A Love of Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 1)

by Nancy Haviland

  He stepped forward, and she drank in his tousled black hair, cut tight in the back but left a little longer in the front. His jaw and cheekbones were hard and angular, and that tuxedo-clad body was yummy as all get out. His wide shoulders tapered to a firm waist and long legs. Somewhere in his midthirties, this man was per-fection, complete with an engage-at-your-own-risk aura that was as seductive as it was daunting.

  He halted directly in front of her and gave a gracious, almost old-fashioned nod. “Evening.”

  His voice was deep and smooth and so delicious her knees turned to jelly. Up close she got a better look at his square jaw, firm lips, and a nose that looked like it had taken a hit or two but was still gorgeous. But it was his eyes that held her immobile. A deep moss green, they were surrounded by long sooty lashes, and there was a single-minded intensity to his stare that almost had her convinced they were the only two in the room.

  She blinked when the corner of his lips twitched. He didn’t smile. At all. But his reticent expression warmed slightly. As if he’d relaxed a little.

  She still hadn’t responded to his greeting, had she?

  Nice, Eva.

  She cleared her throat, astounded by the instant strong attraction she was feeling. “Good evening.”

  He glanced around. “Your date is either a very confident man or a foolish one, leaving you unattended.”

  She forced her focus away from a face that rivaled Michelangelo’s David and followed his gaze, rushing around all the mingling groups so that she could settle on him again. “My date couldn’t make it.”

  Her pulse fluttered as his features hardened. The mask had returned. “Really. He’s foolish then,” he said, a touch sardonically.

  “Actually, she is very intelligent.”

  He raised a questioning brow. “She?”

  “My best friend. She and her husband had plans, which prevented her from being my date tonight.”

  At ease again, he appeared almost pleased by that. Which only made Eva’s body heat that much more.

  “I see. Well, I can’t say I’m sorry things didn’t work for you.”

  She was taken aback by his bluntness. Most guys would have at least pretended to be disappointed on her behalf.

  Not this man.

  “Do you remember me?” she asked before thinking better of it.

  Something flashed in his dark-green eyes before they narrowed, roaming her features with a familiarity that left her shaking. “I remember you.”

  “From where?” she pressed around her crazily beating heart, just to be sure he wasn’t playing her.

  He sighed. “Manhattan. Last Friday. In the lobby of the TarMor building. Blue-and-black dress. Black shoes. Your hair was up in some sort of twist.”

  She held up a hand, suddenly breathless. “Okay.” He remembered her. He really remembered her. “I believe you.”

  “Gabriel Moore,” he offered.

  Feeling a strange sense of excitement at the thought of touching him, she, too, put her arm out. “Eva Jacobs.”

  He enveloped her hand in his much larger one, and a small current traveled up to zap her in the chest. He tugged a little so that she was forced to step into him. She gasped even though their bodies didn’t touch—the heat coming off him was unmistakable. As was the feeling of something unfurling inside her, coming to life, pulling to the surface, drawn out by this man who smelled mouthwateringly delicious. His scent wrapped around her like a cloak, reminding her of fresh rain after a thunderstorm.

  “Champagne, Mr. M?”

  Gabriel shook his head once, and the waiter paused for a second before wandering away. Eva barely noticed. The moment held, suspended, as he towered over her. Yes. Towered. Over her. He had to be at least six-four. Maybe more.

  “Just to be clear.” He spoke quietly but with an air of authority that had her listening carefully. “When I say something, I mean it. No question. I said I remembered you because I did.” Waves of testosterone practically pulsated from him as his gaze lazily traced her mouth. “I rarely feel the need to explain myself, sweetheart.” Up came his eyes again as he added grimly, “To anyone.”

  Message received. He was arrogant. Direct but not rude. And clearly used to having his way. And, despite what he’d said, he’d explained himself just now. To her.

  That, along with his easily uttered endearment, had her lower belly swirling with an odd sort of pleasure.

