Tycoon Takes Revenge

by Anna DePalo

  “So you do sing in the shower?” he asked. “Funny, I didn’t think you were the singing-in-the-shower type.”

  “And you are?” she parried.

  “I’ve done many things in the shower,” he said, his look wicked. “Singing is just one of them.”

  “The question is, are you good at any of them?”

  Noah threw back his head and laughed, drawing the momentary attention of Ben and Tim, who were seated in front of them, closer to the stage, watching someone do a torturous rendition of “Midnight Train to Georgia.”

  Kayla felt Noah’s laugh to the tips of her toes. It was low, rich and seductive.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll get up there if you will. It’s practically required. Even Ben and Tim are taking a turn.”

  As it turned out, Ben and Tim did a passable rap duet.

  She was sort of stunned actually, but all Noah said was “Like I said, the name of the game is novelty.”

  “Where do they find the time with their work schedules?”

  Noah shrugged. “Rapping helps them attract women.”

  Her turn came a few minutes later. She walked to the stage and, in a snap decision, told the DJ to change her song selection.

  If the name of the game was doing something out of character, she knew how to oblige.

  As the first notes of the song vibrated through the room, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and let herself get caught up in the mood.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and began singing “Come Away with Me.” Norah Jones’s hit song was slow, romantic and suited to her own husky singing voice.

  For the first minute or so, she avoided looking at Noah. When she did chance a glance at him, her eyes locked with his and she almost stumbled over a note.

  At that moment, the strangest set of feelings passed over her. She felt the exhilaration of racing with the wind in her hair alternating with the languor of lying in a hammock on a hot, sunny afternoon. The sensations thrilled and warmed her at the same time.

  She sang on about walking together on a cloudy day and a love that would never stop.

  Noah’s gaze flickered, though the rest of his face appeared etched in cement, and sexual awareness wrapped itself around her like a blanket.

  When she was done, her eyes lingered on his. He gazed at her intensely, as if he was stopping himself from bounding onto the stage, sweeping her up and making a beeline for the door.

  The thought gave her goose bumps and she told herself to stop being ridiculous. She replaced the microphone on its holder and headed back to their table.

  Noah met her in the middle of the room as he made his way to the stage. “Impressive,” he murmured. “You should do more than sing in the shower.”

  “Th-thanks.”

  When she’d taken her seat again, the DJ began Noah’s selection. She recognized the song within a few notes and tensed.

  He wouldn’t.

  But he did.

  She felt hot all over as Noah began singing Billy Paul’s “Me and Mrs. Jones.” Tim and Ben turned around to toss her amused looks, but her gaze was caught and held by Noah’s.

  As Noah sang about how he and Ms. Jones had a thing going on even though they knew it was wrong, she resisted the urge to fan herself. He had changed the lyrics to “Ms.” instead of “Mrs.” and she was in danger of dissolving into a puddle under the table.

  She lowered her lashes and tried to look around the room. She hoped no one here knew either of them, because he was practically inviting headlines in tomorrow’s paper!

  Her gaze moved back to his. The look on his face matched his voice: smoky and full of sensual promise.

  Oh, God.

  Kayla wasn’t sure how she lasted through Noah’s song, but, helped by a few fortifying sips of a martini, she did.

  When the song ended, Noah grinned, breaking the spell, and then thanked the DJ. As he made his way back to their table, several of the women in the room cast him inviting looks.

  Well, she concluded glumly, Noah had proven he was good at one thing in the shower. She couldn’t prevent herself from thinking about what else he was good at.

  Bed. That was Noah’s first thought. The second was: he had to ditch his Silicon Valley sidekicks.

  As he approached their table, he noticed Kayla appeared flushed and flustered. She seemed to look everywhere but at him.

  The air was so sexually charged between them that he was almost afraid to touch her. As it was, he gave them two-to-one odds of winding up in an empty cloakroom, tearing each other’s clothes off.

  He’d chosen “Me and Mrs. Jones” on a whim, thinking he’d have some fun with her. But along the way, while he’d been singing about hopes being built up too high, the mood had turned from playful to hot and intense.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a connection that strong and fast with a woman. The realization left him bemused.

  As he neared, Ben turned to Tim and cracked, “And he can sing, too.”

  Tim looked up and shrugged, a wry look on his face. “Okay, dude, the T-shirt, the Billy Paul imitation…I guess I’ve gotta concede.”

  Noah noticed Kayla continued to remain silent, sipping her drink. To Tim and Ben, he said easily, “If I couldn’t top you guys on my home turf, I’d have to toss in the towel.” He withdrew some bills from his wallet and threw them down on the table. “Since we’ve got a victor, let’s call it a night.”

  While Ben and Tim thanked him for picking up the tab, Noah cast a covert look at Kayla. She seemed to be getting her bearings.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  For the first time, she looked directly at him. A range of emotions flickered across her face before she seemed to school it into a polite smile. “Yes, of course.”

  He moved back so she could precede him to the door. A part of him couldn’t wait to get rid of Ben and Tim. The other part warned him that being alone with Kayla right now was not a good idea. He was supposed to be giving her a story. Instead, he was thinking about the shortest route to the bedroom.

