by Jayne Castle
“I discovered your name linked to a Buchanan Group deal that took place four years ago. It wasn’t very clear, and the report was only a scrap of news in The Wall Street Journal, but I got the feeling from reading between the lines that you and Buchanan had both attempted a buyout of a small electronics firm in San Jose. Buchanan got it.” She waited expectantly. Would he deny the report?
He didn’t. He nodded once, complacently, as if satisfied to have one more piece of the puzzle fall into place. One more tiny item cataloged and shelved. “So that’s why you dropped his name into your note. Buchanan got caught up in the merger mania which was so rampant then. Started acquiring all sorts of unrelated businesses which, I understand, he’s since dumped. I was backing a group of private entrepreneurs who wanted that little San Jose firm. But all the moves were made officially by the people I was backing. I was a very silent partner. I’m surprised you found my name associated with the deal. I congratulate you on your detective work.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the accolade with a polite inclination of her head, trying not to appear too satisfied. Actually she was delighted he recognized the difficulty it had taken to worm out the details of his involvement in that particular deal. Perhaps it would help elevate his opinion of her business sophistication.
“So now you think I might be interested in a way of evening the score with Buchanan, is that it?”
“It occurred to me that you might find the prospect intriguing,” she murmured very casually. “But even if it doesn’t appeal from that standpoint, it’s still a way for you to make some very easy, uncomplicated money.”
“Money in large quantities, I have discovered, is seldom easy or uncomplicated.”
Samantha said nothing, nibbling on the soft inner portion of her lip and mentally kicking herself for adding that last comment. Lord, he could be pedantic!
“If something goes wrong with your plan and Buchanan’s people never get around to making an offer to you, I would be left holding half interest in a restaurant in Phoenix,” he mused. And then, quite unexpectedly, he grinned, a totally astonishing slash of white teeth which made Samantha think of sharks and pirates. “Can you cook, Samantha? I mean, just in case we were to find ourselves running the place together?”
She eyed him owlishly, taken off guard by the humor in him. “I, uh, wasn’t thinking of a half interest for you,” she finally retorted smoothly, ignoring his question about her cooking ability. “Unless, of course, we do wind up owning a restaurant.”
“You’ll give me a small cut of the profits if you make your fortune and a large s-s-share of washing dishes if you fail, is that it?”
“Would you be willing to agree to a deal like that?” she asked innocently.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re probably not going to be quite that generous,” she grumbled dryly.
“You think right.” Gabriel sat quietly, clearly going over the possibilities inherent in the offer. The momentary humor had faded completely from his face now, and Samantha knew he was back to being all business. Slow, deliberate, careful business. She wasn’t offering him the best deal in his career, and she knew it.
True, they stood to make a great deal of money, but he had undoubtedly made more backing other ventures. Still, he must be somewhat intrigued by the idea of evening the score between himself and Drew Buchanan. He had enough of an ego to want to accomplish that much, surely? It was only a business feud for him, of course, and an old one, at that. As such it couldn’t contain the element of calculated revenge it contained for her, but it should be enough to keep Sinclair interested.
Besides, how could she hope for genuine, passionate revenge from a man who poured tea the way Gabriel did? She watched him lift the teapot one last time, a little fascinated in spite of herself with the studied restraint of every move. Did this man even know the meaning of the word passion in business or even in bed? She sincerely doubted it. On the heels of that thought came another: Perhaps he was lucky.
“Well?” she finally couldn’t resist prompting after a few more minutes of sustained thought on Gabriel’s part.
He blinked and looked across the table at her as if she had interrupted a complex chain of logic he’d been building in his mind. “Well, what?”
She could have slugged him. Instead she sat very still in her chair and forced a tentative smile. “Are you interested?” Why was he dragging everything out like this? Wasn’t the beautiful simplicity of the whole thing obvious to him?
“You’re expecting an answer right now?” he asked in open astonishment.
Samantha’s mouth firmed as she realized he wasn’t anywhere near to giving her an answer. “I don’t have a lot of time at my disposal.” She tried pushing carefully.
“Nor do I,” he retorted, rising slowly to his feet with a decisive air. “Which is why I try not to waste time on business propositions which lack important support data.”
Oh, Lord, she was losing him! Samantha leaped up, frantically searching for a way to keep him from simply walking out of the room and leaving her high and dry. “This deal has been quite carefully researched,” she asserted. “And I have the information with me. Perhaps we can review it over dinner? The facts are impressive and speak for themselves.” Was she looking too hopeful? Too anxious? Keep it cool, Samantha. Calm and cool. You’re the one in command.
Gabriel arched one heavy mahogany brow. “Dinner. That sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Good,” she said quickly. “Then I’ll make reservations at the restaurant here and we can… Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve just remembered what a totally horrid restaurant the spa has. You can’t even get a glass of wine to go with the sprouts! Do you know of any other place close by?”
“Certainly. My home,” he suggested immediately, startling her yet again. The hazel eyes gleamed with remote curiosity as he waited to see if she would accept.
