hadn’t even kissed him, and you were going to—”

“I told you last week. He offered everything I wanted. Everything
and
a baby.”

Even as the words left her tongue, Susannah wished them back. She saw their impact, felt the tensing of his hands on her shoulders for a half second before he asked, “You were marrying him to have a baby?”

“He was marrying
me
to have a baby,” she corrected. Then, when he continued to study her in unnerving silence, she added, “That may sound like semantics, but it’s a significant difference. Alex needed a baby for his family to inherit from his father’s will.”

“A fine reason to plan a baby.”

“He was motivated as you were—by a person he would do anything for. In Alex’s case, his mother.”

“I was pursuing a piece of land,” he said tightly, “not a child.”

How could she have not realised what a hot-button issue this would be?

She had to explain, to make him understand…. “This baby was not just a pawn, Donovan. We both wanted a family—not just one child but siblings who would grow up together and fight and love and be there for each other. A family like the Carlisles, who would do anything for each other. It wasn’t about the money or the name. It was about family and me turning twenty-nine and the assumption I made when you didn’t return my calls.”

His gaze narrowed sharply. “What does this have to do with me?”

Susannah’s heart thudded hard and high in her throat. She could see no other option but to tell him everything. Including the most wrenching regret of all.