  He didn’t have time to dwell on his thoughts, however, because when they got to the front of the bar, Tim suddenly turned and motioned Noah over. “Bad news,” Tim said. “The valet mentioned that a paparazzo with a camera has been spotted outside. The staff here have been telling everyone who’s leaving in case they’re the reason the guy is here.”

  Noah muttered a curse under his breath.

  Next to him, Kayla tensed.

  “Friend of yours?” he asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “Besides, if there’s anyone who has a history of siccing journalists on the two of us, it’s you.”

  “Just checking.”

  “Anyway,” she added, “we don’t know it’s us that he’s waiting for. This street has lots of trendy places. He could just be on a fishing expedition, hoping he’ll get lucky and snap someone good.”

  Noah pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Maybe,” he said, because he thought she was engaging in wishful thinking, “but the fact is he’s out there now, and he may spot us when we walk out of here.” Catching the panicked look on her face, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “We can’t be photographed together! At least not yet, and definitely not leaving a bar and driving off alone together! Not so soon after Sybil published your denial of a relationship between us. It will undermine everything.”

  “Ah,” he said, because he understood her predicament, having been there one too many times himself.

  “Welcome to my world, baby doll.”

  “We can’t go out there!” she reiterated.

  “Throwing yourself on my mercy, are you?” he said, then added, relenting, “Fine. We’ll make the most of the fact that he may not know we’re in here.” He looked toward the rear of the bar. “There should be a fire exit at the back.”

  “What—?” As comprehension dawned, she shook her head. “Oh, no.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, then
pretended to grin lecherously. “If there are any walls to scale, I’ll give you a boost—unless you have a better idea?”

  She sighed.

  “Great.” He shook hands with Tim and Ben. “Gentlemen, I believe this is where we part company. Kayla and I are going to use the back exit to make our getaway. I doubt our cameraman is after either of you, but your leaving will provide a distraction in case Kayla and I need one.”

  Tim and Ben nodded, and Tim joked to Ben, “Have you noticed he always gets the girl at the end, too?”

  Noah chuckled and said, “Not always.”

  Kayla rolled her eyes. “Infamous on the West Coast as well, hmm?”

  He winked at her because he knew it would irritate her, and he wasn’t disappointed.

  They left Tim and Ben then and, with the help of the bar manager, made their way to the back of the bar and out the fire exit.

  As it turned out, they didn’t have to worry about scaling walls. There was an alley that ended at a side street. From there, they walked to where Noah’s car was parked.

  Once they’d hit the road, Noah said wryly, “Tonight was the sort of thing that passes as business entertainment among the wonder boys of high-tech. Just be glad there wasn’t a Star Trek convention in town.”

  “Tim and Ben are nice guys.”

  Her comment amused him. “And I’m not?”

  “You’re grist for the rumor mill.”

  He laughed, then sobered. “When your life is fodder for the tabloids, you become familiar with back exits.”

  When she made no response, he changed the subject. “Seems like you have an interesting job. Makes me wonder why you want to trade it for a hard news beat.”

  The look she gave him said she hadn’t expected him to admit her job had any redeeming qualities. “My job has its moments, but my column is mostly news about local figures because the Sentinel doesn’t have a hope of competing with national tabloids and magazines.”

  He flashed her a look. “I figured ambition had to have a place here somewhere. So why don’t you apply for a job at one of the national tabloids?”

  She didn’t answer for a minute, as if weighing what she wanted to reveal. “I’m ready for something besides gossip,” she said finally. “Believe it or not, it’s tiring to report on Buffy the Man Slayer’s latest conquest. And, reporting on celebrities’ bad behavior also requires a thick skin.”

  “How so?”

  She slanted him a sideways look. “When you print things that upset people, there’s sometimes fallout. And, besides, I don’t take pleasure in printing stuff that winds up hurting someone.”

  Her admission surprised him. In fact, the entire discussion this evening about her job had surprised him. While he was still angry about his own appearances in her column, he was willing to concede he might have been too judgmental in characterizing what she did for a living as telling lies.

  While he still wasn’t sure whether her column could be thought of as social satire, he could concede there were some areas of his social life—and, God knew, of those of the women he dated—that could easily be mocked.

  Yet, he was glad she’d gotten an unexpected taste tonight of dodging paparazzi. He’d seen the worry in her eyes and had felt a modicum of satisfaction in knowing she was stressed over the possibility of being caught with him and of having to stomp out the inevitable flames in the media.

  When they got to her apartment complex, he parked and helped her out, then walked with her to the front door of her building, which had a security camera but no doorman.

  She took out her keys, then looked up at him. “I’m not sure what to say under the circumstances, but thanks, I had a good time. It was a good intro to how the computer industry works.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her air of vulnerability both attracted and amused him. He wondered whether her regular dates ended with awkward moments like this.

  Abruptly, he pulled his mind back from the irritating thought of her out with other men. To hell with other guys and what they’d done or hadn’t. He wanted to kiss her.

  He leaned in, but she dodged with a nervous laugh. He looked at her quizzically.

  “You haven’t been keeping to your part of the bargain,” she said.

