Tycoon's One-Night Revenge

by Bronwyn Jameson

  “Have you looked at this from Mac’s perspective?” she asked, “Or only from your own?”

  His features tightened. “Mac died alone,” he said bluntly. “That’s the perspective I’m seeing.”

  Oh, Donovan. She hadn’t realised. When he didn’t answer his phone, she’d imagined him at Mac’s bedside. She’d hoped he’d had some time, that he’d at least arrived in time to say goodbye. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t respond, but she could see the muscle working in his jaw. He abandoned the position he’d maintained just inside the room—close to the door, as if he’d not yet decided whether to let her stay or to open that door and order her out—and stalked across to arched windows overlooking the bay.

  “From another perspective,” she continued carefully, “I imagine Mac was inordinately proud of your success. She wouldn’t have invested everything in you, back in those early years, if she hadn’t believed in you. And she wouldn’t have trusted you with her secrets or with her inheritance if she hadn’t trusted and loved you.”

  “She still died alone.”

  “No, Donovan. She was alone before she found you. She died knowing she had a grandson who loved her, who I imagine was here for her in all manner of ways these past years.”

  For a long moment, he stared blindly out into the darkness before he could answer. “Never enough,” he said gruffly. “Business, travel, I was never here enough.”

  In the glass Van saw her approach, the reflected movement of her hair and the blue-green dress that skimmed the lines of her body. He wanted to focus on those curves, the legs, the physical memory of her skin bare and sleek and giving beneath his. But that gave way to a hammering need for her arms, her comfort, the steady strength of her gaze on his as she told him she was here for him.

  It was too much, too intense, and Van took a mental step back. Again he’d revealed too much, exposed himself too readily. With this woman it was too easy, and she’d done nothing to earn such trust.

  She paused at his side. He could sense her composing herself, preparing her next pretty—and futile—attempt to console him. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he felt the hot jolt of response and the more powerful underlying need for more.

  “If you really want to make me feel better,” he said, “the bedroom’s right through that archway over there.”

  “Will that make you feel better?”

  “I sure as hell won’t feel any worse.”

  “Okay,” she said after a beat of pause, surprising the hell out of him. “If that’s what it takes.”

  Van turned his narrowed gaze on her. “Takes to what?”

  “To accept that I’m here for you.”

  He knew what he should have done. He should have stopped this conversation with his mouth on hers. He should have taken the soft hand that dropped away and put it back on his body. Somewhere infinitely more volatile than his shoulder.

  He should have been unzipping the prim and proper dress and pulling aside her lacy underthings to get to the improper. Right here, against that glass.

  But, damn her, with that one simple statement, she’d refired his earlier distrust about her reason for coming here and he couldn’t let that go. “You say you’re here for me—” he turned to meet her eyes more fully “—but what about your own interests?”

  Confusion clouded her expression and the tone of her reply. “My…interests?”

  “You and your mother and the Horton company stand to lose significantly if you can’t talk me into reevaluating The Palisades deal. You’ve lost Alex Carlisle as a buyer and as a husband. It can’t be easy to find buyers who are willing to be screwed around over contract clauses.”

  “That isn’t fair,” she countered, eyes sparking green in the low light. “You asked for the extra clauses. That wasn’t our doing.”

  “I only asked for the same as Carlisle. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You didn’t ask me.”

  When she started to turn away, he stopped her. With a hand on each arm, he swung her back to the window and blocked her exit path with his body. There were too many questions still unanswered to let her escape. “Why Carlisle? What was the real attraction, Susannah?” When she didn’t answer right away, he leaned in closer, his gaze on the curve of her lips. “You hadn’t even kissed him, and you were going to—”

  “I told you last week. He offered everything I wanted. Everything and a baby.”

  Even as the words left her tongue, Susannah wished them back. She saw their impact, felt the tensing of his hands on her shoulders for a half second before he asked, “You were marrying him to have a baby?”

  “He was marrying me to have a baby,” she corrected. Then, when he continued to study her in unnerving silence, she added, “That may sound like semantics, but it’s a significant difference. Alex needed a baby for his family to inherit from his father’s will.”

  “A fine reason to plan a baby.”

  “He was motivated as you were—by a person he would do anything for. In Alex’s case, his mother.”

  “I was pursuing a piece of land,” he said tightly, “not a child.”

  How could she have not realised what a hot-button issue this would be?

  She had to explain, to make him understand…. “This baby was not just a pawn, Donovan. We both wanted a family—not just one child but siblings who would grow up together and fight and love and be there for each other. A family like the Carlisles, who would do anything for each other. It wasn’t about the money or the name. It was about family and me turning twenty-nine and the assumption I made when you didn’t return my calls.”

  His gaze narrowed sharply. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Susannah’s heart thudded hard and high in her throat. She could see no other option but to tell him everything. Including the most wrenching regret of all.

  Twelve

  “H ave you ever wondered why I was calling you? Why I kept calling? Why I was so desperate to reach you even though I thought you were skiving me off?”

