Heartbreaker

by Joanne Rock

  The surroundings were as cold and unwelcoming as her host.

  Gage closed the double doors behind them and then turned to face her. The room was soundproof; you’d never know a noisy party was taking place in another section of the house.

  “Do you care to tell me what you’re doing here?” he asked her now, his brown eyes unreadable as he studied her by the light of two ultramodern chandeliers with sleek white glass spokes. “Or would you like me to get you a drink first?”

  The angles of his face were more prominent than she remembered, from the square jaw and high cheekbones to the slash of his widow’s peak. His face was shadowed with a few days’ growth of neatly groomed beard. He went to a built-in gray cabinet beneath the television screen, raising the wooden lid to reveal a wet bar. There was a small selection of the best whiskeys the world had to offer, cut crystal glasses stacked to one side.

  “I’ve had a challenging year, but I haven’t resorted to bourbon yet.” She didn’t tend to drink hard liquor after seeing what alcohol had done to her mother. “But please, help yourself if you like.”

  While he poured from the only decanted bottle, Elena had a vivid memory of what Gage’s preferred bourbon tasted like on his tongue when he kissed her. The memory—so sudden and visceral it shocked her—sent an unwelcome flash of heat through her. Her skin tightened uncomfortably, and she fought the urge to pace away from him.

  To find some breathing room on the other side of this hard-surfaced echo chamber that passed as living space in Gage’s world.

  But she couldn’t afford to give away how much his nearness rattled her.

  “On second thought,” she mused aloud, thinking this man and the memories he evoked posed a more immediate threat to her mental well-being than any spirit, “maybe a small taste couldn’t hurt.”

  He glanced her way, but she didn’t allow herself to meet his eyes. She pretended a sudden interest in the flames of the fireplace while she tried to pull herself together.

  She heard an ice cube clink in a glass. The splash of liquid as he poured her drink. The soft thud of the cabinet lid being shut.

  “Here you go.” Gage’s voice sounded over her left shoulder. “I added ice to yours to mellow it a bit. Would you like a seat?”

  “No, thank you.” She accepted the glass he handed her, careful to avoid brushing his fingers with hers. She remembered all too well how his touch had affected her. “There’s no need to pretend this is a social visit.”

  She crossed one arm over her midsection and lifted the glass to her nose, swirling the drink as she inhaled the fragrance of toasted vanilla and charred oak.

  Neither of which quite captured her memory of the taste on Gage’s tongue when they kissed.

  “I won’t lose sight of that anytime soon,” he assured her, gesturing toward the couch. “Sit.”

  Unwilling to argue, she moved to the far end of the sofa and settled herself on a cushion. He joined her there, leaving a few feet between them. Settling his drink on the window ledge that butted up against the sofa back, he shifted sideways to face her. She did the same.

  “Care to tell me why you’re here?” he asked, easing a finger beneath his bow tie to loosen it a fraction.

  She remembered how much he disliked formal attire, even though his family’s living in the public eye had called for it. Then, when they’d been dating, he’d been building his portfolio as a venture capitalist, a role that often put him in business attire. And while these days his tremendous success and wealth surely allowed him to wear whatever he felt like, he was still frequently photographed in bespoke suits.

  Not that she went out of her way to find out what he was doing. Given his success in Silicon Valley, his name periodically cropped up at the Hollywood parties she used to attend with Tomas.

  And damn, but her memories had sent her thoughts on a wild ride. She refocused on his question.

  “Based on the way you labeled me a professional menace, I’m fairly certain you already know why I’m here.” She’d been sure to fill her social media with posts about her trip to Montana so that Gage would hear of her impending arrival one way or another. “As an entertainment reporter, I saw an opportunity to unearth a story that readers want right now.”

  “Since when do you work for the tabloids?”

  She shrugged away the pain that came with thinking about that. “Since my faithless ex-husband tied up our assets with frivolous litigation in an effort to make my life miserable. I took a job that would net me enough quick cash to live on until things are settled.”

  That narrative didn’t begin to cover the financial and emotional hardship of her contentious divorce. She’d made the mistake of thinking Tomas would behave like a grown-up and had moved out of the house immediately. Afterward, she’d discovered what a disadvantage it put her at to vacate their shared residence. She’d just wanted him to sign the paperwork and sever their ties. Only later did she realize how shortsighted she’d been to trust that Tomas would be fair.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the divorce.” The empathy in Gage’s voice was real enough. His gaze flicked over her as he took a sip of his drink and returned the glass to the window ledge. Then his tone changed. “But there are only a million ways for one of the sharpest women I know to make a living. Why choose to upend other people’s lives to make a buck?”

  “I won’t thank you for a backhanded compliment intended to make me feel guilty about my job.” Why she took it was none of his business. Although if ever there was a time in her life for work that allowed her an outlet for her disillusionment and bitterness, this was it. “For what it’s worth, I like to seek out targets for my work that deserve public censure.”

  “You can’t possibly be suggesting that I fall into that category,” he replied, displeasure in his voice.