  “You sound like you’re used to getting what you want.” She blanched at the way that came out. “I mean, if you don’t feel the need to explain yourself, you must either be self-employed or constantly updating your resume,” she rushed out.

  God, Eva. Did you really just say that?

  “Guilty on the self-employed,” he admitted, looking amused.

  “What do you do?” she asked, grabbing on to the social niceties with both hands.

  “Construction,” he said shortly, then moved on before she could ask him to elaborate. “What were you doing at TarMor last week?”

  “I was there for a job interview.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. M?”

  He turned his head toward the interruption, his dry look becoming one of gratitude when that same waiter who’d passed by a minute ago stood next to them holding a rocks glass filled with ice and a clear liquid.

  Gabriel accepted it with a nod. “You’ll definitely be rewarded for your initiative, Liam. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Liam grinned at her, his eager look saying that had been the point. He disappeared into the crowd.

  “That was nice of him,” she commented as he took a drink. Sexiest thing ever, watching his throat work as he swallowed. And who the hell was she tonight to even notice a man’s throat? “Either he knows you well or he’s very observant.”

  And why did she keep looking at his mouth? Her interest in it, in him, was unusual for her. She didn’t normally react this way to men. Oh, who was she fooling? She’d never reacted this way to any man. Especially one like this. One so . . . God, she didn’t even know. Domineering, perhaps? Superior, but not in a patronizing way. If that made any sense.

  “Vodka rocks?” she asked when he didn’t respond to her previous comment.

  “Yes.” Confidence oozed from his every pore. “So, were you hired by TarMor?”

  Right. Back to their conversation. “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t heard.”

  With a completely straight face, he said, “Show me a man who could pass up the opportunity to stare at you all day and I’ll introduce you to his boyfriend.”

  She smiled faintly, too caught up in her unexpected attraction to appreciate the joke. If he’d been making a joke. “My friend Caleb likes to tease me with the same sort of nonsense. But this interviewer was a woman. I didn’t meet the man I’d be working for.”

  His face closed up. “Do you want the job?”

  She repositioned her small handbag under her arm and took another sip of champagne. “I didn’t at first. I have an MBA from one of the top business schools in the world, so I considered holding out for a higher-level position. But the headhunter convinced me that it would be a good stepping-stone.”

  “To what?”

  “A successful long-term career. Although I’m turned off by the TarMor job title, which doesn’t quite offset the expectations four years of Columbia would bring, it’s still a great opportunity to gain on-the-job experience, which would set me up for a director, or even a VP position, not far down the road.”

  He nodded. “Smart. I’ve run across too many young executives who invite failure by moving too high too fast. Have you just recently graduated, or have you been in the market for a while?”

  “I graduated this month.”

  “Congratulations.” The ice rattled in his glass as he tipped it back. “And you’ve moved home? Or are you in Seattle on vacation?”

  I’m pretty sure I’m here for another job interview.

  She tried not to smile.
He was definitely the take-charge type. Straightforward. To the point. A gatherer of information. “Seattle is home. I grew up here. What about you, Gabriel? Were you in New York on business? Or are you from there?”

  “Born and raised in Queens, but I reside—for the time being anyway—here in Seattle. Upstairs, as a matter of fact.”

  Her brow peaked. “Upstairs? You mean, you live here, in the hotel?”

  He nodded, his eyes scanning the area around them. Again. What was he looking for? Or who?

  A man who looked like him probably had a supermodel date floating around here somewhere.

  A thought she didn’t want to entertain.

  Gabriel took a long pull from his drink. “I couldn’t be bothered buying a place when I wasn’t sure I was going to stay permanently. And since I own it, it just made sense.”

  He’d spoken absently and without pretension, but Eva still balked. “You own this hotel?” she squeaked.

  “Yes. My partner and I.”

  “Business partner,” she said quickly, to clarify, and then felt her cheeks burn. If he was referring to a lover-type partner, male or female, she would die.

  I would?

  Of unsated lust, if that was what this feeling was that now coursed through her veins, making her feel uncomfortable and hot.