But Samantha wasn’t about to hesitate. She literally jumped at the opportunity. “Fine.” She beamed engagingly. “If you’ll let me have your address, I’ll be over at seven.”
“I was going to offer to come pick you up,” he began cautiously, regarding her eager expression as if she were an overexcited puppy which might leap up on him at any moment.
Seeing the wariness in him, Samantha desperately reined in her enthusiasm. “That’s quite all right,” she returned sedately. “I’ll be happy to drive myself to your home.”
Anything to get on with this deal, she added mentally.
“I’ll give you directions,” Gabriel said politely, drawing a small notepad from his pocket.
Why was he the one suddenly looking rather satisfied with himself? Samantha wondered uneasily.
Chapter Two
An hour after he’d left Samantha, Gabriel Sinclair methodically rolled out piecrust into a near-perfect circle. With each movement, the rolling pin traveled the same distance from the center to the outer rim, and after every three rolls, the piecrust was carefully given a quarter turn on the marble-topped pastry board.
That article in Bon Apétit last month had been right. Marble really was superior for working with pastry. The cool surface kept the butter in the dough from melting. Gabriel knew a sense of satisfaction at the perfection of the crust taking shape on the board. It was a familiar feeling, the kind of satisfaction he always took in projects that were under control and turning out as planned.
He hadn’t made a lemon meringue pie in ages. But there was something about lemon meringue which made him think Samantha would like it. A bit tart with an underlying sweetness. His mouth crooked slightly at one corner as the image developed in his head. A tart tongue and a sweet ass. Yes, Samantha and lemon meringue went very well together.
God, he was crazy to even be thinking of doing business with someone about whom he knew so little. She was young, and although he didn’t for one minute doubt her intelligence, he did wonder at her presumption when she tal
ked of taking on an opponent as formidable as the Buchanan Group. His own memory of attempting to outmaneuver Buchanan four years ago was hardly a pleasant one, and he knew he’d been better equipped, both in terms of experience and financial backing, to enter the fray than Samantha was now.
Without his assistance little Samantha Maitland, regardless of her quick tongue and her daring, would come to the same end. Buchanan would flick her out of the way as easily as if she were a small fly which had had the temerity to land on his custom-made shirt cuff. There would be nothing unduly malicious about the act, simply the inevitable result of a lone player going up against the team effort of a corporation the size of the Buchanan Group.
Clever of her to ferret out his own experience with Buchanan, he acknowledged. And she had been smart enough to get ample play from the information. It had been that oblique reference to Buchanan in her note which had drawn him to the spa that afternoon. He had been curious; curious about the person who had uncovered the facts about the aborted buy-out attempt and even more curious about the approach Samantha Maitland was using to attract his assistance. Within five minutes of meeting her Gabriel had known she was not at all the sort of woman with whom he wanted to do business. She was too reckless, too impatient with detail. She wanted to bite off far more than she could chew, and she had every intention of involving him in the potential disaster which might ensue. Correction, would most certainly ensue if he were foolish enough to allow her to control the partnership. He liked to cook, Gabriel reminded himself wryly, but he did not particularly want to wind up running a taco stand in Phoenix!
Furthermore, any man dumb enough to get involved in a business arrangement with Samantha Maitland would find himself struggling every minute to stay in charge of the operation. There was no doubt at all in his mind that she assumed she would be giving the orders, even if it was his money being used!
No, as a business partner Miss Maitland definitely did not meet his standards. But he’d stayed long after he’d come to that conclusion. The curiosity which had brought him to see her at the spa had undergone a subtle but definite change as they had sipped their tea.
Samantha Maitland intrigued him.
Hell, he thought roughly as he gave one last turn to the pie dough. She did a damn bit more than intrigue him. He wasn’t particularly interested in her as a business partner, but he had sure envisioned her as a bed partner during those moments when he’d encountered her lying bare on that massage table.
When she’d mockingly asked for his assistance, he’d had an idiotic urge to scoop her up off the table and carry her out of the room. He’d never thought of himself as an imaginative man, but in the brief fantasy which had flickered into his head during those moments, he’d almost been able to feel the tantalizing curve of her thighs against his arm. Even now he could sense his body tightening just remembering the images which had flashed through his mind.
She had been annoyed at the way he’d stood there and offered his jacket, not bothering to turn around as she slipped off the table. How furious would she have been if he’d followed through on the fantasy and had carried her off instead?
The jacket. Would she remember to bring it with her tonight? Would it occur to her that he’d deliberately not asked for it before he left? A subtle reminder of his presence while she prepared to visit his home tonight. He liked the way she had looked bundled into the overscaled garment. The conservative cut had surrounded her naked femininity in a very appealing way, making her look a little helpless.
Not that she’d seemed overly aware of her softened status, he thought grimly, sliding piecrust carefully into the pan. She’d remained as regally arrogant throughout. What would it take to break down that feminine arrogance? What would it take to make her go soft and breathless and pliable in his arms?
The mental picture of Samantha Maitland clinging to him and begging him to make love to her was so unexpectedly arousing that his hand shook a little as he set the oven temperature. Good God! What was the matter with him? He hadn’t had this kind of reaction to a woman since he was a teenager!