  Gage Striker was a man who’d never known a moment’s doubt. A man who wouldn’t know how it felt to have the world think the worst of him. To have to fight for respectability.

  She skirted around his comment, not ready to cross swords with him directly.

  Yet.

  “I was thinking more of Alonzo Salazar, whose tell-all book ruined lives. The man profited from real people’s heartbreak.” She shifted on the leather sofa to face Gage more directly and to retrieve her drink. The silk of her dress’s skirt swished against her calves, the velvet ruffle at the hem trailing over her foot as she crossed her legs.

  Gage followed her movements with his gaze, making her far too aware of herself.

  Of him.

  “And yet it just so happens that pursuing the Alonzo Salazar story brought you to my doorstep.” He lowered his voice as he leaned closer. “That feels a little too convenient to be coincidence, doesn’t it?”

  To put off answering, she sipped the bourbon, letting the flavors play over her tongue. A hint of caramel. A touch of smoke as she swallowed.

  And then, there it was. The afterburn in her throat with a hint of cherry. The scent of leather. The flavor of the last kiss she remembered sharing with Gage.

  “It’s decidedly inconvenient for me.” She resisted the urge to plant the cool glass against her forehead, as her skin warmed at his nearness and the memories of his mouth on hers. “My work here would be much easier if we didn’t have such an...acrimonious history.”

  “Acrimonious,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. Would you?” She set the drink aside, knowing better than to play with fire.

  “Far from it,” he agreed easily. “Which is the real reason you’re here, Elena, no matter what you say.”

  Her heart sped faster at the confrontational note in his tone. A part of her had always regretted not telling him exactly what she thought of him before she left.

  “And what reason is that, Gage, since you apparently know me so well?”

 
She could swear she saw the flames from the fireplace reflected in his dark gaze. It must be that, and not a wicked light in his eyes.

  “We both know you’re here for revenge.”

  Two

  Gage wondered how she could possibly look him in the eye and claim otherwise.

  She sat beside him in his study in her bloodred dress, glossy tendrils of hair winding around her shoulders like Medusa’s serpents. It was all an enticing distraction from the threat she posed. To his name, his reputation and everything he’d worked hard to build at Mesa Falls Ranch.

  “Revenge for what, exactly?” she asked finally, recrossing her legs in the opposite direction, causing the long slit in her dress to part and expose her lean calves. Velvet ribbons from her high-heeled shoes wound around her lower legs, their soft bows drawing his gaze to her feet, where red-painted toenails peeped from supple leather.

  She was a breathtaking woman, even when she didn’t dress to turn heads. Tonight, he couldn’t look away from her if he tried. And damn it, he needed to try harder.

  “For your wounded pride. For the slight from my family when my father bribed you to leave me. You were livid with him.” And she hadn’t even blinked when he’d asked her if she’d accepted the payment. Her affirmation—the defiant lift of her chin—had iced all the feelings he’d had for her. “With me.”

  He’d never understood how she could have transferred so much anger to him when she was the one who’d sold out what they had. Later, it occurred to him that his father might have filled her head with lies about Gage not wanting her in his life. But by then, she was long gone and none of it mattered.

  She’d moved half a world away, returning to Southern California, where they’d first met, while he remained in New Zealand to help his father campaign for a parliament seat and a more prominent position in his party. For Gage’s father, politics had been a paramount concern his whole life, an important way to maintain Striker family interests. Sadly, now that Gage’s fortune outstripped his father’s several times over, his relationship with his dad seemed even more tenuous.

  “It’s been six years since we ended things,” she reminded him, glancing down at her fingernails as if the discussion bored her. “I moved on. Married someone else.”

  “And look how well that worked out for you.”

  The beat of silence afterward told him the barb had hit the mark. It also made him realize how damned petty that had been. Her gaze flicked up to his, her expression tinged with a hint of pain before the walls went back up again.

  “I agree that was a foolish move.” Her easy response surprised him as she leaned back deeper into the couch cushions, relaxing her rigid posture a fraction. “But my point is that I certainly wouldn’t hatch a revenge scheme after all this time.”

  “I have no business commenting on your marriage.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, the tension in his head a sign that she was getting under his skin. “My apologies.”

  She inclined her head, gracious as a queen. “And I’m sorry for sneaking into the party under another woman’s name. But given our history, I didn’t feel comfortable requesting an invitation.”

  He couldn’t help a wry laugh as he forced himself to gaze into the fireplace flames instead of at the woman on the couch beside him. “Probably because I would have never granted you one. You have to know that it’s my job to protect the privacy of my guests. Which means no tabloid reporters.”

  “Nevertheless, I need to have my phone back.” She shifted beside him, running her palm over the expanse between them and drawing his focus to her left hand that bore no ring. Not even a lingering tan line. “My followers will think something happened to me after my video cut off in the middle.”

  “Then they seriously underestimate your resourcefulness.” They’d met the year before he’d taken his first company public. Back then, the tech start-up offering network privacy tools had been the sole focus of his life. Elena had been working for a rival firm, and she’d quit her job because she believed in his product more.

