Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  Caitlin gazed at him in surprise. “You were so sure?”

  “I like to be prepared. Is there any reason you wouldn’t want to conclude this business tonight?”

  “No, I suppose not.” She slowly sat down, picked up the contract, and began to read it carefully.

  At least, Alex thought, she wasn’t telling her mother to sign the contract without reading it. It had all been too easy. She was too easy.

  “Everything appears to be in order.” Caitlin looked up from the papers. “As you said, it’s fairly cut and dried.” She set the papers in front of Katrine. “Sign them, Mother.”

  Alex offered Katrine his gold pen. “On the left bottom line of each page.”

  Katrine nodded and signed her name neatly on every page.

  “Now you.” Alex turned the contracts and slid them toward Caitlin. “Right below your mother’s signature on the witness line.”

  Caitlin hesitated an instant before quickly scrawling her name on all the pages. “There.” She pushed the papers away from her with a sigh of relief. “I suppose this means we’re partners.”

  “Yes, we’re partners.” He gathered up the contracts. “Now let me tell you what my partners do not do.” He separated the contracts and gave four of the pages to Caitlin. “My partners do not sign even a grocery list without having it gone over with a magnifying glass by a lawyer. My partners do not let themselves be rushed into making decisions. My partners, most particularly, don’t base a business judgment on a telephone call any fledgling con man could have set up.”

  Caitlin’s smile faded. “And did you set it up?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean—why the hell weren’t you more careful?”

  “I was desperate,” she said simply. “What if you’d changed your mind?”

  The reply only fueled his exasperation. “You shouldn’t tell me you’re desperate. For God’s sake, protect yourself.”

  “Why? I’ve already signed the contract. I have to trust you now.” She met his gaze. “And besides, you told me you weren’t a con man.”

  “And you believed me?”

  “I believe you. I’m a fair judge of character. God knows, I’ve had to be, since I’ve had to manage Vasaro for the last four years.” She studied him for a time. “And I think you’re a hard man but not a cheat.”

  “Of course he’s not a cheat, Caitlin.” Katrine was shocked. “I’m surprised at you. Monsieur Karazov is obviously a gentleman.”

  Alex bowed mockingly to both of them. “Thank you for your vote of confidence.”

  “I’m not confident,” Caitlin said gravely. “I’m scared and excited and not at all sure what you want from us.”

  “What I want from you is in the contracts. It couldn’t be more clear.”

  She made a face. “I may be desperate but I’m not stupid. I doubt if you’ve done anything since you were an infant that could be considered simple or clear.”

  “You disappoint me. And after that touching declaration of faith.”

  “I said I didn’t believe you were a cheat. I guess you never let anyone know what you’re thinking or what your motives are. I realize you think signing that contract wasn’t a good move on my part.” She shrugged. “I know how to grow the flowers and I love creating perfumes, but ledgers and accounts drive me crazy.”

  “Then you should have pulled in your accountant.”

  A faint flush rose to her cheeks and she straightened her shoulders with a touch of bravado. “All right, do you want to know the truth? I may not like that side of Vasaro, but I’m a damn good businesswoman when it’s necessary. I know very well the contract could be contested in court, and I think you know it too.” Her words came with cool precision. “As you probably know, French juries get very emotional about helpless women on their own being taken advantage of by foreign investors. So I figured we’d be safe enough. Tomorrow morning I’ll have those contracts gone over by my lawyer and my accountant. If there are any difficulties, we’ll add riders. If you don’t agree, we’ll go to court.”

  His expression became suddenly intent. “Why did you sign it if you didn’t think it was valid?”

  “For the same reason you drew up the contract in the first place. A court case is a hassle most people prefer to avoid. My signing the contract made it very difficult for either of us to back out of the deal. I also made another call besides the one to Monsieur Ganold while I was in the study. I called Henri LeFabre, the loan officer at my own bank in Cannes, and asked him to verify that the telephone number was really that of the Bank of Geneva and that Monsieur Ganold was an officer of the bank.” She met his gaze directly and she added fiercely, “And I don’t care what you hope to get out of this deal as long as you give me the money to save Vasaro. I’ve protected Vasaro from everything else and I can protect it from you too. I’m glad you rushed me into signing, because now you’re committed to Vasaro as much as we’re committed to you.”

  She was alive again, all coolness gone, burning with such an intensity of emotion he felt as if he could feel its heat. One moment she had seemed naive and uncertain and the next she was a powerhouse.

  He stared at her for a moment longer and then threw back his head and started to laugh. “My God, and I thought you were guileless as a lamb. You were trying to snare me.”

  “No, I was merely letting you snare me. You were right, I do hate subterfuge. But I do what I have to do for Vasaro.” She turned to Katrine, who was staring at her with trepidation. “I imagine Monsieur Karazov will be staying for supper. Is Sophia preparing the meal tonight?”

  Katrine immediately shook her head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t think of allowing her to do it. I’ll take care of it myself. This is a very special occasion.”