Suddenly Gabriel wondered which of them, Samantha or himself, was left truly vulnerable. No! He could handle his reactions. He was a man, not a boy at the mercy of his hormones.
But he wanted the woman he had met in the spa this afternoon. Wanted her in a way which was new to him. He felt compelled to reach out and take her as if she were somehow his by right.
Hell, he wondered feelingly as he began methodically slicing lemons, had Samantha felt anything at all other than annoyance and startled embarrassment when he’d approached her today? Probably not. He’d read somewhere that it was only men who had such instant, gut-level reactions to the opposite sex. Not that he was any judge of uncontrollable desire, Gabriel thought laconically as he measured sugar with a precise eye. He’d always considered himself very much in command of his own physical needs.
So why was he deliberately setting out to seduce this one particular female who had thus far shown no other interest in him except as a business partner?
Because that’s what it amounted to, Gabriel acknowledged as he worked on the lemon filling. He was going to stage a seduction scene over dinner tonight. The realization was enough to make him laugh aloud at himself. Sinclair the grand seducer.
All she really wanted from him was money. A rather large chunk of it. It was hardly fair to lead her on, he told himself as he stirred the bubbling filling with even, controlled strokes. But he had no other hold on her except the promise of financial support. She would never have come to his home for dinner tonight if he hadn’t lured her with the business angle.
The least he could do, he promised himself, was look over her information. He nodded once, appeasing his sense of honesty with that thought. He’d look at her facts and figures.
Then he’d try to get her into his bed.
Actually, it had been rather sharp of her to try coaxing him into the deal with her personal angle. Four years ago when he was still smarting from the loss to Buchanan, the revenge approach probably would have held some appeal. But now he felt no overpowering urge to challenge the Buchanan Group. He held no animosity toward the conglomerate. Buchanan’s victory had been a thoroughly reasonable one of money, power, and experience over an opponent who’d held much less of all three back then.
It was the way of the business jungle. Hadn’t he, himself, used similar advantages over others? And he wouldn’t hesitate to use them again.
True, there was money to be made if Samantha’s scheme worked. He supposed that to her it seemed a great deal more than it did to him. Money was always a relative thing, naturally.
He had the feeling she wasn’t wealthy, by any means. The spa bit didn’t come cheap, but she had admitted it was her first visit to one. No, Samantha Maitland wasn’t yet wealthy, but she was definitely willing to hustle, he thought with a small smile. If she wasn’t doing very well financially ten years from now, it wouldn’t be from lack of trying!
What she needed, Gabriel decided judiciously, timing the foaming lemon filling carefully, was someone to take her in hand and guide her naturally aggressive business instincts. She was headed for trouble taking on outfits like the Buchanan Group, regardless of her skill and talent. She needed polish, too. The kind of cool, poker-faced, boardroom sophistication which gave nothing away.
Just remembering how hard she’d had to work trying to hide her hell-bent-for-leather enthusiasm to get on with the Buchanan project made Gabriel’s mouth twist in sardonic amusement. Had she really thought she was hiding the reckless daring which seemed to motivate her?
What had he been like at her age? That brash? She was probably twenty-eight or twenty-nine, which meant about nine years difference in their ages. That was a lot of time in terms of business experience. But Gabriel doubted that he had ever been that openly rash in his dealings. Oh, he had been far less street-wise than he was now, but that restless, volatile energy which simmered in Samantha had never characterized h
im.
Even at twenty-eight he’d been the slow, methodical, plodding type. He’d been born that way!
Gabriel sighed, removing the pan of bubbling lemon filling from the heat. Did the slow, methodical, plodding types ever get women like Samantha into bed? Maybe not, but he’d give it a damn good try, he promised himself a bit savagely as he set the pan down on the counter. The shock of feeling so strongly about the matter caused him to forget his normal caution long enough to singe a finger on the hot metal of the pan.
“Jesus!” He stuck the burned finger under cold water from the tap. What the hell was the woman doing to him? He never had accidents in the kitchen! Wrong question, he decided broodingly. The real question was what the hell did he think he was doing trying to seduce the daughter of some wild-eyed radical even if said daughter did have a delightful backside?
***
Making a scene in a public place had never been Samantha’s style. Oh, the occasional, arrogant Grand Gesture could be quite satisfying, but embarrassing confrontations were quite another matter. If she hadn’t had to learn a healthy respect for the value of a dollar during the past three years, she probably wouldn’t have fought the battle at the spa’s front desk that evening.
But she had learned that respect and learned it the hard way from the time she’d suddenly found herself unemployed after being eased out of Drew Buchanan’s life. With characteristic bravado she’d refused financial assistance from either of her parents, flinging herself instead into the task of building her new business from scratch. It had probably been foolish to turn down the offer of help, but Samantha had found it hard enough to accept the fact that both her mother and her father had been right about Buchanan. Pride had made it unthinkable to allow them to assist in her financial recovery. Another of her sometimes costly Grand Gestures.