  Donovan went still. Very still. “You were pregnant?”

  She nodded, then had to swallow a choking knot of emotion before she could speak. “For a very short time. Yes.”

  “I didn’t use protection?”

  “We used condoms, but the last time…there was a possibility.”

  He studied her for a long second before swinging away. In stunned silence he stared out into the darkness, his profile harsh and forbidding. Susannah could only imagine what he must be feeling. Shock, disbelief, the impotence of realising what might have been.

  “Did I know? Did I promise to call you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Except I didn’t and I couldn’t take your calls.” Finally he turned, and the impact of his next words struck as cold and hard as hailstones. “And Carlisle arrived at the perfect time with the perfect arrangement, for you and my baby.”

  “No!” Susannah shook her head vehemently. “I’d been trying to contact you, trying to work out what to do if you didn’t want to know, and then I miscarried and I realised just how much I’d wanted that baby. That’s when Alex asked. That’s why I was so open to his suggestion.”

  “To his suggestion that you conceive another baby? Tell me, is that like hopping back on a bike after you’ve fallen off? Better done straight away before you forget how?”

  “No,” she choked out, appalled by that callous analogy. “I wouldn’t marry him straight away. I asked for more time. I didn’t sleep with him.”

  “You wanted a wedding ring on your finger this time?”

  “I wanted time to reconsider, to think everything through when I wasn’t feeling so hollow and hopeless. I wanted to be sure my reasoning was valid and not just an emotional backlash to my loss. I needed to be sure.”

  “Sure of what?” For the first time his icy control cracked, revealing the fierce churn of anger in his eyes. “That you wanted a baby? It didn’t matter if it was his or m
ine, if your relationship was based on love or greed or a wad of contract pages. You wanted for you. You didn’t give a flying thought about the baby or how he’d come to view his parents’ relationship.”

  “That’s not true. We had solid reasons—”

  “So solid you ran away from your wedding day. So solid you spent your honeymoon in my bed.”

  Reeling from the sustained force of his words, Susannah struggled to hold her head high. To keep the gathering tears at bay. “You know why I came to Tasmania.”

  “Because I threatened your sham of a wedding…or because you wanted a ready excuse not to see it through?”

  “Because you called, because I heard your voice on the phone, because I couldn’t help myself,” she countered, her voice resonant with the force of her denial. “Damn you, Donovan, I didn’t just fall into your bed. You were there. You know that.”

  “Why did you sleep with me?”

  “For the same reason I came here today, the same reason I didn’t take the hint on the porch when you tried to freeze me out. The same reason I’m standing here arguing the point about something you’re not willing to hear. Because I love you.”

  “You love me?” He expelled a gust of pure cynicism. “Yet you won’t have a bar of a contract that ties you to me?”

  “I don’t want to be tied to you by business,” she stormed back. “With Alex it didn’t matter, with you everything has mattered. Everything is amplified. The brief elation when I thought I was having your baby. Not being able to contact you and realising you’d used me that weekend, that you weren’t going to be quite so overjoyed by my news. I had the perfect marriage—the perfect future—planned until you came back.”

  Resistance screamed from every taut line of his body, and she wondered if anything she’d said had infiltrated that shuttered barrier. Anything that had, he didn’t believe…or he didn’t want to believe. To Susannah, suddenly it didn’t matter which.

  She’d tried to explain why she’d found Alex’s offer of marriage so hard to refuse. If he didn’t accept any of that, how could she convince him of something as inexplicable as her love?

  “I know this wasn’t the best time to bare my soul,” she told him. “That’s not why I came here. This wasn’t supposed to be about me or my feelings, but now you know everything and I’m not sorry it’s been said.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Maybe I knew it would lead to this.”

  For a moment the antagonism of this arced between them, and it was too much. Before he could say any more, she shook her head in warning. “I think we’ve both said enough for now. I’ll call a cab.”

  “You drop that series of bombshells and that’s it?”

  “Until we’ve both cooled down and reflected, yes.”

  “You need to think some more? To change your mind again? To decide whether this really is true love?”

  Susannah had no answer to the cruel slice of those questions. She’d had enough. She couldn’t stand here while he ripped apart her avowal of love, while he mocked the heartfelt decisions she’d made these past months. She was walking away while she still had some dignity. Before the tears commenced.

  With trembling fingers she pulled her phone from her bag. She’d saved the number, if only she could stop her hands shaking enough to punch the right keys…

  “There’s no need to call a cab. Where are you staying?”

  “The Carlisle.”

  His mouth tightened into a grim line. “I’ll drive you.”

  She wanted to tell him where to put that offer—but she refused to gift him the pleasure of another argument. Ever since she arrived, he’d been pushing for a confrontation. Perhaps, like a wounded animal, he’d needed to latch out at the pain caused by Mac’s loss. Naively, she’d obliged, thinking she could absorb some of that hurt with her love. Now she’d had enough.