  “My mother is a Cordon Bleu cook, Monsieur Karazov. You’re in for a treat. Don’t you think you’d better start the preparations, Mother?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll do that.”

  “She’s very obedient,” Alex said as soon as Katrine disappeared from view. “It must make things easy for you.”

  “Sometimes,” Caitlin said absently, and then, when she realized what he meant, added defensively, “I don’t manipulate her. You don’t understand. My mother likes everything to be easy. She doesn’t want to have to worry about—” She dismissed the subject as unimportant. “Perhaps I assumed too much. Are you going to stay for supper?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “Where are you staying? Cannes?”

  He nodded.

  “A hotel?”

  “The Majestic.”

  “We can offer you a room here if you’d really like to use Vasaro for your research.”

  “You’re most obliging.”

  “I’ve signed a contract. It’s only honorable to try to keep to the spirit as well as the letter of an agreement.”

  “Not many people conduct business in that way any longer. I’m afraid the ‘spirit’ has fallen by the wayside.”

  “Not at Vasaro. Do you wish to come here?”

  He nodded. “For a little while. It will probably be more convenient for me to be on the spot since we need to make plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “The marketing of the perfume. By the way, does this fragrance have a name?”

  “Vasaro.”

  “After the property? Don’t they usually name a perfume something more exotic?”

  “It’s my perfume and it belongs to Vasaro.” Her face was suddenly alight. “Don’t you see? Vasaro has marketed perfumes before but never under its own name. I worked for four years creating this perfume and I want it to mean something.” Her eyes widened with sudden apprehension. “You wouldn’t want me to change the name?”

  “I don’t care what you call it. If a perfume called Poison could become a success, I don’t see any problem with Vasaro.”

  “You’re a strange man. You purposely set out to get exactly what you wanted from us with the least possible effort to yourself. Then you get angry when I let you.”r />
  “I’m not angry. I just don’t see—” He wasn’t telling the truth. He had been angry and uneasy since the first moment she had introduced herself. Something about the simplicity and forthrightness of the woman had aroused in him an odd urge to protect. Very odd, he thought cynically. He hadn’t felt any urge but the most basic and sexual toward a woman since he had been a boy in Bucharest, and he certainly had no use for any softer emotion now. “I don’t know any better than you why I’m reacting this way. You certainly appear to be able to take care of yourself.”

  “The perfume is mine and I had a right to take a chance with it as long as it didn’t affect Vasaro.” She met his gaze directly. “But it’s best you realize I know the element of chance exists.”

  No, she didn’t deliberately blind herself to chicanery or crookedness. She accepted the possibility, even the probability, that he meant her harm and then tried to live with it for the sake of her precious Vasaro. God, how long had it been since he had felt that deeply about anything?

  Her grasp tightened on the copy of the contract he had handed her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to shower and change before supper. Help yourself to another glass of wine. It’s our own vintage.”

  “It’s very good.”

  “We like it.” She moved toward the door. “It’s not as smooth as the wines from some of the better-known vineyards in Champagne, but then, at Vasaro we grow the grapes only as a sideline. Flowers are our business.”

  “And what if you’d put your entire effort toward the vineyards?”

  “It would be the best wine in the world,” she said matter-of-factly. “Just as Vasaro grows the finest flowers.”

  He chuckled. “You think well of your Vasaro.”

  “It’s my home. Vasaro is—” She stopped, and her eager smile faded. “But you’re not interested in how I feel about Vasaro.”

  “I wouldn’t say I was totally disinterested. I told you I had an insatiable curiosity.”

  “Oh, yes . . . curiosity.” She gave him a polite smile over her shoulder. “I’ll try to hurry. Make yourself comfortable.”

  The next moment she was gone and he slowly sank back down in the chair. The room felt cold without Caitlin Vasaro’s vibrant presence. She radiated a fiery nervous energy that was at odds with the cool control she tried to maintain. He impatiently dismissed the thought and reached for his wineglass. He didn’t give a damn about Caitlin or her Vasaro, and he would make sure he stayed in that frame of mind. She was only a piece in his puzzle. If he felt anything for the woman, it was a biological stirring and nothing else. It was no wonder the response had surprised him, for she wasn’t really to his taste. Her breasts were magnificently Junoesque, but her tall, graceful body was far too thin and well muscled to be termed voluptuous. The answer must be that he had been a long time without a woman and the emotion he was feeling was tomcat common. Well, why not indulge himself? She was no child but a woman in her middle twenties, and it would be interesting to see if she could feel as much passion for a man as for her Vasaro.

  He lifted the wineglass thoughtfully to his lips, his mind dwelling on the possibilities.

  Karazov’s manner was different toward Caitlin after she came downstairs for supper.

  All through the meal Caitlin had been conscious of the subtle nuances of the change, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on its composition. He was charming to Katrine, courteous to Caitlin, and the talk at the table was politely impersonal. Yet something was definitely there.

  Then he suddenly shifted his gaze to her and she realized he was acutely, physically aware of her. She felt a ripple of shock, and her eyes widened in surprise before she could hide the reaction.