  It was Gabriel’s turn to look as if he was trying not to smile. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Business partner.”

  Whew.

  “So, tell me, Eva, are you here tonight because you’ve been personally affected or are you just supporting?”

  “My mother always helped organize this particular event,” she explained as she swirled what was left of her champagne in the bottom of her glass to hide the tremble moving down her arm. “Though, I think we’ve all been affected in one way or another by cancer. I’ve never personally known a child who suffered through the disease, but if I were to wait for such a tragedy before supporting the cause, that would make me pretty selfish. Don’t you think?”

  As she talked, he casually reached out and plucked her champagne flute from her fingers and replaced it with a fresh one from a passing waitress. Smooth, unhurried movements. Lovely to watch, she thought, trying not to sigh.

  “I agree. You said your mother ‘used to’ aid the organization. She’s moved on to another?”

  Here we go . . .

  Eva shook her head. “She passed away two months ago.”

  “A devastating loss for a daughter. I’m very sorry for you, Eva. And your father?”

  She blinked. Wow. Talk about ripping the Band-Aid off. He’d blown through it so quickly she’d barely felt it. “I don’t have a father,” she said as candidly as she always did, wanting to thank him for the ease with which he’d helped her get through that. “He walked out on me and my mom when I was a baby,” she explained. That sad truth was on the sperm donor, not her, and she wouldn’t sugarcoat it.

  Gabriel nodded, eyes watchful, as though he was truly interested in her answers to his personal questions. “So it was just you and her, which no doubt made coping with her passing doubly hard. That’s a lot to have to deal with on your own. Do you see him at all? Holidays, maybe?”

  “I haven’t seen him since I was twelve weeks old and wouldn’t know him if he was standing right next to me.”

  She took a gulp of champagne. With Gabriel in front of her holding her attention, if Mahatma Gandhi strolled over, she wasn’t sure she’d take any notice of him either.

  Gabriel continued to stare into this exquisite creature’s slightly upturned face. He’d never been happier that Alek had agreed when he’d suggested they renovate and rebrand the Crown Jewel, and not sell it off as they’d originally planned. Without the hotel, he and Eva would be having this first conversation a few blocks over at the convention center on Eighth and Pike. Being here, in his place, no one could say a goddamn thing if he did whatever the fuck he wanted with her, for as long and as loudly as he wanted. And that was satisfying. Almost as satisfying as finally interacting with this woman who’d done nothing but haunt him for weeks now.

  For the first time since seeing her picture and having her safety thrust into his hands, he was at ease. She was in his house and under his protection.

  Attempting to play the role of gentleman for her, he set aside thoughts of getting her tangled in his sheets. He wanted to know how she felt about Vasily’s absence from her life. So far, she was heartbreakingly nonchalant about the whole thing.

  “Have you ever tried contacting him?”

  Eva shifted, moving closer to him for a moment as a group of women walked by. Gabriel swallowed a groan as her scent roared up his nose. She smelled of warm, dripping honey. Sweet and delectable.

  She took another sip from her glass before answering, those gorgeous eyes of hers narrowing. “Have you ever been told you ask a lot of personal questions?”

  Busted. And in the most entertaining way. To her, they were two people who had seen each other once, across the lobby of a random building in New York. She had no idea how well he actually knew her.

  What could he say, but, “Forgive me.”

  “Forgiven.” A slow smile spread across her face and it kicked him square in the teeth. “I’ve never attempted to find him,” she admitted. “So, now that you know my deepest, darkest secrets, why don’t you tell me one of yours?”

  Okay, sweetheart. I was raised in a violent, cruel world where only the strong survive. Reared to be nothing more than a ruthless, merciless crime boss, meant to lead my Italian organized crime family straight to the top. I’ve killed men, have beaten them to where they’re no longer recognizable, stabbed others, shot even more, and have broken more laws than even your local politicians. And even though I’m aware of the possibly deadly consequences, I want you to be mine.

  Riiight. Honesty suddenly wasn’t looking so good. He ignored her offer completely and slipped into host mode.