  In the car, she closed her eyes and shut him out—gathering the silence around her like a cloak as his powerful car sliced through the wet night. At the hotel, he came around to open her door, and she was forced to meet his eyes for the first time since he’d ushered her from his home…and to face the fact that this might be goodbye.

  In that moment all her bravado turned to water. She couldn’t look him in the eye and brazen it out. Nor could she turn and walk away with nothing.

  It was easier—so much easier—to lean into his body and kiss his cheek. She felt his stillness, the tension in his jaw and the whisker-rough texture of his skin beneath her lips. Her fingers curled briefly around his lapel, a last touch, a last deep breath of his scent. “Take care,” she said quickly. There was no point in saying keep in touch or call me. She’d done that twice, to no avail. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  And as she went to pull away, his hand came up and grabbed her arm. Their eyes met for a quicksilver moment. “I’m sorry for yours, Susannah. I wish you hadn’t had to go through that on your own.”

  The rush of tears at the back of her eyes was instant, overwhelming, but if she let one free she feared they would never stop. With a brief nod of acknowledgment, she pulled free and somehow managed to walk away with her head held high.

  “Will you just take the damn call?” Erin’s voice came through the speakerphone in measured bites of aggravation. “This is your business, your deal, she can’t put you in any worse a mood then we’ve suffered these past weeks!”

  Van figured the call had to be from Horton’s about The Palisades. She had to be Miriam Horton. And his assistant made a valid point—he was in the perfect mood for this call. “Put it through,” he said shortly, his gaze still fixed on the opening charts for today’s trading.

  “Hello, Donovan? It’s Susannah.”

  Van jerked upright in his chair, his jaw flexed and tight at the unexpected greeting. All the air left his lungs as if he’d been punched. He’d not expected to hear from her, not after the finality of their parting. So many times he’d thought about calling, but what the hell would he say? He didn’t know how to make things right. If he couldn’t give her everything she wanted, what could he offer?

  “Donovan? Are you there?”

  With a rough note of disgust, he picked up the receiver. Since the memory of her voice was constantly in his head, he might as well enjoy the real thing in his ear. “Susannah, yeah, I’m here.” He checked his watch and felt a jab of alarm. “It’s the middle of the night in Melbourne. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m…not home.”

  Van sat up straighter. It had been almost two weeks but…“Are you still here, in San Francisco?”

  “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m in the mountains. Since I’d arranged time away from the office, I thought I might as well take a holiday.”

  What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Hope you’re having a nice time on what was supposed to be your honeymoon. Wish I was there. “To do some thinking?” he bit out.

  There was a beat of silence, long enough for him to call himself an ass for pressing that hot button. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Walking up here is very good for clearing the mind and thinking.”

  “On the island you told me you weren’t a fan of exercise.”

  “I’m not but I do need to work on my core strength,” she said with an irony that suggested she was talking about more than physical strength. “But I didn’t call to talk about me.”

  “No?”

  “I spoke to my mother about the contract for The Palisades. I wanted you to know that Judd will be calling about new terms, in line with your original bid.”

  “Can’t find another buyer?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe that will be a problem, but you deserve first offer.”

  “I told you I was no longer interested.”

  “And I hope you’ve reconsidered.” She drew an audible breath, the gesture so familiar he could picture the exact look on her face. The way her chin came up a fraction. The cool green flash of her eyes. “I don’t think you’re fo
olish enough to allow your opinion of me to influence your decision, but be assured I have no personal agenda.”

  “You just wanted to be sure I didn’t sign the old version?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about your business?” he found himself asking. “Do you still need equity capital?”

  “I’ve just come to terms with my mother. She now owns a managing share in At Your Service.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Why should you be?” she replied tersely. “She has some excellent ideas for diversifying and making the business more profitable.”

  Van wanted to ask about her vision, about the pride she’d taken in her own direction without her parents’ controlling hand, but he bit down on the urge. Satisfied another urge by asking, “And what about the other clause in the old contract?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What if I want you as my wife?”

  One swift inhalation in his ear. One second of pure what-the-hell-are-you-asking fear, before his heartbeat settled into a slow and certain rhythm.

  “You don’t,” she rasped out.

  “I asked for the same terms as Carlisle.”

  “Because you wanted to expedite matters. You never wanted anything but that contract.”

  “No, Susannah, I wanted you.” With the phone clutched to his ear, he shoved to his feet and paced to the window. A magnificent view of city and bay stretched before him, unseen, unacknowledged. All he could see was her face, her smile, her wild hair and sea-green eyes. “You said you love me.”

  “I do,” she said sadly, “but that’s not enough.”

  “Because I can’t give you that perfect future you had all mapped out?”

  “I thought you could, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I deserve better.” Her voice lifted on that last statement and he pictured her chin rising with it. “Goodbye, Donovan, and good luck with Judd. I hope that works out for you. Charlotte Island was meant to be yours.”

  There was nothing he could do to stop her disconnecting, but the conversation played through his mind, the words exactly as they’d sounded in his ear. The honey-dipped tone of her voice. The distinctive down-under accent. The snotty edge when she told him that maybe she deserved better.