  “Huh?” He blinked.

  “Even though I learned a lot tonight about the computer-software industry in general, I didn’t get a smidgen of information about Whittaker Enterprises in particular.” Her chin came up. “What’s your interest in Tim and Ben’s company?”

  And what an attractive chin it was, he thought. Attached to a long and graceful neck that led down to breasts straight out of an erotic fantasy. His erotic fantasy.

  “Are you paying attention?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Yeah.” He focused his gaze on her face again. “I agreed to give you broad access, but not to give away confidential information about Whittaker’s possible future plans. For one thing, you’re the press. For another, that information could be very valuable on the stock market.”

  “Are you suggesting I’d do something illegal like purchasing company stock on an inside tip?” she asked crossly.

  He tapped her nose. “Not you personally, no, but the policy still stands. The last thing I need is for inside information to inadvertently leak, so the fewer people who know anything, the better.” She was too cute standing there, looking all mad at him. “But here’s a hint I’m willing to give—nanotechnology.”

  “That’s it?” she said disbelievingly. “One word?”

  He couldn’t help smiling as he leaned down again.

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “But don’t worry. There’s more where that came from.”

  The kiss he gave her was brief, yet still powerful and disturbing, and he wondered again what he was doing getting mixed up with a journalist who just saw him as a convenient ticket to a promotion.

  “I can’t believe it!” her sister said. “Two guys who have great odds of seeing their bank accounts shoot into the multimillions and you didn’t even mention you had a single and unattached younger sister? Did it even cross your mind that I have student loans to pay off? No, of course not,” Samantha answered herself, before slumping into a chair. “You were too focused on Mr. Naughty-and-Nice.”

  “I was not focused on Noah,” Kayla said absently.

  Samantha snorted. “Yeah, right. I suppose that’s why you’ve mentioned him about fifty times in the past hour?”

  Kayla closed out of the website that she was viewing and looked away from the screen. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and, as happened from time to time, Samantha had crashed at her place the night before, not wanting to take a late train back to school after an evening out on the town. “You’re a real smarty-pants, you know?”

  “Smart and poor,” Samantha replied, then nodded at the computer. “What have you been doing?”

  “Looking up everything I can find on the Internet about nanotechnology. As I said, it’s the only hint he gave me.”

  If Noah had held better to his part of the bargain on Friday night, she wouldn’t have to be looking up stuff. She couldn’t believe he’d left her with a one-word hint!

  They had just over three more weeks ahead of them, and he’d pony up or there’d be consequences. And, there wouldn’t be any more kissing. If he hadn’t caught her off guard, the kiss on Friday night would never have happened. She was a reporter doing a story, and he was her subject, for Pete’s sake.

  Still, truth be told, wasn’t she partly to blame? She’d let herself get swept up in the mood of the evening.

  She’d become attuned to every brush of his leg against hers, every smile that lit up his face, every nuance of conversation. So much so that she’d lost track of her mission, which was to get information on Whittaker Enterprises.

  Of course, then there’d been that near brush with a photographer to distract her. She’d been hoping she could shadow him for a story without attracting the attention of the press. She definitely hadn’t anticipated dra
wing media attention on their first outing together.

  And then, to top it off, he’d kissed her—and she’d enjoyed it. She’d wanted more.

  Good grief. She had to get a grip. She reminded herself that Noah Whittaker was a smooth-talking and accomplished seducer.

  “So what’s wrong with Noah?” Samantha asked.

  “Nothing!” Then, because she realized she’d practically shouted, she took a deep breath. “Nothing.”

  “He’s only wealthy, good-looking, smart—”

  “Stop! He’s also irritating, smug, arrogant, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and way too used to having women fall at his feet. I’m only trying to get a story here, okay? I am not interested in Noah.”

  “If you say so. You know, denial of physical chemistry is often the first step in a romantic relationship.”

  “Argh!” Kayla exclaimed in exasperation. Ever since Samantha had started majoring in psychology—supplemented by a steady diet of popular self-help books with titles such as From Toxic Dates to Toxic Hate—it had been “get in touch with your emotions” this and “express your feelings” that.

  Her sister regarded her thoughtfully from her position in an overstuffed armchair. “You know, not every rich guy is a cad. Just because Mom made a mistake—”

  “It wasn’t a simple mistake. It was a catastrophe that sent her life reeling off course.”

  “Yes, but she got you in the process, and I don’t think she’s ever regretted that.”

  Kayla tamped down the wellspring of feeling that her sister’s comment aroused. True, she’d always had a great relationship with her mother, but she couldn’t forget the hard years they’d endured, years during which her mother had completed her college degree at night and raised a child as a single parent. Even with the help of her family, it had been hard.

  “Have you heard anything about him recently?” Samantha asked.

  “Who?” she responded, though she knew perfectly well what her sister meant. “Bentley Mathison IV?” She hadn’t thought about her biological father in a while.

  Her sister nodded.

  “No.” She busied herself straightening the papers on her computer desk. “He and his wife retreated to a luxury cottage on Martha’s Vineyard after he was released from prison. He’s been keeping a low profile ever since.”