  “Would you like more champagne? Or something to eat, since you’ve already had two glasses.”

  She’d been looking down into her empty glass, but her head came up at that. Her perfect eyebrows, too. Uh-oh. What’d he say?

  “I’m quite aware of my tolerance for alcohol, Gabriel. And, not that I need to discuss it with you, but I had a late dinner before leaving home, so I’m quite able to handle another glass of champagne. If I wanted one. Which I don’t. But that’s mainly to do with the fact that I don’t really care for it.”

  Spirited. He liked that. A lot. Not afraid to tell him off. He liked that even more. But if she wasn’t a fan of champagne, what would he order her during dinner in the coming weeks?

  “What do you like, Eva?”

  Her lashes fluttered, as though his question had surprised her, and he almost groaned out loud when a lovely flush stained her high cheekbones.

  “Sorry?”

  “To drink,” he specified as his body reacted to that. Could he get any harder?

  “Oh.” She shrugged, bringing his attention to the fragility of her bare shoulder. Her free hand came up to play with the glittering earring dangling from the delicate lobe of her ear. “A cosmopolitan is my go-to if I’m in a club, which is almost never,” she said quickly, as if she didn’t want him to think of her as a party girl.

  It’s okay, sweetheart, I know who you are.

  “I like wine,” she continued, her chatter almost nervous now. “I don’t know if other people have the same preference, but I go for red in winter and white in summer. Maybe it’s the temperature difference or the heartiness. I don’t know.” She sighed in an adorable burst. “What about you? What do you like, Gabriel?”

  He didn’t doubt his full disclosure of what he liked would send her running, so he settled for raising his now-empty glass. “A chilled Stoli is always welcome.”

  “Hmm . . .” she mused, as if she hadn’t really heard him. Her gaze skimmed his features, lingering on his mouth. Again.

  He unbuttoned his fucking unco
mfortable jacket and wrenched his neck to the side for a satisfying crack when a vibration against his left pec signaled his phone going off. Almost glad for the reprieve, he rudely withdrew it from his pocket and brought it to his ear around his gruffly muttered, “Excuse me.” Fuck.

  “Go,” he snapped into the mouthpiece.

  “Can you talk?”

  It was Alek.

  “No,” he replied dryly.

  “Then get somewhere quiet and call me back.”

  Dammit. He didn’t want to go somewhere quiet. Unless it was to ravish the woman in front of him. Sure as hell didn’t want to leave her in a room full of gawking men. In fact . . . Gabriel tucked the phone back into his pocket and aimed a dark look at Liam. The kid who’d brought him his drink earlier. He was in his early twenties and putting himself through college, if Gabriel remembered correctly. Which he did, because he was gladly helping to pay the tab for the ambitious punk whose chatty mother cleaned his suite every second day.

  He waved the clearly enamored little shit over with a two-fingered prompt. “We won’t be changing our minds about that champagne, kid. So if I see you troll by here again, you’re going to be wearing it. Got me?”

  “Sorry.” The redhead grinned good-naturedly, his eyes flipping between him and Eva. “Just doin’ my job.”

  So as not to be a complete asshole, he bumped the offered fist. “Get lost.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Liam nodded to an amused Eva before he left, tray balanced perfectly. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel could see Jak and Quan standing a few feet away—Quan had Gabriel’s back tonight, and Jak had been on Eva since she’d left her house—neither of them blending with Seattle’s upper crust. But then, none of them did. Too rough around the edges.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “That was interesting.”

  That was one way of putting it. “I’m sure you’re used to the attention,” he said under his breath. “Listen, there’s something I need to take care of. Were you planning on leaving anytime soon?” Say no.

  Her expression betrayed her disappointment. That he was leaving her? Very nice. Her midnight hair shimmered under the glittering lights of the chandeliers as she shook her head, and his fingers itched to fist two handfuls and tip her head back so he could feast on the sensitive skin behind her ear. Christ, the urge was staggering.