  She’d shown up in his office to tell him so, offering her services as an influencer to a younger demographic. At the time, she’d had a homegrown following for her beauty and fashion tips, and he hadn’t understood how that could help him. She’d single-handedly taught him the value of never underestimating a target market, making a clever video that brought him fifty thousand converts to his network security product overnight. He’d given her a percentage and a job. In the end, he’d lost more than a woman he loved when they parted. He’d lost a hell of a team member since she’d handed in her resignation the same day they broke up.

  “Then what will it take to recover my device?” she pressed, a hint of agitation creeping into her tone. “Let’s open the negotiations so we don’t take up any more of each other’s time.”

  She reached for the bourbon on the rocks he’d poured her, and then, as if thinking the better of it, she returned her hand to her lap.

  “For starters, be honest with me about what you’re doing in Montana.” He rose from the couch and returned to the wet bar, pouring her a glass of ice water. Delivering it to her, he noticed how carefully she took it from him. Somehow, the absence of contact only ratcheted up the awareness between them as he reclaimed his seat.

  “Thank you.” She took a long sip before setting the glass beside the first one. A hint of lipstick on the crystal distracted him for a moment. “And I was honest with you. I’m going to get answers about Alonzo Salazar’s ill-gotten gains and where the proceeds from his book went. I’m not leaving the ranch until I either find out or have a solid lead that points somewhere else.”

  Gage already knew from his exchange with the investigator April Stephens that she’d found answers to that same question. But he wasn’t going to point Elena in her direction since he didn’t want to aid her in her quest.

  Alonzo’s secrets were tied up with his own. His former mentor had been privy to the nuances of a boarding school tragedy that involved all six of the ranch’s owners, something they’d taken pains to put behind them for good. So his primary objective was to keep Alonzo’s past on lockdown. For starters, he sure as hell wasn’t letting the woman seated beside him anywhere near April Stephens tonight. Thankfully, the investigator would be leaving Mesa Falls Ranch in the morning.

  “So you’re just here for a story,” he concluded, willing to capitalize on their past affair to maneuver her if it came down to that. He happened to know her very, very well. “Not out of any desire to see me again.”

  He could tell he caught her off guard by the slightest hint of her shoulders straightening. Was it in awareness of him? Or was she just squaring up for the next round of battle?

  “You’re safe with me, Gage. I promised your father you would be, after all.”

  They settled back into sparring roles, and if he were being honest, he was more comfortable seeing her as the enemy than a woman out of options after a well-publicized divorce. It spoke volumes about her financial position—and, perhaps, her personal confidence—that she was selling stories to the tabloids. The Elena he’d known had been a fierce businesswoman.

  “And you’re not seeking some sort of misguided revenge.” He stated it as fact, wanting clarification on that point.

  Or perhaps he just needed to rile her.

  A light trill of laughter bubbled up from her throat. Rising from the couch, she paced closer to the fireplace, peering back over one shoulder at him. “I’d have to feel something for you if I wanted revenge, Gage.”

  She said it so coolly, he almost believed her. But at the last moment, a hint of something else flitted through her gaze. The look was fleeting, but it had been there before she quickly turned away. In that moment, he’d glimpsed something more than cool detachment.

  Getting to his feet, he closed the distance between them to join her beside the sleek stone hearth. Eyes locked on her subtle cu
rves as she stared down into the flames, he remembered a thousand other times he’d touched her. Tasted her. Made her moan with pleasure.

  The past simmered around him, hotter than any blaze.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  * * *

  Gage’s words, spoken while he stood far too close to her, stopped her short.

  Her breath caught. Her pulse stuttered for a protracted moment.

  Thankfully, her back was to him. So she closed her eyes and steeled herself against the tingling in her nerve endings that reminded her of how hot they’d burned together, once upon a time. That hint of bourbon she’d sipped danced in her veins, seeming to warm her everywhere.

  But she wasn’t here to play games with him. And she couldn’t afford to let her guard down for a single second. She needed this story to shore up her finances. If she happened to inconvenience Gage Striker in the process, all the better. Revenge? She preferred to view it as a reminder to him that a Striker couldn’t pay his way out of all life’s inconveniences.

  “It hardly matters whether you believe me or not.” She shrugged and traced a pattern in the dark gray stone of the fireplace surround with her finger—anything to delay facing him.

  “You feel something for me.” That voice, pitched so low for her ears alone, was like a fingernail stroke down her spine. “It’s probably nothing good, but I am one hundred percent confident you aren’t indifferent.”

  He’d dropped the gauntlet, and they both knew it.

  The silence between them stretched. She’d tried acting once, when she’d first fled her father’s run-down desert shack for Los Angeles at seventeen. She hadn’t been any good at it then, either, but she’d never had as much motivation as she did right now. Taking a deep breath, she spun on her heel to look Gage in the eye.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” She flipped a few curls over her shoulder. “But I’m in Montana for work, not to rehash a long-dead past. So if we’re done here, I’ll see myself out.”