  Alex smiled and returned his attention to Katrine, complimenting her on the arrangement of the flowers on the table.

  He left directly after supper to go back to Cannes and, after saying good-bye to Katrine, asked Caitlin to walk with him to his car in order to make plans for meeting at the bank tomorrow.

  The white sports car parked in the driveway gleamed in the moonlight, arrogant and showy . . . and wrong.

  “Why a Lamborghini?” Caitlin looked up at Karazov as they walked down the stone steps.

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t seem like a car you would buy. It’s too ostentatious.”

  “Perhaps it satisfies a quirk in my character.”

  “Really?” She thought about it. “But you don’t impress me as a man who would need toys to express himself.”

  “You’re right.” He opened the door of the car. “I bought it because I was angry.”

  She looked up at him, puzzled.

  “I’d just come into some unexpected money and I wanted to flaunt it.”

  “I see.”

  He smiled grimly. “No, you don’t. You haven’t the slightest idea what I’m talking about. You don’t understand why I’d want to rub anyone’s nose into the filthy lucre just to get my own back.”

  “No, I guess I don’t. Revenge has always seemed a little futile to me.”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong. You can’t ever let a slight go unpunished. It always encourages a repeat performance.”

  “An eye for an eye?”

  He met her gaze. “Exactly.”

  She instinctively took a step back at the iciness of that glance. Dieu, what kind of man was Karazov? “You believe in revenge?”

  “Everyone believes in revenge.”

  “I don’t. I think people should try to forget and get on with their lives.”

  “Admirable.” His lips twisted. “And completely unrealistic. You just haven’t had the knife go deep enough to make you want to pull it out and turn it on the enemy.”

  “But you have?”

  He was silent a moment. “Yes.”

  The silence stretched between them, and Caitlin searched for something to say. Then, abruptly, the awareness was back, stronger than before. She was suddenly conscious of the solid warmth of his body only a step away. She reached out blindly and touched the cool, smooth metal of the Lamborghini and said the first thing that came to mind. “My father would love this car.”

  “Would he? I’ve heard he’s a connoisseur of fine things. He’s in London now, isn’t he?”

  She stiffened. “Evidently you learned more about my mother and me than just our financial condition.”

  “Variables. Emotional response can make a perfectly reasonable human being do completely unreasonable things. Since your mother had to sign the papers, it was necessary for me to learn something about her.” He shrugged. “Nothing in depth really—only that she married an Irishman named Denis Reardon whom she divorced thirteen years later.”

  “He divorced her.”

  “You didn’t answer me. Your father’s in London?”

  “I think so.” Her tone was reserved. “I received a card from him two Christmases ago. We don’t correspond regularly. He divorced my mother when I was only twelve.”

  “I know.” He gazed searchingly at her as if deciding whether or not to leave it at that before adding bluntly, “After running through her money and almost ruining Vasaro. You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to turn the knife on the charming Mr. Reardon?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “What good would it do? He can’t help what he is.”

  “A gigolo and a user.”

  “It’s none of your business what he is,” she snapped.

  “I’m wondering how deep your turn-the-cheek philosophy goes.”

  She gazed at him in wonder. “You’re trying to hurt me.”

  “No, I’m trying to wake you up.”

  “Why should you care? I’m nothing to you.”

  “You’re my business partner.” He smiled recklessly, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “I’m very solicitous of my business partners. I want them clearheaded and free to function in all the areas in which I need them.”

  The words were spoken with a silken sensuality
that was in sharp contrast to the cool crispness of their import. The paradox again, catching her off guard. “You’ll find I can function without any psychological spurring.” Caitlin’s hand fell away from the fender of the Lamborghini. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the house and change into my work clothes.”

  His smile faded. “You’re going back to work? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “I have to finish planting the roses.”

  “For God’s sake, you don’t have to work all hours of the day and night—especially since I’ve just agreed to pay you—”

  “The lavender has to be picked tomorrow. That means the roses go in tonight.” Caitlin could see he couldn’t understand. “I don’t have the money yet. It’s not real to me. And even after I do have it, it won’t be safe to ease off working until the mortgage is paid and I have a cushion in case we have another year like this one. I have to protect Vasaro.”

  “Christ,” he muttered. “You’re obsessed.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I understand.” His lips twisted. “I can be fairly obsessive myself at times.” He slipped behind the wheel of the car. “I’ll be at your bank at noon tomorrow. I hope you can spare the time to come to Cannes to pick up your money.”

  She frowned. “Two o’clock would be better for me. Even then I’ll have to quit work early. We usually stop picking at one but I’ll need to clean up and drive—”

  “Two.” He turned the ignition key and the car growled sensually to life. “I wouldn’t think of interfering with your schedule.”

  Caitlin watched the sleek car glide down the driveway.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” Her mother called from the doorway. Her full-skirted turquoise silk dress glowed jewel-bright against the lighted hallway behind her. Her gaze wandered to the sports car as it reached the blacktop and streaked down the road toward the turnoff for Cannes. “What a lovely car. Do you suppose he might let me drive it sometime?”